Finding stillness in Moonie
My first deer hunt
By Suzie Stitt
I’m a new member of SSAA Queensland, and I was lucky enough to be invited on a hunting trip out to Moonie. I went in unsure of what to expect especially considering I don’t even like baiting my own hook when fishing, but the weekend ended up being one of the most grounding and memorable experiences of my life.
I’ve always appreciated Australia’s landscape but seeing it through the stillness of the bush was something entirely different. Cold dawn air, deer roaring in the distance and the complete removal from everyday noise gave me a sense of peace I didn’t realise I’d been missing.
Although I’m new to hunting, rifles have always been part of my life. I grew up around guns, and my dad held the Australian BR30 record in the 1990s at the Bowen Shooting Range. Outside of hunting, life is full: I run, I renovate houses, I run an HR consulting company and I’m a mum of two boys who already enjoy hearing my stories and tasting the venison from the trip. They polished off the ‘reindeer’ meatballs and bolognese, and my parents turned the loins into a curry. The rest became breakfast patties, sausages and jerky, nothing went to waste.
What has really drawn me into hunting is the stillness. No phone reception, no emails, no notifications. Just the bush, the nighttime cold and the sounds of deer moving through scrub. Hunting strips life back to basics and, as someone who normally juggles business ownership, parenting and a fast-paced routine, the simplicity was refreshing.
I grew up in Bowen until the late 90s, then Caloundra, and now Brisbane. Between my business and raising two boys, spare time is rare. So, when the stars aligned with a free weekend, good weather and the right company, I took the opportunity.
Not long after arriving at the property, we saw two deer, which felt like a promising start. Ironically, they were the last deer we’d see for days. We set up a simple camp away from everything and settled into the peaceful rhythm of the bush. Without distractions, even the cold nights felt comforting. I’d packed proper meals before we left – homemade sausage ‘McMuffins’ for breakfast, slow-cooked pulled pork po-boys (New Orleans style) for lunch and dinner and a fully stocked afternoon platter.
Despite hours of walking, we saw nothing after that first sighting. There were literally no signs of life. By Saturday night, I wondered whether I’d scared everything off or whether my friend had exaggerated how many deer usually appeared. But the quiet forced me to appreciate the trip in a different way.
By Sunday morning we decided to give it one last effort. Hunting teaches patience, hope without expectation and, at 38, I’m still learning those lessons. Around 10am, my friend suggested checking a gate in a far back paddock. It felt like a long shot, but we went anyway before calling it a day. As soon as we drove over a small rise, the paddock opened up.
There were deer everywhere – dozens of them. The adrenaline hit instantly. For the first time, I understood the excitement experienced hunters talk about. When it came time to take my first shot, I wanted it to matter. Taking an animal’s life is significant, and I had seen how seriously my friend approached it. I positioned the .243 Tikka through the sunroof of his 300 Series, steadied myself and took the shot. Clean. Quick. Ethical. Exactly what I hoped for, and I was told it was a 10/10 shot!
As we walked the paddock afterwards, something small but meaningful happened. I spotted a perfectly heart-shaped leaf on the ground. It sounds simple, but in that moment, it felt like a quiet affirmation that I was exactly where I was meant to be. I took it home and my friend ended up having it framed as a reminder of peace, possibility and the memory of that weekend. I’ve even considered having the leaf tattooed, not as a tribute to the hunt itself, but to what the experience represented: peace, clarity, hope and stillness.
Later, my friend made me a necklace using the antler tip and the casing from my shot. I’ve had countless comments on it and just smile and say, “It’s a .243 Winchester, baby.”
That trip gave me more than venison. It gave me space to breathe, to slow down and to reconnect with a part of myself I hadn’t realised I’d neglected. For someone whose life is normally loud, busy and fast-moving, that weekend in the bush was honest, grounding and unforgettable.
It was the beginning of a passion I intend to carry with me for many years to come. I am looking forward to my next trip coming up in January down in Emerald Hill!
