Outdoor Writer

Very nice buck and mount. Did you kill it in 2006? -TONY

Thanks, guys. Jim, Do NZ first. Great place. If you do Africa, go somewhere other than SA. Other than the game species, it's like hunting in southern AZ -- even with the cactus! And instead of coatis, you get monkeys and baboons. -TONY

And lots of miles, too! I just added the OW's NEW Trophy Room thread. Enjoy. -TONY

A couple members in another thread asked me to post photos of my trophy rooms and some of in-the-field pix of the critters I have killed. I'll post a few different threads so DL time isn't exceptionally long for those with dial-up connections. I apologize if some of you have already seen any of these elsewhere. These are old pix of my original trophy room. The ones in this message are more overall views, while the ones in the reply are closer looks at some of the critters. I originally built the room as a spa room and then did all the remodeling work to convert it into a trophy room instead. The cabinets and end tables are made from 50-yr. old recycled pine paneling from a downtown Phoenix landmark that was razed when Chase ballpark was built. The dark chest is also something I built. A later thread will show the new 14'x32' addition I put on the family room. It now houses all my mounts from African and New Zealand, plus a life-size BC black bear. Without further delay..... enjoy. -TONY This is through the entry from the living room, which once was a 6'-wide sliding door. AZ blackbear rug on the wall with my grandfather's Parker Bros. 10 ga. The finished alcove. Coyote has a Gambel's quail in it's mouth. There are bear skulls, blackbuck horns, a couple small whitetail racks and Mexico Coues deer rack scattered about. The turkey is an eastern from MO, but I didn't do anything with the Merriam's, Rio Grande, Osceola or Gould's that I also killed over the years. On the wall with the tom is a pair of Mearns quail, chukar and flying ringneck. Photo from the entry toward the left. BC blackbear hides hanging in the corner and covering the armchair in lower left corner. A mountain lion hide drapes the chest and a blackbuck hide covers the end table. That's a Russian boar in the upper left next to my best mulie buck, which is hung next to a mulie doe. Antlers on the lamp shade are an SCI book blacktail buck (CA) that wasn't officially entered because I don't do record books. Photo from the entry to the right. 5X6 elk antlers in corner and horns from a Santa Cruz Island Merino ram on the table atop a hairless deer hide. Fish over bear is a 14# brown trout, Alaskan pike upper rght is 23 lbs. That's a bobcat rug on the wall and just the very bottom of a BC mountain caribou showing. A Catalina goat hangs above the BC 'bou. Photo of wall over the entry. NWT central barren ground 'bou to the left and an AK barren ground in the middle. Lower left is my first Coues deer, a javelina and 3.5# grayling from a river that runs into Great Bear Lake, NWT. Whitetail is from MO, mulie is my first mule deer buck, killed in 1961. There's a separate photo of the 60" BC moose in the next message.

Casey, I was using a Winchester factory load with 140-gr. PSPs. Here's the bullet I retrieved from the blue beestie. It travelled from the brisket clear thru the rear ham and stopped near the base of the tail. -TONY

I've seen several groups of elk while driving the Senator Highway in the Bradshaws from Crown King to Prescott. -TONY

