Hunting in PNG is difficult, logistics and firearms regs pose major obstacles but there is a way for any thrill seeker keen to experience a trip of a life time. You may be interested to take advantage of a reduced rate tour into the Fly region area of the western provinces. The cost is $6500AUD for 7-9days not including airfares. This tour you can hunt every day with your own dinghy and guide and they will also supply a local tracker to assist. On top of this you can hunt as many stags as you want, with no trophy fees, also bird hunting / watching and increadible fishing. You can basicly request a mixed bag, e.g.. traditional hunting with locals, possibly crocodile, cassawary, pig and all birds. Doing it this way takes any worry and anxiety out of potential logistic issues, consider the safety of having radio contact, back up boats and help, a mothership with all the benefits and comforts, a bed and shower to return to every evening, a chef and galley, cold drinks and ice in eski on your boat everyday and beer in the evenings with lounge/sitting area. This trip is not offererd anywhere nor advertised in hunting circles, l will need to initially assist you with contact and tour plans.



Regards,
Stewart Forbes
Secretary NT Branch
Australian Deer Association
nt.sec@austdeer.asn.au

Please read my report from last years adventure if your interested.

HUNTING WITH THE RIVER PEOPLE, By Stewart Forbes Sept 2016

Please Sir, Stop! Was the request given by my tracker as l walked ahead, a fish camp down yonder ways, I must alarm the children of your approach for you will frighten them as they would not have seen a white person before. At this point an apparent realization dawned, l was high on the wagon of life fulfilling a long awaited childhood fascination of Hunting in the Land of the Head Hunter.
An uncharted Hunting & Fishing excursion to PNG had challenged my willingness for some time and giving witness to the dark streets of Port Moresby and the unsettling sights of automatic assault weapons, razor wire compounds and back up escape vehicles, one would then understandably consider alternative hunting destinations, none the less my report in which l will convey is inspired by desire to expose the unequalled time spent hunting and seeking game with the deserving River People of the Western Province Jungles.
I am subject to a hankering passion for everything wild where all roads seem to lead back to Deer hunting and the mere simple mention of anything remotely related to Deer and my ears are pricked. I know and understand this feeling be mutual with Barramundi and Trout fisherman alike and many years back viewing a fishing special on PNG I fore mostly noticed Rusa Deer in the back drop on the flood plains. This short lived moment now etched solid had become a model of endeavor to discover, numerous internet research sessions proved fruitless, l was unable to source an outfitter or guide willing to offer a tailored mixed bag thrill seeking adventure, but my passion for coordinating such a pilgrimage increased with favor when my discoveries revealed the potential to hunt Magpie Geese, Crowned Pidgeon, Bush fowl, Spotted Whistler Duck , Water Buffalo, Cassowary , Wild Boar and many other waterfowl and upland game bird species. Another major player in this quest had now unexpectedly been brought to my attention and this renowned beast boasts a reputation for arguably being the pound for pound hardest and most aggressive fighting fresh water fish in the world, The Papuan Black Bass.
Preparation being a key component l required a strategic contact and being the Secretary for the Australian Deer Association up here in the Northern Territory l managed to network alliances and touched base with a visionary Sports Angler and Tour operator from Port Moresby. We listed my objectives and over a year of emails, planning, applications, request letters, access approvals, firearms and logistic matters, we finally set the stage and locked in dates.
The buildup months prior to a hunting trip becomes exciting and one finds themselves acquiring all necessary provisions; clothing, boots, packs, tackle and all most everything you don’t need. However many years of alpine mountain hunting and in more recent years, hot climate hunting, l have learned to keep my gear light and simple, although l didn’t account on developing a fetish for purchasing fishing lures to the point l had become unable to withhold the urge to improve my growing collection, this l claim to be worth every cent as the experience encountered by lure fishing Black Bass could truly become very addictive and a probable annual voyage.
