Early one morning in 1970 my brother and I left Dunedin in our Morris Oxford car bound for the West Coast and a week of hunting and tramping. Our destination was the Wills Valley, which could be accessed from the Gates of Haast. The Morri’ "Ox" clunked its way up-country, displaying moments of considerable downhill speed but little uphill momentum. It proved reliable enough and eventually we arrived at the entrance point to the valley.
Our packs were well laden and after a strenuous few hours of walking we emerged from the bush on to tussock-covered river flats with imposing peaks soaring above. A camp site was soon established and a refreshing night’s sleep ensued. As my brother attended to porridge-making duties the following morning, I wandered downriver with my rifle hoping to supplement our meal with fresh venison steaks.
Having walked a relatively short distance I was astounded to see a group of a dozen or so deer grazing at the river’s edge. Although my 303 rifle was fairly rudimentary, the cartridge case contained six rounds of ammunition giving me some cause for confidence of success. However, the first shot missed the mark completely, resulting in the startled animals bounding haphazardly in all directions. I unleashed another five shots in quick succession but to no avail. My brother was rather amused when I returned to the campsite empty-handed, especially given the amount of noise that had been generated. The porridge, though, tasted great!
On reflection, not shooting a deer that day was something of a blessing. The adventure in itself was a sufficient reward. For a few glorious days the beauty, grandeur and remoteness of this place transcended everything else and has lived in memory ever since.
- Joss Miller lives in Dunedin.
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