PIG-HUNTING.

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, 1 November 1900, Page 147

PIG-HUNTING.

By William M. Walnutt

fiG-HUNTiNG in New Zealand is one of the most exhilarating and intensely exciting species of sport that any lover of the true charm of dangerous adventure can wish for. Given a wild, rough country, fern-clad slopes, picturesque bush and rocky creek, two or three good dogs, a couple of hunting knives, a healthy constitution, and plenty of pigs, and you have all that is required. The back country of New Zealand supplies an excellent and well-stocked hunting ground, of which the colonial may well be proud. At the time the following incidents occurred we were camped in the Mokauiti district, an ideal pig-hunting country, the surrounding ranges being covered with light manuka aud fern. Grassy valleys and stony hilltops, with large rocks or boulders, skirted a swift-running creek. No sign of habitation whatever could be seen in any direction. About four miles from our camp the country merged into heavy bush and deep jagged ravines, very dangerous to negotiate in a wild chase after a madlyrushing boar. We were out of provisions, as surveyors frequently are in an isolated district, and I volunteered to go and find a pig. We had already tried the country near the camp, but without success. After traversing the four miles over fern ranges and small gullies, we (myself and the three dogs, a fine bull-mastiff, another rather smaller, and a collie) arrived at the belt of heavy bush just described. Up to this time the only animal met with was a small sucking pig, which the dogs killed before I could reach them. As we entered this denser forest the dogs suddenly disappeared, and I rightly conjectured that they had struck a

warm scent, for a few minutes later I heard a bark about a mile ahead, so off I started. During my run through tho bush I noticed the place where the dogs had first disturbed the pig, and judging by tho tracks I could see that it was an unusually large boar. On clearing the bolt of bush the scene which met my gaze was exceedingly beautiful ; a new country seemed to lie at my feet as far as the eye could reach. A winding crook swept its way through a grassy valley, studded here and there with immonso boulders and stony hillocks ; sloping fornclad ranges led down to this picturesque spot. But I had no time to admire tho scenery, for at this moment I caught sight of the dogs scudding along the banks of tho creek, but only for an instant, ere they dived into the scrub. Another brisk run and I found myself getting nearei" to the barking, which by this time had been taken up by all three dogs. The boar had evidently bailed up. A few minutes later, as I rounded a large rock, I saw on the opposite bank of a creek two of the dogs standing, dripping with water, and barking themselves hoarse, and in the centre of the stream, near a rock, was a huge black boar swimming for dear life, with a kedge anchor attached to his ear in the shape of the big yellow bullmastiff, our best dog. The water was very deep and clear, and they were making no progress, for a projecting rock prevented them from going down stream. The boar was half drowned, owing to the exertions of " Bully," the mastiff. On my arrival the dogs on the bank rushed into the water, and the intense excitement of the moment demanded immediate action. Plunging into the creek I gained a rock about eight feet from the combatants, and then dived to

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within '.a foot of them. As I came to the surface one of the boar's feet caught me a scrape on the neck. Bully then released his grip with a look at me which seemed to say : " You can take a hand now, old man." Seizing the boar I pushed his head under the water, and while he was gurgling and spluttering I struok him near the ear with my ' small hunting knife, and dyed the splashing waters with his blood. -Old Bully closed in again, and in a very short time we had the veteran warrior lying dead on the shelving bank of sand. This bout was merely the precursor of a more desperately fought battle later, on. An old boar is no good for meat, his flesh is too rank, so after securing the tusks I left him, hoping to drop across a fat barrow before night. It was as yet quite early in the morning. We then clambered up the fern-

clad ranges skirting the creek, and worked back in the direction from which we had come, taking the opposite side of the creek. While proceeding up a sloping range I heard a yelp from the dogs away to my left in the fern, which told me at once that they had started another pig. Glancing quickly round in that direction, I saw them dashing through the fern down into a swampy gully covered with thickly - waving raupo. I hurried to the spot, but on reaching the gully could neither hear nor see either dogs or game. They had disappeared as if by magic. I could not understand it, for I could not fail to have seen them had they cleared the end of the swamp. I hunted all round the side of the gully, and shortly heard a muffled sound proceeding from the centre of the swamp. Breaking through

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the intervening fringe of manuka I noticed the mouth of a dark, mysterious - looking cavern in the centre of the gully, and on a level with its surface. Suddenly the smaller bull-mastiff sprang out of the narrow entrance with a long bleeding rip on his side. He had had enough of it. The boar had evidently taken refuge in this peculiar hiding place, the mouth of which shelved down to a depth of some eighteen or twenty feet, ending in an underground creek or cavern about eighteen feet long and ten feet to the roof. The rank reeds and. tangled growth almost covered the narrow slit or opening which ran along a portion of the roof, through which trickled a small stream of water. Gazing down into the depths I noticed two gleaming eyes and the yellow body of Bully swaying to and fro, as if crouching for a spring, but the fierce eyes in front never seemed to move.

