HUNTING DONKEYS IN AUSTRALIA

Press, Volume CII, Issue 30278, 2 November 1963, Page 8

HUNTING DONKEYS IN AUSTRALIA

Descendants Of Teams

Now Major Pest

[Specially written for “The Prew” by BRIAN CLEMENS]

’’THE tropical sun scorched down on the red, baked earth as I 1 stalked a large mob of wild donkeys, taking advantage of every available tree and anthill for cover. Hundreds of eaglehawks circled above, as if sensing the impending battleground scene which would leave them with more carcases than they could hope to pick clean in their lifetimes. For my job was to shoot the wild donkeys on a 1| millionacre cattle station in the rugged Kimberley region in the far north of Western Australia.

My shooting was carried out during the winter months last year—the dry season —and in 10 weeks I destroyed 1375 wild donkeys. In a previous season my tally on the same station had been 850 donkeys in nine weeks. More than 2200 beasts wiped out in a few months’ shooting by one rifle—-yet this was only an infinitesimal check to the biggest threat to the cattle industry in this region.

The vast Kimberley area in which I operated consists largely of million-acre cattle stations which produce half of Western Australia’s beef cattle. The donkey problem is by far the station owners’ biggest worry. In many cases donkeys threaten to outnumber the stock. The manager of one station of 3 million acres in the East Kimberleys, estimates there are 20,000 donkeys on the property. The station runs 20,000 to 30,000 cattle. Successful drives involving numbers of mounted stockmen have accounted for 7000 donkeys in a year on this station, but this figure barely represents the natural increase of the beast.

The hardy donkeys can breed in almost drought conditions. Though they were necessary a score or so years ago they are now a menace, and they seriously compete with stock for the limited supplies of food and water over the long, harsh months of the dry season. In the earliest days of settlement of the north, donkey teams were indispensable on every station. Donkey-drawn waggons, heavily laden with •applies, plied ceaselessly from ports to inland northern towns and remote stations. Rest An Error Then came the era of motor trucks and more recently, aircraft. These took over the work of the donkey teams. Teamsters and station owners turned out their faithful work animals to live out their last days in peace. Or so they thought! The many thousands of donkeys roaming this wilderness are their

In drought years the grass the donkeys eat would help save the lives of thousands of cattle and waterholes would last many more weeks If it were not for the donkeys. My first season’s shooting was done with an aborigine and a mule team to carry supplies and camping gear. Each day I would tramp up-

wards of 20 miles in a big circuit from where we had camped at a waterhole. My native helper, Mundiwillialli —Dan Dor short—rode a horse while I tramped a few yards behind. The horse, I reasoned would disturb any snakes in my path and I would be prewarned. For my second season I bought a ultility vehicle in Perth and drove toe 2000 miles north to the station, a 10-day journey never lacking “wito’toe vehicle I hoped to take out the skins instead of depending on tokens—the tips of the ears—for which toe station paid a bounty. These plans had to be dropped, however, because of the extreme inaccessibility of the country. It would have taken a week’s round trip to cover 160 miles to Derby, toe nearest port and return to the station, as the trip involved two crossings of toe King Leopold range. I would also have had to shoot from the vehicle instead of travelling on foot, which I much preferred, because of the heavy loads of wet skins to be carried out each day. In the first day or so I found shooting from a vehicle impracticable because much time was lost looking for crossings in dry creekbeds, channels and washouts. Matter Of Water So, like an oborigine ddvesting himself of his “white man” clothes and “going native” at walkabout time, I reverted to toe mode of hunting I was used to from deer culling in the South Island mountains. In the ensuing weeks I tramped many hunreds of miles, alone, except for two or three trips on which an aborigine accompanied me, and was able to average upwards of 150 donkeys a week. The greater tallies in my second season I attributed to my lesser dependence on water. I carried 10 to 14 gallons in toe vehicle and thus could park it anywhere along an outback track and, using it

as a base camp, tramp from it for several days. When I was dependent on pack mules, however, the chief concern was to find water to camp by. The aborigine on these occasions was indispensable, not only for loading up the mules and leading them between camps, but also because of the extraordinary ability his race has to find waterholes Or places where one can dig for soak water. Many times we were glad to camp by water which was decidedly thick and with a pronounced cattle flavour. I made one of the first vehicle crossings of the King Leopold Ranges to reach my shooting country, which was the scene of fierce battles with the aborigines in the pioneering days of settlement. Warm Welcome My arrival at the station in mid-July was a significant occasion. A loud, excited jabbering came from the aborigines’ camp as soon as my vehicle came into sight. Cars from the outside world are not an everyday occurrence in these parts. Yet the arrival of the fortnightly mailplane, and, occasionally, the flying doctor are regarded almost as commonplace. There was a further stir through the camp as they recognised me. On my first trip they had called me Cumallingiri (“stranger from another country”). To them someone who came from another land across the sea to shoot out their “donkey mob” was at least worthy of a mention in the next corroboree.

I was greeted like an old identity. “You no more Cumallingiri, you countryman now," said one old warrior. With welcoming formalities completed, I was keen to start shooting again and to try to pass the elusive 1000 mark which had been denied me on my first donkey shooting trip. Although they have relatively poor sight, smell, and hearing, donkeys capitalise on the cattle’s highly-developed sense of smell. They are most often found near cattle, following them into the waterholes to drink. Whep the cattle, half wild in such remote places, pick up a human scent and break away, the donkeys follow although they appear uncertain of the danger from which they are running. So I soon learned to stalk the cattle instead of the donkeys and with such tactics I passed the 1000 mark in seven weeks.

This week’s STAMP story appears on Page 18.