Maze Runner

Stone walls pierced above the dry tussock; an ancient sea bed raised by prodigious forces over millions of years. Now a carved island of labyrinth scale boulders, caves, crevasses, passages and mounds. Like nothing I’d ever seen on television, nor in my backcountry experiences. A formidable landscape to try and hunt I thought. The challenges were all new and the danger very real. This forgotten mountain, that lies in the interior of Kahurangi national park was my chosen hunting location. I had been here before, accompanied by three friends but this time I was alone, unless you count the usual Kim dog, my faithful canid companion. Trudging up that scrubby track, looking at the Swiss mountain’isc scenery, I knew I had to keep my wits about me. I’m no stranger to hunting Solo, and no stranger to danger. But this place was a spooky. Not in the way an abandoned house might sit blankly on a hill. But spooky in the way mother nature is totally indifferent to your living status. I was a flea climbing on a titan.

The start of the day had consisted of what I can only describe as moist exploits. Five river crossings, carrying filming gear, and sometimes Kim in either arm had left me with wet boots. The greatest tragedy that can befall any hunter. The misty conditions were constantly playing on my mind, as the clouds closed in and retreated constantly, leaving me with excellent views or completely nothing to look at. Not the best conditions for a rock maze filled with sinkholes. Kim was ever the optimist, scanning down into the vast basin below me, able to sense what I could only hear despite my extensive glassing. Six foot flax was concealing a mob of goats, their lively bleats echoing of the grand walls of stone. We hadn’t even got into the crazy terrain yet. The clouds circled and arched in great white pillars around us. The onset of sunshine onto a rain-soaked mountainside made the mist dance. A kea rode a thermal high above us as we hit the top of the ridge. The landscape Infront of us was submerged in dense white. Out of the sea of mist, monsters of Karst rock lingered above the surface, reminding me of what was to come.

Many had traversed this area without any danger, it’s a popular location among cavers and holds the record for NZ’s longest cave as well as the deepest. The longest cave Bulmer cavern still isn’t fully explored and many of the underground pits boast triple story structures. Water is also a major issue, the same geographic forces that have carved thousands of kilometres of caves sucks the water out of every nook and cranny via gravity. There is quite literally no body of water, every drop of rain just seeps away. Only a few tarns lie beyond the area I was hunting. Which I’d have to make it to as soon as possible. By far the greatest danger are the various sinkholes. Seemingly appearing out of nowhere, you’ll be walking through a boulder field and then suddenly you staring into an inky abyss. The depths of which range anywhere from less than 10 meters to immeasurable by the calculation made by throwing a stone in to hear it hit the bottom. Several people have come into this area and gone completely missing without a trace. Not entirely uncommon in the NZ back country, but it certainly played on my mind as me and Kim walked past the first of the great sinkholes.

Anyone reading this who loves horror movies has likely seen the descent movies. The general premise is a bunch of cavers run into trouble underground and start getting picked off one by one by a race of troglodyte cannibal creatures. It’s decently scary. I’m certainly no believer in the paranormal, but I couldn’t help but think of the series of strategy’s I’d need to employ to escape becoming cannibal food in the unlikely event a mythical race of human eating cave people did exist up here. You might wonder why I-after having thought about the descent- figured I’d sleep in a cave. Because why the hell not, fighting a bunch of subterranean cannibals would make a cool story. Me and Kim had successfully navigated our way to our home for the night. A few meters above the most visible pass through the boulders is a handy overhang. It was a little damp, but in the event of rain or wind it would be very handy. More importantly, who doesn’t want to pretend to be a neanderthal. I only wish there had been some firewood. I got settled, stashing my gear in a dry corner and laying out my bedding. The mist was being replaced by sunshine; it was time to move.

Kim strode ahead, checking the air currents that followed the rock up. Perched on a cliff in the shade we were totally camouflaged. This must be what a golden eagle feels like hunting chamois. My bino’s carved up the country. A decent amount of sign lay on the ground, but not enough to make me comfortable. If I wanted to get an animal, I was going to have to work for it. Kim leaned on me endlessly, I talked to my Camera a bit and eventually decided we were moving on. At around this point in every hunt, doubt pokes it’s nose into your focus. It really happens the moment you take that first step, it’s just small and hard to notice. Ignore it. Just round the next corner, just over the closest mound, there could be…CRAP! A bloody big hole! One more step Infront of me was a chasm, so effortlessly concealed. A light ray beamed down inside, affording me the pleasure of seeing exactly how deep it was. Inky blackness is better. My immediate thought was Kim, she was sitting just to my side. I’ve heard many stories of dogs falling in Mineshafts and sinkholes. Not something me or Kim are very keen to rein act. The sink hole was maybe a meter wide, and truthfully, I’d have to be pretty stupid to have fallen into it. It’s easy to see how some unfortunate adventurer, in the mist, rain or wind could slide into one of these on some greasy tussock or trip on one of the jutting fossils. I wouldn’t call myself an adrenaline junky but I love doing dangerous things. The difference is I like to do dangerous things carefully. Me and Kim gave the hole a wide berth and kept on the hunt. Unbeknown to us, A chamois buck had seen the whole thing.

He was perched at the top of a massive rock; well im not really sure you could call it a rock. He was perched on a stone so big it was indistinguishable from the ground I was standing on 300 meters away. I quickly knelt down and grabbed my camera out, using my telescopic lens to snap some cool footage of him. He turned to leave but would come right back. Seems we were a very interesting duo, so he took to sitting and watching us. I knew we were going to have to be a little cunning to close the gap to get a shot. I wasn’t quite comfortable at this distance, so we snuck down into the maze. The jumbled mounds and shallow ditches kept us hidden while the buck watched. He could still see us, but he was less sure of what we were. Obviously there has been a lack of ground hunting pressure here. We crawled up the rough surface of one of the massive stone hills. My knuckles grinded against the sandstone and Kim’s claws scraped against rock. It was steep but we had no other choice, I dared not look behind myself, knowing there was a significant fall should we start sliding, I kept Kim safely Infront of me, fortunately the rock was coarse and we made it up. Suddenly The buck stood up. I threw my pack down and hunkered into my rifle. Fire and thunder erupted out of my rifle. The chamois leapt out of sight. The crack, it bounced through the labyrinth like a bolt of lightning; the flea had shaken the titan. The mountain gave a sigh of acknowledgement but remained still. I sighed too. A pink glow had begun to sneak over the sky. We needed to hurry. I climbed on, Kim padding excitedly behind me. We jogged above the maze as orange light hit its walls. A leap over a ravine, a sturdy jump and there it was. Folded up in a patch of tussock. Warm blue eyes resting. I ran my finger through his coat and stroked his muzzle. A graceful master of the maze.

A full pack of meat, glossy black horns as a momento, and best of all an experience. If you asked me the reason I hunt, I could give you the cliché options, conservation and food. The ones that are easiest for the non-hunting crowd to accept. I appreciate knowing where my food comes from, and like to nourish my body with more than just calories. Conserving our game animals and improving habitat for native species. These are important to me, But If I had to pick one reason, it’d be adventure. The far-off mountain, the freedom of a wild challenge, out of my league as far as pure natural ability against masters of the wilderness. It constantly draws me in, gets me in life threatening situations at times, but that’s what makes it fun. It drags me to avalanche plagued valleys, foreign lands inhabited by massive North American carnivores and to labyrinths of stone. I’m an adventure hunter. Standing at the top of the South Island, above the distant valleys. Basking in the glory of a sunset inferno. All you can do is dream bigger, knowing that next great adventure, is just over the horizon.