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S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 1 5 0 F or three seasons I helped my Aussie mates run a bowhunting camp in the most remote tropical wilderness you can imagine. Asiatic buffalo were the quarry, and we hunted by stalking. My first close encounter with the beasts told me to expect nothing but tense moments. That initial encounter occurred during our exploratory trip to Melville Island, a huge Aboriginal reserve in the Arafura Sea north of Darwin. Companions Bill Baker, Brad Kane, and Dan Smith were all seasoned bowhunters from Queensland, but none had ever killed a buffalo. As the sole Yank in the group, I'd never even seen one. That changed quickly the first night we set out from camp to explore the unfamiliar surroundings. After a short walk down a ridgeline from the truck, we spotted a group of bachelor bulls grazing in an open area below us—two youngsters and one monster with horns that seemed to sweep out and back forever. Dan was the designated hitter. Just recovering from neck surgery, I couldn't pull a heavy bow and was serving as a non-combatant. As we discussed possible routes for a stalk, the wind switched and all three animals pointed their noses upward. This observation established two important points that we would see over and over—buffalo have an excellent sense of smell and their noses are their primary means of defense. At the first hint of human scent, the young bulls snorted and trotted off into the scrub. Their older companion, however, looked up the hill, lowered his head, and began to march in our direction. Two minutes later the bull closed to within 15 yards, he buffalo stare-down can last as long as the hunter remains absolutely motionless. Opposite: These beasts are called water buffalo for a reason. Mark Viehwig examines a fresh wallow. Wallabies exploding from underfoot constantly reminded the author that he wasn't in Kansas anymore. T photos by lori and don thomas