NZ Hunter



I was left alone with the slightly disjointed feeling I always get when thrust from the crazy everyday world into one that is much older and simpler.

With nothing much to do until the day’s heat faded, I moved my gear into the hut, made up a brew and read a book until it began to feel a bit more like ‘hunt o’clock’. Eventually I gathered together my rifle and knife belt, tied a raincoat around my waist and made a plan.

It was still hot as I left the scent of the sun-blasted grass on the hut clearing behind for the damper, sharper smell of tawa forest and sweated my way up the ridge behind the hut. As the day cooled to evening, I dropped down into the head of the hut creek. Like many of the local creeks, the mahoe and tawa met overhead and the going was easy on the ponga benches as the evening light glowed through the tawa leaves.

I enjoy ghosting down these kinds of creeks, especially when there is a bit of sign around to give a high expectation of

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