GG and Ice Station Zebra

GG and Ice Station Zebra

By Brendon McMahon

With a sly smile on my face I said "Gordon what you need is a mid winter trip to the Kawekas”, think of it crisp mornings followed by settled fine weather no one else around". "cold"? "mmm possibly" I lied, thinking back to the previous year, when water containers froze over night and we had to fortify ourselves at night by drinking a mixture of ouzo and purple death, fondly called "black death" by its survivors. "Great, leave everything to me, I'll sort something out". A couple of calls to helisika later and we were off.

After a night at Taupo and Gordon resuming his battle with the stag park kitchen staff, apparently started years ago when he returned a plate of mince on toast, we arrived at the hanger. "This is the sort of weather I was talking about Gordon "as we threw the gear in the back off the machine. Silence.

Fifteen minutes later and we had been left to our own devices at our chosen block a mixture of beech, open tussock and scrub with the hut situated on a small flat over looking the valley. "We'll get this sorted out and get into it". No sooner than the food was put on the shelves than Gordon started a one man demolition job on it. "I always eat more in the bush" was the reply. "Piss off you haven’t done any thing yet". I made a mental note never to leave him alone with the food.

Seeing that no one had entered the log book for about three weeks put us in a good frame of mind as we went in separate directions for the first day. I decided on attacking the native. Plenty of sign, some fresh, but no sightings. After spending the day in and out of guts it was time for home. Dropping down towards the valley upstream I put up a sika, who after a whistle thought better of my company. Walking down the valley towards camp I noticed a few spots of rain, followed by a few more until it formed a continuous shower. This definitely wasn't in the tour brochure.

I arrived back at camp to find a unsupervised Gordon and a mauled bag of biscuits. He had fared a little better with three deer seen across the valley on a face but after crawling unseen through 400m of flat ground stuffed up a biggish stag in the scrub when about 10 feet away. "Don’t worry Gordon, this rain won't be around in the morning".

Day two arrived with the rain joined by a Southerly. After breakfast it was decided to team up and try for the deer seen across the valley. We reasoned that they should be sheltering in the gully behind. After spending the best part of the day pushing through the crap, moving a deer in the process we hit the broken country in the head of the creek. By this stage we were both soaked through and considering pulling the pin when we decided to have a sit down.

I happened to look to my right into the head of the gully to see a white arse racing up hill about 350 metres away. The cogs and levers were now working flat out. Gordon looking the other way was alerted to my bolt being worked. Rifle to shoulder, wipe lens, repeat, "where is it?" I’m not falling for that. As I fired there was a shower of crap and no deer. "Did you see it", "not after you fired".

It took a while to get across to the place were I fired at it and had to be directed by Gordon through the binos. After a time I came across a leg sticking out of a clump of tussock. Attached to it was a small five point sika. Gordon arrived soon after for the photo session. "It’s the same deer isn't it, it was still warm?", "piss off". "It was a good shot Mr Skywalker, tell me did you aim or did you close your eyes and use the force?". "you'll keep". We soon worked out that the shower of crap was indeed the water being shocked of the animal as the bullet struck.

Day three arrived with more of the same weather but colder. "Ice station zebra" declared Gordon looking out the window at the southerly squalls. After breakfast it was up river to hunt back into the wind. We both elected to take a side of the valley each and work our way back. Half an hour later I was trying to get through some manuka when a shot echoed across the valley followed by a "yahoo". What followed was an uneventful wet day. Returning to "ice station zebra" no Gordon. About an hour later he showed up, "where is it?", "in my day bag" by this stage he had strategically placed himself between the meat safe and his day bag. "I thought there was laws regarding infanticide", "They all count", was the reply, "if you say so Bambo".

Day four was more of the same weather which saw us floundering around in a slippery creek after getting bluffed in bit of a gorge. An early day was in order so Gordon could pursue his favourite activity, eating.

Day five dawned considerably colder but as I lay in the scratcher I realised I couldn't hear the rain on the roof. After several attempts to try and get Gordon outside for a weather report I got as far as the door to find it frozen shut. After a boot it was discovered that the rain had been replaced by snow. After breakfast Gordon decided to head back across the valley while I headed behind the hut to work some gullys off the main ridge. Plenty of sign a couple of deer put up but nothing on the deck.

As the day wore on the snow stopped and the weather finally started to break the only thing wrong here was we were to fly out at 10.00 the next morning. That night listing to the radio it was apparent that tomorrow was to be fine. This was the green flag Gordon was waiting for and he began cleaning up the last of the food.

The last day arrived only to discover the doors frozen shut again, a clear morning and a cracker frost. The morning was spent cleaning up and taking a few photos. Right on time the taxi arrived and in no time we were standing in the hanger.

The trip home allowed time to reflect on the trip, not bad really a couple of deer and a lot of laughs which is what it’s about really at the end of the day.