And the last for this thread... Monday morning we left the lodge at daylight and drove north an hour to a ranch. As we wandered down a dirt road, we spotted a herd of blue wildebeests and stopped to glass them. I immediately noticed a nice bull that I would gladly shoot. Ed drove past the herd and up a hill, then stopped next to a grove of thick trees. He and I piled out while the tracker continued on with the truck – a little ploy to keep the beesties calm. Getting through the thick underbrush was a chore, but we eventually worked our way to the opposite edge of the forest that bordered the open area where we had last seen the bull. He was standing facing us about 250 yards away, but the cows around him were starting to get antsy. So I decided to take him right then. I aimed just below his nose and waited for him to lift his head a bit. When the 140-gr. bullet hit him, all four legs immediately splayed out to the side and he crashed down dead in a cloud of dust. It was as if someone had hit him on the head with a 2-ton sledge hammer. Ed’s comment: “Holy $*&t.” As we walked toward the dead critter, Ed held out his hand and said, “Look, I’m shaking like a leaf.” He then told me that he had nine hunters so far, and only one other managed to drop a blue with one shot. And even that one had run 50 yards. Four others required follow-up shots, two needed three shots, the others went unrecovered. When we skinned it, we found my bullet up against the hide just to the left of its tail. That afternoon we drove two hours to another ranch and met the landowner. Ed had never hunted this one before, so he wanted to get some direction as to where to go. The owner said he would show us some of the better areas himself. So we all hopped in the truck and drove about 20 minutes to the top of a high ridge and started glassing another ridge across a lake. For an hour or so, nothing was stirring, not even a mouse. I was using my 15X binocs on a tripod and eventually picked up a bit of movement in the trees. At first, we couldn’t make out what it was. Then we saw just neck and head of a decent bushbuck. I ranged him at 285 yards across the pond and moved to the branch of a nearby tree for a rest. When I shot, the head disappeared, but we had no idea if I hit or not. Fortunately, the landowner had a small canoe/kayak down at the lake, so we drove down to it and Ed took it across the pond, saving a very long walk around the lake. When he climbed the hill, he found my bushbuck dead right where he was standing at the shot. My bullet hit him right where his neck connected to his body. Ed bringing the bushbuck back to our side. The X is where he was when I shot him.

It was now Friday, and my hunt was just about over, even though we would be at the lodge until the following Tues. morning. Of the animals I had originally selected, all that was left was an nyala. But at the ranch where we hunted springbok, the owner had several full springbok hides covering coffee tables in between two couches that were also covered with hides. So I had told Ed I wanted to kill another one just to get the full hide. I really didn't care whether it was a buck or a doe. The going price was $50 for a second one. We put this on the back burner, however. We drove toward Port Elizabeth and then west to hunt nyala. The ranch, like the one we hunted kudu on, was large, hilly and brushy. The nyala herd on it was also self-sustaining according to the owner. After some coffee and chit-chat, we boarded the truck and followed another cow path to the highest hill on the property and parked. We walked about 200 yards into the brush before we saw the first game. It was a smallish bushbuck. Five minutes later, we pushed a nyala cow out of her hiding place. Yet it was two hours before we saw the first bull -- an 18" non-shooter. Hungry, we decided to go back to the truck and eat some crackers and biltong. We never made it until much later. As we stepped out onto the dirt road, we spotted a nice bull. He was browsing just at the edge of the trees, less than 75 yards from us. Ed whispered, "Kill 'im. I dropped to a knee, wrapped up in my sling and put the crosshair where the upper leg connected to the body. At the shot, the bull jumped straight up about two feet off the ground -- a typical reaction I've seen before with a heart shot. He hit the ground running, but not for long. Two seconds later, we heard him crash land in some brush. Unfortunately, there was also a cactus for him to land in, filling the hide with spines. After spending 15 minutes getting rid of them, we dragged the bull out to the road for photos. Rather than head back to the lodge, we went into Pt. Liz so Ed could drop off his truck for service. While it was being worked on, we went to a seaside restaurant for some chow. Heck, I even got to see my first cricket match on TV, no less. Now, my hunt was pretty much done -- kinda. On Sat. Ed, another Ph, Gary, and I drove up on the hill about two miles from the lodge to get my springbok hide. We simply meant to kill one, not hunt it. So here we are watching two different herds, trying to decide which one to go after. Suddenly, one of them takes off running right toward the truck, passed by the front end and then stops about 300 yards away. A good buck was standing out front. "Kill that buck," Ed said. I put the muzzle of the .264 out the window, fed a single round into the chamber and put the rifle across the forearm of my left arm that was resting across the window sill. The buck dropped in place. Gary, watching through binoculars from atop the truck had only two words for me, "Well done." When we drove up to it, he facetiously asked me if I wanted to take photos. My answer with a laugh: "No, I don't need any photos of that fine HUNT." Though it wasn't as good as my other one, it was still a nice buck. So I'll probably mount the horns on a plaque and label it as my "Drive-by Springbok." Later that day, nearly the entire camp headed into a small town to the north to attend the area's annual game sale and festival. I even got interviewed by a local TV station that was there with a live feed. They probably knew I was a foreigner. Then on the way home we stopped at a pub for some snacks and beers. I also had to endure watching another cricket match that RSA was involved in. And now the hunt was over -- NOT! After breakfast Sunday, everyone else except me left the lodge to hunt. Even my PH went to help a couple of guys from Ohio who were hunting 2x1 with another PH. I was left to amuse myself, which I did mostly by sitting on the terrace with my tripod and 15X binoculars. I spotted an incredible amount of game from there, including at least a 16" bushbuck and a big kudu bull. But the area for about 1 mile around the lodge is a self-imposed No Hunting area. Oh, and I even sipped a few beers that day. Still it was a boring day, and I started getting the DTs from not killing anything for so long. So that evening in the bar, I said to Ed, "Tomorrow's my last day here, and I don't want to hang out here for the entire day. Let's go let the air out of something." I told him I would like to shoot a bushbuck and a blue beestie. So that's what we planned to do. Of course, it meant another $1,500 in trophy fees, plus the related costs. Gulp.

