LAND OF ROCKS AND RIVERS DEEP

Press, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22201, 18 September 1937, Page 18

LAND OF ROCKS AND RIVERS DEEP

Loadmg pack-horses is a difficult job for an amateur. Balance is the mitfn thing. The pack-saddle is fitted with two hooks on each side, and the pack-straps with rings. The straps are fastened round two side loads of equal weight and the rings placed over the hooks. The top load is placed right on top of the saddle, between the two side loads, and secured by a top strap. My side loads were half sacks of carrots and the top loads were stores. The Isolated Hill was my objective, and I got there without any trouble. ■ Across the Alma was a block of country known as the Alma Corner. It was quite a small block, but it was thick with rabbits. To come round a spur quietly and then make a sudden noise was a pastime I always enjoyed. There were always a few rabbits to be seen hopping about, but when a shout rang out the whole hillside moved. It. was a sight to gladden a rabbiter's eyes- - and to break a station owner's heart. White ones, grey ones, black ones. and our own special Tarndale brand of black-brown rabbits, with rusty cars —they were there in thousands. Killing rabbits is quite a simple business. Carrots and strychnine poison are the most popular combination, although there are lots of others phosphorised pollard, strychnined oats, strychnine and .jam, trapping, and dog and gun. Then there are different kinds of fumigators, the method being to stop all the holes in a warren except one, and then to pump in some sort of poison gas. Rabbit Poisoning There are tricks in all trades, but I can describe roughly the methods employed in using carrots and strychnine. First, find your rabbit. At Molesworth in those days that was easy. The next job is to "plough a line." Eabbits are attracted by newlyturned earth, so with a light plough, or any home-made implement that will make a good scratch a furrow is made across the piece of country to be poisoned. The thicker the rabbits are the more furrows are necessary. The rabbits are then "fed." Carrots, cut with a knife, or minced. or even cut up in a box with a spade, are scattered along the furrow, or "line." If the country is rideable this can be done from a horse, which is much quicker. The feeding is usually done three times, and the rabbits eat up the carrot each time. On the fourth night the ' poison is laid and the rabbits come to a sad end. There are many poison mixtures, and some rabbiters have jealouslyguarded secret mixtures, usually containing a little aniseed or oil of rodium, or some other supposedly very helpful ingredient. It is al- . ways worth while to remember, though, that it is the strychnine that does the trick, and many successful rabbiters never use anything else but a mixture of strychnine and icing sugar. Sometimes it is coloured with cochineal, to match the red carrot. For application of the poison, the carrot is often split with a knife and the mixture spread on the newly-cut surface. The carrot is then sliced as the man walks along the furrow, and each piece that falls has a small amount of strychnine on it. A Sudden Death To watch rabbits eating the poison and then "passing on" is most interesting. The portion of the next world set aside for them must be rather full, I think. Coming out in the evening for the nightly feed, the rabbit is not at ail suspicious. He generally eats the poisoned carrot, and then sits still for quite a long time. Then, at the first movement, the strychnine seems to take effect, and he falls dead immediately. In the morning he is quite stiff, and, luckily for the rabbiter, he stiffens in the best possible attitude for skinning. , "Picking up" on a frosty morning is an unpleasant job and, with a big "kill," takes a long time. Rideable country is the best, because a man carrying 25 rabbits has quite a good load,, and a horse can take many more. They are laid in heaps, ready for skinning. Skinning is a back-breaking job. Frozen rabbits make it extremely difficult, and even without the frosts it is unpleasant. In summer the skins come off easily, but in winter, when the quality of the skins is good, the job is much harder. I don't know what the record is. One hundred an hour is good going in winter skins. The bucks are the toughest. After skinning, the rabbit is buried or burnt so that dogs will not be poisoned, and the skins are carried to the camp. Here is done the most unpleasant part of the job —the "fatting" of the skin. On the flanks beside the tail and under the "armpits" are deposits of fat, and these must be removed. The fat does not come off easily, and when it does come off the skin' it sticks to the knife. A quick flick of the hand will remove it, but one is quite likely to get a piece in the eye, as good direction comes only with much practice. Then the skins are stretched, or wired, and hung out to dry—the last process, except , for the packing up and sending away. A Lucrative Business At that time skins were a good price and would sometimes average —for winter skins—about Is 6d. So rabbiting was a lucrative business. Mustering, we kept dogs and worked like blazes for a fiver a week. Rabbiting, they worked hard in the winter and did odd jobs in the summer for much more money. The rabbiters would never tell us how much they made, but I met one years afterwards and asked him. After a lot of persuasion, he remarked, "Well, I don't suppose cither of us will ever see Molesworth again, so I'll tell you." He did so. I was shocked at the amount. "By jove," I said, "you must have laughed up your sleeve when you eaw us sweating up those hills to earn in six months about one-tenth of what you collected in a year." He roared with laughter. Good luck to •ua. Of course, I cannot vouch for

