MY FIRST HUNT

 

 

 

The air feels electrified as we top the ridge just on daybreak. Looking  down on a sea off white,  the sun not yet over the horizon, it is hard to tell where the forest ends and the mist takes over. The dogs are all scenting up a second growth native face; they then disappear from sight, heading away down a disused watercourse. Dad then shows me some fresh Pig sign, you can see where the Pigs have put their snouts in the soil and turned over the earth. Dad then sits down and rolls himself a smoke -how can he smoke now. I'm going crazy I'm that excited. The dogs are gone, there are Pigs about, and the silly old fart is having a fag. It has gone deathly quiet, like the calm before the storm, the atmosphere is charged and I can't sit still. You can feel it, there's something in the air, it's going to happen, I think I'm going to wet myself, man I'm tense, cant stop running around. I'm that excited I start voicing my excitement. At which time Dad grabs me. Sit down, shut up and listen Jessie. Listen, man I'm starting to here things all over the place, is that a dog bark. Dad did you here that; sure I heard a dog bark. As usual Dad doesn't hear a thing I say. He is just sitting there puffing on his smoke cocking his head from side to side listening, I can't handle the tension, the excitement, it's overpowering, I cant sit still. WHACK: Jesus that scared the living day lights out of me, what did the wally hit his favourite little girl for. I told you before Jessie to behave; now be a good girl love, sit still and be quiet. Why do they always twat you when you are least expecting it, scares the living daylights out of you. Truly it was just a tap designed to scare me back to reality because I'm a bundle of nervous tension; every sense is alert, It is very very quiet, the silence is overpowering. Apart from the occasional BellBird and Tui singing, it is deathly quiet. I can visualise Tramp and Rusty, our two main dogs, noses to the ground tracking the elusive wild Boar. I'm that nervous and tense I don't know whether to fart, have a hair cut, go to the toilet or scream. WOOOF- WOOOF- WOOOF. My heart stops beating in that instant, what a noise. Then all hell breaks loose. Barks, yips, growls, the dogs are going ape. Then some really heavy fighting from the dogs followed by silence for a few seconds, which actually felt like many minutes, more heavy fighting from the dogs as they move away down the gully into thicker under growth, sounds like a massive dog fight. I wonder what in god's name they've got down there. Then it settles into real heavyhearted barking from Rusty and Tramp. Dad tells me they're bailing it, the Pig that is. It must be a good Pig Dad says. GOOD-GOOD , there's no way that it's a good Pig. I tell you right now this is not a good Pig, with the noise that's going on it's a really bad Pig, sounds like Rusty and Tramp are scraping four hundred Gargoyles, no there's absolutely no good in that Pig at all. Right they've got it stopped Jessie lets go, and we're off. Well Dads off. How can someone carrying a small pack and a rifle move so fast through the bush, and why does he carry that damn thing they call a gun anyway, I've never seen him use it for anything. I'm tripping over everything, tangled up, slipping and sliding? Dad slows down for me - stop hollering Jessie come on up here and be quiet, talking to me softly, don't panic it's okay - tousles me on the head. He can be so damned nice when he wants to be. What a racket  ' things are really starting to heat up. It gets so loud as we move closer, then the most horrible noise I have ever heard, there is this grinding noise that sounds like a ship scraping on rock, really evil, your skin starts to crawl, then bloody hell the loudest snort you have ever heard. Like an Elephant farting or cleaning his nose. Keep control of your bladder Jessie, I nearly cacted myself, you can handle it, cripes the noise it made, all of my hair stood on end. Eire and scared shitless. This is it. This is what I have been waiting for. I want to run home to Mum - NOW; In no time at all we're there, we move down slowly. I can see it now - It's the devil incarnate, big black and hairy, little red devilish eyes staring at us with such intensity. I start making a real din. Dad yells this is it Jessie get in there and get it girl ' You think I'm mad, you get in there and get it. I'll stay up here and make sure everything's okay. Dad gets in closer then tells Rusty (Who looks about the size of Samson against Goliath) get it boy. The Pig decides its time to move, it lines Dad up and charges, Rusty hits it head on, CHOMP right across the snout of the Pig and at the same time Tramp sails in to grab an ear, Dad moves to the side as they all fly past him, he grabs a back leg and hangs on. Then struggles like a mad man for awhile until he finally manages to flip the Pig over, scrambles up to straddle it, out with the knife and in no time at all the big black bundle of fury is lying still. Dad then thanks the universe and mother earth for providing us with the food - bit over my head this mother earth stuff at present. By the way I'm still up there making plenty of noise adding my two cents worth. It's okay Jess you can come down now the Pig is dead. You sure it's dead I'm thinking as I come down to have a closer look. Rusty and Tramp come over and lick me on the face, panting like billyoh then drop into a near by puddle to cool off. I approach the black beast cautiously. I can smell it, Pooh does it stink, I can see the big white tusks sticking out as I move a bit closer, right next to it now trembling with not sure what, excitement, fear or both, getting use to the stench, just about ready to touch it. ARG SHIT it moved, I leap back and voice myself extremely loudly. Dad roars with laughter, as it was that wally that kicked it and made it move - What a father, fancy scaring his little girl half to death like that. Thinking very nasty thoughts of Dad at present I would love to shove that smoke that far down his throat that he would have to fart to exhale. That made me feel a bit better, even managed a snigger. Then I go and sit with the dogs while Dad does the honours of gutting out the Pig - tying it up by connecting the left back leg to the left front leg, same on the right. Using a couple of dog collars, straps it to his back like a pack and we're off. Dad seems to think the Pig is about fifty-sixty kilos. Looks at least one thousand kilos to me - Huge. Dad's blowing like a bull by the time we get back to the Ute some four hours later. Dumps the Pig on the back of the Ute, gives Rusty and Tramp another thorough check for rips to make sure our first port of call isn't the vets, no they're okay, a good pat and in the Ute and off. I'm in the front with Dad as he gives me a big cuddle. Well my first Pig hunt, exciting or really frightening, not sure yet. But I'll tell you this; I did at least  manage to control my bowel movements this time round. In no time at all I'm fast asleep. We arrive home and Mum walks out the door- what a relief, there's my saviour. Mum will understand, I'm out of the Ute and into her arms like a rat up a drainpipe. All the hunt re-visits me in vivid detail, The fear, the excitement, phew I'm okay now Mums got me in her arms soothing me, loving me-she's the best my Mum-I'm safe. Jessie can sleep with us tonight kitten, she may have nightmares, voices Dad. Nightmares I'm having daymares. That big black horrible beast. Rusty and Tramp are so brave. I wonder if I'll ever be that brave? After being fully assured by Mum that I'm all right and a very brave girl I start to think maybe she's right. I feel very privileged being able to sleep in Mum and Dads room. I am totally shagged and in no time I drift off to sleep feeling so safe and comfortable-bliss-snooze-snooze-snooze, I am safe wondering along in the bush, just me and mother nature, then I realise that I am alone, no Mum or Dad, no Rusty or Tramp- just little ole me in the bush on my lonesome- then it appears from nowhere grinding it's teeth and snorting at me, those eye's, evil, penetrating. I start running and making a hell of a noise but no one seems to hear. I am on my own with the devil himself, big black and hairy, it's going to get me, my legs are pumping but I'm going nowhere and it's coming fast, shit I've had it, the beast is nearly on me. It's over for Jessie. Then through the fog I hear Dads voice soothing me telling me it's all right and Mum's stroking me gently as the beast slowly fades away and I am overcome by bliss once again. Wow it's over- my first day hunting. PHEW.

 

 
 

 

 

 

MONSTER FROM HELL

 

