Finding Peace in the Hunt: My long overdue trip to the Kaimanawa Ranges

It had been over two years since I ventured out for an overnight hunting trip. Life, along with the chaos of my mental health, had kept me away from the solace of the great outdoors. Afterwards, as I talked with my therapist, we unearthed a profound realization: I had been allowing my concern for others' opinions and judgement of me to distance me from the moments that I cherish. It's fascinating how deeply these concerns can permeate aspects of our lives. But this trip to the Kaimanawa Ranges was different. This time, it was about reclaiming the peace and joy of being in the wilderness, unburdened by the noise and pressures of everyday life. 

“I let my concern about how other people react and think/feel about what I do push me away from my enjoyment of actually being in the moment and simply experiencing what I enjoy.”

The adventure began on a Friday night, as I found myself driving down Clements Mill Road, eager to reconnect with nature. My mind was set on embracing the peace and stillness that had eluded me for so long.

The Friday Night Hunt

As I made my way down Clements Mill Road that Friday night, it felt like I was reconnecting with an old, familiar friend. The landscape, drenched in the hues of dusk, held a certain tranquillity that seemed to resonate with the rhythms of my heartbeat. With the excitement of the hunt coursing through me, I couldn’t wait to step into the Kaimanawa Ranges and immerse myself in the wild again.

I managed to squeeze in a quick hunt before the light dimmed utterly. However, my eagerness was slightly hampered by a small oversight – I had forgotten my headlamp in the truck. This meant I needed to be back before darkness fully enveloped the forest, lending a palpable tension to the brevity of my excursion. Nonetheless, as I trekked through the underbrush, the familiar crunch of leaves underfoot and the symphony of nocturnal creatures emerging from their day-long slumber brought a deep sense of peace. 

Wandering further, I discovered a trail that seemed promising. Making a mental note, I decided to explore this path the next day. Fate had something else in store for me that evening, though. I crossed paths with an elderly hunter, an old-timer with years etched into the lines on his face. At 71, he moved with the deliberate pace of someone who understood the forest’s secrets and rhythms far better than someone in a rush ever could. Ironically, his slowed pace had granted him recent success – he had managed to shoot a deer right off the road just 20 metres in.

Conversing with him was like tapping into a well of knowledge. I realised the richness of wisdom shared between hunters is a treasure. Our encounter was brief, but the connection felt substantial – a reminder that the spirit of community thrives even in the solitude of the wild. Saying our goodbyes, I headed back, light-hearted and reflective, looking forward to a night of rest and the promise of new adventures at dawn. A feed of my favourite Radix meal, and off to bed!

The next day…

Come Saturday morning, I awoke early, the excitement of a new day’s adventure propelling me out of my sleeping bag. I could still feel the dew’s chill from the previous evening’s outing, but this time I was prepared. I had some more Radix for breakfast (and why does bush-made coffee always taste the best?

I decided to ditch the barefoot shoes for my old trusty Lowas. Although they were reliable, they had their downsides. My feet felt encumbered, and fatigue set in much quicker than when I wore the more minimalist footwear. 

Don't worry - there is plenty more to read.

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