A Good Keen Man was the title to a book written by a well-known New Zealand bushman and author some would describe as the iconic “real New Zealand bloke”. Barry Crump grew up living and working in the hills, ravines and bush of New Zealands national parks and state forests working as a deer culler for the New Zealand Government. Getting paid for a job he loved, hunting and culling non-indigenous animals to New Zealand such as the Red Deer, (Stag and Hinds), feral goats and New Zealand's wild boar.

Thanks to the early English settlers who arrived on the shores of New Zealand during the early 1800's, game animals were liberated or released to help establish the sport of hunting for a privileged few as in the case of the New Zealand Red Stag. Other animals such as pig were released and soon settled into their new environment flourishing to a level of plague preportions. Due to the lack of hunting pressure, the fertile habitat, the warm New Zealand climate and the lack of predators, animal populations swelled. Herds of red deer in their hundreds were common to see on the open tops. The grazing pressure resulted in erosion and the depletion of fauna. From this spawned the Government deer culler, such as Barry Crump.

A Good Keen Man often used to describe a young fella keen to get out and to give things a go. That's how I would describe the look on my 10 year old son's face after he shot his first deer. Out of my four sons Mitchell has always shown a keeness to get out into the bush and farmlands to chase what ever was on the target list. From a small rabbit or possum to wild boar, New Zealand red deer or the Himalayan Tahr, he's always been a starter.

It was Tuesday the 15th of December 2009 and together with my two eldest son's; Samuel aged 11 years and Mitchell 10 years, we headed off for the Routeburn Track on a hiking expedition. I should mention that there was 18 in our party of friends and family.

The trip had been organised by a friend some months earlier. The hike was mainly that, a hike with some hunting opportunities along the way. The plan was to walk the Routeburn track and then circle back along the Greenstone track towards our original starting point on the shores of Lake Wakatipu. We were to spend three days on the Routeburn and the remaining two on the Greenstone.

The Routeburn Track is located in land from Glenorchy; a small rural settlement on the shores or Lake Wakatipu. Glenorchy is 40 minutes drive from Queenstown, a well known tourist spot in the lower reaches of the South Island.

The Routeburn Track is one of New Zealand's “Great Walks” and is approximately 32 kilometres long with four serviced huts available for use. It trully is a “Great Walk” and if you're into hiking I would thoroughly recommend it. The expedition takes you through native rain forest out into open grass flats and eventually meandering up into tussock alpine tops. The gradient is not step and the track is well formed and easy to follow.

It wasn't till we split off the Routeburn track at Lake Howden and entered into the headlands of the Greenstone Valley that the rifle could be unstrapped from my pack in anticipation. The target species was the New Zealand fallow deer. The only day we got rain on this walk was now and the heavens opened. Eighteen of us arrived at the McKellar; a 16 bunk hut, wet, tired and ready to settle in for the night. Thank goodness the party of seven already at the hut decided to move on. There was no hunting that night with heavy rain falling and hungry sons to feed.

The next morning dawned fine, clear and still. I quietly crept out of the wooden floored hut and headed off in the direction of a clearing I had see deer sign on the day before as we had walked past. A quick circle of the spot showed promising evidence of recent visitors but no animals in sight. I stealthily stalked across the opening and into the bush on the opposite side. I continued my hunt down towards the lake finding spasmodic sign.

I eventually ended up on the shores of Lake McKellar and doubling back onto the originall clearing. Creeping along a ghost like figure caught my eye. I slowly reversed back to see a albino fallow doe standing broadside at about 150 yards looking straight at me alert with her head high and ears pricked. Moving slowly with purpose I pulled my Ruger M77 .223 up to my shoulder, aiming at the lower neck and squeezed the trigger.

Sounds perfect doesn't it, and I wish it was and that everything went to plan but alas my blonde friend jumped up kicking out it's hind legs and bounced off. Unsure if my shot had connected or not I waited for a while and looked wantingly into the foliage hoping to spot the deer and give it another blast if required.

After a few minutes I walked over to where the deer had been standing only to be disappointed to find nothing but green grass and fresh deer sign. Bugger! The worst thing was that my mates back at the hut would have heard that shot and I'd be in for a bit of a ribbing, which sure enough came my way.

I walked back to bush lodge with my tail between my legs. Much to my pleasant surprise I found fresh deer hoof prints within 150 yards of the hut and fresh deer sign within 20 yards of the hut. Now for North American hunters who have deer eating the rose bushs that my not seem anything out of the ordinary but for New Zealand this is something to write home about.

My oldest son Samuel had suffered from several unexplained and unwanted nose bleeds and wasn't feeling too good about things and was looking forward to getting home. Hunting was not for him. Mitchell, keen as mustard, was up for the challenge.

As we headed out I spotted black forms just above the grass tops about 400 yards off. A quick look through my Leupold 10x42 confirmed my hopes, fallow deer all bedded down. A committee meeting was convened and an unanimous decision was made; the plan of attack decided. This was going to be Mitchell's chance to shoot his first New Zealand deer.

The wind was in our favour and as we got closer and the gap diminished we were crawling on our bellys to get into a good vantage point. With only 50 yards (Mitchell will say 100 yards) between us I got Mitchell into a comfortable prone position. Unsure if the .223 would do the job with a shoulder shot I initially had him aiming for the neck. Uncertainty of his aim we reverted back to aiming at the deers heart and lungs. Resting carefully with the cross hairs steadfastly on the grazing fallow deer unbeknown of its' peril I gave Mitch the nod.

Slowly squeezing the trigger the rifle jumped, but not half as much as the deer. The young fallow hind rose up on her hind legs came down, did the death circle and then fell over, much to the delight of my budding deer hunter. Not knowing where the danger came from the dead fallow deer's two companions unwittingly ran straight towards us. A mature fallow hind stopped 15 yards from me facing away. I grabbed the rifle from Mitch reloaded and put the duplex sights on the back of the deers neck and squeezed. This story had a happier ending to my earlier encounter with the fallow collapsing instintaneously.

The third and final member of the trio a young yearling ran circles around us bringing much delight to the older members of the hunting party who were gesturing fractically for me to shoot it. Hunting was over for the day with two animals on the ground and enough meat to carry for the two days of hiking left. We watched with amusement as the young docile yearling completed large arcs looking for her companions before eventually taking cover in the bush.

It was handshakes and high fives all round followed by photographs and boning out of the meat. I had to warn Mitchell to stop smiling so much fearing that his head would split in two. It was a great hunt being a part of Mitchell's first successful New Zealand deer hunt. He has shot tahr before this - but that's another story. As you can imagine like any first time hunter the story was told and retold and slightly embellished (more by his father) as the day grew longer.

By the end of that day we had seen a total of 26 fallow deer most during the middle during the hottest time sunning themselves out in the sun. After five days of walking (and talking) the band of weary men and women made it back to our vehicles and commenced the long journey back to Ashburton. A great trip and one we all will remember for various reasons. As for Mitchell, I believe it was the birth of “A Good Keen Man”.

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