Mum arrives home Friday afternoon, straight in the shower to wash off the week of work, track pants-T shirt, which feels much better. Dinner, then pack for the hunt tomorrow. Rusty knows something is going down, to many familiar smells and happenings, he's roaring around going ballistic. As for me I never slept a wink. Four PM and Mum and Dad grovel out of bed. Coffee,  toast, dogs and gear in the Ute, away by four-forty, one and half-hours later we pull up on an old paper map road along the west coast. Let Rusty and Tramp out, grab our gear and away. Not quite daybreak yet, not light enough to see, perfect timing, after twenty minutes fast pace over broken farm land we then enter a large stand of native, the start of the forest. Immediately the dogs are very interested, me too. Dad dampens our enthusiasm by informing the dogs that if it's a goat they are interested in he will warm their ears up for them. There ears drop-knowing they have been forewarned. They aren't supposed to chase goats you see. Or Possums, or Deer, or anything for that matter apart from wild Pigs. Another twenty minutes following a stream when Mum spots some reasonable Pig marks. They check them out, old and new marks; the Pig obviously uses this track a lot. Mum calls Tramp over, puts her finger on the sign. What's that boy, and Tramps off to investigate. He's back in no time, meaning the sign is not fresh enough - we start climbing the faces, the sign is much more evident. Rubbings on the trees, Pig shit everywhere. Flax leaves that have been pulled out and the fresh shoots eaten. Further along we find where a Boar (male Pig) has been living. The Nikau palms are fruiting and the Boar has been feasting on the berries. There is sign of a mob of Pigs further along camping up, foraging on the Nikau berries. Rusty and Tramp are keen as mustard but haven't gone away yet. The sun just breaks out over the ridge, bathing the dawn in a beautiful orange haze that filters down through the native forest of big Rata and Totara trees breaking the suns rays into translucent light. Dad finds a nice spot to sit in the morning sun and roll a smoke. Mum joins him and as the sun hits her you can see the change with each breath Mum takes, the week of work slowly fades away, replaced by the tranquillity of the surroundings. As for me, no peace at all, I'm like a cat on hot coals. The dogs are keen, there's something just out of touch I can sense it. Just relax Jessie. No I will go over and check the sign out. Huge Pig droppings-man he must have a fat backside. There are rubbings on the young saplings that dwarf my meagre height. I carry on a bit and find these enormous trenches. Yeah huge big furrows in the ground, but we are in the middle of nowhere, and how on earth  did they get a bulldozer up here to dig these, or is this what a big Boar does. Must be. No way they could get a bulldozer up here. The sign is everywhere; you can smell the damned thing, why haven't those useless dogs gone. I know it is just here somewhere, lurking in the undergrowth. I wander back to find Mum nestled in Dads shoulder still soaking up the morning sun. What a picture it is, like heaven and earth have come together in this one moment and nothing else matters. As I approach they re-enter the land of the living. Dad stands and helps Mum up, they stretch as they decide this Boar is close by. He will be resting up catching the morning sun on one of those bench's. A bench being a flat (out-crop) part way up a face (side of a hill or mountain). We will head around and get more height. Not much breeze but if we cross a fresh track the dogs will pick it up. We had only travelled a few hundred metres. I am watching the dogs like a hawk in case I miss something. They are working around in small semi-circles about thirty metres out then back to the main track. I can feel it again, like the air comes alive, electrified. Still watching as Tramp, nose to the ground has found something interesting, because rather than the roaming semi-circles Tramp takes on a lot more purpose, much more enthusiasm. Nose to the air back to the ground. Next thing Rusty comes roaring through like a freight train and they are off like rockets. This is it I now. Mum saw Rusty split at a great rate of knots, Dad didn't miss a thing either. Mum and Dad move up the ridge onto a saddle to give them a better position to hear from. Then the tense wait begins, five, ten, fifteen minutes and still nothing. What was that, thought I heard a twig break. There it is again. I look around; yeah Mum heard that one too. Dad pipes up; it's probably Rusty coming back, he won't go far for a find. Could be anything, how does Dad know it is Rusty, could be the Pig. Then Rusty pops out of the bush in front of us-gives us the look, like you know it is there but it's too far away for me. Dad calls Rusty a useless bastard. We stand around and wait and listen, can't hear much with Rusty's damned panting. Dad tells Rusty to shut up as we all listen to the morning stillness, straining your ears that much you are sure they are going to burst. Did I just hear a bark? Woof-woof-woof. I heard it, I'm sure I did. Shit Mum and Dad didn't hear it. Again-woof-woof-woof. there damned ears are on holiday. Woof-woof-woof and Finally Mum pipes up-Did you hear that. Dad, yeah, I think it came from over there. NO-NO I heard it three times Dad it came from over there. Dad ignores me; his ears are painted on sometimes. Mum chimes in, her hearing is better than Dads. Mum thinks it came from over there. YEH-YEH Mums right ' no one hears me ' luckily Dad trusts Mums hearing, agrees with her and we are off. Shit this is it again-motoring through the bush like there is no tomorrow. I'm getting much better at these sudden flight rushes through the scrub. Down a steep face, across a creek, up a steep ridge then stop and listen. Impossible to listen when your own breathing is so loud and all you can hear is the thumping of your own heart.. Also Rusty's painting doesn't help the situation much. WOOF-WOOF-WOOF That was much closer. Just down there. Rusty is off, me to. Dad calls me back-Jessie you stay here love, wait until Rusty gets there to give Tramp a hand. We move down a bit as the barking gets really loud. Then you hear Rusty's throaty bark join the fracas. WOW. What a noise, really gets the adrenals pumping. Then a massive scrap a few yelps then back to bailing. I'm off, but Dad calls me back. You stay here behind me Jesse this is a healthy Pig. What does the wanker mean a healthy Pig, perhaps he means it's not sick. I duno. Dad heads down, then across a flat with Mum and I right behind. As we get nearer, the dogs sense our presence and so does the Pig. Rusty charges in for the coupe-de-gra and latches onto the snout. A big blow and snort, next thing Rusty is flying through the air about four feet off the ground, lands on all fours seeming none to deterred and back into it. What have they got in there, it is to dark to see, but it must be big to throw Rusty six feet. Hard bailing continues then another scrap. Tramp let's out a loud yelp and Rusty is into it again. The Pig backs up as the dog's hearty bail continues. I am in close enough to see now. Rusty is right in front of the Pig-about two feet away, get back Rusty that thing is huge. Black head with brown patches over the body, hackles fully raised, head low and in desperate need of some clear eyes. The Pig's eyes are bloodshot red, evil with a long snout and a wicked set of tusks protruding from the lower jaw. A foaming froth coming from the mouth and that grinding noise followed by more chomping. The chomping sounds like a Bear Trap going off.  SCARRY STUFF MAN; their goes the hair on the back of my neck again. Bloods pumping and I am also making plenty of noise. Mum starts towards me, I can see her aura- it's charged- like she is surrounded in blue lightening- face radiant- alive-she reaches out and holds me. You stay with me Jessie. Yeah okay Mum but I want to go and give Rusty and Tramp a hand, but she doesn't hear me either. Her ears are painted on as well, do I live the rest of my life with nobody hearing me. Tramp is bailing hard alongside the Pig. If the Pig turns towards him he backs of a bit and Rusty dives in and chomps it on the snout then as it swings back to Rusty he lets go to give himself more room between him and the Pig. Rusty never taking his eyes off the Boar as Tramp moves in a bit closer. Do they move fast. One second the Boar is standing there about four feet from Rusty eyeing him up, next thing there's a blur of movement and the Pig is right on top of Rusty. Rusty has been here before though, he hits the Boar head on right across the snout as Tramp fly's in and latches onto an ear. The Boar toss's Rusty off then swings around to deal to Tramp, but Rusty sails back in and grabs the Pig fare on the nuts, then backs off as it turns on him. The Boar then backs up under an old rata tree root for safety and to protect his tender family jewels then back to the status quo of two dogs hard bailing. Dad hands Mum the rifle. Load it kitten you may have to shoot the bastard, what do you mean shoot? Rifle? And why is he still lugging that useless thing around. They never use it for anything. The Pig, it's huge, but it hasn't caught a dog properly yet said Dad. Tramp has a small rip on his hindquarter and Rusty is unscathed. Dad moves in cautiously as the Boars eyes find Dad, you can see the Pigs cogs turning, you -you are the real threat and I'm going to have you and before you can blink the Boar charges Dad. Rusty hits it head on as Tramp fly's in and grabs hold, the Boar misses Dad by a few hair widths on its way through. As it sails past Dad grabs it by the tail and they all disappear through the scrub. Mum and I charge after them in hot pursuit. Dad still anchored on the tail trying desperately to grab a back leg, he manages that but the Boar isn't slowing much. Dad is being dragged along trying to get his boots to purchase on something-anything to slow the mad rush. They drop down into a tight ravine with a lot of blowing, snorting, growling and swearing going on until the Boar finally wedges itself between a couple of boulders. Dad then scrabbles up beside the Boar, out with the knife and in under the front leg. Rusty and Tramp haven't let go since Dad entered the arena. They hang on until the lifeblood drains away releasing the Boar's spirit to the happy hunting ground. PHEW it's over. Mum and Dad do the thank mother earth and the universe bit. Happy hunting ground my but, I just met the devil himself or at least one of his close relatives and I am sure he has gone down not up. Hope he doesn't go down to far and end up as some demonic spirit scaring the shit out of the Chinese. Exciting, I am shaking all over-what a rush, this is adventure, wow I was a lot better at controlling my bowel movements this time. Rusty and Tramp are my heroes you should have seen them, now that takes real guts. I hope I am as brave when the time comes for me to leap in and add my two cents worth. Do I posses the salt-the stuff real Pig hunters are made. Quietly, I think I was petrified of the big hairy beast, hopefully in time I will get there. Especially with Mum telling me what a brave girl I was. Dad calls Rusty over and checks him out thoroughly. Good boy Rust you gave it heaps didn't you boy, followed by big pats. Tramp, come here and let me have a look. Dad checks Tramps chest, neck, head, front and back legs, rump, then to the rip on the hindquarter. Nasty gash you got their Tramp but it won't need stitching. I will give it a spray with this purple spray (iodine) informs Dad as he removes it from his pack. Tramp takes one look at the spray and disappears into the bush to hide. Dad informs Mum it stings a bit. Mum being the one more endowed with intelligence as well as compassion hunts through her pouch and extracts a bottle of lavender oil and a clean rag. This stuff is a disinfectant as well as an antibiotic that doesn't sting. Here Tramp, Mum waltzes over, gives Tramp a big pat, makes a big fuss over him then administers the lavender oil by dousing the cloth and dabbing it on the wound. Tramp seems really surprised, like, shit this doesn't sting at all. Tramp still decides it's best stay away from Dad for awhile though, don't trust that bastard with that spray and he knows it hurts like blazes. Mum and Dad struggle like crazy to drag the Boar ten feet to a spot where it can be cleaned out. Dad starts the job of dressing, that's butchering it, as in gutting the Boar out, not putting clothes on it ya dip. Dad then calls me over to watch, next thing he rubs his hands all over my face. Talk about stink man. Why did he cover me with Pig blood and Pig piss-yuck- can't get rid of the stench. It will turn you into a good hunter lass. Mum, normally my saviour in terrible circumstances just smiles at me, envisioning me the awesome huntress. -Yuck- Dads right into it now, throws the offal to Mum who cuts off nice titbits to feed Rusty and Tramp. Telling them again how amazing they were. Mum laughs and offers me a piece-JESUS-Pig Piss, Pig Blood, now she wants me to eat its stinking offal. Thank god Rusty stole my piece. Everyone seems to relax, happy, Dad has a grin from ear to ear. Mums very impressed with Tramps find. Dad saying Tramp would find a lot more if that other lump of lard would go more than one hundred metres with him, giving Rusty the look. Dad then mellows, well Rusty when it comes to the crunch you're right there aren't you boy, slight wag of Rusts tail. Rusty is thinking -yeah you are lucky to, one day I won't jump in and I will let the Pig settle the score with you if you keep giving me a hard time. As Dad pipes up, I won't trade you in on a new model yet. The job finished and Pig trussed Dad gets Mum to help him struggle to get the Pig on his back while in a sitting position, then attempts to stand. Shit kitten I can't stand up, this bugger is to heavy, give me a hand will you, Mum extends her hand. Dad takes hold, then they both heave, then a final heave and Dad is on his feet, legs wobbling, a few feeble steps, the Pig overbalances as it's head comes forward over Dads shoulder and Dad does the big nose dive head first into the mud, head nearly disappears as Mum leaps in to roll the Pig over, Dad comes up gulping for air as Mum sits back and cracks up laughing. The big tough Pig hunter Mum laughs, I can see the headlines now, infamous NZ Pig hunter drowned by dead Pig. Dad then joins in cracking up, they laugh for a good five minutes until there ribs hurt and they are both gasping for breath. Dad then struggles out of the Pig cursing, this Pig is extremely big, I can't carry it, we will have to drag it out kitten. A dog collar through each back tendon, Mum on one collar and Dad on the other then pull. Two hours plus and we finally make it down to the main creek bed only about sixteen hundred metres from where we gutted the Pig. They sit down for a breather as Mum pipes up, do you think we will get the whole thing out. We may be better off to bone the Pig out here. Yeah you're right it's a big beast, as Dad sorts through his pack for some rope. Comes up with a length of bailing twine. He lops the hind quarters off, removes the hocks, a bit of Manuka, a few dog collars, some bailing twine and WALLAA- a pack. Here try this kitten and I will adjust it, as Mum puts it on, a bit of refinement until the pack is sitting well. Dad then opens the rest of the Pig up, removes the eye fillets from the inside of the rib cage, back steaks, neck steaks, fore-quarters and into the pack. That's the real professionally made pack. Removes the bottom jaw as a momento. Mum is very disappointed we won't get the whole Pig out to weigh it. Dad thinks it would top the scales at well over two spot, maybe two-fifty to two-sixty pounds (oneten-onetwenty kilos). Even boned out it took us another four hours to get back to the Ute. They both drop their dead weights on the back of the Ute, then collapse in a heap for a well-earned breather. The afternoon sun warms the breeze as Dad fish's around in the back of the Ute, then disappears back down to the creek to return with a six pack of cold Waikato cans, opens one and hands it to Mum, who accepts it gratefully as she has her makings out for some of New Zealand's finest-sparks it up, has a few good puffs then passes it to Dad who partakes of a few drags then passes it back to Mum stating, lets skid the wheels and go and wash the day off. Me in between Mum and Dad, Rusty and Tramp on the back with our gear and that huge monster of a Boar, twenty minutes later and we pull up on one of NZ's awesome west coast beaches. We leap out, de-robe and off at a gallop into the surf to wash the days grime of, well that's Mum and Dads idea; me I just love the surf. I'm out over my head and swimming, getting ready for the dive as the next set of waves comes through. I take a bit of a pounding, then air - wow this is choice. Theirs Mum calling me out to her, so I head over. Reach Mum who informs me Dad is a bit of a sissy in the cold water as I turn and see Dad already making his way back to the Ute. Mum Rusty and I play for awhile in the surf until we start to chill a bit, then head in to dry off and watch the most picturesque sunset on the west coast. The air is crystal clear; you can just see the cone of Mount Taranaki jutting out over the ocean. Looks like it is sitting out there by itself watching over us. Neither Mum nor Dad can be bothered cooking tonight as Dad suggests KFC. NO Mum says we will pick an Indian meal up on our way through Hamilton. Then I miss the rest of the conversation as I fall asleep. Choice the monster from hell gave me no nightmares this time. I'm out there slaying wild pork left right and centre with my heroes Rusty and Tramp.

