A MUSTERER'S SPARE TIME

Press, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22337, 26 February 1938, Page 21

A MUSTERER'S SPARE TIME

[Specially written for "The Press" by BRUCE STRONACH]

SOME miles up the Poulter river there was a fiat of a few hundred acres known as Rabbit Farm. This was to be our camp, and after taking out a string of pack-horses laden with carrots, chaff, and stores, Mac and I set out with the last load on old Margot, our plough horse. A special batch of bread had been baked for us, and while we were rolling our swags, the station pig came along and ate the lot. We were ashamed to confess our carelessness, so we got an extra bag of flour and away we went.

ran about in circles until all were dead. We took all the tails, which were worth 2s each to us, and skinned three hinds for the dogs. One young one we took for our meat supply. I went to the camp and got the mare to bring the meat back, and Mac went off in search of wild cattle. On my return journey, I led the mare downstream, laden with the four carcases, and when it was necessary to cross the Poulter, I jumped on top of her load to go over dry-shod. The added elevation brought into view three boars, strolling about in a clearing. At the first shot, the pack horse "pigjumped" and stumbled in the water. I fell off and got very wet indeed. Making a Stew

We pitched our tent on the edge of the bush near a stream, and in front of the tent we pitched a fly. The sides of this, which did not reach the ground, were stacked with sacks and boxes and pack-saddles. In front we built an elaborate sod fireplace. When our bedding was in the tent and the camp oven was giving forth the right kind of smell we sat and smoked and felt content. Across the river from our camp the hills were bush-clad and steep. Great buttresses of rock, bare of trees, stood out from the hillside, and small creeks frothed down to the river.

The meat was well received by the dogs, and I made a stew against the return of the wild .cattle hunter. The correct way to make a stew is to put some water in the camp oven and add some of everything else in the camp. The more ingredients the better the stew. If the mess that results is required to last some days, it is unwise to put in potatoes. They sometimes ferment. I once saw a gang of musterers fed on a fermented stew and they were unhappy men. I remember the incident for two reasons—the first is that I was very ill; the second that the packman explained in all seriousness that "the stew must have gone septic!" Mac returned without seeing any cattle and a skiff of snow in the night prevented any rabbiting next day. We went across the river to see if we could get a few pigs. My .44 did good work among the old boars, and Mac dropped a young stag at a range of 700 yards. We shot a goat, too, and arrived back at camp rather odorous. Our camp was a remarkable place. At one moment the flats about it would be deserted. Five minutes later we would see deer or young pigs wandering about.

We had agreed to leave the rabbits alone for a day or two and concentrate on the sporting side of the trip. So in the morning, armed to the teeth, we walked up-river. Half a mile from the camp we came upon 13' deer feeding in the river-bed. We went into the bush and came out within 300 yards of them. This was splendid for Mac's Mauser, but too far for my .44, which, although evidently just the thing for coyotes and "bad men," is not the best rifle for deer. But we could get no nearer, so we lay down and began shooting. I could hear my bullets thudding, but they were not killing. The Mauser was dropping deer at every shot, and we got them all. The old stag, who had bravely tried to drive the hinds away, was the first to fall, and then the hinds

Diversions on a Rabbiting Expedition

Our bread shortage did not trouble us—we had plenty of food—and every night we made a batch of scones. These were always called at Mount White "durgans," and a scone loaf was called a "hondurg.** The camp oven is a large round iron pot affair with three legs and a flat bottom. To make scones the cook throws the lid on the fire for a start and then hangs the oven over the flames. When the bottom is hot enough to brown a little flour thrown on it the cooking starts. First a heap of embers is put on the ground away from the fire. The oven is placed over these—the three legs keeping it a little off them— - and the scones put in it. The lid is then put on, very hot. and embers are piled on top of it. The scones cook easily and well, and some packmen, I have heard, can make pastry this way. Mac and I did not try to, but our "durgans*' were good. We were more ambitious one day when we found some duck eggs, but our cake was a failure.

We were glad to see some snow now and again, as it kept us from getting our rabbiting done—our main idea being to get some wild cattle.

The day we did tackle them we had a long walk to the forks of the river, and the cattle we saw were very hard to approach. After a lot of scrambling we got between them and their favourite piece of bush and crept up fairly close. Mac shot three. His rifle cracked like a whip, while my old black powder cartridges made a lot of noise and clouds of smoke. One of the dead beasts was an old, old bull, and one was a pure white heifer. The sporting life lasted for a fortnight. Then we began to think about rabbits. We fed them four times and when the big day came we went out with our skinning knives—and picked up 25 rabbits! So our earnings came to about 6s a week each for that fortnight. But we were content. [THE END]