The 3:45am Start — Another Bush Mission
Alarm blaring at 3:45am, I rolled outta bed like a man on a mission. No time for mucking around — the dogs needed sorting. Rocky, Tā, and Koa were already buzzing, tails going like windscreen wipers in a cyclone. Collared them up, loaded the gear, dogs in the trailer, and we were gone by 4:30am sharp.
Cruised down SH1 in the dark, the road ours alone, until I linked up with the bro AJ just outside Ocean Ridge. Quick hongi, bit of banter, and we were back on the road heading south. Still black as a dog’s guts when we pulled up between Tahuna Tōrea and Ō-Tama-Kura in beautiful Kaikōura. That’s where the Scottish sisters, Annie and Zoe, were waiting—their first NZ hunting trip, and they came ready with a box of cold ones.
They left their wagon on the grass and jumped into our waka ngahere, spirits high and headlights blazing. As we climbed inland, the skies started to burn red — one of those picture-perfect dawns where the world still feels asleep, and you're the only ones alive in it.
Just after light started creeping in, we spooked a deer — took a crack, but missed the bugger. Bit too twilighty for that sort of carry-on. No stress though, the day was young. AJ lined the girls up on the bog shooting stand, lined them up like pros, and they dropped a couple of goats clean. We strung them up in a tree for the haul out later, and then it was time for pigs.
That’s when it got spicy.
I got split off from the crew chasing a sounder and followed the dogs through thick scrub and windfall for over 500 metres. They were fighting with an 80lb boar — toey as hell and not in the mood to play nice. Kicked up a storm and ripped two of the dogs pretty good. I managed to stick him, and then came the haul — dragging him up the bloody Pillow Track solo, dogs limping beside me, and sweat pouring off like a waterfall.
Linked back up with the rest of the crew — they’d been tracking us on the handheld and were already cracking jokes as I stumbled up the track like a half-dead possum.
Then, as if that wasn’t enough action, I started swelling up like a balloon from a wasp sting. Proper allergic reaction. We legged it 1km back to the truck — man was swelling. Got the meds in, and all was fine. Crisis averted.
On the way out, dropped a few more goats — meat on the roof, everyone buzzing. Port came out again, sun fading now, and we all cruised off, stories flying, dogs snoozing, and the sisters stoked.
Wrapped it all up back at the James whānau homestead — kids running around, kai on the table, and the day winding down with full bellies and happy hearts.
What a day, bro. One of those hunts you never forget. Good crew, mean dogs, a bit of drama, a lot of laughs, and more memories than you can shake a goat leg at.