 

 

 
 
 

 

THE FAMILY

 

 

I need to tell you about my family, because they are really important to me. My name is Jessica May, I was born in the mighty Waikato, that's the region not the river dopey. My early days where spent mainly with Mum as Dad worked out of town. Now MUM well, Mums totally awesome, she has long curly dark hair, dazzling blue eyes and being of Dutch descent she has a golden complexion, very sensual, compassionate woman. Mum works in a government department, with Co. car excetera, so she is usually elegantly dressed, as one would envisage her a societal, city lass. But don't let Mums manner and grace fool you, she is at her best in nature. Sailing, snow skiing, Tramping, camping, beaching, surfing, deer stalking, Mum just blossoms and thrives in this environment, preferring it to her city passions of wining, dining, movies, theatre and art. Mum is also one of the most spiritual, caring people that have ever graced this earth, and above all that Mum just loves Pig hunting. That's my Mum the one that still makes me go weak at the knees when I see her and she smiles that radiant smile that lights up the world. Mum also manages to find the time to fill my life with joy. I suppose little girls always think there Mum is just the bee's knees and as you can tell I love my Mum to bits. I won't stretch your imagination and call Dad handsome, but he does posses cheeky good looks. Dad has very soft; understanding eyes that change colour with his mood. Blond hair and blue, green, grey, auburn eyes with an athletic type build, capable, lithe and agile, Dad is the jack of all trades and even master of a few. Mind you I doubt he would agree. Dad loves us to death when he's around. Heaps of love and affection, always-surprising Mum with a gift or a bouquet of flowers. Dad has been a Pig hunter since he was knee high to a grasshopper and still enjoys getting out as often as he can. Born and raised on a Waikato dairy farm Dad is a natural outdoorsman. Dad's pet name for Mum is kitten as you may have guessed.. Then theirs Rusty. Now Rusty is Dad's right hand man (dog). Dad raised Rusty from a pup. One of Dad's cousin's bitches (female dog) was in pup. Dad phoned and requested one of the pups, his cousin informing Dad the bitch was due to drop her litter next week. Dad phones the following week to ask about the pups, his cousin nearly drops the phone, hastily telling Dad he will phone him back. Ten minutes latter Dad gets the return call; yep I've got a pup here for you. Dad? What was all the fuss about? Cous- Well I forgot all about you and I didn't want any pups so I drowned them. Then you phoned so I raced back down and bugger me dead if there wasn't one of the little mongrels swimming around the water trough. Couldn't believe my own eyes, three days old, eyes still fully shut looking like a naked rat and the little bugger is swimming around. I would say this one wants to live, so come and pick him up in six weeks. So Dad bought Rusty up to be a guard dog in and around the house, Making him Mum and my protector when Dad is away, which is often. Dad talks to Rusty the same as he talks to me, or as one would talk to a young child. You can believe it or not, but I am sure Rusty knows what Dad is talking about most of the time. Rusty is definitely a fully integrated part of the family, he even goes shopping with Mum, retrieves all the ducks and upland game in shooting season, loves swimming in the surf with Mum and I. Rusty would also be one of the most intelligent, well mannered dogs alive. As the name Rusty implies, he is a Rusty chocolate colour, a bit like a chocolate Labrador. But he's actually a Rhodesian Ridgeback, elkhound cross. Very handsome for a half-bred mutt. Then there's Tramp, now Tramp is a totally different kettle of fish all together. How Mum and Dad came across Tramp and ended up with him. Started when one of Dad's cousins organised a hunt around Kawhia-Houturu area. He turned up with dogs and son and off they all went. After about four hours and no runs the young boy started to grumble a bit, so it was decided to loop around for home. While they were travelling down a small watercourse, they came to a small area planted in pines adjoining the back of the farm. Walking between the pines and the native there was quite a bit of Pig sign about, going by the sign it indicated a large male hog. Sika one of our dogs and two of the other dogs had been gone for about ten minutes when they flushed the biggest Billy-goat Mum and Dad had ever seen. We all know well trained Pig dogs don't chase goats, usually. The goat must have been living around the Boar as it came charging straight down the hill towards Mum. Rusty was still hanging around getting keen when the huge Billy came flying through the scrub. Rusty knows full well not to chase goats, but we are sure he used the excuse that it was charging Mum. Anyway Rusty dives in and latches onto the Billy and they drop into a dry water coarse, The Billygoat putting up a strong fight. By this time one of the other dogs had leapt in with Rusty. His present owner, who found him down the Wanganui river, called this dog at this stage in his life red. Well red is in there giving this Billy shit as Dad arrives and not to pleasantly asks what the f-en hell they think they are doing grabbing a dirty, filthy, stinking Billy-goat. At witch stage the dogs realise their fopar, letting go of the goat. Dad being an experienced hunter and all, having trained many a Pig dog, also knowing that there release of the goat on command was acceptable and didn't warrant a beating. So they left the Billy to go on its merry way. Well the Billy had ideas of its own. It lined Dad up and knocked him for a row of shit cans. Of coarse this changes the whole scenario now that it has attacked the boss so Rusty and red dive back in to give startled Dad a hand. Dad has had a gutsfull of this bloody Billygoat by now. So out with the knife and cuts its throat. Calls the dogs off and walks away thinking that that was it. Unfortunately for red the present owner turns up, having a difference of opinion on the goat subject. Ties red to a tree and proceeds to beat him incessantly with a piece of Manuka. Mum and Dad are disgusted with the whole affair, but not being there dog it is not up to them, so they head off out of ear shot, up the ridge to the fence line and back to the Ute. The owner of red turns up in about twenty minutes, missing one dog, red. Well they hang around most of the afternoon, but red doesn't show, so they head home with the present owner travelling back down the line. Mum and Dad promising to check with the local farmer to let him know. Dad went back up each day, but never found red, then about ten days later the farmer phones Dad to inform him he has sighted the dog but it wont come near him. Dad enquires as to whether the dog has killed any of his sheep. If this was the case the dog would have to be put down, you know shot as stock or sheep killers are no use to anyone. The farmer informs Dad that the dog has been feeding on dead carcasses but hasn't touched any live ones. Dad heads back up and finally coaxes red out, bringing him home. Phones the owner. The reply being, shoot the bastard or keep him if you like. Dad decides he likes the look of the dog, he was also freeze branded GJ28. Couldn't track original owner down, so decided to keep the dog. Dad took red for a run along the river and had to carry the poor bugger home, as red couldn't walk back by himself. Put red in the car and off to the vets, a few ex-rays to find out that red has a broken pelvis, probably as a result of the Manuka beating. What to do. Put red down. The vet seems to think red may heal if we just give him complete kennel rest for four months. Mum and Dad decide to give it a go, with all of their hunting friends telling them they're mad. Saying the dog will never come right and even if he does they don't know if he is .any good anyway. Red was the scariest most timid dog around. If Mum walked out the back he would hide in his kennel. Red did however take an instant liking to Dad, as most animals or children did, he had a special way with them did Dad. They felt safe around him. But even if Dad raised his voice red would slink of to his kennel and hide. After the allotted time of incarceration red was finally aloud out of his kennel. Still very timid, but playful around Dad, a bit reserved around Mum. Until Mum spoke, even in the gentlest manner and at the sound of Mums voice red was off like a robber's dog into his kennel. Mum was a bit devastated really, but Mum and Dad put two and two together and came up with Dad's cousin screaming at the top of her lungs, brandishing a broom handle. The thought of it even scarred them. So it was decided that Mum take over feeding red, letting him out and spending more time with him. In no time at all red fell for Mum hook line and sinker, just like the rest of us. The funny thing was red didn't respond to his name very well. Dad thinking it through. Saying that red had good manners, which probably came from his original owner, then he may have travelled through a few sets of hands until he ended up with us. Mum thinks for awhile then enlightens us to the fact that he's a bit of a vagabond or a Tramp of no fixed abode. So the name Tramp started there and he responded well to it and now Tramp belonged to the family. And me. Well I have been studying hard on becoming a Pig huntress. Takes allot more than brute force and strength to entrap the elusive wild Pig. Also I am not aloud to give you our hunting spots or Dad says every Tom, Dick and harry will be out there. I have never met Tom or Harry, but I have met plenty of Dicks and most of them couldn't find their nose in a thick fog, let alone catch the elusive wild Boar, so our spots are pretty safe I think. Being a budding young huntress can be quite hard work you know. Normally I am awake well before sparrow's fart or the rooster's crow. I don't want to miss any of this life. I lie still trying to behave, and then I can feel the exuberance boiling up inside of me and I cant wait any longer. I'm up and away, charge into Mum and Dad's room, leap right in the middle of the bed. Dad rolls over. Jessie darling, will you get out of our face and give us a bit of peace please. Be a good girl, go and play chicken with the trucks on the highway. Mum gives me a big hug- morning Jessie, how's my baby this morning. If I were a cat I'd purr. Dads wearing none of it, go on off you go, as he gives Mum a cuddle. I disappear knowing full well Dad wants to do a bit of early morning crowing himself, Mum being a Leo starts purring as I leave and head outside to sulk and annoy Rusty. Dad emerges later, switches on the kettle, gives me a hug, Rusty a pat, lights his morning fag sitting on the back porch. I take the opportunity to get my share of Dad's attention, while Dad makes toast and tea, takes it to their room for Mum. I sneak in for my morning affections from Mum as she starts readying herself for the day. I sit in the room watching Mum apply light make-up, select clothes for the day, comb her hair, this is neat to, watching Mum preen herself. After Mum is done she asks Dads approval, he replies. Far to stunning kitten, put some of those frumpy old rags on like your mother wears and take that make-up off, I don't need too much competition.