The mastiff was on a ledge about five feet from the bottom barking furiously, though above ground the sound could hardly be heard. I halloed to him to spring, but though evidently encouraged by my voice, he was too cautious to obey. When Bully refused to charge, I guessed that behind that gleaming pair of eyes there was something unusually ferocious in the way of boar flesh, and I was not wrong. I drew back, and looked for the other two dogs, but they had disappeared, the smaller mastiff to lick his gaping wound, and the collio because' this was not his busiuess, and he declined to interfere. I returned to the cave and scrambled about half way down the entrance, again calling out to Bully to charge. Suddenly, assured by my close proximity, he sprang ; there was a nicker of yellow, a short growl, and then I could see nothing ; the eyes had disappeared, but I heard the savage yell of the dog and the quick rush of the pig, intermingled with the swish of flying gravel and the splash of water. The scuffle

was terrific. At this moment the wounded . dog came down and joined in the melee, but soou retreated, looking as scared as a dog possibly can. He had not Bully's pluck. Then another . short yelp came from the flying mass of boar, dog and gravel ; it was a cry of pain. I scrambled further down, and could see Bully's yellow eyes rolling as he received , a nasty wound in the side. I also saw the immense body of the Vol. lI.— No. 14,-11.

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boar with his battle spikes sticking out over his bristly mano, his curling tusks, dripping with foam, mado a white streak in the darknoss as ho rained thrust after thrust at the squirming but dreaded foe at his side. There was no timo to be lost. Everything favoured the boar. Bully, the hero of a hundred lights, had at length mot his match, and, weakened l>y his wounds, was in great danger of being killed. This must be prevented ad all costs. Gathering myself together, I drew my small knife, and took one wild .spring downwards ; miscalculating my distance in the darkness, I. landed right on top of the boar and dog. i lashed out, madly at the boar as 1 fell on the floor of the cave,

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but the knife glanced off his terribly thick hide. Frightened for the moment at my unexpected assault, he jumped clean over me, and got behind a boulder near the wall of the cave. I scrambled quickly in the opposite direction and then got up and glanced round ; I was now standing at the far end of the cavern where there was no exit. The walls were slimy, and a trickle of water fell down my back from the narrow opening overhead. I could catch a glimpse of the blue sky through the opening in the swamp above. A small rivulet ran along the side of the cave, the floor being tolerably level, with the exception of a boulder or two. After taking in the situation, I determined not to leave this curious underground apartment without finishing the business I had in view. Bully was panting near the centre of the cavern, while the boar was bailed up behind the rock in a sort of sentry box, as it were, near the entrance, keeping a strict eye on us. He was the man in possession, and was evidently determined to stay. But I felt quite fresh, so calling out to Bully, I sailed in again, making a charge from the other side of the rock. (Boars are very partial to rocks.) Then the fun commeuced in earnest. We all got jammed between the boulder and the wall. I was at the back of the boar on my hauds and knees, vainly trying to get hold of his hind legs. Suddenly he got free, and I was sent sprawling on my back. Bully immediately tackled him, and fortunately got a good hold of his right ear, the other was in shreds. Another rush and I made a small but ineffectual wound in his neck. The rivulet by this time was ploughed up and mixed with blood. One moment we were banging up against the slimy walls, or struggling on the floor, the boar making short lightning rushes, and Bully hanging to his ear or legs, as opportunity offered. It was impossible to get a fatal wound in during this tumbling fight, for I believe in having a pig on his back to kill it in a proper manner. It was like dodging round an iron-bark tree. I never carried a revolver or a gun, only a scrub knife and a

small butcher's knife. I got the knife in once below his ear. I was not very particular just then where I struck him, but the loss of blood soon told. Once or twice during his mad rushes, as I dodged or fell on one side, I could feel his hot breath on my face, and see the bright gleam of his glistening white tusks, as they flashed passed me in the subdued light. At the mouth of the cave I could catch glimpses of the vivid blue sky, and the yellow and green fern stretching away in soft sloping ranges. The collie dog, whose particular line was finding pigs, not bailing them up, stood up at the entrance, watching the frantic struggle below. His efforts to summon sufficient courage to come down were most amusing. The smaller mastiff lay by his side, still considering his wound a sufficient excuse tor his inaction. By this time I was getting tired of the alternate chances of the fight, so I decided to bring things to a close one way or another. After some narrow escapes I managed to get a grip of both his hind legs. This once accomplished, I had him practically at my mercy, though I had a tough tussle to throw him. When I did get him down he fought with his feet, and it was some time before I could knife him. He fought to the last, and died game. It would have been a sorry day for me if he had once got me underneath; his sharp tusks would have done more execution ill five seconds than a carvingknife in double that time. I fortunately got off without a rip, but was knocked about in other ways. This did not trouble me much. I secured his tusks, a splendid pair, and then climbed out of the cave and called the dogs ; we were truly a sanguinary-looking lot. After a good rest, off we started again, for I was bent on getting an eatable pig before returning to camp. We killed a splendid barrow just before dusk, and by the time I had it cleaned and singed it was dark. The trip back to camp was tedious and long, and the pork was heavy. At times I had to strike matches to find my way, for there was no denned track of any sort. Just