After a good night's sleep, we awoke to the smell of fresh coffee brewing. Then it was off to the hills again. I went after impala and Troy sought a big eland. The area we hunted impala in was huge and consisted of mosly grassy rolling hills with scattered trees. So it was easy glassing. In fact, we even spotted Troy and Ray while they drove along a road about 2 miles from us. After checking out several impala bucks over the course of two hours, we decided to move to a new location. While climbing a steep slope, however, we could see the heads of several impala, including a dandy buck, moving slowly along the top of the ridge. They were only about 150 yards away, but we were too far down the slope to see the bodies for a shot. We dropped down quickly and started duck-walking farther up the hill, which had little cover to hide our approach. Just when we got far enough to see bodies, one of the critters spotted us. While most of them began to move out, the buck turned toward me, raised its head a bit and snorted. I was already kneeling, and had the rifle up with the safety off. When the crosshairs hit his chest between the tops of his legs, I let one go. He took off on a full-out run and piled up dead after 25 yards. The .264 took out the heart and one lung and exited out the buck's left haunch near the tail. That afternoon, we did the 5-hr drive back to Lentaba Lodge, one of the two main ones John X has on Lalibela Game Reserve. By the time we arrived there, the sun was already setting. We had started our actual hunting on a Sat. and it was now Tues. night. So the next morning it was off in search of a kudu. Again, we went off the John X property to another big ranch, and I was starting to understand why John X claims it has 3,000,000 acres to hunt. By this time, I felt like I had visited 1/2 of it. In reality, though, we hadn't touched foot on most of it. As we drove up the ranch road to the house so we could check in with the landowner before going in the field, I noticed a distinct difference in the terrain. Although there were a few open pasture areas, most of the ranch was rolling hills covered by lots of trees and brush. In short, it was pretty dense except for myriad but narrow bands that had been cut through the trees in order to build the fence lines, which were just simply wooden posts about four feet high with three or four strands of wire. In contrast, the outside perimeter of the ranch was high-fenced. But the second-generation owner told me that his kudu herd was a self-sustaining population, having been started there by his father over 50 years ago. And after spending hours that day searching for a good bull, I believed him; we saw dozens of cows and youngsters either browsing in openings or moving through the trees. My PH turned down every bull we saw, however, claiming we could find a better one since we had plenty of time to hunt yet. Left to my own devices, there were at least two I would have taken. So after a fruitless day, we were headed back to the truck just minutes before the sun set. As we rounded a bend, we saw four kudu standing right along the 4-strand, 3-ft. high fence line next to the dirt two-track. The biggest one was right behind a fence post and tight against the wires, perhaps ready to jump them. He was about 200 yards off. Ed told me he was a good one and to shoot if I wanted to. I dropped to a knee, pushed the safety off and put the scope on him. The fence post was directly in line with his leg and shoulder and the upper part of the fence between the top two strands of wire had some sort of mesh on it. I held just over that and to the left of the fencepost. At the shot, the other bulls wheeled and ran off, probably from whence they had come. But the bull I hit jumped the fence and immediately disappeared into the trees on the opposite side of the road by the time I chambered my second round. My PH thought I had gut shot the bull. I told him I didn't think so. We headed to the spot we last saw it and started tracking it as best we could. We found little blood. Then, even with flashlights, we lost the trail in the dark. The PH made the decision to come back the next morning and start fresh with the landowner and some of his employees helping out. We drove to the house to tell the owner what happened and what we planned. We got there bright and early and started where we had lost the sign the previous night. Fifty yards later, we found the dead bull. Although my shot had been a tad high and back, it hit both lungs, and the bull had actually gone less than 300 yards from the fence line. Unfortunately, both the jackals and birds had found him before we did. Most of the guts and the rear quarters had been eaten by the jackals, and the birds had pecked out one eye and the area around it. I was concerned about hair slippage since the cape had been on the dead animal too long. The PH agreed with me and said he would get me another cape in the coming weeks to replace it at no charge. I think he realized that he didn't put enough effort into locating the bull the night before, no doubt upset about my supposed gut shot. Just in case, however, we did take my cape and immediately immersed it in a water & salt solution while still at the ranch. As an aside, I later found out that Ed was having a bad year -- sort of jinxed. All nine of his hunters that he had guided so far in 2003 had lost at least one wounded animal. So he assumed I had become No. 10. Ed followed through on his promise and sent another cape to the taxidermist a couple months later. I told them to trash the other one or use as they might. My kudu, which went 48.5". While chasing kudu the previous day, we had seen several decent warthogs roaming about. Since we were already there to retrieve the kudu, we decided to stay that afternoon and try for a good hog. We hadn't been out an hour when we saw a pair moving down one of the fence lines toward the little dirt road we were walking along. So rather than stalk them, we decided to stay put and ambush them. I set up with my Snipepod and waited for them to get to the crest of a little hill that was about 75-100 yards from me. They didn't want to play that game, though. They dropped into a dip behind that hill and never came to the top. After waiting for about 15 minutes, we decided to move in on them, thinking they stopped in the dip to feed. Big mistake! As we stood up, we heard a snort and looked up the road to our right. Both hogs, standing in the tall grass along the edge, were staring straight at us. They had entered the trees from the dip and basically circled us. The breeze was blowing right at them, and by the time I snapped the safety off, they were gone. Thus, off we went to find another victim. About an hour later, we were working our way along a road that led to a high point. Our intent was to get high and glass. Halfway up, a sow and her two youngin's moved out and began feeding about 100 yards above us. Ed figured a boar would be nearby. Hugging the trees, we pussy-footed up the hill and wound up only a few yards from the piglets. We watched for a bit but her mate never showed. After the trio passed under the fence and fed their way into the brush on the opposite side of the cut, we continued to the top. An hour of glassing turned up nothing worth wasting a bullet on. We headed back down, then cut off on another of the "main" dirt roads. We call them cow paths here in AZ. As we passed a fence cut, I looked up and saw a hog walking uphill. Ed glassed him quickly and thought he was a good one. While Ed ranged him, I moved up to rest my rifle on the top of a fence post. The hog was at 295 yards and still moving. I held at the base of his neck, and Ed called the shot as, "Geez, just left. Any closer and you would have taken a whisker or two off." But, when the bullet hit the ground, the hog turned and started running directly at us. I again aimed at the base of his neck. This time we heard the "whap" as the bullet from the 268-yd. shot, hit home. The hog's butt immediately sagged and his rear legs became useless as he tried to make it into the brush by pulling himself along with his front legs. My bullet had obvioulsy hit the spine. Even though we could no longer see him, we knew he wasn't going far. Sure enough, he barely had moved off the fence row before dying. So like every other day so far, this one was a success, both in finding my kudu and shooting a decent warthog.