Jessica you need to watch the dogs, see how they work, learn from their experience Dad informs me as we take Rusty and Tramp out for our daily walk along the Waikato river. I'm thinking yeah-yeah okay as I charge away after the dogs. Doesn't Dad realise, but I'm not as stupid as he looks the great Burke. I don't miss a thing. Mum just adores these afternoon strolls. Sometimes we leap in the Ute and head off to Raglan or Ruapuke so we can romp on the beach and in the surf. Not Dad though the cold-blooded smurf, there's no way Mum and I can coax him into the water. Tramps also a bit of a woos in the water, so its Mum, Rusty and I swimming around having a ball until we are totally exhausted and grovel out to see Dad has collected some dry drift wood and has a roaring fire going as we sit around to watch another tranquil sunset fade into the night. Then fish and chips in Raglan and off home. That's the world famous surf beach, township. Well, world famous in New Zealand anyway. And me well I've got elegant long light brown eyelashes, big brown eyes, Mum and Dad tell me I'm gorgeous, what sort of name is that for a Pig huntress, should be speedy, fast, intelligent, witty, any name but gorge---yuck. And last but I am sure he thinks not least, is our damn cat SPOOK. Dad thinks that cats remind him of the twenty first-century woman. Arrogant, aloof, independent creatures. And Spook is just one big black ball of fluff. You know that damn cat spook walks into the house like he is king of the jungle. Straight into the kitchen-meow-meow-meow. Mum comes in, picks him up, and gives spook a big cuddle then feeds him. Everytime he meows, he gets fed. And talk about take your time eating, twenty to thirty minutes fluffing around and he's only half finished, then he walks off to preen himself. Stuck up sit. Tramp knows there is half of Spooks food left. He knows he will get fair in the shit if he eats the cat food, but he just can't help himself, as Tramps head pops around the corner, then he scoots of down the hall to check on Mum. Choice Mum's in her room and Dads outside tootooing with the lawnmower. Tramp sneaks into the kitchen, a couple of tentative bites, which only peak his hunger pains. Tramps just about ready to go for the full Monty when he's frozen in his tracks as Mums voice rings out. Tramp don't you touch the cat food, as Tramp skittles off like he's been peppered up the arse. Talking about arse, I tell you it's a fare pain in it when you have a psychic mother, Tramp was sure he was in---------------and Sika was the prettiest little dog around and not a bad finder to boot. Getting on a bit in age so it was decided to retire Sika to a solo Mum friend of Dads that wanted a guard dog and pet for the kids. Sika fitted right in, taking to her new role like a duck to water. Sika's true pedigree name is too hard for me to pronounce, but she was the cutest pedigree Australian Kelpie around. She was given to Dad by his mate the General and found and bailed many a Pig in her time.

 
 
 
 

 

THE LOST WORLD

 

 

This weekend we are heading over to the East Coast to visit one of Dads friends, nick-named the general for obvious reasons. Like he's always telling people what to do. On arrival the general tells us of a spot up the back that he hasn't been able to get over to as there is a massive gorge  that appears impassable, but he is sure there must be a way into the stream bed and out the other side. The general has glassed it a few times and saw evidence of Pigs as well as seeing a few deer grazing, he is positive it is like a secluded little island with no other access. Mum and Dad decide it is our mission for the long Easter weekend and the middle of the roar (dear mating season). First light we are packed and away, borrowing the general's old series twoA landrover we drive in as far as the rover will take us, out grab all of our gear and away. The first hour is pretty easy going down a mild water-course, through quite open pine forest, then as it steepens, the forestation changes to second growth native for the next forty minutes, then old first growth native bordering the edge of a cliff that drops into the stream that we wish to cross. It has been easy going up until now, but we can't find a safe way down into the river. After a dozen different attempts Dad decides to try and follow a small tributary down. After twenty minutes scrambling down we meet our first major obstacle, a twenty foot water-fall hemmed in on both sides by steep pappa (hard pumice type rock) faces. The strange part of this waterfall is as the tributary bottlenecks; the force of water from previous flooding and erosion had actually punched a whole through an enormous rock, which was the beginning of the waterfall. A four foot whole in a rock, dropping straight down twenty feet. Well it's either go back, which will take at least forty minutes, or forge on. Dad has already got his pack off and a coil of rope out. Okay kitten you go first, then I will send the packs down, followed by Rusty, Tramp, then Jessie, yeah me, and he has to figure out how he can get the rope back down once he has descended. So Dad ties the rope off, helps Mum on to the ledge and says well get going, Mums a bit dubious about the whole affair, but starts her descent through the rock, she is going really well for the first three feet until her feet have nothing to purchase on, so Mum starts lowering herself slowly, hand under hand. The waterfall is pounding Mums head now and the rope becomes slippery, next thing Mum yells, there's a loud thump, then from out of the whole in the rock we hear Mums voice. I'm okay; I just lost my grip. Dad has a look down to see Mum regaining composure as Dad pulls the rope back up, ties his belt around Rusty. Right you first Rust, who is looking very dubious about the whole deal. Dad ties the rope on and lowers Rusty down slowly, water cascading and nearly drowning Rusty on the way down. Mum releases Rusty so Dad can pull the rope back up, Dad turns to tie the rope onto Tramp, but Tramp has scarpered. Ten minutes whistling and Tramp re-appears looking sceptical as hell about being tossed down the whole. Don't know if I'm that keen on the idea either. Dad finally coaxes Tramp over, grabs him, ties his belt around Tramps chest and lowers him down. Then me, well I'm scarred, worse than scared, petrified as Dad ties me up to lower me down, I am that scarred I cant move or say anything, all the way down until finally Mum has me in her arms telling me how brave I was. I don't need to tell them the truth of course .You know, when your insides turn, your body goes rigid, mind wont function and you are totally incapable of movement. They call it fear, but that's much to passive a word, unimaginable terror is more on the mark. Dad then rearranges the rope, lowers the packs before making his descent, and then pulls the rope down after him. Another twenty minutes until we are stuck again. This time the drop off is about thirty feet directly into the stream we need to cross. Much discussion from Mum and Dad about what to do next, then Dad signals silence by a finger to his lip. We all hear it, a dog bark or more like a yip. Looking around we see that Tramp is missing again. All listening now as we hear a few more yips, so Dad decides to take a look, leaving his pack behind he heads back until he can find a way around. Arrives back about twenty minutes later to inform us Tramp has either fallen down a bluff or is down in the creek trying to find a way back. A discussion follows and Dad decides to lower himself down and go to find Tramp. We wait for nearly an hour until Dad finally shows up with Tramp. Dad had followed the creek up in search of Tramp, to see Tramp stuck on a shelf about sixty feet up a sheer face. Tramp must have slipped down from the top. Dad then had to climb the face to retrieve Tramp, which he explains had his bum cheeks working overtime, with no climbing equipment or safety harness's it was quite a hair raising experience. Dad also had the opportunity to look at the stream and see if there was a way up the other side, said he doesn't like our chances. He decides to remain at the bottom of the cliff as Mum ferries the rest of the gear and us down. On reaching the bottom Dad informs us that we have no chance of returning the way we came, so we need to find a way out the other side. The stream is shallow enough to cross at certain points without getting wet feet. There are sheer Pappa faces ascending from forty, to one hundred feet on both sides of the gorge. A very cold, inhospitable place to be as we cross to the other side and attempt to follow the stream around to find a way out. The prospects not looking too great after an hours scrambling around rocks. Dad is on a ledge reaching back to give Mum a hand, as Mum reach's out, tacking hold of Dads proffered hand an enormous water spider, about the size of a coffee saucer scuttles out of a crack and runs across Mums hand, followed by a loud scream as Mum yanks her hand back, she pulls Dad clean off the ledge who completes a beautiful backwards somersault to land in a large pool of the stream. He comes up absolutely drenched and freezing. The water temperature must be about minus three degrees, fighting for air as he scrambles to the edge where Mum gives him a hand out. Moving back down to a small ledge to regroup. Dad strips all of his clothes off to ring out the polar fleece gear, covered now in goose pimples, shivering in the damp cold looking like a drowned rat. We had been scrambling through all sorts of shit for about six hours by now and Dad, after his refreshing dip is feeling rather shagged and suggests we find a large enough ledge to set up camp and get a fire going if we can locate any dry wood in this dingy ravine. But Mum is having none of it. Extremely adamant she is not spending the night in this ungodly place. It's getting tighter the further up we go, with less likelihood of finding an exit from this ravine, so it is decided we head back down stream and try our luck. Travelling below where we first entered the ravine there seemed to be no break in the steep Pappa faces to allow us an ascent out of this dark miserable inhospitable place. Another two hours and we are looking at a steep face still. The difference with this face is that it has a small amount of undergrowth on it. In the form of small Manukas with the odd Supplejack vine and the occasional lichen clinging tenaciously to the cracks. Mum enquires if we might try here as it looks like the only hope of ever getting out. With time no longer our allies Dad agrees so we set of up the face. It is extremely hard dangerous going and extreme caution is needed, as any false move would send you rocketing down to your doom. Dad is coaxing me all the way telling me not to look down just keep going. Why did the egg say don't look down. You just can't resist it then can you, so I turn around and look down. I wish like hell I hadn't. I totally froze, immobilised with fear. Dad reaches back and grabs me by the back of the neck and fires me up past him, shoving me up the date saying keep moving Jessie, just keep moving. I got that sick of Dad shoving me up the date that I momentarily overcome the fear and forged ahead just to get free of Dads pushing. It took just over an hour to scale the hundred plus metres holding on to anything that allowed purchase before the going got a bit easier and then all of a sudden I just popped out of the bush onto a lush grass clearing. Time for a ten-minute breather as Dad suggests we head up to a small stand of Kahikatea and beach trees just above the clearing to set up camp and that we rattle our daggs, with only an hour or so of light left in the day. Half way up the clearing Dad turns to review our accent, thinking about the major mission it has been to get thus far. As he looks he informs us that it was definitely a lucky decision to attempt our climb where we did as this is the very clearing the general was talking about and it also looks like the only possible exit from that massive ravine. Mum and Dad both have full packs and are definitely feeling the impact of the arduous day. Where as I'm just fizzing at the bit by now, on a natural high from the terrors encountered earlier in the day also feeling very pleased with myself for having overcome the days demands. I also have nothing to carry so I'm still raring to go as I race off up the clearing to check things out then race back down to see how they're going. Finally the entourage arrives at the stand of trees, packs off with a huge sigh of relief, a quick breather and Dads smelly fag. Dad starts unpacking to set up camp as Mum wonders off for a look around. On her return she said their where a couple of hinds (female deer) grazing under a small stand of Rata's. They sit for a bit, looking back down the clearing, mesmerised by the beauty and peace unfolding below. It was worth the effort to get to our own piece of paradise with no one else for miles and no one mad enough to attempt it. Like being on our own little Island. We spent the evening relaxing around a roaring campfire. So pleased to have made the effort to get to this far away oasis. Mum is preparing breakfast in the morning. Dad is relaxing, kicking back and not even that keen to head off for a hunt. A bit of r'n'r (rest and relaxation) on the agenda for the day he thinks. As breakfast is set out, there comes a dog bark from just up behind us. Mum and Dad look around to check our hounds. All present and accounted for. Then five minutes latter we hear someone whistling a tune, heading towards our camp. And lo and behold this young women comes walking into camp with not so much as a sweat on her forrid, makeup still intact. Dads jaw nearly fell to the ground. Stunned; totally astonished. Mum recovers from the shock first and invites our guest to join us for a coffee. Mum feeling a bit out done with this young glowing beauty as Mum hadn't fully recovered from yesterday's mammoth ordeal. Also Mum had purchased a new pair of track pants, that just didn't stand up to the punishment meeted out to them and stretched to accommodate a size forty ring peace. After initial pleasantry's it was discovered the young lady worked for D.O.C (department of conservation) and she came out weekly to check the local Kaka (native flightless parrot) population. It was also discovered that there was a walking track back out in the other direction, that only took an easy hour to get back to where she parked her vehicle. Coffee finished she said her farewells and left to check her Kaka run and clear the ferret and weasel traps. Which along with the feral cat is our native bird's worst predator? On her departure, we were flabbergasted. An entire day of arse breaking treachery to get to our secluded spot of paradise. Only to find out there is an easy walking track in from the other side of the Kaharoa ranges. You wait until we get back and I see that bloody general Dad spits. However we stayed for the Easter break and enjoyed every minute of our r'n'r. But the final day was a to be a major slog. Before our departure Dad decided he couldn't handle Mum's size forty track pants. So he loaned Mum his spare pair and performed a burial with Mums. The script reading. Buried through vulgarity, one article of clothing. Rest in peace and may you never grace anyone's posteria again. We followed the d.o.c track out. But then we had to walk the track all the way from the Rotorua side of the Kaharoa ranges right across to the Bay of Plenty side to get back to the rover. Once on a track we knew, Dad decided to stash the packs. Then stated he was going to turn on the afterburners and when he got to the rover he would come back and pick us up. And turn the after burners on he did, and about six hours later the landrover comes roaring down the track to load us up. As usual Dad had stashed a dozen cans of Waikato under the seat and was Mum grateful. Arriving back at the generals and after Dad had balled him out everyone had a great laugh at the scenario. Lost world, ha. Lost in the Generals mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE KILLER

