Let’s go hunting. Great idea, got the .22 rifle, got the ammo, called the farmer and he said okay (don’t care, do what you like), so we are all set. Farmers around this time had endured years of rabbits in plague proportions all over their pastures not only eating the grass they cultivated for their cattle or sheep, but also by digging their burrows, the left the paddocks pockmarked and dangerous for horses and cattle and prone to erosion. Nothing good was coming from the rabbits and they were expensive to get rid of. If some hot shot guys wanted to come over and shoot a few, they would always be welcome as long as they did no damage as well.

OUR QUARRY

Our vehicle for this trip was a very old Chev that had been painted with house paint and a fluffy roller in olive green army color because our friend the owner could get it free. No one called it a death trap because in those days any car that would run was fine to use and since no one had money to buy anything better, this was perfect for our get-away hunting weekend. What can possibly go wrong, load her up and lets get going!

Our car for the trip may have looked like this one as some time in its past, but was well passed the use-by date when we set of for our hunting adventure.

Down by the border mountain ranges country, our farmer friend had a property in the hills and said he had problems with rabbits eating the grass that he insisted was the exclusive right of his cattle. At 16 years of age, and in the company of slightly older family and friends, I had heard of the farmer’s plight and was happy to lend a hand to put things right for him by shooting as many of those mongrel rabbits as we possibly could. And it sounded like a lot of fun too.

Driving down through the hinterland, the roads were good, the car was going pretty well but the engine was getting a bit hot. It always does that, bloody bombed out old thing it is. Upholstery and interior of the car is reminiscent of the cab of a rubbish truck, and has a kinda funny smell like decaying foam rubber mixed with the smell of all the trash on the floor of the back seat. There is a hint of old sump oil and exhaust fumes from the dodgy tail pipe just below the floor that was shot full of rust holes.

We are all in a great mood because we are all heading out not only on a holiday weekend, but something of an adventure with good-bloke type of activities mixed in. We were sporting shooters now, and that meant we were rugged types heading out into the wilderness in pursuit of the wild beasts and about to bag our quarry. Well, actually, it was that we would be wandering around on a cattle farm in the rolling hills and chasing the nuisance rabbits, but it was nearly the same thing as far as we were concerned. We had guns, woohoo, and live bullets, woohoohoo, and so we were an armed and dangerous group of hardened hunters headed out for the kill. With luck the locals will see us coming and take cover.

Then the dear old Chev blew a tire. It was at the start of the mountain road and it is very narrow and windy and the poor old car was not really up to it. However, undaunted we changed the blown out tire for the spare which looked to be about even closer to its use-by date than the one we were changing except that it was still holding air pressure. The spare, of course, is always just a bald old tire bought as cheaply as possible because, after all, it was only going to be the spare. Now it was pressed into service on this rough mountainous road with the full load of all us and all of our stuff. Chances of making it to the destination on the really wobbly tires and overheating engine didn’t seem too bright but I sure wasn’t going to be the one to mention it to the group at this moment of intrepid adventure seeking.

There were lots of “She’ll be right” and “No worries mate” and “Good as a bought one” and all the other Aussie expressions that get blurted out when you just know that you really are screwed but no one is saying it out loud. We liked to use euphemisms such as adventure and hunter, although at the time, if someone had said to us that we were using euphemisms we would have thought those things were some kind of veterinary equipment used for the treatment of female sheep. No no, not like that, settle down, we are not kiwis ya know!

Finally, and somewhat miraculously, we arrived on site at the farm where there were almost no people and presumably lots of rabbits so that we could fulfill our destiny as big game hunters and go home victorious and with a bag full of the spoils from our successful hunt. In the back blocks of the farm where we wanted to do our hunting we found the basic remains of a very old farm house that was now used as a hay shed.

What a treat! Sleeping in a place that had been given over years ago to the rats, snakes, all kinds of ticks, other creepy crawlies, not to mention Australia’s famous deadly spiders. Birds had been nesting in the roof for quite a while too, so the place was full of bird droppings and quite likely was alive with lice, fleas, ants, and cockroaches. Now we turn up and decide that this is the perfect place to move in and call our temporary home.

After a sleepless night expecting to have a snake slither over me at any moment, or a rat chewing on my toes, or getting bitten by a spider, or eaten by the lice and mosquitoes, or have roosting birds drop shit all over me, or get an allergic reaction to all the dry straw and hay we were lying down on, the sun finally came up and we all keen to get out for the hunt. Mostly I was just super keen to get out of that hay shed.

Those cunning rabbits get out early and have a great feed on the grass and crops of the farms, and then are back underground by midday, so we had to get out there to find em early. We were off, and what a great hunt. Well, what a great amount of wandering around the paddocks and pastures of the farm without seeing many rabbits. Those that we did see were surely not dumb enough to hang around long enough for us to get a rifle sighted on them. We were highly trained because I had shot this rifle at least twice before this day. During that extensive training, I missed, but did get pretty close sometimes, to every can and bottle that I aimed. I could only improve and for sure I was going get me a wascally widdle wabbit on this day. It was surely just a matter of time and pressing on with the hunt with our dogged determination. “There is no resistance to persistence” I heard one of the guys say, and I remember how that made me wonder why the hell I hadn’t gone fishing instead.

Then I did see a rabbit not too far off and it seemed that it had not noticed us approaching. This was my big chance to join the ranks of the real hunters and make my first kill. I quietly assumed the stance, flipped off the safety and raised the rifle. Conveniently the rabbit stopped while it was chewing on some feed and that few moments were all I needed to get the sights on it and squeeze off a shot. To my absolute amazement the rabbit hardly moved for a moment, then just sort of fell over on its side. I couldn’t believe it but it did seem that I had somehow actually hit the target and the rabbit had indeed been shot.

In triumph I jogged over to the spot to bag my catch, claim my prize, the moment of victor over the vanquished. Here is the moment for the hunter, his quarry downed in a single very decisive stroke delivered from his vastly superior strength and dexterity. Well, that’s the image that I thought I was supposed to be fulfilling, enriching, and letting me see myself as a man of the world. Well… it didn’t quite happen like that, and in the next half a minute, my life changed.

When I arrived on site, it was just me and the rabbit. Now that I could get a close up look, it was not very large, and actually only a young animal. It was quite a beautiful creature, very clean, and it carried no offensive weapons like dangerous teeth or sharp claws. No, it was just a sweet looking furry little creature minding its own business and getting on with its simple life. Well, right up until I showed up full of gung ho and belligerence for these rabbits and determined to reduce their numbers with my yet to be proven prowess as a hunter.

Even more saddening than the sight of this quite sweet and innocent looking creature lying there was the fact that it was not quite dead. It was mortally wounded and I could see it moving just a little and so I moved in a lot closer to see just what damage I had done. That is when it almost dreamily opened its eyes and just stared up at me. “Why did you have to come here and kill me?” I am sure that I could hear it asking me… and I had absolutely no answer. No matter how I tried to justify what I had done, it just would not sit right in my mind. I was suddenly and sharply aware of my power to destroy something beautiful, but that I had almost no power at all for the creation of things of beauty. And maybe I should be spending my time trying to develop some.

So, there is the story. I went out with the intent of being a hunter, and it was my success that caused my hunting days to start and end on the same day.