The red stag finally stood. For nearly 20 minutes, Adrian had been lying prone on a hillside in New Zealand’s King Country, watching him bedded on an open ridge as he let out a deep, echoing roar every few minutes—one of the craziest sounds either of us had ever heard, clearly telling every other stag in the valley exactly who was in control.
Behind the rifle, Adrian stayed steady, while I had the camera trained on him, trying to do the same.
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We had traveled halfway across the world for this moment. As the stag rose to his feet and stood broadside, everything seemed to slow down. The suppressed shot rang out, the impact was solid, and he ran about 30 yards before disappearing over the rise. It was clear he was hit well and wouldn’t go far.
We looked at each other, both knowing what had just happened, but not fully believing it.
A Long Way From Home
Getting to New Zealand wasn’t exactly easy. From North Carolina, it meant nearly 19 hours of travel, including a 15-hour flight that somehow felt shorter on the way out than on the way home. Still, the anticipation carried us through, because this wasn’t just another hunt—it was our first international hunting trip, and we were doing it together.
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After landing, we drove into King Country with J.R. Worldwide Hunts, rain falling most of the way. By the time we reached the lodge, the skies began to clear just enough for a quick evening glassing session. Despite the travel fatigue, there was no chance we were sitting that out.
That decision paid off almost immediately when we spotted a mature red stag moving his hinds across the hills. We only saw him briefly, but it was enough to know he was special. We had no idea we were looking at the stag Adrian would take the next day.
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A Different Dynamic
Adrian and I often hunt together, but this trip felt different from the start.
Back home, we’re usually balancing everything ourselves—making decisions, planning stalks, and trying to film when we remember. Here, having a guide allowed us to settle into clearer roles. Adrian would be behind the rifle first, and I was on the camera, focused entirely on capturing the hunt. With someone else directing the pace, I wasn’t split between filming and decision-making, and it allowed both of us to stay fully present and support each other better throughout the experience.
The next morning, we went after the stag we had seen the evening before. We found his hinds early and worked carefully into the wind. Not long into the stalk, we heard our first real roar in the wild, and it stopped us instantly. It wasn’t just a sound—it was something we felt.
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We eventually saw him again, but the opportunity disappeared just as quickly, forcing us to reset and plan for the afternoon.
When we found him again later that day, everything came together. We picked him up as he moved through the valley and quickly worked into a shooting position, eventually crawling in as Adrian and our guide eased over a small rise. There he was, he was bedded in the open, completely unaware. More importantly, we had something we didn’t have that morning—time.
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Adrian’s Chance
Time for Adrian to settle in. Time to read the wind. And time for me to get the camera ready. As we waited, the stag continued to roar every few minutes, holding his ground.
When he finally stood, she was ready. The shot was perfect.
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Walking up on that animal, a true royal stag with six points on each side, was one of those moments that makes everything else fade. The travel, the planning, and the anticipation had all led here, and we were able to experience it together.
Not every moment came together that easily.
There were long hikes that led to incredible views but no opportunities, and stalks that looked perfect until they fell apart. One morning, I lay prone in dew-soaked grass waiting for a shot we ultimately passed because the stag was too young. It took nearly an hour for my clothes to dry afterward.
Adrian also learned quickly that “waterproof” boots don’t always stay that way, especially when you’re hiking through tall, wet grass every morning. Those moments didn’t take away from the trip—they grounded it and made the successful hunts feel even more earned.
Robbie’s Stag
My opportunity came a few days later, and it couldn’t have been more different.
We were working through an area when we heard a stag moan ahead of us, close enough to change everything instantly. Using the wind and terrain, we eased into position while Jean, our guide, began calling to challenge him.
At first, nothing changed. Finally, another roar came. He was moving closer and we knew we had his attention. Moments later, he stepped out of the bush and onto a trail, moving directly toward us. At 33 yards, he stopped in the perfect opening. I settled the crosshairs and squeezed the trigger.
The shot was quick and effective. He went down within about 30 yards. It was a completely different kind of hunt. Mine was faster, more aggressive, and deep in the bush on his territory.
This time, Adrian was behind the camera, capturing everything. Our roles reversed, but the experience together remained the same.
Interestingly enough, some of the most memorable parts of the trip had nothing to do with antlers.
A quick turkey hunt turned into one of the easiest stalks of the trip, something I never would’ve expected in that open terrain. A well-timed joke from Jean about forgetting to hit record earned him a look from Adrian I’ve seen many times, only for all of us to laugh when we realized he was joking. And packing part of my stag out on my shoulders, step by step up a steep hillside, gave me time to slow down and take it all in.
Though the challenge of hunting new animals felt different, the terrain felt familiar at times. It was similar to the foothills of North Carolina and Tennessee, but everything was bigger, steeper, and more demanding. The spot-and-stalk style pushed us to adapt. New to us were paradise ducks, which often circled overhead if we approached too close and sounded off loudly enough to alert everything in the area and blow more than one opportunity.
What stood out most, though, wasn’t just the hunting itself—it was doing it together.
What It Is All About
This trip reinforced how well we work as a team, whether behind the rifle or behind the camera. I watched Adrian handle high-pressure situations with confidence, making two separate 300-yard shots that were right on target, while we both learned how important it is to stay focused on capturing the moments on video that would otherwise only live in memories.
Somewhere between the hunts, the hikes, and the quiet moments overlooking the New Zealand landscape, we were reminded of something bigger—the beauty of God’s creation and the opportunity to experience it side by side.
The trophies will always remind us of the trip, but they aren’t what mattered most. What mattered was the experience of traveling across the world, stepping into a completely different style of hunting, and sharing every part of it together—from the challenges to the successes.
In the end, it wasn’t just about New Zealand, or the animals, or even the hunt itself. It was about being there, together.