It came as a great shock to the worldwide hunting community when Matt Graham passed away suddenly in September 2016, way too young at just 45.
Matt was a well-known hunting outfitter and owner of Hunt Australia Safaris.
He was not only a husband, father, businessman, hunter, and fisherman, but a tremendous advocate for the outdoor sportspeople of Australia.
Matt was also no stranger to the ADA, being instrumental in the establishment of the Northern Territory Branch.
A couple of mutual friends assisted with the task of cleaning up Matt’s remote NT hunting camps.
As part of this, there were a number of firearms to clear, and I managed to purchase a classic Sako AV in the venerable .375 H&H Magnum.
I wasn’t really in the market for one, as it was slotting into a fairly narrow calibre gap, but the chance to own one of Matt’s rifles to continue using in the field felt like the right fit.
In due course the rifle arrived.
I knew it was only going to be in fair condition at best, as it’d spent a lifetime in a hunting camp.
It certainly lived up to the part.
The bluing was virtually worn out, especially around those hard-wear areas like the muzzle, bolt handle and floorplate.
The stock had seen better days as well, complete with a hairline crack coming forwards from the bolt recess.
The rifle came complete with a beaten Leupold 1.5-5x scope in original Sako ring mounts.
The scope had plenty of dings and scrapes with almost as much silver showing as black.
I gave the rifle a clean-up and spent some time giving the bore a good scrub with various solvents.
It didn’t take long to zero in, but strung its shots horizontally somewhat.
It was retired to a darkened corner of the safe, where it stayed for another couple of years.
I wasn’t sure exactly what I would do with it, but I knew it needed to be returned to its former glory.
By 2018 I vowed to get cracking with the project.
I spoke to Greg Meller in Queensland, who also knew Matt, and does beautiful work refinishing and repairing gunstocks.
I mentioned that I’d bought Matt’s old rifle and straight away he wanted to get involved.
On my wishlist was to shorten the forend slightly, getting rid of the sling swivel stud, and fit a polished buffalo horn forend tip.
Horn for this purpose is not easy to find, as only the solid section near the horn tips can be used, and it must be fully seasoned dry.
Fortuitously, Greg mentioned that just before his passing, Matt had sent him a quantity of aged buffalo horn.
It seemed extremely fitting to both of us, that a piece of that horn should adorn his rifle.
In addition to the forend, Greg also repaired and internally pinned the crack at the bolt handle recess.
He then completely stripped the original varnish finish, before spending months working up a matte, hand-rubbed, oil finish that resulted in a much richer colour, and brought out what limited character the timber had.
He then finished by re-cutting the checkering to leave the stock looking better than ever.
Thanks again, Greg!
I then sent the rifle up to Grant at Allan Swan Gunsmithing in Queensland.
Grant spent considerable time polishing out pitting marks and preparing the metalwork, before fitting a Recknagel barrel band sling mount, and pillar-bedding the action into the stock.
It was then treated to a beautiful full blueing job.
Finally, in early 2020 the rifle was taking shape.
For the final touch I then sent the stock across to my mate Cameron Hatcher at Hatcher’s Rifle Stocks.
He shortened the length-of-pull slightly to match my other rifles, and then expertly fitted a 1” Pachmayr Decelerator recoil pad in classic red.
After getting the finished rifle together again, I mounted a Swarovski Z3 3-9x36 scope in some trim Leupold rings.
Finally it was time to get the rifle back out on the range.
I headed to my good mate Cameron Strachan’s place, the manufacturer of Atomic 29 copper projectiles.
From his range we selected a 270 grain bullet and worked up a batch of loads towards maximum.
After a few test groups we had the rifle sighted in, and settled on 80gn of AR2209 compressed in Norma cases with Federal magnum primers.
Grouping around an inch at 100m, I considered the job done.
Swan’s pillar bedding job certainly sorted out the stringing shot issue and improved consistency, as I’d hoped it would.
The finished result is just beautiful to my eyes, better than the day it left the factory, and it fits well and feels great in the hands.
Most of the rifles in my safe are just tools; fibreglass stocks and stainless barrels rule the roost.
It is satisfying to finally have a “classic” big-bore hunting rifle join the herd, especially one that has such pedigree and history behind it.
I’m sure Matt would approve.
But he wouldn’t want it sitting in a safe.
I had to take this rifle hunting, and ideally there was one place it really had to go.
The Northern Territory.
I finally received the finished rifle in August 2020, almost four years after Matt’s untimely passing.
In fact, when it arrived I was supposed to be in Africa hunting Cape Buffalo.
But like many a hunter’s plans, that idea was dashed with the COVID-19 pandemic.
In some small manner of consolation, the Northern Territory opened its borders, and 48 hours later I’d been in contact with Stephen Paterson from Dingo Creek Hunting and booked a September hunt.
Fortune had smiled on me again.
I’d wanted to hunt banteng for years, but was never sure if the right opportunity would arise.
I’d promised myself that if the opportunity ever did present, then I’d jump on it.
No overseas hunters being allowed into Australia meant there were extra tags available, with excellent pricing to match.
Coupled with the fact I had a “new” .375 that I was just itching to take north, my mind was made up.
