Wonderful Scenery and Good Shooting.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18805, 6 July 1929, Page 19 (Supplement)

Wonderful Scenery and Good Shooting .

Mighty Prospect Unfolds Itself to Hunters in Waiau District.

Immense Valley Terrific Depths and Towering Mountains.

Written for the “Star” by

ERIC LOWE.

W'ITH pipes lighted and well stocked tobacco pouches, tucker for three days, swags of blankets and spare clothing which, though small in dimensions, were packed by experts at the game and would not be found wanting, a plentiful supply of ammunition, a stand of heavy-bore rifles, a secondary armament of shotguns and pea-rifles, a few bottles of whisky*, pre-war (the most carefully* stowed item aboard) among the bedding, the big sedan purring like a well fed cat, a bright sunshiny afternoon, the city of Christchurch, with its work and worry*, falling rapidly behind, and ahead, in the blue distance, the prospect of a week-end at Lake Sumner. Can you beat it? As it turned out, however, our holiday was destined to be spent many miles from the region which we were now making for. The beaten track as far as the last township on the route is so well known that I need not describe it, but soon after the country becomes wild and rugged in the extreme. The narrow road winds round the sides of mountains, and shingly' creeks have to be crossed. Soon after dark we arrived at the bank of the Hurunui, a stream which we had been told was unfordable for cars. We had been prepared to tramp the rest of the distance, but Harry', our driver, was a man of no common clay, and, after a brief survey .of the announced his intention | to give it a go. At the Ford. It was not without misgiving that the rest of us felt the front wheels drop into the bed of the hurrying, ice-cold stream, and noted the rock and roar of the car as she surged forward through the waters. But Harry’s confidence in his powerful car was well justified, and a moment later we emerged triumphant on the farther bank. The damping prospect of a weary trek of several miles had been dispelled by ten seconds of skilful and daring driving. But our joy was destined to be shortlived. On this side of the river we struck a Public Works camp, and here, from information received, it became apparent that we must seek elsewhere for the sport for which we had come so far. It was a bitter pill after overcoming the dreaded river, but there was nothing else for it. Ten minutes 1 later we had forded the Hurunui again, in quest of other hunting grounds. New Hunting Grounds. We found a warm welcome with good friends at Waiau late that night, and next morning, having gained permission by telephone, set out for a station some twenty miles back in the ranges. A lovely* run through the hills and valleys brought us to our destination, and we were fortunate enough to secure sleeping accommodation and board at a near-by station cookhouse, a course preferable to camping, where possible. It was afternoon again before we took the warpath, my three companions carrying .303’s and myself a double-bar-relled shotgun. Two hours’brisk tramping found us well back into the ridges Here there were signs of pigs apparent everywhere, fresh rootings and many tracks. The country consisted of never-

ending steep ridges, with dense bush in the valley’s below, through which ran cold, clear streams, hurrying ever downward over the boulders on their journey to the rivers. Up hill and down dale we toiled, along the sides of steep faces and through bush-fringed streams, over tussocky plateaux and bald-top-ped ridges, but never a pig could we see—a few hares, a few hawks, that was all. The desolate beauty of the scenery, the freshness of the clear mountain air, were some consolation, but we felt more than a little disappointed when the approach of evening compelled us to turn back on the homeward journey*. From a lofty* pinnacle of rock on a high spur which overlooked a fair-sized river, we had mapped out a route for the return which would take us over different country from that which we had al ready traversed. An hour later Bill stopped us with a word. “ We are travelling too fast,” he said. On many a trip before, Bill had proved himself the coolest, most alert and most clear-sighted of the party, and I knew now by the way he spoke that he had seen something which we had missed. Plenty of Pigs. “ There are plenty* of pigs about,” he went on. “The tracks prove that; but we are walking too fast to see them. Look over there on that bare patch above the bush. In another minute we would have left them behind.” With hope revived and renewed interest, we gazed in the direction indicated. My sight is normal, I believe, but amidst that wonderful panorama of bush and distant peaks, of yellow tussock and green foliage, of rugged grey rock and shining shale, with all their queer effects of light and shade, I could see nothing—nothing to shoot at, that is. Then one of the pigs moved, and, once picked up, stood out with startling distinctness in that clear air. We were standing on the side of a deep valley and straight acmss, perhaps six hundred yards away, the pigs, for there were two of them, were feeding on a grassy slope well above the bush which grew up for about two hundred y*ards on either side of the stream in the bed of the valley'. As noiselessly as possible we slithered down through the cover to the creek and crept up the further side to the edge of the bush. The pigs were still there when we arrived, breathless and excited, but distant enough to make it a long shot. After a hurried conference we decided that the rifles should concentrate on one pig, the nearest, to make more sure of having at least one kill to take back. This was my' suggestion, and a few minutes later we were to have good proof that in making it I had badly underestimated the fine marksmanship of my companions. My shotgun being useless at the distance, I was detailed to give the word for the volley when each and all were set. “One, two, three. Fire!” The Kill. The three rifles roared together. Next moment one of the pigs was bolting for cover with the short jerky gal lop of his kind, but the other staggered drunkenly* and collapsed upon the short grass. A sharp staccato fusillade followed the retreating porker, but hit

