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Buffalo dreaming

by Col Allison

Two hard-working SSAA executives finally see a dream come true - hunting buffalo in the Top End from ‘the good ship Reliance’.

Two hard-working SSAA executives finally see a dream come trueThey’d skirted the crocodiles on the beach at sun up, ever mindful of the buffalo carcass previously found torn apart by the giant saurians. Out on the water, mackerel were leaping beside the 20m-long Reliance, built in 1932 as a pearling vessel. Their floating home for the May hunt, the ship bobbed gently at its mooring. A sea eagle circled high above on the thermals.

As always, they had come ashore at dawn in a dinghy, the outboard making little noise. Certainly it didn’t disturb the dancing brolgas in the nearby swamp, nor the odd buffalo they found off the beach. The trio moved slowly through the open woodlands on an old buffalo trail, watching for reptilian ambushes and trying to forget the hook-like grass seeds down their sweaty necks.

They skirted the green ant swarms in the pandanus, insects that catch a lift as you pass by and bite with memorable ferocity. Their only saving grace? The ants taste sweet when you bite back, sucking nectar from their abdomens.

Fresh sign of big buffalo. Tracking. Tracking slowly now. Super quiet. Extra careful with every footfall. The trio: Bill Shelton, ‘presso’ of the SSAA; Keith Tidswell, former national president and the Association’s United Nations lobbyist; and their guide, Nigel Scullion of Darwin. Bill christened Scullion ‘Tarzan’ after he jumped overboard one day and grabbed a baby hammerhead shark and rode it for fun.

They’d been moving along the trail for 90 minutes, the rising heat and humidity of a long extended Wet Season drawing perspiration until they were soaked. Trying to keep the right hand dry so that the grip was firm on the rifle, ready for action, was a conscious effort. Several times in days past, when coming suddenly upon buffalo, the rifle had been flung to the shoulder. But the quarry hadn’t been good enough to shoot.

The pace was beginning to show on the two city slickers, so a frequent drink break was necessary. The extreme temperatures and humidity up in the Top End bring about dehydration quickly, so it is recommended that visitors drink about six litres a day.

They heard a puzzling sound on their back-trail. As the noise neared, it became galloping hooves. They all dived off the track behind a large tree, imagining they were about to be run down by a herd of buffs.

The sounds rapidly approached and, as if on cue, a herd of Timor ponies broke back to a trot and then stopped, wide-eyed, no more than five metres away. They may never have seen white men before. Bill, a lifelong horseman who in his youth had tried his hand at droving a few hundred miles from this spot, snorted alarm and every brumby turned tail and thundered off hell for leather for cover.

“This is one of life’s memories that will always remain vivid,” Keith thought to himself. The downside was whether or not this interlude spooked the buffalo. They moved on, slowly. Soon faint sounds came from a paperbark swamp. There was something else moving. An occasional splash. As they drew closer, the trio heard the unmistakable sound of pigs wallowing. Then they saw them - all black, some sleeping and some suckling. Sows, piglets and a boar. Bill and Keith made mental notes to shoot a few before the week-long hunt was over. They saw heaps when hunting buffalo, but only shot three later when hunting pigs.

They passed the swine Indian-fashion, stopping whenever the pigs settled, only moving when the porkers poked about. However, just when the danger seemed behind them, the group disturbed a large, lone boar. But, as luck would have it, the brute moved off without undue fuss.

It was then they caught up with the buffalo. Ahead there was a larger disturbance; slipping along the trail, the trio came upon saplings covered in mud. Still wet, perhaps only minutes old. The height of the mud indicated a large adult buff. Perhaps the trophy they both sought.

It was Bill’s shot, as agreed shortly after Nigel had received written permission from the Aboriginal landholder to hunt the area. Nigel cautioned him to get ready for anything. Just as they started to rise from the swamp into tall grass, a large buffalo swung challenging towards the trio.

Bill really wanted to shoot a big bull, a bull with wide horns. “My God,” he thought, as the full size of the animal materialised. “It’s huge - and it has terrific horns. It’ll do me,” he mused. He raised the rifle for the shot…

The hunt had been organised by Col Mellon, president of the SSAA NT, an ex-heavyweight fighter whose mate, Nigel Scullion, runs Reliance Charters in the Northern Territory. There were others in the party, which became something of an informal SSAA ‘presso’s’ meet.

The trio heard the unmistakable sound of pigs wallowingFor as long as he could remember, it had been Shelton’s dream to hunt buffalo. He loved the tales of Ernest Hemingway and regarded the NT as the last great Aussie wilderness - a Mecca for outdoors adventure against our only truly big game - babulus babulus, the feral buffalo. These giant beasts - weighing up to 700kg, 3m long and 1.7m to the shoulder - were descended from the 1824 shipment of domestic buffs from Jakarta via Moluccan traders to the Garden Point Garrison on Melville Island and another to Bathurst Island.

