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My hunt took place in Westland, in glorious weather in late May & Early June. The weather flying in was pretty poor with a very bad easterly blowing the little 500 around quiet severely. I can honestly say it was the second worst helicopter flight of my life. The pilot, James Scott, was brilliant and a real pleasure to fly with but the conditions made life VERY difficult. Consequently we flew into the Chamois area first as we could physically not get to the Tahr block.
We spent a day hunting Chamois, during the time I missed a very easy shot at a 9”plus Chamois. I subsequently brought the rifle down 3 clicks and everything became a lot better. The scenery in the Chamois block was amazing, being able to look up some of the big rivers of Westland from the glorious tops was a fantastic experience. Looking west I could see the Tasman Sea. I had to really pinch myself to believe I was here and everything was so good. Last time I was in Westland it hammered down so much that we were stranded in Fox Glacier overnight on my honeymoon and that was December!

We subsequently moved to the Tahr block a short flight with James into a fantastic valley system that felt like being in the Colosseum, sheer sides almost all around it was just magnificent, then I realised I had to clime some of the walls to hunt Tahr....
We set camp and had a great feed and began glassing the tops for Tahr. On the way in we had seen some magnificent bulls that ran from the chopper (no prizes for guessing why) and we hoped to see a few more that afternoon to prepare for a stalk the next day.
Well, we found a fantastic Tahr just after lunch high in the head of the valley. Peter said “Come on lets have a look, he looks to be pretty good.” So we were off, up the boulder stream to cover our movement. Twice we surprised Tahr in the valley itself. One young bull went down toward the water and the other tried to figure us out from only 40m away! He continued to shadow us whistling all the way. About half way up Peter assessed and calmly said “he’s pretty good, we’ll get this one.” My head suddenly went into overdrive. We were stalking the animal I had wanted since being a sweaty teenager. We spent the next three hours carefully moving steadily uphill glassing as we went. The rocks in the stream were icy and the golden tussocks steep but I was bloody determined to at least get this Tahr into range.
Peter said we will get within range, maybe 300m I was happy with that we continued to stalk as the sea mist started to roll over the western peaks and fall quietly into the valley. I was worried he would be swallowed by the grey mist before I got my chance. We pushed ever onwards each metre becoming more and more icy and snow becoming more common amongst the tussock heads.
It was nearly dark and we were in position, with Peter’s brilliant knowledge and understanding of Tahr he had got me to 210m. “Wait for him, the one you can see is the young Bull the big one is to the left” Peter whispered at me in a low voice. I had an excellent rest and waited. I looked down the valley and could not believe it had come to this. I breathed so carefully to the side of the rifle, careful not to fog my lens. Wait for him Mog he will move into view. In one majestic move he appeared, his huge blonde mane glistening in the last rays of light, gently blowing in the westerly breeze. His body was huge he dwarfed the smaller bull and had fantastic mass to his horns. I had watched him for three hours tending to his harem of nannies. Seeing off the smaller bull and surveying his surroundings for would be challengers. This old bull was surely the Alpha male of this small watershed.
I breathed once more and felt the trigger, it broke crisply and the shot felt really good. The bull bolted down hill foaming blood at the mouth. I cycled the bolt quickly with Peter spurning me on. I took a second shot which again hit the bull as he was in full stride moving at blurring speed down the sheer icy faces. With a crash of hooves and horns he collapsed, and began sliding down the steep valley walls. He came to an icy rest not 100m above us. Peter slapped me on the back and had a massively wide grin on his face and sparkle in his eye. “That’s better shooting there boy!” Peter beamed. Another big bull appeared high above us at about 430m, I had a crack at him but was shaking so much that I should not have even taken the shot. I was ecstatic and moved to the bull as best I could, he was balanced on a rock shelf in his valley. A part of me felt forlorn having taken this animal from such an amazing place, this feeling was soon replaced with the satisfaction of knowing that a fine animal would not fall prey to a Heli-hunter and that I had achieved something I had long dreamed of. I carefully stepped through the semi frozen stream and leapt onto the rock ledge that my Tahr had landed on and caught my breath.

He was huge, truly a giant Tahr that had seen many long winters in Westland. His mane was magnificent, thick, blonde and majestically flowing past his front shoulders. I could not believe how big he was his body was hugely muscular and his size was above anything I had expected. I gazed upon his horns, hugely thick almost all the way to the top, he was broomed off at his points but I did not care. To me he was everything I had come for in one. I looked out over the small valley as the shadows filled the valley and the only sound was that of the Kea’s cawing far away to the south. “This is a bull any Kiwi hunter would be proud of! An old Westland bull. You should be very happy there boy.” Peter said, I was.

Three hours after I had shot the bull two weary hunters returned to their tent both ecstatic about the outcome of the day. I smelt like a bull Tahr and on the rock outside our tent was the headskin of my bull. I slept well that night knowing that everything I had saved and trained for was well worth it.
I hunted a further two days in that little valley securing a smaller cull bull for a full skin mount and skull and enjoying the greatest weather Westland had to offer.

On our final morning we sat in the sun on a tussock knoll reading stories of old about hunting and fishing in Westland and the rest of New Zealand. I felt at peace with the world and inside I was already yearning to return.

On the way out in the Hughes 500 I knew I would be back, there is a bloody Chamois up there somewhere with my name on it...

I hunted free range Bull Tahr with Peter Chamberlain of NZ Wild Hunts. Peter has been hunting the South Island since the mid 1960’s he is a true gentleman who has a breadth of knowledge of the Alpine game he hunts that is probably second to none in guide industry at the moment. I would highly recommend him for your New Zealand adventure, he is honest and upfront about everything and he has no agenda he must satisfy.
Peter can be contacted at www.nzwildhunts.com

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