The next morning we drove to another area of Ray's property to find a zebra stallion. We eventually located a good one that was hanging out with about a dozen other zebra. We managed to stalk close enough for a 100-yd. shot, but the biggest stallion seemed content to hang out in the middle of the herd. Finally, after about 15 minutes of waiting, I saw the opening for a shot as a mare moved far enough past the stallion so I had a shot at his shoulder -- barely. When I raised my .300 WM, I could even see the mare's tail twitching just left of the vertical crosshair. The shot hit right where the stripes all come together over the front leg, and the herd immediately went into overdrive. The stallion followed, but not for long. He raced at full gallop for about 50 yards, then went straight up in the air, rolled in mid-air and landed on his back in a cloud of dust with his feet sticking straight up at first. It was one of the more dramatic ends I had witnessed. We needed a bit of help with the loading. Tracker Boysano and PH, Ed Wilson Once we got the zebra back to the skinning shed and hung, we left the skinner and went in search of a "elusive" blesbok. This was probably the least exciting part of my entire hunt. It seemed a bit like hunting a domestic goat or such because of the large numbers and their penchant for grazing in mostly open terrain. Plus, they seemed quite docile and easy to stalk. Obvisouly, putting a bullet in one at 75 yards wasn't much of a challenge or a thrill for me. It amounted to, "Well, it's on the list of included critters." So here's my "hard-earned" trophy. After another successful day, we returned to Ray's place for a nice dinner of wildebeest roast.