Bill Shelton was born in 1929 in Sydney, but the intervening war years brought tough times and the opportunities to head to the bush were considered special. The need to bring home a rabbit for the pot and to place the shot carefully were instilled in him at an early age. His cattle-droving sojourn galvanised a lifelong love and understanding of horses and a great respect for Australia’s wildlife.

As a 19-year-old, Bill attended the formation of the national SSAA in New South Wales in 1948. Now retired, he participated throughout the years in all sorts of shooting events, with a special love affair with shotguns, competition and coaching, culminating in a managerial job with Winchester (Australia). Bill has guided the direction of the SSAA with the benefit of all his years of experience with people and the shooting sports. He was elected president of the national body in 1997.

It was the stories of friends and writers who, throughout the years, had stalked buffalo, rusa and sambar deer that fuelled the desire to experience the thrill first hand. He promised himself that one day he too would stalk buffalo through the paperbark swamps and the head-high grass - but always there was the call of business, family and duty to the SSAA.

When the invite finally came, Shelton was beside himself. And so, at the age of 71, time and opportunity merged and Bill had to decide what rifle to shoot. Not surprisingly, he chose a Model 70 Winchester, Leupold scoped and bedded and floated by mutual friend Col Payne of Dapto - Bill’s red-, fallow-, hog- and rusa deer-stalking mate for decades.

What was surprising was the calibre chosen - 7mm Remington Magnum (my own love on big game, but big game smaller than buffalo). Bill reckoned he was beyond handling a .375 H&H Magnum, with its hefty recoil, so set about making his seven-mil hit harder. This was achieved by the use of 175-grain Woodleigh slugs at a chronographed 2850fps behind a red-hot load of 2213 Mulwex.

On the theory that it would be carried more than shot, the rig was slimmed down to just 7.5lbs, thanks to Freddy Horton who lopped, lapped and crowned the barrel and shaved back the metalwork. Even with case-slaughtering pressure, the rifle shot 1.5 MOA at the Silverdale Range. Of equal importance to Bill, the Woodleighs, better than any other bullet, punched through a fabricated, laminated ‘buffalo’ made of thick leather (the hide), hefty wooden plank (the bones) and four wet telephone books (muscles) at 50 metres, expanding perfectly. Shelton trained for his quick offhand shooting at Sydney’s new St Marys SSAA Indoor Range. All was in readiness.

…The buffalo was huge. When it swung challengingly towards them, Shelton shouldered the 7mm magnum. His aim was at the heart and lungs and the Woodleigh drilled clean through the chest, knocking out the boiler room. The buffalo bull fell without a sound. Nigel ‘paid the insurance’ - a shot in the spine from his .375 H&H Magnum. Bill Shelton was buggered. With the animal at his feet, he began shaking like a leaf from exhaustion and the dam-burst of emotions. “At that moment,” he said later, “I felt every one of my 71 years. But I was very happy. A dream had come true.” A tape measure confirmed a monumental trophy - the horns were a full two metres around the curve.

The shadows were lengthening by the time they’d finished butchering the beast. A swamp in this part of the country is no place to be when darkness falls, so they started to move, with Keith Tidswell taking point and Nigel doing the hard yakka carrying the horns. Despite being weighed down, they were well satisfied with the day’s hunt. Bill was elated by his kill. His thoughts alternated between the perfect shot and the menu on the Reliance: grilled fish and shellfish, fine wines and a nip or two of Scotch. Ahh!

They were making steady time to the pick-up point when, silhouetted against the setting sun, a large beast was spotted hiding in the bush right alongside the trail. Waiting for them to pass? That’s what they thought. But just as the threesome moved closer, puffing under their burden, the buffalo bull suddenly launched himself at them.

Keith had little time to think. His Brno .375 H&H was up at a blink and the 270-grain softpoint thumped the bull solidly in the heart and he went down. A second shot to the back of the skull made doubly sure. Nigel had been on the horns of a supposedly dead buffalo early in his career and took no chances. Good advice for everyone. An inspection of the bull showed old injuries. He was no doubt cantankerous.

Nigel, Keith and Bill sat quietly for a moment before the hard work of taking more meat and horns. A goanna, attracted by the smell of fresh blood, scrambled up a nearby tree to wait for a gratis feed.

They called the dinghy in at last light. The extra hands helped with the big load of meat and the widespread horns. The sun set magnificently on calm water as the dinghy zipped towards the floating hotel. Darkness fell on a northern idyll.

That evening, they dined on buffalo steaks and oysters previously picked from the rocks. It was prepared by master cook David McCann and eaten on the upper deck of the Reliance.

Before drifting off, the ‘old man’ read the last book by his favourite author - True at First Light. It was published only recently. Bill Shelton slept peacefully that night. He dreamt of Hemingway and buffalo - his buffalo.