 

 

 

 

There is this story going around about an old Boar down Marakopa way. Rumour has it that the locals have chased it around for years and that it is a real cunning old smelly responsible for many a top dogs untimely demise and even mangled a young boy. Rumour also has it that it's a real fiery beast. Well Mum and Dad are talking about going down to have a crack at it this weekend. WHY? I mean I thought they cared about us that they loved Rusty and Tramp, it also mauled a young child and they want to take me. Maybe they don't love us anymore and this is the best way to get rid of us. Look at them so bloody exited about catching up with this killer; they must want to get rid of us real bad. We know smelly, gnarly old Boars are dreadful to eat, so why else, apart from to eradicate us, would they want to hunt it. I can't believe it, so I head out back to tell Rusty and Tramp about it and bugger me dead if they aren't really exited about it as well. Well I'm totally confused now, perhaps Rusty and Tramp are sick of life also and this is their means of escape. I give up; I just don't understand adults and dogs alike. As the dreaded weekend draws closer I am at my wits end on how to stop this catastrophe and as yet haven't come up with any plan by the time the weekend has arrived and we are heading into to the bush. We had only been travelling for about an hour when we came across sign of a Boar. Following it along we found two dead dogs. Undoubtedly their demise compliments of the killer Boar. Well this is it; I'm out of here. I try to coax Rusty and Tramp to follow but they are as keen as mustard with all the Pig sign around, dopey bastards, well I suppose I will have to stick around and help them then wont I. Dad leads us up a shallow gut, then around the side of a ridge through a stand of Nikau palms. There is fresher Pig rooting and Rusty and Tramp are working hard. Dad stops then, to roll his bloody fag and give the dogs a chance to locate their quarry. The dogs have been gone for about twenty minutes and I'm freaking out to the max, maybe they are dead already, should I go and have a look. I want to but to tell you the truth I'm scared shitless. While I am trying to come up with a plan to help my friends, all hell breaks loose about two hundred meter's away. Rusty and Tramp are going hard scraping what must be the killer Boar. Before I have time to blink, Mum and Dad are off so I chase after them. We had only travelled thirty meters when we hear a loud snort, a yelp, well the Pig got one of them, I hope you are satisfied Dad, you wanker, there is only two of us left now to be rid of.  Then the Boar breaking away up the ridge, sounds like a freight train steaming up hill. Then a huge scrap as the dogs hit it again. Did I say dogs (plural) yeah that's right I can hear both of them scraping it out then coming off to bail. Then the big surprise, Dad charges of yelling come on you two let's get up there and give them a hand. Did I hear right, give them a hand. Oh no I had it all wrong. The dopey bastard wants to nail the Pig, he actually thinks we can catch this killer. God please help, Dads totally lost his marbles, Mum who's always been level headed has come up short of a full picnic and now we are all going to die, the killer is going to get us all. At this stage I think I would like to sneak off and head home but there are two things that stop me, this is my family that I love, so I just have to stay and help, and also I'm scared shitless so I couldn't run if I wanted to. Dad and us circle around and above the massive scrap going on as Dad tells me to stay with Mum, and takes the gun of his back. Now what's he going to do with that? I had heard Mum and Dad talk about the gun and Dad carries it every time we hunt. I have no idea why, as I have never seen him use it for anything. But now that Dad has got the gun out, the gun looks a lot more menacing. Like it might not have been a wasted piece of space. Just then I see Rusty's backside come around the hill at us, then Tramp slightly of to the side, their faces pulled right back with just jaw and teeth to the front. Then pushing them out is the meanest looking Pig that you've ever seen. Froth coming out of it's mouth, and those beady eyes staring at you, big and yeah bald, the Pig had next to no hair and ugly, with mean sharp tusks gleaming as they protrude from his bottom jaw. The killer keeps darting forward, attempting to savage one of the dogs. It then spies Dad and in an instant charges straight at Dad. I've gone a bit weak at the knees; it's going to get my Dad. Then this enormous boom, something likes you have never heard before, makes Guyfaux sound like a wet fart, and the killer is lying there dead. As I nearly wet myself when that bloody gun went off, damn near crapped my pants man. Shit. Well now I know why he lugged that useless piece of junk around. They could have warned me that there was to be such a loud bang that went with it. Crikkey Dick I'm still shaking all over, that's the loudest thing I've ever heard, or should I say can't hear as I'm bloody deaf now. And that's it, over just like that. The killer becomes the killed. And don't mess around with those guns or rifles, they're dangerous scary pieces of work. Dad truss's the Boar and lugs it out to the Ute and away home after another successful hunt. I really did have it all wrong about getting us all killed didn't I.

I've been studying really hard on Pig huntressing; like watch the dogs. Look for sign. Stay down wind of where you are heading. Make sure the dogs are looking for wild Pigs and not snooping around trying to nab an unsuspecting goat, or worse, one of the farmers sheep. Watch the weather. It may be a gloriously fine day where you are. But it may have been raining cats and dogs further up in the hills or mountains and when you get back to that creek you crossed earlier. When you didn't even get your feet wet, it's now swollen about six feet and nothing short of a helicopter is going to get you across until the once a creek now a ragging river has subsided And always try to remember which way you have come. So you can find your damned way out again. Study the type of terrain you are in. So if you do loose the dogs or get bushed you have a mind map of the area. Or if you do catch a Pig you have a fair idea on the easiest route to carry the Pig out, keep an eye out for possum traps, bait stations or poison and above all else Dad say's respect the environment and the native birds and wildlife. And take out all your rubbish.