about bedtime I arrived. My mates were all sitting round tbe fire under the cooking fly, and had given me up for the night. They were delighted at the prospect of pork chops

for breakfast. We had been out of fresh meat for some considerable time. The largest boar that I have ever seen or killed was in the King Country— the

two just described were < unusually large, but this was a monster. I rode from camp some miles so as to get into a good hunting district. It was on a grassy slope, studded with prickly bushes, where the dogs first found the game, and about a mile from the track I was on. As soon as I heard the barking, I tethered my active Maori pony, and started on foot through the bush to the scene of action. I strapped my

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stirrup leathers and irons round my shoulders to use as pikau straps, in case there was no flax near. When I got within fifty yards of the dogs I saw that something unusual was taking place. A low roaring sound like that of a wild calf, in trouble, came from a prickly bush, while the dogs, which this time included a small white terrier, danced round it at different angles. I jumped to the conclusion at once that the dogs had bailed up a young heifer of some

description, so I ran round the bushes and came out behind the animal. As soon as I saw what was before me I ducked into the nearest bush, for in the clear space stood the largest boar I had ever seen. He was standing on all fours (an unusual place and an unusual position for a wild pig to bail up), but the fact of the matter was that he had not bailed up, but simply defied the dogs, and was standing there with his jaws working ready for a charge. He caught sight of me as I fell into the bush, and immediately charged, sending the dogs in all directions. After some more dodging and rushing he bailed up behind the same clump of bushes, and the terrier started to nip his hindquarters, of which he scorned to take the slightest notice, but kept his eyes on the more dangerous dogs in front, and me in particular. I tried to get them to tackle him, but they would not. close in. I then got in front and endeavoured to draw him out for a rush, for I wanted to get him into the rougher country below, but he would not budge. He, looked a frightfully ferocious beast. I gradually worked round his side, and though he never moved his head a fraction of au inch, I could see that he followed every movement on my part with his wicked little eyes, and I was expecting every moment to see him charge at me. Just

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then, one of the dogs in front came rather close to him, and he immediately took his eyes off me. I saw that my chance had arrived, so I darted round the back of the bush, and sprang out on his right side, making a blow with my knife at his neck. The dogs then closed in, and, I hardly knew what followed. We all bundled down the side of the gully, landing in the middle of a briar bush. I was soon on my feet, and noticed the' handle of the knife sticking out near his ear. He was foaming and

covered in blood. Another rush by the dcgs and we arrived at the next plateau ; the knife by this time had come out, and I managed to secure it. The boar was sitting behind a bush, evidently very weak. I could not get a hold of his hind legs to throw him, so I unstrung my stirrup irons and gave him a fearful crack on the head. I then got out in front and caught him by one of his fore legs, as he was now beyond offering much resistance, and the rest was easy. Although the boar is recognized as the King of the New Zealand bush, his brother, the barrow, is a much fiercer animal to deal with, possessing smaller but sharper tnsks, and is decidedly more vicious in every way. The chief peculiarity of the barrow, as compared with the boar when tackled by either man or dog, is the ear splitting screech which he keeps up the whole time. I have heard the noise some miles off when the dogs had one collared by the ear or legs. The flesh is most delicious, having a much finer flavour than that of a dairy- fed pig. The fern ranges, which abound in the back country, are the chief home of the wild pig, the succulent fern root supplying his chief diet, varied by the berries from trees

in the bush. The charge of a wild boar is like a flash of lightning, and many a dog has been ripped to death by one stroke of his terrible tusks. Some hunters believe in taking a small armament with them when on a pig hunting expedition, but there is no necessity whatever, if you require real sport, to load yourself with a gun or other implement. A couple of knives — a small butcher's knife and a larger one for cutting and scraping the pig — is all that is needed. The sight of a troop of men with slash hooks, guns, etc., always irritates me. There is no sport in standing off at a safe distance and firing at a pig which is bailed up. Many Maoris, on the other hand, let their dogs maul the pig to death before taking part themselves. There is neither sense, reason, nor pleasure to my mind in such a practise. One should consider the dogs as much as oneself, and no lover of true sport, which harbours no cruelty, would stand on one side and see an unfortunate pig being slowly pulled to pieces. Pig-hunting, if carried out in the manner I have here described, is undoubtedly one of the most exciting and exhilarating sports imaginable.