A Musterer on Molesworth (STSCTAM.* WRITTEN VOR THE I’TiESS.'i IBy nntrcE stronach.j \ XII

the truth of this, but I wish I had been a rabbiter. In Christchurch then, it was amusing to see the number of fur coats about the streets. Most rabbiters kept matched skins for a fur coat for someone, and Cathedral square used to be full of them. Yes —I wish I had been a rabbiter! Deer »Shooting The camp I visited was a happy one, with a head rabbiter and several boys, the latter being on wages, with a small bonus for each rabbit killed. They had not started the winter's work, so, as I was leaving the pack-horses and could easily get to Tarndale in the evening, we resolved to go over to the station block and do a bit of deer-shooting. We called it deer shooting, not stalking, and we were right. Stories of the difficulty of getting deer leave me col 1 . Stalking—trying to get a good head, or one particular stag—may be difficult, but shooting deer when they are fairly numerous, as they are on many stations, is child's play. The main thing is to keep down wind from the deer; the approach is ensy then. To judge the range is difficult, but experience teaches, and assuming that one is anything of a shot at all, deer can be killed easily. A certain amount of walking is necessary, of course. Sometimes if a mob of deer cannot tell from where the shots are coming they will run in aimless circles until all have been shot. There was a bonus of 2s paid for each deer tail, and some of the musterers had quite a collection. The skins of the very young fawns were much in demand and the skins of the unborn ones more so. They are extremely handsome—dark brown and shining, with small white spots. We got seven deer, all hinds, that afternoon, and I took a hind leg—no humour intended—for dog tucker. Tarndale was deserted, even Wattie having gone off somewhere. I amused myself in his kitchen by reading the wallpaper. For years he had papered it with pages from illustrated newspapers, r.nd the walls were like a pictorial history book. In all the huts the walls were covered with names of musterers, deer-stalkers, and trampers, with their opinions of the country and the weather. There was a patch of green grass about 200 yards from the front door, and that evening I sat on the step and smoked and shot three deer as they came down to feed. It was strange to realise that there was no one within miles of me —no wireless, no telephone. I felt quite alone and rather like Robinson Crusoe. Cattle Mustering However, in the morning the manager, Jack, and Tim arrived and dispelled that feeling altogether. Wc went cattle mustering in order to be able to draft that afternoon. Some of the creeks on the Clarence block run down long flat valleys, and in these there is good cattle feed. In the spring the wethers which have wintered there are as fat as it is possible for a sheep to be. These creeks we mustered out and put our mob in the paddock. There are no cattle yards at Tarndale, and the drafting is done in a small, well-fenced padpock known as the Arena. It is a much simpler job than it sounds. When the ground is frozen one has to be very careful—but not too careful, because a man who is too careful to risk a fall does not get the work done. When evening came we had our 50 fat bullocks ready drafted, and we went back to Tarndale to get a few stores together. We were to take two pack-horses with us, and Tim was to start off at daylight with the cattle while we loaded our horses and got away. We were to catch up and take over from him. Our last night a* Tarndale we spent in talking over the events of the season and arguing the point about dogs. We also planned next season's work, and Jack said to me, "If the boss wants you back next season, he always says, 'Well, good-bye, hope I see you again.' But you're set, anyhow." I didn't feel so sure. But I didn't worry—it was too far away. I was sorry to go. All the snow and all the heat and weariness were forgotten. It is sad to think that the station may soon be deserted. The chief charm of it—for me—was its size. One could be alone, there. Standing on the hills of the ewe country, one could see the Clarence block, looking as far distant as the JTorlesse range does from the Cashmere Hills, yet still on the same holding. There was room to move about. And the reports one reads and hears give the impression that the South Pole has nothing on Molesworth and Tarndale for ice and snow. There is some exaggeration. The mustering costs must be staggering, but the money is earned, and the job cannot be done properly for less. In the past, money has been made out of the property. Now, evidently, it cannot even pay its way. We hear many, solutions of the problem from persons who have not seen it, and many from persons who have ridden through it. Well, country like that cannot be examined properly from the back of a horse, or through a pair of field-glasses. The thought that strikes one is this—few countries in the world, probably, possess a tract of country, even of that quality, producing nothing. (To be concluded.)