You sharpened stick guys should enjoy this one. -TONY Mr. Moose

Here are a few other photos of various critters. An Arapawa ram, which run feral in the mountains. My chamois, which I shot just at sunset. By the time we got off the mountain to my cameras, it was dark and raining. So this is at the lodge just before we caped it the next morning. Two NZ gobblers And last...my trophy wallaby, which Marc Plunkett is now mounting life-size. It's the very last of all my African and NZ mounts he had to do. I had to space them out over a couple years so I could pay for them.

After I shot my stag, Tim left to go get my cameras, which were back with the ATV. As he walked around a bend, another stag burst from its bed and ran downhill. I watched it cross an opening for about 50 yards, then it disappeared into the trees. Tim had left a radio with me, so he called back and asked if I had seen it, then mentioned that it was heading toward the area where Troy and Brad were hunting. I left my rifle where my stag fell and took a walk up the hill where I would have a good view of the surrounding country, especially the area where the stag had gone. I sat between two large clumps of tall grass and started glassing. A few minutes later, I picked up not one stag, but two of them. They also had three hinds with them and were cavorting in a small opening next to a deep, thickly vegetated ravine. They were about 300 yards from where I was sitting. One of the stags had a very symmetrical rack and the other was extremely wide and had points going every which way. It probably would have been my choice of the two. I immediately tried to get Brad on his radio, but Tim answered instead. He had finally got to the top of the hill and could also see the deer. Then he told me he could also see Troy and Brad. They were perched on a sidehill and only about 200 yards from the deer. After Tim told me, I aimed my binoculars in that direction and could barely see them through a line of trees. I was about 1/2-way between them and the deer but well off to the side, sort of like the third angle of an equilateral triangle with lines between me and the deer and me and the hunters. It was a great vantage point for the next 20 minutes. Troy had already set up his shooting sticks and had his rifle cradled in them. But I later found out that the deer were hanging too close to the treeline, so he had only brief glimpses of one or the other stag as they played tag with each other. In contrast, I had a great view of them because I was off to the side and the ravine with the tall trees was directly in front of me. We also found out later that Brad had left the radio in his pack, which was back at the ATVs. So there was no way for me to let them know what the deer were doing. Instead, I just watched the hunt play out. It took quite a while, but the deer eventually moved far enough into the opening where Troy could see them both. I heard the bullet hit and saw the one with the symmetrical antlers buckle. Then I heard the crack from Troy's 7mm mag. The deer walked stiffly toward the trees, and I could see the spot of blood; the shot was a perfect lung/heart hit. The stag fell and then regained his feet. Although he was now getting to where I couldn't see him, I thought I saw him stumble again as if he was going down. By then, I heard the whine of an ATV and a minute later, Tim was heading down the hill toward me. He had heard the shot and asked me what happened. I told him I thought the stag was a goner. I hopped aboard the ATV and when we got to the spot, we located the deer. It had fallen once at the edge of the clearing, and the second time it had fallen and rolled, coming to rest in some heavy vegetation about a 1/4 way down into the deep ravine. Ten minutes later, we heard Troy and Brad breaking their way through the trees in the bottom of the ravine. We then found out that Troy had opted to shoot the one with the good symmetry and leave the wide-racked deer for someone else. The four of us dragged the stag out of the hole for photos at the edge of the clearing. As the result of Troy's fine shooting shows, he made a good choice. Brad is on the right in the first photo.