or miss we did not know, as we lost sight of him almost at once in an expanse of fern and bracken. hen we reached the scene of the kill our prize, a fine young boar of about a hundred pounds weight, was quite dead, and an examination showed that each of the three bullets had struck fair behind the shoulder and within three inches of each other. Some marksmen! But we were still far from camp and the deceased pig was heavy, so that when we arrived back at the cookhouse our only memento of a tense few minutes back in the now night-enshrouded valley was a limp, black, hairy tail. Truly Rural. A hearty meal of hot chops awaited us, and after that the station hands, like the good fellows they usually are. cleared a space and set chairs for us round the huge fire which blazed on the open fireplace in the big sleeping room. Pipes were lighted and the conversation ranged on many subjects, mostly of a rural nature. And here I noted a curious fact. Our party of four were still all young men, all in the thirties. One was a county electrical engineer, a noted sportsman and rifle shot. One held an important secretarial position in the city. The third was a well-known business man in town. As for me —well, I will put myself down as a writer and let it go at that. A wide diversity of occupations, certainly. Yet —and herein lay* the curious fact—each and every one of us was as fully conversant with all agricultural and pastoral matters and methods and all pertaining thereto, theory and practice, as any* old hand on the place. The engineer had had extensive experience, in boyhood and vouth, both in the North and in the South Islands. The secretary had spent much of his early life among the big stations in the Rakaia Gorge. The business man, as I remember him some years before he came to town, had been a horse-breaker and handler second to none in the Ashburton County. I also had had the benefit of a rural upbringing, so that when it came to a question of old ‘vows’ or ‘y*oes’ (ewes) and \*oung lambs, store steers and fat wethers, lambing tallies and shearing totals, we were as much at home as any one of our hosts. We knew the tricks and dodges of the ‘hermit’ sheep, that occasional member of the back-country flock which, electing to lead a solitary life, takes Up his quarters on some almost inaccessible crag or precipitous cliff, from which the efforts of the best musterers and finest dogs in the world fail time and again to dislodge him. Shearing seasons come and go, but still the hermit, secure amid the dangers of his vmsoalable stronghold, defies the annual attack of men and dogs, until at last a more than usually daring feat of mountaineering, often enough the result of a wager, sends him clattering do\yn the face and he is finally brought in to the shed, a remarkable object, his matted fleece, the result of perhaps four years’ growth, trailing on

the ground behind him. his capture a subject of hilarious and profane comment among the musterers, who find great satisfaction in the—er—blessed beggar’s final discomfiture. We knew also of the difficulties of snow-raking, that searching amid the deep drifts for the blow-holes on the surface which tell of the buried “yow” or wether beneath, perhaps several feet down. Through this curious shaft the prisoner will breathe and live for many days, but must be rescued before he starts eating his own wool, an emergency ration which he will finally avail himself of, but which is fatal to the animal. In the discussion of these and other little-known phases of high-coun-try life the evening passed quickly enough till bedtime. Another Hunt. Next morning, owing to the kindness a local gentleman whom I shall reto as Ernie, we set out much better equipped in our quest of pork Ernie, who acted as guide, philosopher and friend to us for the day, brought for our use several saddle horses, a pack-horse and a team of good pigdogs, an outfit which makes a world of difference on such an outing. He was accompanied by a friend who was also well versed in the haunts and habits of the elusive pig. After crossing a fair-sized stream, our way for some miles led across rolling downs and flat table-lands. Here and there we came across curious circular pits or shafts of various diameters, from a few feet up to half a chain across, many apparently bottomless, or at least penetrating to unknown depths into the bowels of the earth, and evidently the remains of the volcanic activities of a bygone age. For some miles we jogged on, and then Ernie passed the word to be ready*, as any minute now we might sight pigs Over the brow of another ridge we passed, and a wonderful sight lay before us. Far below us lay an, immense valley, three miles or more across to where the mountains on the opposite side towered skyward. We had been climbing ever since we left our base, and now the depth to the valley floor looked terrific. Here and there in the distant depths could be seen the silver ribbon which was a river, probably the Waiau. On either side the great gorge stretched as far as the ey*e could see into the hazy distance. A Wonderful Prospect. The colouring of the mighty prospect below was a thing to wonder at. The solid-looking dark green areas of bush, the lighter expanses which were high scrub and bracken, the yellow tussock land, the shimmering threads of sunlit water and the grey pinnacles of rock, seen from the heights on which we stood, made up a picture which I, who have travelled much in the hinterland of Canterbury, have rarely seen equalled. 'To the city dweller with an eye for the beautiful and majestic in Nature, such scene alone is worth the trip. Dotted about here and there j in the foreground of this great pano-

Thrilling Adventures in the Bush-clad Hill Country.

