Bring’em Back Alive

Northern Advocate, 21 February 1939, Page 2

Bring’em Back Alive

It was the last adventure of my week at Wharigaruru. Whilst the school teacher of the Punaruku School is very fond of blackberries in pies, he most decidedly dislikes them in the school grounds. Grubbers and slashers seemed to have little effect, and he decided that the best way to cope with the problem was to introduce a; goat. Perhaps he thought that my experience with Suzanne —the kind gift of Purua maidens—might give me special qualifications for a hunt. At any rate 1 was invited to help stalk , a herd of goats, which were running wild there. We tramped and tramped (and for the benefit of future hunters I’ll add in these brackets that the first thing to -do in hunting is to locate your Quarry), and were almost bn the point of giving up when we located a herd of billies on a spur of hillside overlooking the sea. 'Then the fun commenced'. I was armed with a rope knotted to form a rough and ready lariat (sometimes. I believe incorrectly, called a lassoo). My friend stalked the herd and drove them towards me, the plan of campaign being to corner them between the fence and a high bank. All went as planned until the goats reached the fence. They simply ran at it, and with, heads thrown back and forefeet straightened dived between the wires. We trailed the herd across several paddocks, out onto' the beach and on to a headland where they led us to another herd of “nannies.” A Maori horseback rider joined in the chase. Carefully the goats were driven back ■to the beach again—a fine selection, all sizes and all. colours. • A fourth member of the party, who had been tracking through the bush in ah endeavour to locate the herd, then jqiried in. > Once the goats reached the sand it whs a ease of each man for himself. Mow we ran— the lariat forgotten. How those goats scampered and darted and bucked. We were beaten all the way and the entire herd raced back to cover.

Darkness was approaching. Fast work was needed if we were to succeed that night. Alone I trailed the herd, and my friend the school teacher, placed his jn£n ready for the next attempt. Ih scrambling up a slope preparatory to cutting off the goats the leader of the hunters came upon just what he was seeking—a tiny black-an-white kid no bigger than a large puppy. Meanwhile—qqite unaware of his good luck —I continued to stalk, .and with, a carefully aimed stick or two turned the quarry back down 1 ' the hill. Being goats (both literally and figuratively)—they positively refused to take the track I indicated, and there was wild signalling to make our party change positions. It all worked out for the best, though. With a wild “halloo” the herd were driven into a corner of a closely fenced paddock. They could not escape. Two splendid specimens were caught alive and thrown to the ground—one, mother of the tiny kid, and another grown “nanny,” the ideal blackberry eradicator. • 'l’ve always been keen on shooting, hilt this goat hunt was'much more fun. If you really want thrills, don't set out to kill things. Bring ’em back alive!