HOB issue 23 – April/May 2011
The alarm rang at 5 am. Matt and the old man had already had a massive feed and mine was sitting on the kitchen table half stale. It was baked beans and bacon, which we were running low on. As I mowed the tucker back, I watched the red sun pull itself lazily over the Whakapunake Range and I felt a power, a force of nature and I felt lucky.
We were ready to go bush. I was keen for a hunt because of the big boar that had got away on me the previous week. It took a small piece out of my mates leg too. I grabbed my new Ridgeline rip collar and wrapped up my youngest mutt, Ben. He was a healer/heading dog, full of spirit and always in the thick of the action. My other blue healer, the aptly named Blue would be sweet without a collar. We saddled up the bike and idled up to Andrews, the paddock where we sighted the pig last weekend. Silently we pushed through the scrub, the wind stinging our cheeks with a nasty whip. There was a bit of dry rooting but nothing to excite the mutts. Next we headed off into the scrub block where there were some old goats left for bait. They have brewed up a nasty smell and the dogs had their noses to the floor but they still couldn’t catch that elusive scent.
The day was getting on, the sun was now high in the sky, beaming down and mixing with the wind, giving a sense of empowerment. We had been out for about four hours but I felt we were in the money today and there was no way I was going to give up. I never give up. The old man was losing a bit of hope.… And his hair. We carried on further up through a couple of rickety gates. There was a bit more rooting and the more we followed it the fresher it got so we carried on silently, each step finding the small gaps between the dry twigs and leaves. The dogs were leading the chase and we powered forward, deeper into the dense fronds that are home to all kinds of creatures. Stumbling into a clearing, we found some real new stuff and it sent the dogs into a bit of a spin but they still couldn’t come up with the goods.
Dad must have had some sort of lightbulb go off in his head or a rush of adrenaline, because he suggested going to the lake. I couldn’t say no to that so we burned off. After I corrected dad A couple of times on which way to go, we were in business once again, Dad took the wrong track. This time I didn’t tell him. Not too far down the rotten muddy track, Ben ran off down the slope and Blue quickly followed. They were way more urgent than before and I yelled at dad to stop and back up. I saw nothing at first because the pig was pretty well blended into the scrub. The old fellow had probably had a bit of practice in the art of camouflage because he was smart, keeping downwind from the dogs. From up the hill he looked around 150 lbs so I loaded the gun and squeezed the trigger. I banged a missile into him and then yelled for the trusty mutts to “sick“ him as the pig hobbled out of sight.
Matt and I powered down the hill after him. The boar was trying to head back up the hill. I reloaded my gun and let out another missile, hitting the bacon in the side of his shield. The bullet made no difference it just seemed like a fly to him and he ran over into the next gully and out of sight. I whistled to my dogs and they sprinted past us on the scent that was so strong even I could smell it! I thought we’d lost him but some barking from the old mutt told me the boar was still on the run and easing into a bail up. We next saw the old battler on the other side of a huge bridge – both dogs were bailing and I smacked another dart into him before Matt practically flew right over the gorge. The pig dropped with a grunt, the dogs came off him and I thought it was all over. Big mistake – he got back up on his trotters and stumbled off again! I whistled my dogs back onto him. That boar was not going far. Sure enough the dogs had him in the next gorge. While I reloaded the Pea shooter (.22) Matt followed him over to another little creek and tried to get him by the back legs but he was too strong and he spun around on Matt, trying to get a tusk to his leg. Matt backed off and kept the dogs bailing while I ran over and got about 3 m away. I lined up the gun with the pigs head. Boom! I sank the lead right between his eyes at nearly point-blank range. He dropped down into the creek with the dogs ripping into him.
Matt ran in and pulled the old coots back leg out from under him then I grabbed a leg and together we flipped the big boy over. He was huge but it was no struggle for Matt. I sank my sticker deep into his heart; that thing was pumping at the speed of sound, no wonder he had stopped. After we had the dogs under control, we saw just how massive the old guy was. There were smiles all round – I’d seen nothing like him! I’d say he would have been through more than his fair share of lambs and other pigs. The boar was a mission to get out but the bike did most of the work. Back at the yards, the sheep scales read 104.5kgs or 230lbs… That’s a hell of a lot of bacon.
Campbell Roadley