Firearms and Ammunition had been arranged along with all permits, l found myself bearing a Ruger Bolt action .308, a caliber close to heart and a rifle l was familiar with and certainly capable of submitting any Molocun Rusa Stag. As for our wing shooting exploits, l was provided a Berretta Silver Pidgeon for Waterfowl and a Brno .22 for ground dwelling jungle fowl.
A short evening in Port Moresby was well spent getting acquainted with crew, sharing a quality Banquet meal at a local restaurant with an early night but not before prepping my gear with big hopes for the week ahead. Simple eggs for brekky and ready for a highly anticipated fixed wing flight into the wilderness. A remote airstrip landing now gave birth to a new chapter in my hunting memoirs as l was dazzled with amazement in what l was now witnessing; a cultural welcoming ceremony being performed by hundreds of colorful cladded local tribes people, the overwhelming noise of traditional song and dance, the hypnotic chanting with the beating of drums was mesmerizing as this was directed solely towards myself and a handful of avid Black Bass fisherman who l had the pleasure of accompanying. Immediately we were granted with gifts and surrounded by numbers of friendly villagers, an unexpected emotional mixture of feelings never to be forgotten had overwhelmed me; Happiness, Delight, Sadness, a feeling of unworthiness and a clueless sense of not knowing how to react at such generous attention directed towards us from people who remain so unfortunate.
Here at the village we greeted with our young local team of obliging Fishing Guides who had too been waiting our arrival, two days previously they had spent steaming the Mothership west along the coast towing Punts from Port Moresby to the current rendezvous. Facilities aboard the vessel were quality, clean, spacious and modern with air conditioning. An entertaining area to relax and share stories, ample showers and toilets but most importantly a full time chef who smiled and kept the fridge stocked full of cold beverages. Once settled in and freshened up we discussed the scope of activities projected over the next week. Clear were my intentions known to focus on hunting the mornings and fish the evenings and with no cause for concerns l was assured that my tracker and gun bearer would be awaiting my arrival at the next village.
The next day ahead is a real life memory never to be forgotten, a sight to have witnessed and an honor to have been present.
Aramia River, steaming North to Awaba Village, an invitation had been granted for permission to attend a Ceremonial War Canoe Race and Tribal Festival, it was made apparent to us that only very few outsiders have ever witnessed this gathering. Two bends prior to Awaba the presence of villagers along the river edge became more prevalent and so to it was our first sighting of a 72 man war canoe, l quickly made way to the bow, l recall the powerful loud noise of hundreds of men chanting as l watched my footing while hurrying for the best view possible, l now stood high at the bow above the water in disbelief with genuine shear amazement of my whereabouts and what l was actually witnessing. Dozens of war canoes paddling at a rate of knots both port and starboard filled with warriors in traditional dress from a land forgotten in their hundreds chanting with empowerment while beating their paddles and raising them high in declaration of their fearsomeness as though they were off to battle as it once must have been in an era gone by. What a sight to behold and though l could possibly attempt to convey this image through photographic and video footage l would never in two life times begin to share the feeling absorbed from such powerful sound generated by so many warriors in such a wild arena. It truly was a living scene resembling that of the mighty Zulu warriors on the hillside at Yorkes Drift.

As privileged guests of honor a truly magical day had unfolded witnessing the impressive War Canoe races and experiencing the tribal song and dance was an unaccounted phenomenal highlight that will never be forgotten.
This perfect beginning to the adventure had pumped everyone full of positive energy and the eagerness to challenge oneself against the ultimate river prize was now a serious campaign and over the next few days’ hard work prevailed. Slow trolling deep diving lures proved without question the most successful method of hooking these mighty river monsters, Halco RMG Fluro Scorpians reigned dominant but not without quality cranking gear, l had purchased a Calcutta d5 and a Venom 15kg Bait caster especially for this trip. Admittedly l began my quest giving too much respect to my opponent and loosing numerous 25lbs plus fish l soon learned through disappointment that an aggressive retaliation need be employed in order to square up and last a round with these beasts. My weapon of graphite sported 100lb leader & 80lb braid tied using an FG knot, l maintained faith but each fish dropped presented a different short fall in my lack of experience and terminal failure mostly due to the incredible unforgiving jaw power which managed to consistently crush and straighten heavy trebles like they were candy.