I know Matt had a real love for banteng.
He wrote of them often and in great detail, including pieces for Safari Club International.
Despite guiding hunters onto them, he never got around to shooting a bull for himself.
There could be no better way to put his rifle to use!
After a great night in Darwin catching up with friends, we met Stephen “Patto” Paterson early the next morning and loaded the Hilux to head northeast to Cobourg Peninsula.
The eight-hour drive was anything but boring, with the landmarks of Kakadu and Arnhem Land to soak in; and the infamous Cahill’s crossing preceding the corrugated highway to Garig Gunak Barlu National Park.
Eventually we arrived in Dingo Creek’s comfortable camp, complete with panoramic ocean views and a much appreciated sea breeze.
On foot the next morning, with rifles checked and packs loaded, we headed off to walk an isolated spring and look for sign of banteng.
There are only arterial roads in the Park, so all hunting is done on foot.
Following a well-used pad, the cover closed in as we neared the dwindling water source.
It was my mate Jason who spotted the first pair of bulls, off to our right in heavy scrub.
Holding still as they fed in our direction, we got a good look at them both and while one was a mature animal, he wasn’t a “morning one” bull.
Still it was a fantastic early opportunity to get our first look at banteng and get a feel for judging trophy quality.
During the next couple of hours, a further two old lone bulls were stalked to a close distance.
Patto indicated both were better shot with camera than rifle.
That afternoon, we headed closer to the coast and crossed a swampy tidal channel to investigate a series of open plains.
Reaching the third and largest opening, a few banteng and Timor ponies were already out feeding.
We quietly made our way to a central patch of timber, which allowed us a great vantage point around the plain, and settled in to the waiting game.
Another two bulls slowly fed out towards the centre of the open ground.
One old timer with a particularly white “boss” on his head took my fancy.
He was the closest thing I’d seen yet to the shape of horns I desired; so we started to sneak in for a closer look.
Our plans were then interrupted by a banteng cow with four mature bulls in tow, edging around the scrub’s fringe to our right.
She was obviously hot-to-trot as the boys would not leave her side.
Patto glassed each animal as they slipped behind some timber.
“There is your bull,” he whispered, as a big jet-black mature bull showed himself momentarily.
Re-focussing our efforts on this newcomer, we checked the wind and started to close in, but we were pegged down in a small patch of trees by an alert younger bull that had seen too much.
Again we sat and waited, pondering our next move.
As the shadows lengthened, more glassing revealed movement at the far end of the plain.
An immature bull fed out of the paperbark and pandanus bush, trailed by another mature animal.
Even at 800m or so, the naked eye was enough to see that this guy was an impressive bull; the biggest of 20 we had seen that day.
But, as always with the big guys, he was in the most difficult spot, furthest from us with feeding bulls all around and not much cover.
For the third time that afternoon, our target animal changed.
Sneaking our way into a circular patch of paperbark forest, we crunched our way through the dry leaf layer underfoot to sneak a look out the other side.
The big bull was ever-so-slowly feeding toward us, but with other bulls feeding only 20m distant, and several more on the plain to our left and right, any approach was going to be low-percentage at best.
We were snookered.
The moon had already risen in the sky before us, as the sun dipped below the horizon in our background.
It was now or never; so on a hiding to nothing, we decided to make our move.
Feeding an Atomic 29 into the Sako’s chamber and sliding the safety on, we waited until our target bull fed behind the only small bushy tree on the plain, and went for it.
Huddled up close together and hunched over, we moved quietly but purposely straight toward that tree; out of sight of our target but in plain view of at least eight other banteng.
I expected them to spook, but dared not look, hoping the fading light was enough to mask our approach.
Remarkably, we made it to the tree, now only 40m from the bull.
Stepping to my left, I nestled the Sako into the tree and tried to find a decent rest, picking up the bull in the crosshairs as he was facing me directly.
Just as I thought about firing, he lowered his head and walked another four steps in my direction.
“Breathe, stay patient,” I reminded myself.
He raised his head again, exposing his chest, so I centred the reticle and fired.
Hit hard, the bull staggered two steps to his right.
I stepped out from behind the tree as I cycled the bolt.
Finding his shoulder broadside, I sent a second bullet perfectly through his heart and shoulders.
The old master staggered a couple more steps, and fell.
An insurance shot into his chest was fired, but not required; the bull was done.
Matt’s rifle finally had a banteng to its name, and what a fantastic bull it was.
Wide and heavy sweeping horns with perfect shape, and a gnarly boss atop his head like a crown on his chocolate-brown hide.
This was certainly a trophy that was more than I could ever have hoped for, to cap off an amazing day’s hunting.
Darkness crept across the plain as we hurriedly took photos and commenced caping under torchlight.
Along with it came swarms of midgies, relentless in their attack as we worked to get the cape off as quickly as possible.
The carryout was equally as brutal with a full head and cape, sharing the load along with rifles and packs.
The plains were easy enough, but the three bush-choked channels we had to cross were another matter.
I was very thankful for Patto taking more than his fair-share of turns carrying the bull.
As we struggled back towards the car with our prize, through mud, scrub, and being hammered by biting insects, I’m sure Matt would have been looking down with a grin.