 

 
 
SINGLE TUSKER
 
 
 
 
 

 

Dad and the General decided to head down to Opotiki and up past Crumpy's old place for a hunt. So there's Dad, Rusty and me, the general brought along his main finder Coke and a couple of young dogs. We arrive at friends of the generals late that night. Say our hello's, Dad and the general have their obligatory drinks at which stage the conversation turns to hunting and stories of an old Boar living up the back. Responsible for the local hunters depletion of dogs. A few of the local hunters that have caught a glimpse of the Boar believe it only has one large tusk. And that it functions with extreme prejudice when it comes to puncturing Pig dogs. Yes you guessed it; of course Dad and the general decide to take their dogs out to get killed or full of puncture wounds. What makes them think our dogs are better than any of the local dogs. The locals down here practically live in the bush. As usual nobody hears my opinion. Up at daybreak and off into the unforgiving Ureweras. After a couple of hours or so we think we are in the area our hosts of the night before believe one tusk to be living. We slow down to check around for fresh sign. The general notices Coke has gone and the other dogs are showing a lot of interest. In very short time Coke opens up only a couple of hundred metres away. There' a big blow and it sounds like an avalanche coming down the hill at us as this monstrous black Boar goes herring past like a falling boulder with Coke in hot pursuit. It happened that fast we hadn't had time to blink. The young dogs don't know what's going on as Coke opens up farther down the ridge. A major battle erupts as Rusty must have caught up to Coke. The noise reverberating through the valley. Coke and Rusty lost the plot a bit, thinking they could single handily hold the one tusk monster. Next thing a few yodels and yelps, plenty of grunting and snorting as the Boar gets his single tusk into devastating action. Then silence, deathly silence, not even a Bell Bird passing wind. Just a light breeze is Rustling the fern fronds overhead. Well there, you know all dip shits; now they're both dead. Rusty and Coke ripped to threads by one tusker. Pity the Pig hadn't taken you two out and let poor Rusty and Coke live. Just when the realisation of what has taken place and the tears are ready to flow, from way down the ridge we hear a few more yips from Coke, nothing from Rusty though and then silence again. The general decides to head up and over the ridge thinking the Pig will try to circle back around. Dad decides to follow the way the battle went down the steep ridge stating they will meet back at the rover before nightfall. We head down and for a first Dad is very slow and deliberate in his movements, checking every little thing as we go. We come to the spot where Rusty and Coke must have tackled the one tusker. Dad is checking around all over the place, a quiet whistle, Rusty-Rusty here boy, here Rust, where are you boy. That's when I realise Dad's mood. His best buddy and right hand man is missing in action and Dads really shaken up. Checking around for blood spots and looking at the scene of the battle for any piece of information that might help Dad locate his best mate. Dad solemnly carries on until we hit a swampy patch. Here Dad studies everything in detail, relaxing after awhile. See here Jessie, they're Cokes dainty little foot prints and if you look over here you can see Rusty's thunderous clodhoppers. So he's still alive sweetheart. Big burke, why didn't we hunt some where else today and we wouldn't be in this predicament and so concerned now. Feel like kicking Dad fair in the slats. We followed the creek bed down and around for hours. At about two in the avo (afternoon) Dad decides its time to head back to the rover. Hopefully the general has had better luck and might be back there with the dogs now. Another couple of hours of real fast pace and we pop out on the track we came in on. Five more minutes and out at the rover. The generals already their grumbling about useless dogs and a sore arm. What's wrong with the arm Dad enquires. I fell down a small ravine earlier on and landed heavily on my arm. Dad wants to know if the general has broken it, The generals' reply, she'll be right. We hang around well after dark and still no sign of the dogs. In the rover to leave as Coke turns up. On close inspection Coke's not in a good way. A few pokes in the neck, a wicked rip along the ribcage and another nasty gash on her back leg. And no Rusty. We place Coke in the rover and head back to our friend's place. What a day, the general has stuffed his arm, Coke is all ripped to hell, we caught no Pig and poor old Rusty is still missing in action, wounded or dead or who knows what, and he's out there all alone. Next morning Dad decides to nip up the road to see if Rusty has returned overnight. Dad had left his Swandri in the bush where the rover was parked the previous day, so if Rusty turned up he would sleep on the Swandri and wait until Dad turned up. But no Rusty and Dads worry lines are showing. Back to the house. Load the general and Coke up and off to the vet in Opotiki. Three hundred and fifty dollars latter and about thirty-five stitches Coke's all done. No hospital in Opotiki and no amount of talk could con the vet into ex-ray the generals arm. So we carry Coke out to the rover and off to Whakatane hospital, about an hour down the coast. Coke recovers from her sleep induced state on the drive looking no worse for the wear. Dad locked the rover outside the hospital leaving a window partially open for Coke to get some fresh air. And we head in to get the general seen too. A nurse turns up and takes the general away, so Dad heads outside to have a fag. No sooner had Dad left and we hear an almighty screech of tyres then a dog yodelling in pain. Dads away at break neck speed to find Coke has managed to wriggle out of the gap he left in the window, been hit by a car and popped all the stitches. Dad packs Coke back in the rover and hoons away to find another vet. Another hundred dollars later and Coke has been re-stitched. Back to the hospital to get the general, who now has a cast on his arm then head back out to our friend's farm? Dad has a quick coffee then heads off to try and find Rusty. The general leaps up saying he's coming too, broken arm or not. The general and I check around where we thought Coke came back from as Dad heads in determined to find his mate. Dad arrives back about half an hour after dark and still no Rusty. Dad looks really concerned, with worry lines around his eyes as we head back for the night with Dad determined to spend the whole day tomorrow searching until he finds his boy Rusty. Dad decides to go it alone in the morning, stating he can cover a lot more ground by himself. It is pretty morbid on the front porch that morning, with Coke all battered up and never knowing if we will see Rusty alive again. It had been about two hours since Dad's departure. The general is on coffee number ten and not much is being said when we hear the rover coming back down the road. It pulls up and hadn't quite come to a halt when a brown blur fly's off the back as Rusty races straight up the porch to give me a big face licking and on to say hi to the general. Rusty's that excited to see us you would think he just got back from his big OE (oversees experience). Rusty has a couple of small rips and a few nicks, but nothing the vet need attend too. Although it has been a really shit weeks hunting. Dad comes up with a grin from ear to ear, you'd have thought he'd just hit the jackpot. We never did find out if anyone nailed one tusker.

 
 

 

 
THE PINES

 

 

 

 

GOING SOLO

 

 

So we are away in the morning for another go. I have been on many hunts by now, but the excitement; the build up the night before is still as overpowering as my first hunt. Awake well before the moon vanishes from the night sky, fidgeting, can't lie still. WAITING-WAITING-WAITING until finally I hear Dads alarm go off. The opportunity to move has arrived none too soon. I was nearly jumping out of my skin. I'm off like a cat on hot coals, out the door down the hall and a mighty leap onto Mum and Dads bed before the old fart has even had time to turn his alarm off. Am I fast or what? Dads straight out of bed to let the dogs out and put the jug on, so I snuggle into Mum until I get my necessary attentions. Then we're up and into breakfast at breakneck speed. Least I am. I'm ready to go. Mum's pack of necessities. Like lavender oil, strip of tyre inner tube for lighting a fire, length of rope, lip stick (it's better than lip balm) insect pissoff, toilet paper in sealed plastic bag, survival blanket, torch plus spare batteries and bulb, short candle, orienteering compass, roll insulation tape; squashed wine skin, Giardia purification tablets and moisturiser with a high sunblock rating. And a cigarette lighter. Depending on the length of proposed hunt Mum normally makes a few sandwiches. Dad throws in a few Moro and Picnic bars, a small slab of cheese, luncheon and a few drink sachets. Rusty and Tramp are let out to do their morning ablutions. Then in the Ute and away. Of course the necessary hunting attire. Good Tramping boots and socks, polar fleece track pants and top, a good oil skin coat for the miserable weather days and the unexpected, warm hat, knife plus sharpener, rifle, Dad also has a small pouch on his belt with a few basics, mini torch, inner tube, bic lighter, stitching equipment (needles and thread) a few good pain killers, small candle and mini survival blanket, compass, he would sooner get chapped lips than wear lipstick the macho dork. Also a bag in the car with a couple of towels, a full change of clothes as more often than not they can't be buggered lugging the oil skin around. Don't forget the thermos and half a dozen cans of Waikato in the Ute.

We hit the bush just before daybreak following a small tributary (stream) as it meanders up into the hills. The odd grassy flat where we can see if the Pigs have been out turning up the grass with their snouts. A bit of sign around but it looks a few weeks old. As the stream gets a bit choked with overgrowth and very difficult going we head up a small ridge that leads up to the main ridge which if we followed it far enough it would lead us right up to the mountains. After a couple of hours heading up the ridge, they decide it's time for a rest. Yet all the way up Rusty and Tramp have been as keen as mustard, there being quite a lot of fresh Pig sign around. All the sign indicate one big hog. Yeah a Boar I think judging by the rubbings on the small saplings. The large prints on the ridge track with the scent of something old and smelly lingering in the crisp air. Rusty and Tramp have headed off up the ridge track as Mum and Dad take a breather and Dad lights another smelly fag. The Pig is right here, I can sense it. The hair on the back of my neck is standing to attention as the wind flurries in from the west over to my right I'm sure I can smell it. Then our two trusty dogs return and find a comfy spot to lie down and do stuff all. These are our awesome finding dogs. Don't think they could find the scent of their own fart in a wet blanket. I can see I am just going to have to it all myself. I duck off the track down to the right. Five minutes and I'm in a dry watercourse and sure as Santa Claus there are the nice fresh prints of a huge Boar. This big brute is close, I know. I skip around a few large boulders, head up the other side of the watercourse, through a bit of dense scrub. Then I break out into bigger timber and there in front of me is a Pig wallow. The water in the wallow is still muddy with rivulets of water trickling back into the wallow. This can only mean one thing. You're right, the Boar must have only just departed from this spot. The wind is still coming into my face and I can smell the stench of wild Boar. Shit I'm excited, I'm going to nab this Boar while those other wallies are letting breakfast settle. Around the other side of a knoll and I nearly ran right up the gunger of the old smelly bastard. Jesus did I let out a holler or two. Thinking on being sprung the Boar would charge off and there would be this massive hair raising chase until I finally wore him down. However the Boar had plans of his own as he turned looked right into my eye's, let out an ear shattering snort and took to me. This wasn't meant to happen, not at all. Cripes the big hairy brute will tear me to threads if he gets those ugly gleaming tusks within striking range. Why didn't I stay up there with Mum and Dad you stupid damned idiot? God please help. Time to take evasive action and fast. One last holler then I'm off, with old hairy scary in hot pursuit right up my date. Talk about scared. Amazing how the fear of death can bring out amazing surges of speed. I'm of over a fallen log around a couple of boulders going like a bat out of hell. Around the knoll heading back down to the old watercourse, I dare a quick glance behind. Shit he's right on my hammer. Dig it in Jess, otherwise I'm Pig fodder. Into the watercourse. Can hear his hooves hitting the rocks right behind me. I glance up and god has heard my cries for help, or more than likely Rusty's big ears as Rusty and Tramp are flying down the hill at about mach ten but are they going to make it in time. I can feel the Boars breath on my arse. And it used to be such a pretty arse too. But not if scary hairy gets hold of it. Go Jess Go and finally the cavalry arrives as Rust, good old Rust, fly's past me and hits the mighty beast fair across the snout as Tramp latch's onto an ear. Taken totally by surprise at this new turn of events, stopping the Boar dead in it' tracks, which also took me off his the lunch menu, thank you god. Rusty and Tramp are really giving this Boar heaps. I think because it nearly got me and they are supposed to be my protectors. And let's not forget the fact they are supposed to be our awesome pig finders and while they were sunning themselves, a relative novice out found them. So I would say they are terribly embarrassed too. But man are they making up for it. This Pig is going nowhere. Mum's the first on the scene and in no time she has grabbed the Boar, as I race in and give her a hand. Mums out with the knife and there's another bit of bacon for our freezer.