Wasting no time l had found myself on the bragging board in first place and well ahead with the heaviest Bass weighing an impressive 37lb, it was hooked like almost all the Bass and caught in typical fashion hiding in ambush biding time waiting and positioned to strike like a coiled spring on the very edge of deep structure. Working and adjusting the Lure depth had proved the difference between success and failure, a foot too far beyond the snag and you miss your chance, this method of trolling is no different to that of Barra fishing in the Top End and given the experience gained in the last 5 years of living up north learning the ropes from gun fisherman friends, l was prepared and armed with some creative tactics and sure enough to my credit these bag of tricks paid dived-ends.
On this day we optioned to fish the morning, we focused on a portion of river trolling deep at 7metres, a stretch of forest over hung the embankment and harbored a series of dead fall ideal for bumping snags, the fog had begun to lift and soon enough we managed to land a good representative on board but not before we had trolled a few runs back & forth on this particular snag. A few pics and a quick release followed by several more trolling attempts on this same snag with approximately 30yards of line out had been the most fruitful decision of the trip because just like what you dream about l felt the soft resistance of a fish holding the lure ever so lightly in its mouth waiting for that decisive moment of its commitment to swallow. Its indecisive hesitation was maybe enough to work in my favor and cox it out from the safety of cover because in a blink of an eye the fish smashed my lure with deadly intentions and turned into a serious predatory bad ass and now at this very moment having it away from cover and without second guessing l surged absolutely every inch of purchase possible and sank them trebles deep giving me a solid platform to start the battle. Immediately and instinctively the brute raced back to cover and with drag maxed out at 7kg with 2 yards to go before he would inevitably have me tangled I cranked him hard and seen him for the first time high on the surface a yard from the snag close to the bank, his shoulders and head were dimensionally of mammoth proportion, l will never forget the wake which followed as he surfaced at that moment, this sight had now just increased my adrenalin tenfold.
In this split second he was turned and keeping every ounce of pressure and all my focus on the fight l began to retrieve line but without further ado he blasted off peeling line at a burst of knots, this show of strength occurred multiple times and tensions rose as the other Angler had now failed to retrieve his line fast enough and had allowed it to catch the stern leaving the majority of his line exposed in the water and sure enough as the fight came closer the unthinkable happened and my blood was boiling, this was a fish of a life time not to be undermined by careless error. His line was soon cut although it felt like forever and during that pantomime episode l had felt a treble give way and all this calamity l thought l was going to lose the fish and have an anxiety attack. l kept the pressure on regardless, it was approaching 10minutes and l felt confident we had him broken and sure enough as he reached the vessel but not before adding another burst to which l had anticipated however l feared the worst and until he was completely exhausted l remained totally fearful of losing such a well earnt prize. It was only a matter of time before he appeared before us in a beaten but defiant image which will last forever in my mind.
Out came the grips along with the oversize landing net and with 2 pairs of hands we hauled the beast on board. What a sight to behold, a true trophy in every respect, now came the moment of truth and out came the scales. He weighed in at 47.4lbs and a new unofficial WORLD RECORD Black Bass as the current record stands at 46lbs. I was ecstatic, totally pumped with adrenalin and blown away with sheer joy. What a wonderful experience! That evening we drank red wine and gathered round as l relived the story and celebrated with fine company and good food.
But none the less and more so, my Hunting endeavors needed to be exploited and by this stage the beautiful forest and open flood plain surroundings were now demanding my complete attention. The romantic thought of hunting Deer had once again managed to prevail above all on my list of objectives, a plan of attack was discussed with the crew and tracker. These next several days l would step foot on land and explore the swamp grass plains and undulating forest hills, animal varieties and populations were abundant, incredible bird life reigned the open skies to the darkest corners of the jungle floors. The overwhelming vocal presence of continuous bird talk above and below the jungle canopy was acoustically the greatest concert one could attend, to find yourself absorbed in such harmony is a true prize only earnt by the actions of being present in such a position. A Great Hornbill flies above through the upper story canopy and consciously you become mesmerized with the unmistakable sound of thrust generated by every wing stroke, at this point all other surrounding noise is made redundant. The sighting of a Bird of Paradise and the equivalent feeling of success paralleled to that of securing a trophy Stag, bird encounters were prolific, at no stage prior did l realize or comprehend the immense satisfaction of being such a guest in this spectacular natural arena.