We spent much of the morning caping our tahr while we were still at the hut in the Lord of the Rings valley. Then we drove back out the same route we had come in -- along the little two-track and across many rivers. <div align='center'><img src="http://members.cox.net/tmandile/LRValleyNZ7.jpg" border="0" class="linked-image" /> <img src="http://members.cox.net/tmandile/LRValleyNZ10.jpg" border="0" class="linked-image" /> <img src="http://members.cox.net/tmandile/RiverCross1.jpg" border="0" class="linked-image" /> </div> A few hours later, we stopped by O'Rourke Bros. taxidermy shop in the small town of Pleasant Point to drop off the horns and capes from our tahr. By then it was already late afternoon, so we headed to the mountains near the Mount Hutt ski area and glassed for chamois. Althought we spotted several, they were way too far off to even think about going after that evening. As the weatherman had predicted, a storm had moved in during the night and dumped some rain. Although the skies were still foreboding when we woke up, the rain had stopped -- at least temporarily. After a hearty breakfast, we headed to the ranch where Tim hunts red deer . When I went to the SCI convention in Reno, I had spoken with at least four different NZ outfitters about hunting red deer. Everyone of them told me the same thing: The ONLY way to get a good stag is to hunt them on a private ranch, and since I didn't plan to spend all that money to get there and kill something I could kill in Texas, I decided the ranch hunt would be fine as long as it offered some challenge. Before booking with Tim, I had asked him about the stag hunt because I didn't want a "shooting-fish-in-a-barrel" scenario. He was quite honest about it, telling me that it wouldn't be as challenging as a hunt on public grounds, but it also wouldn't be a "Shoot that one standing there" hunt. So that's exactly what we got. After parking our vehicles at the ranch house, which was quite nice, as these photos show... <div align='center'><img src="http://members.cox.net/tmandile/StagRanch1.jpg" border="0" class="linked-image" /> <img src="http://members.cox.net/tmandile/StagRanch2.jpg" border="0" class="linked-image" /></div> ...we boarded ATVs and headed to the hunting area. On the way we also watched the surrounding hills for wild deer, which often move into the nearby fields to feed. In the meantime, a light rain began. When we walked through the gate into the red stag area, I looked at the hill in front of me and said to Tim, "We gotta climb that, huh?" He laughed. It wasn't quite as steep as the mountains we hunted tahr in, but I had to stop a few times to catch a breath when my lungs protested. About halfway up, Troy and Brad went one way and we went another. That was the last we saw of each other for several hours even though we were hunting in the same area. At the top, I got a much better view of the hunting area. It was tucked up against the mountains and offered a mixture of grassy hills, deep cuts that contained trees, heavy vegetation and some scrub bush areas along the edges. It reminded me very much of elk country in the USA, though the big tall fir forests were missing. We spent the next two hours moving along the edges of the timber and glassing likely areas where the stags might be. All we saw were some grazing sheep, however. The amusing part was that Tim had told me there were at least 20-30 deer in the area,with a mixture of stags, hinds and calves. Still, we hadn't seen a hair on a deer yet. We eventually made our way from one side to the other and started to drop down off a hill through a narrow opening between two stands of trees. That's when my stag decided to roust itself out of its hidng spot in the trees and burst into the open. He was about 50 yards away at that point, trotting downhill and away from us. Tim and I spotted him at the same time. As I clicked off the safety, I asked, "Should I shoot" since I had no idea if I was looking at a good one or not. Tim quickly said "Yes." I raised the rifle and held the crosshairs at the base of the stag's neck where it joined the back and let one rip. We heard the bullet "whap" and it poleaxed the deer on the spot. Tim pulled out his rangefinder; it was just at 125 yards or so, and the bullet had passed through, blowing out the front of the neck. When I got down to the deer, I was more than satisfied with it. The browtines, bezes and third points were exceptionally long and the top on one side of the 9x10 rack was cupped enough where it could hold water. It also has nice mass to it, with the upper main beams bigger than I could get my hand around. And here it is with Tim and me. <div align='center'><img src="http://members.cox.net/tmandile/TonyMTimBStag2.jpg" border="0" class="linked-image" /> </div> A side view that shows the lengths of the first three points. Note the nice cup effect on the nearest side to the camera. <div align='center'><img src="http://members.cox.net/mtony10/TonyMStag3.jpg" border="0" class="linked-image" /></div> And the last one of me alone from the front. <div align='center'><img src="http://members.cox.net/mtony10/TonyMStag1.jpg" border="0" class="linked-image" /> </div>

