Big Game Hunter Australia


JR Hossack
Hunter, Fisherman, Outdoorsman, Author.
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Gold Coast Queensland Australia
Welcome To The Hunting Camp Fire Talk
Campfire Talk: Hunting in 2025
The fire crackled low as the last light faded behind the ridge. The coals glowed like ancient memories, warming our boots and hearts alike. Someone passed the flask—maybe Bruce, maybe it was me—and the conversation drifted to how hunting’s changed these past years.
“2025, huh?” I said, poking the fire with a stick. “Feels like we blinked and woke up in the future.”
Everyone nodded. Satellite imagery on our phones, rifles with ballistics apps synced via Bluetooth, and lightweight gear that’d make our old canvas packs blush with envy. Still, for all the tech, the hunt remains the same at its core. It’s man and beast, wits and wind, patience and pulse.
I told them about the Coues deer I chased on the San Carlos last December—tiny ghosts in the desert, vanishing in a shimmer of heat and juniper shadow. Or the time I went back after water buffalo in the Top End—scrub bulls still as mean, the mozzies still as thick, and the thrill just as raw as it was twenty years ago.
Someone brought up the "new age" hunters—young bucks with TikTok accounts and GoPros strapped to every limb. We chuckled, sure, but none of us were bitter. Hell, if they’re out there chasing game fair and square, respecting the land and the animal, then they’re welcome around this fire anytime.
But I reckon the biggest change in 2025 isn’t the gear or the gadgets. It’s that more of us old timers are feeling the weight in our knees and the fire in our bellies burning brighter than ever. The clock’s ticking, sure—but every sunrise in the bush, every echo of a bugle or grumble of a boar, reminds us why we started. And why we’ll keep going as long as we can draw a bow or lift a rifle.
We passed the flask again. The fire popped. Someone laughed softly. And out there, in the darkness beyond the firelight, the wild still waited.

There’s something different about a campfire in the remote wilderness far from home. Away from the hum of civilization, where the night is ruled by the whispering wind and the calls of unseen creatures, the fire takes on a deeper meaning. It is no longer just a source of warmth or light—it becomes an ancient beacon, a connection to something primal and unshakable.
The flames dance and crackle, their glow licking the faces of those who sit close, casting shadows that flicker like spirits against the towering silhouettes of trees or the vast, open sky. The scent of burning wood mingles with the crisp, untamed air, carrying with it the essence of the land—damp earth, wild game, and the distant promise of rain.
This is where a hunter or wanderer feels the pull of something older than history itself. It stirs deep in the gut—a whisper of ancestors who once crouched around similar fires, sharpening their blades, tending to meat pulled from the land, and giving silent thanks to the earth for its bounty. The act of providing, of feeding one’s family from the generosity of nature, is both humbling and empowering.
Here, beneath the cathedral of the night sky, you are not just a man or woman—you are part of something timeless. The fire flickers in your eyes, and for a brief moment, you understand the unspoken truth: we have always been hunters, gatherers, storytellers, bound to the land in a way that modern life tries to make us forget. But out here, in the glow of the flames, the call of the wild is undeniable. It twists something inside you, reminding you of who you truly are.
JR Hossack

Hunting Camp Fires We have Shared Across The Planet
My favorite camp fire is reliving old hunting trips back in the 1970's and 80's...
Back in the late 1970s, in a quaint country town named Albury, I encountered a pair of newfound companions at a deer hunters club, and thus began a friendship that would span decades. Together, we seized every opportunity to pursue our passion for hunting, particularly in pursuit of Australia's iconic Sambar deer. Almost every second weekend,
I embarked on the journey into the Victorian high country, a drive that stretched for approximately four and a half hours, sometimes extending to seven hours, depending on our chosen destination. In those youthful days, distance posed no significant obstacle to our adventures.
We blazed trails, both new and old, venturing into remote territories such as the East and West Buffalo Divide Tracks, and the Wonnangatta and Humphrey watersheds. Hunting deer was arduous work, unlike today when their population has proliferated.
Back then, merely catching a glimpse of a deer, let alone a stag, was considered a blessing. Thus, we established a tradition of embarking on a yearly backpacking expedition into the Humphrey River via the Teatree Range, where we would set up camp.
Over the years, our camps evolved, gradually becoming more comfortable. Eventually, we constructed a shelter to shield us from the elements, a simple structure with just a roof, purposely designed not to encroach upon the wilderness. This shelter served as a first aid refuge, ready to assist fellow hunters or fishermen who found themselves in peril during frequent river floods. Remarkably, despite enduring three bushfires and over four decades of time, our shelter still stands today.
Constructed from pre-fabricated materials in my old 4 WD workshop, including trusses and a second-hand tin roof, transported atop the roof rack of my trusty G60 Nissan Patrol soft-top, the journey of building this shelter became a labor of love.
We embarked on approximately eight backpacking excursions before our adventures came to an end, encountering moments of peril and exposure, but also weaving tales of camaraderie and triumph around countless campfires beneath the star-studded skies of the Victorian high country.
These stories have transcended borders, shared with friends around the world, passed down through generations, and cherished as enduring memories of the rugged beauty and indomitable spirit of the Australian wilderness.