Christchurch Men took plenty of Ammunition, a good Armament, and Whisky •

rama could be seen droves of pigs, looking like colonies of black beetles in the depths below. We at once commenced to make the descent through the bush, which here clothed the side of the valley*, but had gone no distance before a barking and, scuffling all round us showed that we were right amongst a drove. A sudden furious uproar on the right told where the dogs had bailed up a pig. With the greatest difficulty I forced mv way to the spot, to behold a struggling jumble of dogs and pig rolling and crashing downwards through the greenery. The din was frightful. Sweating, swearing and slipping, I followed the Donnybrook down the face for twentv minutes before being able to get in a shot at close - range with a rifle which settled the matter. Another Kill. Exhausted, but triumphant, I arrived back on the rough track where the others were waiting, and with some pride exhibited my kill, a young boar. And now I was to get a shock, a nasty jar, in fact. In the midst of my elation I caught Ernie’s eye fixed balefully on the dead porker. Next moment he had seized it by the hind leg and with a few words to the effect that it was a poor miserable beggar, or something of the kind, he whirled it twice round his head and sent it flying. With something akin to anguish I saw mv prize, which had cost me so much toil, turning over and over in the air and heard the thud as it struck the bush far below. In answer to my astonished and indignant stare, Ernie renewed his strictures on the appearance and pedigree of the deceased, and assured me that such a blistery blighter was not fit to take back to town. So that was that. Soon after we struck a flat patch of scrub country and here the fun became fast and furious. There seemed to be pigs everywhere. A general action took place and the banging of rifles, the barking of dogs and the shouts of the hunters resounded l’ar and wide. Several kills were made and the best loaded on to the pack-saddle. Then on we went, making always downward to the river below, stopping now and then for a shot as startled pigs rushed out of the bracken or trotted across distant bare patches. Just before reaching the river, as I was standing on the top of a high cliff, I saw a pig running along a track in the scrub far below. It seemed a long shot for my little rifle, but the first bullet bowled him over, as dead as a herring. Poor Puss. Very refreshing was the tea made in a billy boiled on the bank of the river, where we halted for lunch. Here the dogs caught alive a young hare, not quite full grown. Poor puss, though badly frightened, appeared to be otherwise uninjured, and we let her go, hold- ' ing the dogs in till she was safely ■ away. Horse Over Cliff. The first part of the return journey* lay along a narrow dangerous trail which wound round a precipitous bushclad cliff. We had reached a point about two hundred feet above the flat i when the pack-horse, which was being led behind one of the saddle 'horses,

lviulked at a particularly risky strip. , In answer to gentle persuasion from behind she reared, a move which could have but one result in such an infernal situation. Next moment she was over the side, crashing head over heels, through the stunted bushes and groaning loudly as she fell. It was a horrible sight. Every girth and strap was burst asunder, and dead pigs, cameras, cartridges, billies, and fieldglasses flew everywhere. Horrorstricken we hurried back along the track to the level below’, expecting to find a dead horse, but when we got there, not only was old Bess alive, but, marvellous to relate, uninjured, bar a few abrasions. She had shed every scrap of harness and load in that headlong descent, and stood as bare as an unbroken colt. When one has gazed, pale and breathless, at what seems imminent tragedy and by some extraordinary chance that tragedy has been averted, how quick is the human mind to see the humorous side, if there is one, to the event! This happy trait of our nature, I am convinced, has its foundation mainly in the feeling of relief we experience when we find that the escapee, be it human ’ being or dumb creature, has, as it were, fallen on his feet and is none the worse. The dell rang with laughter. Daylight Lost. Our mirth, however, was not shared by Ernie and his friend. They seemed to consider that in tumbling over the cliff, old Bess had disgraced them and their- hill-craft and had spoiled our outing. At least that was the impression I gathered, although, like the true sons of the hills that they, were, their comments w’ere couched in terms which required more than a parson’s son to translate. Nothing that I could write, should I go on for a week, could speak so plainly for the hospitality and unselfish kindness of these fine backcountry fellows as the simple statement that their main concern over a mishap which might have cost them a horse, was that we had lost half an hour's daylight. Only our entreaties saved the old mare from the lambasting which, they assured us. the blessed blushing old swine so richly deserved. With harness repaired, and pigs, cameras, and so on, retrieved, we were soon on the track once more, the critical spot being passed this time without incident. So, for the rest of the afternoon we journeyed on through bush and scrub and over rock-strewn flat, occasional bursts of rifle fire showing where one or other of the gang had sighted game. Just on dusk we landed back at the base, tired but filled with that happy feeling of contentment which such a day can give to the city dweller. A bottle was broached and healths drunk all round. We did our best to express to Ernie and his friend our gratitude for their kindness, a service which, I need scarcely say, is not to be had for hire. They refused to listen to any word of thanks, but fortunate indeed may the party count itself which, venturing into this territory, is lucky enough to be taken under the wing of these big-hearted, sporting hillmen. Half an hour later the big sedan was , speeding swiftly southward on her long : run via Waiau and the Weka Pass to , Christchurch.-