After the tahr chase, we headed up the valley about 15-16 miles to a hut, where we were to spend that night. That trip, which was often on an almost non-existent two-track took a couple hours. On the way, we glassed for chamois, forded rivers, checked out the spawning king salmon and enjoyed the mountain scenery in general. The orange specks in the water are dead salmon. We settled in the hut and had a bite to eat. Then we headed out to rid NZ of some vermin. Here's the results. As shown, the possum color phase in NZ is quite varied.

My partner and I spent seven days in NZ and right from the start, Tim and his wife, Vanessa, made us feel welcome and at home. Tim also had Brad Orszaczki -- an Aussie from the Victoria area -- come to NZ to guide my hunting partner, Troy Morzelewski. Like Tim, Brad knew his stuff and how to glass and find game. He wasn't too bad at downing a few Speights (NZ beer!) with us either. We arrived on Sun. afternoon, got settled in and began our hunt for tahr on Mon. morn. We had planned to helicopter a tent camp up the mountain and spend a couple days but had to shelve that plan because of predicted storms. So instead, we used the helicopter to get from the valley floor into tahr country. The copter dropped Tim and I off in one drainage and put Brad and Troy in another. Ready to lift off! Tim Buma glassing for tahr just below the snowline in NZ's southern Alps. And this is what he was looking for. It was some of the steepest and most rugged country I've ever hunted. From there we glassed for a decent bull. And...we finally found what we had been looking for in the middle of rock slide. By the time we got in range, he had wandered to the side of precarious side hill and started running along a steep spine. Two shots from my .264 WM put the bull down before it hit a straight-down cliff. If it had made it to the cliff, it might still be falling. As it was, it stopped here. And trust me when I tell you that the camera doesn't show the steepness of the area too well. Tim took this photo from the top of the ridge. And..the typical "hero" trophy pix with both me and guide Tim Buma. By mid-afternoon, our hunts for tahr were over with two light-maned better than average trophies. Troy's was right at 12.5" and mine was 1/8" short of 12" but had larger bases. Troy and his trophy tahr. This photo was taken back at the helicopter base.

A couple close-ups of the AK barren ground. -TONY

Here are a few close-ups of various trophies. Two AZ 'lopes and a TX whitetail. North Kaibab buck and his mate. Little Coues buck on plaque. BC 60" moose and the nose of a 34# lake trout from the Yukon to the right. The two exotic sheep behind the moose are a Corsican and a black Hawaiian. The antlers below the moose are a small 4x4 Kaibab mulie. Coues deer on left, my first AZ 'lope (1963)in the middle and a Montana 'lope on the right.