 

 

THE MIGHTY MOTU
 
 
 
 

Mums brother John is one of those educated well-travelled gentlemen that is also quite wealthy too. Along with his wife Steff who was very wealthy in her own right. Anyway it was John's birthday and Mum was at a dilemma on what you get someone that has probably got everything they want. So Dad decides that both John and Steff are nice clean green Kiwis with a love of the out doors and would really enjoy a break from the great metropolis of Auckland. They sat down and drafted a birthday card where the holder and partner had won a three day guided trip white water rafting down the Motu River. Also the general said he had a few friends that would like to do the trip as well. So it was organised that John, Steff, Rex and Sue, Mum and Dad, the General and of course me were off to the Mighty Motu River on two rubber rafts with a hand full of Pig dogs. Dad decided just to take Rusty. The general was to bring Coke and a couple of pups that needed the experience. Dad pre-prepared all the main meals and froze them in litre ice-cream containers, packing a few extra goodies because Sue was to have her birthday on the trip and these weren't your everyday rough and ready hunters. They were a pack of Auckland Suburbanites that were accustomed too more than a sloppy old stew and a few spuds. Well actually John had spent a great deal of his life in the outdoors, white water rafting in Nepal, along with mountaineering and high altitude climbing. Also an extremely adept snow skier and Trout fisher person. Steff just adored getting out and about in nature. Sue had a farmlet at Coromandel and was into alternative lifestyles. As I said the General was bringing Coke along as our main finder. Coke was an Australian Kelpie cross, small, about Foxy size and jet-black. She looked like someone's show pet, rather than an awesome Pig dog. And Rusty was a bigger dog but still looked like a pedigree chocolate Labrador. Not the macho Pig holder. Both the pups where Cokes, so they didn't resemble your stereotypical boofhead Pig dogs either. The other extremity was that when Dad and the general did previous Motu trips, they put a trailer on the back of an old series threeA Landrover. Laden with gear, food, raft and dogs also a driver to take the Rover out to pick them up at the Motu river mouth end in three days. The trip into Otipi and up the old logging track was extremely hazardous, slow and at best nerve racking. The difference now was John owned a brand new Nissan Patrol and Rex a new Toyota Hilux. So when we pulled up at the generals friends place at Otipi to pick up the drivers who would drop us off and pick us up at the end of the trip we were met with more than a bit of mirth. The women had all the latest designer Tramping glad rags on, with full make up kit and four hundred-dollar shades to boot. Then we let the dogs out to stretch their legs. Which received a few snickers from the Otipi locals? They where thinking how does this bunch of greenhorn yuppies and their house pets expect to raft the Motu and think they might even catch a Motu Pig or two. No way. One of the locals pulled Dad aside and politely told him that two of his local friends, that are full time hunters, did the Motu only four days ago. That they have choice Pig dogs that know what they are doing. And that they only got three Pigs for the entire trip. So he said, the likelihood of us catching a Pig so soon after, would be very slim. The local's polite way of saying, you and your posh mates and poncy poodles you call Pig dogs won't have a snowballs chance in hell of catching a Pig. Those things you call Pig dogs probably couldn't catch our pet sow Girty, while she was in her pen. The trip up the Otipi logging track was a breeze in these flash new four by fours with all the latest high tech gismos. We literally flew in. Unpacked all and sundry, loaded the rafts and wet paddles it was as we headed down the Mighty Motu. Rex looked like a city slicker, in reality Rex had done more than his fair share of bush and rafting time as well as the next person. So Rex was guide on one boat with Sue, John and Steff making up the rest of the paddling crew and two two-hundred litre plastic barrels with clothing, gear and food in. Then Mum, Dad, the general and myself, two of the same barrels, Rusty, Coke and the two young dogs. We just got through our first set off rapids, which really got the heart racing when Coke was winding and getting excited. We signalled the other boat as we stopped our boat on a river flat. Coke, Rusty, and the two pups vamoosed immediately. There are Pigs about; I can sense it again. Dad and I heard something back up the flat as Dad broke into a sprint, the other boat was just coming down when a thirty-kilo Boar shot out and leapt into the Motu. Dad didn't even miss a stride as he dived off a small ledge, knife coming out in mid flight to land right on the Boar and plunge the knife in right in front of the other raft. John, Steff and Sue a bit shocked at the fast brutal severity of the Boars demise. Dad is floundering around in the Motu's fast current, trying desperately to get the Pig out before he reach's the end of the river flat and ends up in the next set of rapids. Rex doesn't muck around in firing up his crew. Forward paddle, come on, and forward paddle harder, harder as their raft leaps into action. Up beside Dad and Rex halls the Pig, then Dad onto the raft and forward paddle over to the flat. Catching the river flat just in time. Another twenty metres and it was in the rapids. Pull the boat up and Dad is already off. Coke is bailing her little fanny off up the hill, then a squeal as Rusty and the pups' dive in for the hold. A few more seconds, then silence. The general must have arrived and the job is done. All of this in under an hour. A few choice rapids, a couple of Pigs. The Aucklanders are a bit shell shocked, but jubilant at the same time. We spent the best part of the day cruising the flat spots and rushing the rapids, having a ball. A few of the rapids stretched above grade five. That's mean and scary but does it get the natural highs working. The Pig the general got was about a thirty five-kilo Boar, both young Pigs with small or no hooks (tusks) at all, perfect eating size. We stopped quite early to set up camp. Pulling the rafts out and up well above any sign of a high water mark from past flooding. Everyone gets a job when setting up camp. I'm helping the general collect firewood, and they don't call him the general for nothing. He had that much wood sorted for transport to the camp I thought a truck was going to turn up to take it away. But oh no, the general loads himself up like a pack horse and come on Jessie get the lead out of those feet. I grab my stick to do my bit. Steff's hard out peeling spuds as we bring our wares in. Mum is filling the water containers. John has located and sorted some river rocks for the campfire. Rex and Sue have collected long straight poles to string the tarps up and make a drying rack. Because there is no way you can do a Motu trip without getting totally drenched a drying rack is essential. Dad is sorting through the drums, unpacking sleeping gear, and dry clothes and finding the rest of the makings for dinner. Rusty is watching Dad like a hawk to make sure he doesn't forget about him and the other dogs' dinner while he's at it. Then John, Rex and Sue decide to head up a ridge track to have a look around at the scenery above the mighty Motu in the middle of the majestic Uraweras. Dad and Steff put themselves on cooking duties. The general and I grab the dogs for a quick look a bit higher up and I think Mum is meditating on a large boulder down by the river. They say there is nothing quite like an excellent meal around a roaring campfire. The team from the city were very impressed with the meal and the bottles of Chateau Nuf De Pah that Dad had produced with dinner. And after a strenuous day on the river everyone except Dad and the general where asleep well before ten o'clock. As Dad and the general produced a bottle of Scotland's finest and talked long into the night. Bacon,eggs, toast and coffee for breekie. Pack the gear up. Check the rafts and load up. Time for a quick photo shoot. Dad and the general a bit seedy after Scotland's finest won the battle hands down lastnight. Day two on the Motu is the full adrenaline day. The river bottlenecks into one mean as gorge with some of the best white water in the country. The Pig hunting also brings the best out of dog and hunter alike. Mainly because there are no places to put a raft into and getting out and up on to the bench's can be very dangerous. The first bend in the river sees us diving into a major set of rapids. Is this fun, or what, forget about the general, barking his orders. It's hang on for dear life as we plunge down a metre waterfall then out with the paddles to clear the suck in the overhang. You've got to give this a go if you ever get the opportunity, it's awesome. Then straight into the next set. The general never letting up on his commands. Hell on for an hour, then Coke decides there is more around than white water, as we nose the raft into a dry watercourse and Coke, followed by the rest of the pack are away. In no time there is a hell of a scrap going on. What in gods name have they got up there. And as if I didn't know. It's a mighty Motu Boar, which gives them the slip a few times until Rusty and the pups nail it good and proper. Dad and I arrive after a struggle up the watercourse and thick vegetation. Flip the Pig and send his spirit back to the happy hunting ground. We are slightly down river from the raft so Dad just fires the Boar down the steep face to land in the river and we head back down to the raft to find Rex has got the cityites hauling the Pig into there boat. And in a rush before they dive into the next set of rapids. We scramble on and away after there boat. As we pull up along side you can see what the adventure is doing to the participants. Their auras are aglow with exhilaration and they look about ten years younger than when we started the trip. No more concerns about appearance, just the sheer joy of life at it wildest. Coke was keen again that day and we lost her and Rusty for about three hours. With all the rough terrain they must have lost it up in the mountains somewhere. John, Steff, Sue and Mum, me too we're amping that night after surviving the Motu gorge. Today was also Sue's birthday and the meal Dad produced would have been fitting in a Paris restaurant. He even remembered to pack some candles, you know, the arsehole types that don't blow out. Day three on the Motu only has a few rapids to contend with. The rest being paddling to do the final reach out to the river mouth and make it out by the assigned pick up time. The general also informed us that this part of the Motu was accessible by jet boat, so the likelihood of catching any wild pork from here out was slim. We had been on the river for the best part of the morning when Coke's nose comes up and she moves to the front of the raft. Rusty and the pups can smell it too. Actually I am sure I can smell it myself. Yeah you're right it's a wild Pig. A smelly wild Boar. Before we even get the raft to the edge all the dogs have dived in and scramble up and old water table. Looks like it used to be a waterfall at some stage. Probably still is in heavy rain periods. Within seconds all the dogs are scrapping a Boar. The Boar must be a healthy size, as it moves away you can here the dogs giving it raspberries. The current took our raft past where the dogs scrambled out and Dad was holding on to a crag in the sheer face to hold our raft in place. Rex's crew where coming down behind us and managed to get the nose of their raft in where the dogs shot up. The general and I had already scaled the face, while Mum and Dad stayed behind holding the raft. You could here the scrap moving away, then the fight suddenly turned and sounded like it was coming back. Coming back all right, as we here Dad yell out at the top of his lung capacity. LOOK OUT, the damn thing is gonna come back down the shoot as me and the general take evasive action a huge black Boar sails past like the devil himself was after him. Straight down the chute just missing Rex's raft as it plunges into the river. The Boar comes up gulping for air and in desperation to evade the dogs he attempts to climb into the raft. The women on Board think it is the devil himself trying to get in as they experience an enraged wild Boar point blank. From above they hear the general yell out, hit it with the oar. Well I tell you they didn't need anymore encouragement as Sue lets rip and smacks the Boar fare across the head. By this time the dogs are all in the drink and race over to grapple the Boar as he tries to make his getaway down stream. Dad shoves off in the raft to catch up as the general leaps from about five metres up to land in the raft. Yelling you're not having all the fun, to Dad. Well if he can do it, so can I. I leap and then look. Hello the boat is no longer there, shit, as I plunge into the freezing waters of the mighty Motu. Dad, the general and Mum have raced the raft down beside the Boar. Dad leans out, grabs the Boar, out with the knife and it's over just like that. Except for me, if I don't get my arse into gear and make the other side before that bend, it's over for Jessie. And stride out I did, but once out of the main current flow it was an easy, refreshing swim. I race out in time to see the rafts have both landed and they have dragged the Boar up the beach. As quickly as, Dad gets everyone working. Collecting dry driftwood as he starts a small fire then builds it up to a raging inferno. The general has been busy in the bush cutting fresh fern fronds, piling them up next to the fire. Dad heaps the green fern fronds onto the blaze, then on with the Boar. Five minutes and Dad rolls the Boar, then rubs his knife over the hair of the Boar. We're all standing around wondering what on earth he is doing. We still have plenty of food and Rex has just unpacked the barrels for lunch. I'm sure none of us are that desperate that we need to eat this smelly old Boar now. So Dad gives us a running commentary and live illustration on how to singe a Pig in the bush. Mum grabs another knife and starts scraping, followed closely by Steff and Sue. In twenty to thirty minutes they have transformed a big black beast into something that looks like it's ready for the spit. Coke, Rusty and both the pups all have rips from the violent if brief encounter with the Boar. The general mounts this now white singed Boar right up the front of our raft. Lunch and a relax, then back on the water for the final leg. Of course you can imagine the look of sheer surprise when we float around the final corner to greet the waiting locals, with a big, now white Boar up front, three other Pigs to boot and when we pull up they can see the rips on our house pet poodles. Man did they ask some questions on the drive back to Otipi. So we beat the mighty Motu, caught some damn good pork, had a ball and shut the locals' right up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SNEAKY