Daily Deer sightings and encounters are frequent, my mind raced to soak up the surrounding environment, l soon learned and adapted to the landscape lay out and topography. In this region the daily morning fog blankets the landscape giving comfort to the deer as they move and feed freely along the river banks where tall grass vegetation appears lush and healthy. On the clock as expected the sun’s rays shine through the fog and so to the deer begin to retreat off the flood plains. Anticipating their movements we would employ a few strategies, a slow stalk along the swamp edge in hope to ambush an unwary deer returning to the forest. This method proved positive with many sightings and some missed opportunities. Deer sightings in many areas became difficult as the high grass limits the access and viewing but the evidence of stags rubbing and fresh wallows maintained hope.
Mid-morning the fog lifts completely and most deer retreat for cover, we then applied a crash and bash technique through the long spear grass, this seemed to jump deer from their beds giving offer to numerous opportunities for potential dispatch but most of which failed the criteria. In the eyes of my local guide and tracker every animal was a possible kill, these people are unfamiliar with sport hunting animals, their focus on claiming a trophy stag is of no importance, a little understanding was required, as we progressed he begun observing my studying of wallows, rub trees, hoof marks, rut pads and our objectives were soon aligned, his enthusiasm had gained momentum. Henry’s willingness to serve was truly endearing, he showed amazing bush skill, consistently identifying all animals by sound, be it there voice or footsteps, his efforts in relaying and demonstrating bush craft was simply a gift to witness, his efforts in staying active and ability to decipher a fresh bush fowl nest that would dwarf the size of a 4wd and dig out the eggs was fascinating, he would walk me into villages and tell stories of the people, who they are and what they do. He explained to me that his father’s generation was sport hunters and the women of the village would follow behind the men with custom made Pandan woven bags made for carrying the heads of warriors from other villages of who they had raided.
Crashing and pushing through long swamp grass proved effective until the hot sun and heat restricted the demanding physical efforts and by midday my focus was now redirected back to the punt chasing Black Bass where l could enjoy the creature comforts of an ice box. While l would fish the afternoons, my tracker would often request to ground the boat for a quick scout to check handy wallows and game trails for fresh marks and in the evenings when the Bass fishing was prime he would leave to spot deer for the following days hunt and then walk back in the night and tell me of his findings. All this information gathering along with our morning hunts became useful in narrowing down the odds as we nearly had all the ingredients in the recipe for finding the stags house and being successful.
This next morning Henry decided to push the Deer around with fire and smoke. The tender had dropped us early and would meet later that morning many miles upstream. Fires are started daily by locals for many reasons, Generate regrowth for hunting animals, Reduction of fuel, Access and Visibility and Driving animals for hunting. Sections of burn can be accessed to avoid walking the boggy swamps, in many sections you would need to negotiate waste high water holes and lily billabongs. My immediate thoughts were how deep and Crocodiles. Before dropping down off a forest ridge, we managed to get a clear view of the swamp we were about to navigate and identified a probable route. As we descended before reaching the plains we muscled through a hundred meters of long grass, once on the swamp plains it became easy going, the lily billabongs however got my nerves going but in the distance l could see boys wading the water spear fishing. I asked Henry about the danger of Crocs, he replied by pointing back to the long grass where we had just walked through. Gee Whizz Henry! He claimed the crocs lay up there for many months, fire is used and the men surround the long grass and kill the crocs on their escape with Bows, Spears and Machete. Days later l passed through a village and held a trophy size Crocodiles head from this such method of hunting in which l have just described.