How much are you asking, and is there a gazebo with adequate seating for one archer and several guides to use as a blind??? -TONY

This is for no one in particular but everyone as a whole. First, a bit of background: Long before the web came into existence, in 1983 a friend who is another outdoor writer from Maryland and I started what was known as the Outdoors Forum on the Compuserve Information Service (CIS), which is now owned by AOL. Back then, everything was done in ASCII at an unbelievable modem speed of 12 baud per sec for downloading messages and replying offline. When it eventually jumped to 28, we all thought we had died and gone to heaven. Anyway, we ran that forum for many years and eventually branched out to become 12 separate ones that included Hunting, Fishing, Cycling, Scouting, Birding, Environment, etc., etc. We became the largest operators on CIS and continued to run our "empire" until AOL purchased CIS and discontinued paying its business partners. So where am I going with this?? During the course of administering these forums, we had several requirements. 1. Members had to use a REAL first and last name -- NO HANDLES. Obviously, they could pick any factitious name but most didn't. 2. Because they were family forums, language and material deemed not worthy of such were no-nos. 3. And most importantly, Personal attacks were greatly discouraged. And #3 is the one that so often comes into play today in the age of the WWW where thousands upon thousands of anonymous users hide behind their online personas in the myriad chatrooms. Sooo...I thought I would offer a few tips I've garnered over the years in regards to this particular cancer. First let me state: debate, controversy and discussion are HEALTHY exercises where everyone can learn from them -- if they are conducted in a civil manor. The most important aspect of this is to debate the ISSUE and avoid discussing the PEOPLE. How can you avoid such? It's simple. Every time you write a message in reply to a controversial topic, reread it before you hit SUBMIT and look to see if you used someone's name or a form of the word 'you' in it. Normally, these will be the key tipoffs where someone turns the discussion from the issue into a personal one. And then the need to retaliate kicks in for the person being attacked. That's when the thread heads downhill at a rapid pace. Example: Personal attack: You're an idiot Charlie, and you have no idea what you're talking about. The law doesn't read that way. Here's what it says...blah, blah. Discussing the issue; I don't think that's how the law reads. here's what I found...blah, blah blah. In other words, one can easily disagree without being disagreeable. Pretty simple, huh? -TONY

Hmmm. Good thing there aren't any auction tag hunters about. Wait 'til next year. -TONY

Photoshop! There was actually rock under the bushbuck's chin. And the ride 'em mulie was when I was young and brash, not knowing any better. -TONY

Doug, They certainly were surprised. I recall the one kid, about 18, saying something, "We didn't think we needed a state license to fish on federal land," but Basset wasn't having none of that. He once cited a personal friend of mine for fishing on the lake without a license. That's another funny story. Two of them had come from PHX to fish for pike. So that night I told them to make sure they buy their licenses that night. The next day, I had one with me and the other was in a boat with my youngest son. We were fishing about a 1/2 mile apart when I saw Basset's boat heading up the lake toward us. o i told the guy with me to get his license ready to show him. He then says, "Ohh, Ray didn't buy one, figuring he could get away with it." Next thing we see basset stop near my son's boat, and few minutes later, Ray is getting in the warden's boat and heading off to jail because he said he didn't have the money on him to pay the fine. About 1/2 way to the ramp, Basset turns the boat around and heads back toward us. He pulls alongside me and says, "tony, this guy claims he's a friend of yours." He then explains the jail bit. By now, I'm fuming. I told Gene that I would vouch for the fine if he doesn't pay it. When he left, I really laced into Ray, of course. -TONY

Ok, here's what I'll do, tho. Tomorrow I'll start a thread in Other Big Game, upload pictures of my trophy rooms and maybe some more "hero' shots from the field. How's that? -TONY

Here ya go, Casey. -TONY