Oh Give Me Land, Lots of Land

Open spaces and the bush are a really neat place to be when you’ve got the time and the inclination to wander and watch and listen.

I was out at a friend’s place a while ago, on a rabbit hunt, hoping to score one or several for a nice rich winter casserole, complete with bacon and prunes and a thick mushroom sauce, such as Mum used to make when we were kids on the farm at Otorohanga.

There weren’t too many rabbits about in those days. A rabbiter used to regularly wander across the property, with his old side-by-side shotgun and a small pack of dogs, and rabbits never became a problem anywhere in our district.

They were smart operators, those old rabbiters – extraordinarily good shots with either a 12-gauge or a .22 rifle, rarely missing a bunny, even when it was bolting at speed. And they seemed to have an inherent knowledge and understanding of just where rabbits were likely to be, and how they would react.

They were employed by low-key rabbit boards set up all over the country and run by practical people. Sadly, both the boards and the rabbiters are part of that bygone era that seems to  have been replaced by rather bigger, more grandiose organisations that probably have really nice desks and chairs and computers, but perhaps not quite as many people on the ground destroying rabbits on a day-to-day basis as there used to be.

In any event, when I was out recently I was hoping to get myself one or several rabbits for the pot, and to do so I was soft-footing it along the edge of a large paddock of new grass that backed on to a big section of bush  running up into the Hakarimata Ranges, west of Ngaruawahia.

It’s big, open country, with wide paddocks of good grass and pockets of bush left in steep gullies, with bigger peninsulas of scrub and native trees pushing down from the main range of hills. The wide paddocks are good places to find hares in the very late afternoon, while the edges are where rabbits like to feed after spending the day sheltering in the bush or scrub.

Those bush edges are also good locations to find the occasional wild-cat or stoat, and I’m always happy to destroy these viciously adept little predators – while both are very good at keeping bush-rat and rabbit numbers down, they are also equally as good at destroying native and other birdlife in large numbers. As well, they eat a surprising amount of insects and invertebrates: weta, native skinks and lizards are all favourites.

Regrettably, I missed a long shot at a big, hammer-headed black-and-white wild-cat mooching stealthily along the edge of a pocket of bush in the middle of a large paddock, and he didn’t hang about to exchange pleasantries. These wild-cats often grow big, as was the case with this one – heavy head, thick shoulders, and large, powerful body, and a very definite don’t-mess-with-me attitude. It wouldn’t surprise me if some of the larger ones are prone to carrying off new-born lambs when they get the chance.

Shortly after the failed cat episode, I was given a full and complete runaround by a very big hare which got up out of a clump of long grass as I sidled round the bush patch hoping to get another look at the cat. The hare loped nonchalantly round the point of a spur, and I carefully followed, stopping as the next gully came into view and scanning it slowly and methodically. It took several visual sweeps before I located that hare, which had neatly packed herself (traditionally hares are always “her”) into a solid round ball at the base of a ponga, looking for all the world like an old stump. And she was on the move again as soon as she knew I knew where she was. We played that game through several more gullies, until we probably got to the edge of her territory, and suddenly she switched gears, opening out into a full gallop and bolting back the way she’d come. I didn’t get even the slightest chance of a shot.

Nor did I get a rabbit that day either.

Having followed the hare further and further towards the back of the farm, I was a good walk away from the car, and already the dusk was closing in, so I had to push the pace a bit to get back before dark. 

As I did so a pair of Paradise ducks began honking in alarm when I crossed their patch. They took wing, sweeping wide around me once and calling mournfully at the disturbance, before vanishing into the gloom round the side of the hill. A lone harrier hawk, following the bush edge, probably like me, hoping for a rabbit, lurched away in fright as we both abruptly rounded a corner, he 10 metres above me but afraid, as all wild things are, of the human shape.

I was glad it was only me out there – I travelled at my own pace, hadn’t needed to say a word for several hours, fired a single shot only and missed solely because of my own inadequacy, had seen a number of interesting sights, and had thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it all.

I need to do more of that – it’s good for the soul.

Kingsley Field can be contacted at kingsley(at)accuwrite.co.nz  His first volume of these columns was published recently, and he is now working on Volume II.

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