Up ahead we reached the boys, they urged me to try my hand at throwing a prong spear, l was soon given a humbling lesson from a boy of 10yrs and they had an impressive catch of large snakehead fish. These boys explained they had seen a big Stag down by river swamp in the area we had planned to hunt. We reached the large swamp and soon seen Deer feeding in the long grass, our plan of attack would have me walk well ahead on the swamp edge while Henry followed the rear lighting fires. The wind soon directed the flames straight into the long grass where we had sighted Deer, the noise of crackling burning tall grass was unexpectedly loud and aggressive. I anticipated a panic visualizing Deer escaping from every exit, I underestimated their ability to remain composed under pressure. I should have known better with the many years spent in Alpine country hunting Samber Deer with foxhounds. I have always embraced the notion that until one has hunted Deer under pressure and experienced its decision making capability to process thoughts in compromising circumstances then one has still much to learn about Deer Hunting.
Across the swamp l could see Deer moving as the fire and smoke became too inhospitable. I decided to advance and reach an anticipated escape point in hope it would pose a likely shooting position for the Stag if he were to show, evidently l had to push through high spear grass, as l entered it was well above my head however l was able to follow the labyrinth of animal trails and began a bee –line toward the cutoff point. Smoke was thick in the air and the amplified noise of flames ripping into the high grass sounded dramatically near however l was in no apparent danger as the wind was carrying the flames well away from my movements. After trudging ten minutes with rifle in hand l began to lift onto higher ground away from the bog, I could now just manage to see over the tall grass, l spotted a small open clearing allowing for easy walking, a few steps forward and l was hit with the offensive stench of Stag rut, l braced my rifle in ready mode and visually scanned ahead. I began to cross the small opening, l had the Stag red hot his marks fresh and the mud on his body had painted the vegetation illustrating the direction in which he had left. My choice to head for the shooting position where l presumed the Deer would escape was a good call for he was heading exactly where l anticipated. I believed him to be walking ahead in the tall grass as l would have seen him lift out of the swamp by now and l was on his marks and they were not running. I knew he would hear my movements the closer l approached towards him and so be it the grass was nearly impossible to negotiate without creating noise. I pressed on slowly watching the forest edge and in the short distance l could see Deer lifting out the swamp ahead of the fire.
I recall my thoughts being focused on seeing those deer ahead as they moved into the open while standing and waiting to see if the Stag accompanied them. At this moment l stepped forward a few paces and the Stag stood up 20yards in front of me, l heard him rise to his feet and l could only make out his antlers. l couldn’t conceive l had shut out the notion of him possibly being bedded, regardless l held an ace in favor as l could read his indecisive gesturing head movements, he had been snookered and unwilling to give his position by moving, l had him on the hop as he failed to get a visual on me allowing opportunity to raise my rifle, it was a non-perfect predicament as I could only make out his head and l was unable to see his body position. A shot was required, his patience was wearing thin and he was about to bounce at any moment, l drew a line down his neck and visualized his posture. He now had me sighted, my steadiness was a little disappointing, l squeezed with conviction and the shot rang loud as the bullet bored its way through many yards of spear grass to find a solid resting place. I distinctly heard the deadly sound of a promising hit, the grass around remained still and quite, l was extremely confident l had just secured my first PNG Molocun Rusa Stag, I slowly approached and there he laid, a 29inch model dispatched with a smashing hit from close range.
Over all l am extremely fulfilled to have enjoyed the privilege to carry firearms and hunt in such an untouched wild environment and l would certainly recommend a mixed bag experience of this nature to all thrill seekers and outdoor enthusiasts. l am counting down the days till my next PNG Adventure.
Enjoy Hunting, Respect all animals and l wish you all success. If you would like information and advice on Hunting & Fishing PNG contact me,
Stewart Forbes
Secretary NT Branch
Australian Deer Association
nt.sec@austdeer.asn.au

A dream hunt. Thank you for telling the story. No pictures needed!

What type of pigs were there?

All pigs were typically black long nose asiatic breed, certainly different in appearance of that which we have here in the Top End.