Barry (BJ) and Bob had roped in Autry from the Porirua Branch to hunt with us in a remote area in the Urewera Ranges. We met up at the free camp ground at Lake Aniwhenua the night before we were due to chopper in by Lakeland Helicopters. I discovered Autry had been in the navy with a cousin of mine many years ago and I had been working with a distant relative of his in Hamilton. Good grief, I felt we were almost related.

We were now used to a few comforts when choppering in so we told Autry to bring a folding camp chair as we were going to have plenty of space with only the four of us which meant two men and a heap of gear on each shuttle flight. Autry was an experienced hunter of many years but was more familiar with backpacking in to Sika country and had not been part of a hunting trip into a remote area where you could take in these extra items, but he liked the idea.
Photo: Autry in his element gearing up for another cook up.

Flying over the small clearing far below we could see it was unoccupied again. Our luck was holding but we felt some disappointment with the previous hunting party when we found some discarded meat flung around the clearing itself, and had to dispose of some smelly chunks before we could erect our tents. I tied a pole against the last remaining post of an old biv that used to be on the clearing edge. We then launched two large tarps over the fireplace area and stretched one of them out over an old slab table and tied the far sides to the adjacent Rimu tree. If it should rain, we would have plenty of room to rattle around under these shelters. Unfolding our camp chairs we leisurely demonstrated to Autry how our evenings would appear over the next week relaxing around a warm fire with some refreshments in hand. The next job was to venture downstream to haul a load of firewood back to camp. We found the nearby amount of sign was looking promising.

We didn't really need the gas cooker as our man Autry was an early bird and had the fire going at dawn before the rest of us were out of our sleeping bags. His crack of dawn start to the day boiling the billy and cooking a hearty breakfast was to set a pattern for the rest of the week. In fact he delighted in using his culinary skills at any opportunity whether it was his turn to conjure up the evening meal or not. He had tales to match our tales and his company was welcome as we sat round the campfire each morning and evening.

It was April in the middle of the roar but the first days hunting was disappointing in that I heard not a single roar apart from my own attempts. Heading upstream I spooked a hind in the bush just ahead of me which bolted across the stream and I could see this ideal camp meat disappearing. It then presented a clear target as it slowed and attempted to climb the far bank. My shot had it rolling back down to the stream edge where it stopped almost directly beneath a handy sloping branch where I could string it up. I hadn't heard any other shots when I returned to camp that afternoon so I was surprised to find that BJ had also secured a deer and Bob returned with another. We were well loaded with venison on the first day's hunting with three deer, indicating a good week with hopefully some good trophies. One thing concerned us though, none of us had yet heard any roars.

Autry continued to excel with his culinary concoctions and selection of sauces but was a bit of a worry to me when we were all wandering downstream collecting branches from a fallen tawa tree for firewood. He picked a small berry from a nearby small bush and popped it into his mouth.
“Tai hoa.” I called, “Are they safe to eat?”
“It's alright.” replied Autry, “It's poroporo. I've eaten these for years. Try some.”
“No thanks.” I replied, watching him swallow it down. “They look like deadly nightshade to me.”
We returned to camp and he carried on woodchopping and cooking up a storm as usual. He arose hale and hearty next morning too, so I guess the berries were safe. Either that or he has a cast iron gut. He could no doubt survive easily in the bush when many others would succumb if caught out.

There were no roars that night and neither were there any roars the next day. In fact I heard no roars all week except one downstream and that I heard as we were all packed up ready to fly out on the final day. At least we had some excellent venison to take home and our tally had risen over the week with Bob hauling back the most. If we had a trophy for the most venison he would certainly have won it on this trip. I hope to get into the bush with Autry again one day. I certainly enjoyed his company on that hunt and anyway, I still owe him a new axe handle. - Ian Murphy.