 

 

 
 
 
We had been out several times on the trail of a Boar that had always managed to give us the slip. This particular morning we are back, and there is sign everywhere. I want this Pig myself; I've had enough of everyone else getting all the accolades for catching these elusive sons of the devil. Rusty and Tramp turn up a steep face and disappear. But I can smell it; it's up the other side boys. I will check it out myself and I head up the ridge to a small bench where I can see it has been living, around a ledge to a sunny spot higher up. Shit there it is, just standing there. I've never seen a Pig like this before. It knows something is up. Its ears are sticking straight up as it turns it's head slowly, listening and then nose in the air smelling, ears still erect. A loud snort and it trots off. That's right, trots like a horse. What do I do now? I've found it and it's away. Do I head back to get Rusty and Tramp? I'm by myself again. No I'll follow. I can't help it. The urge to chase it like an itch, you know you just have to. He trots away like a stallion then stops, ears flapping, listening. Heads off at a fast clip until he hits the creek. But instead of splitting up the other side the Boar stops, empties his bladder. Listening all the while. Then he sneaks; yeah sneaks like on tiptoes back across the creek. Heads up the middle of the creek a way. After about fifty metres the creek bottlenecks to form a waterfall about one and a half metres high. As the Boar nears the waterfall he puts a quick spurt on and leaps clean up and over the waterfall. Follows the creek for another hundred metres comes back about ten, another almighty leap up the bank and trots to a knoll where he stops to listen. The sneaky bastard, no wonder it always gave us the slip. What do I do now? No Rusty or Tramp or Mum or Dad, just this huge hairy sneaky Boar and me. I have to say I'm a bit nervous, well a lot nervous actually. I've been chased by a few of these critters now and it's scary shit man. More like scared shitless actually. But oh well isn't this what it's all about, as the adrenals kick in. You know, becoming a Huntress and all. Well here goes. I charge in there making a hell of a racket. Yeah that'll scare him. Expecting him to bolt and the chase begin. But oh-no it just stands there and looks at me, like what in the world is that little thing making all that noise, sneaky thinks he had best shut me up before I can alert those hunters that are after him. Must be something about Boars. When you expect them to run they charge instead. And that's exactly what sneaky did. Eyes me up and with a snort he is nearly on me. Jesus I'm off. Back down the hill, I can hear it catching up to me. I tell you for a little girl am I making plenty of noise. It's gaining on me as we hit the creek. My adrenals are fully pumping to the max. My footing is better around the creek bed and I can out manoeuvre old sneaky in and around the rocks. I'm that terrified by now, self-preservation is my only concern. Then sneaky stops to listen again, then makes a mad dash back up the hill. My little ole heart is thumping that much I can't hear a thing. I am really impressed however that all my running around and hollering scared the mighty wild Boar into a full-scale retreat. See I am tough. Move over Helen of troy I'm a coming through. Just about set to pursue my petrified victim, thinking I sent it to flight when Rusty and Tramp sail past at breakneck speed. Damn shit bugger bugger pooh damn blast. So it wasn't my verbal abuse, bravery and tenacity that sent sneaky to full flight after all. Anyway bugger this I'm not being left out this time. I found it. Hey wait for me. I poured on the gas, in no time had caught up to Rusty, and Tramp. Man this is great, flying through the bush with my idols. The Pig isn't waiting around this time. But I can smell him as I take the lead. There he is going like a mad women's tongue. But I've got you this time. Feel so brave knowing Rusty and Tramp are right up my date as I fly in and chomp. Grab sneaky fare on the nuts and sink my sharp canines right into those soft sacks. The Pig swings around that fast that I loose my grip. Next thing I'm looking at ninety odd kilos of fury. OH OH Jess get out of there now. It charges as I make a dash for cover when Tramp steams in and grabs an ear. The Boar swings around to get this new assailant when Rusty finally arrives and chomp across the snout. The Boar is going spastic now shaking its head trying to dislodge my mates. It's turned so his arse is facing me. So chomp-found those tender testes again. Followed closely by this crushing weight on my head as I let go and scramble out. The big wanker sat on my head then backs up threatening to squash me under an old log. Swish I'm around the front making a real din. Looks like me mates have got it stuffed and look there's a spare ear I'll dive in and latch on, Yeah that's what I'll do. So I launch myself into the attack-chomp-got it. Get out of that sneaky. Then I realise my feet are off the ground. Never mind, I'll just hang on and fight to the death. Yeah we've got this sucker now. My confidence is empowering with the adrenals kicked in, as I see Rusty get dislodged from the snout. In an instant the Boar swings around to rip Tramp to bits. But Tramp is onto it and leaps back to bail, clever bastard as the realisation sinks in that we haven't got it stuffed at all and I am the only idiot still hanging on. Christ what to do now. My feet can't touch the ground so if I let go, it will have me, if I hang on it will have me. In an instant I'm not so brave. Bugger this life and death stuff when you are on the end of the death bit. You know adrenals have a lot to answer for, one minute you're ten foot tall and bullet proof, the next it's back to sanity and the stark realisation of your predicament. Next thing there's a yell from above. GET IT. Phew, It's Dad. As Rusty and Tramp re-connect with the Boar. Dad dives in and grabs a leg, out with the knife and it's all over for old sneaky. Mum arrives; disappointed she missed the action. Man where do I start, the adrenals are rushing so you are as brave as Hercules while at the same time scared out of your wits. Rusty and Tramp have found a place to rest already. As for me, well I'm still shit scared so I haven't let go yet. Mum comes over and gives me a big hug, telling me how awesome I was. Dads over the moon with me, telling Mum when he arrived Rusty and Tramp were hard bailing and I was the only one with enough guts to get in and grab the Pig. It was amazing kitten, you should have seen your little girl, and Jessie was-blah-blah-blah and on Dad goes reciting the whole story from when he arrived. What to do, can't tell him the truth. That it was good ole Rusty and Tramp that saved my sorry little arse. I couldn't tell them anyway, they are so proud of me. It would break their poor hearts. So I'm ten foot tall and bullet proof now as Dad recounts again while Mum is lavishing me with love. Jessie found sneaky by herself, You could see when we dropped into the creek where sneaky had crossed, then snuck back and up over the waterfall. We didn't hear anything, but Rusty and Tramp must have heard Jessie bailing. Bailing- good on yah Dad. I was screaming but yeah bailing sounds much better-carry on- Then by the time I got there kitten I could hear a hell of a scrap going on and when I finally get to the Pig, Jessies got it by the ear. Holding it by herself while those other two gutless  woos'es are bailing. Didn't want our little girl to get carved up that's why I charged in and did the deed. As you may have guessed from this last chapter Mum and Dad are only my adopted parents, my maternal mother was Sika that pretty little Australian Kelpie that gifted me with my lovely brown eyes, petite daintiness and speed, my paternal father was Dads right hand dog Rusty, the part that makes me a lean mean Pig hunting machine. Yeah Jessie was really amazing as Dad continues. Isn't it funny how someone else's view is totally different from the truth. And now you know why they never heard a word I said. Where's docter doo-little when you need him But really I did find it by myself. So that makes me a BUDDING HUNTRESS, Doesn't it? Not gorgeous, not cute or pretty or petite; a lean, mean, Pig hunting machine. The sneaky Boar slayer from hell, or Hamilton anyway, that's next door to hell.

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