XVII
Cattle Hunting

The brown bull bellows on the far hill-side;
  Then hey boys ho for a run!
Then down we go, and up, and round, and carefully work wide,
  Then creep for a shot with the gun!
The big beast falls on the fair green grass.
  How's that, Billy, for a shot?
But we're feeling rather sorry who have brought this thing to pass
  And wish that we had not.

In those early days on the run, we stuck to our work. As we were young, strenuous exertion was no hardship, and we were working on our own land, so we went at it with a will. Except once, when we were out of our reckoning, we did not work on Sundays, but thinking one day a week quite enough to waste, we took no other holidays. And even Sundays, I myself, being too much of an "onaisy divvle" to loaf at home, spent in exploring the bush with dogs and gun.

But at Christmas it seemed only decent to have a day or two off, so Barnes and I thought we would see what the country behind us was like. We had heard that some miles away, page 127over the bush-range, there was a valley with open grass patches and wild cattle, and that by following surveyor's blazes it was possible to ride there, so getting together tent-fly, fry pan, axe, billy and blankets, and a few luxuries, of which the unaccustomed treat of fresh butter was the most valued, we stowed all on a packhorse and, followed by Charlie, the mongrel yellow mastiff, were soon on our way up the range. Slashing our track through scrub, through patches of "lawyer" or native briar, through the tangled cane-like supple-jack and what not, climbing in and out of steep gullies, traversing high razorback ridges, or splashing down streams, but always beneath the leafy roof of the bush, we arrived at last at a little open green flat by a stream.

Here, having blocked the track home with a rough pole fence, we turned loose our horses, pitched our simple camp, and boiled the tea billy. A rough meal finished, it was cool evening, so we took our rifles and glasses, and strolling a few hundred yards up an inviting cattle track, we were soon on a patch of nearly level ground carpeted with rich grass and clover.

And here let me explain that New Zealand has no indigenous mammals except a small black rat, so that there were originally in page 128the bush no game tracks. The pig was Indeed, introduced in recent times, and spread everywhere, but his tracks through the scrub are too low to be of any use, unless you go on all-fours; so getting about, especially in the thick scrub and bracken, was most arduous work. The presence of cattle, however, very soon improves matters; they wear and beat down tracks, and by eating or smashing down some of the smaller growths in the less wooded country, and by carrying seed, soon make patches of open grass and clover, of which in our district, at least, there were originally none.

This little look-out terrace was a bull's stamping ground, and there were others in sight up and down the stream. I can see that valley quite plainly now; I can smell the clover we lay in, and hear the hum of the bees, and can feel again the delightful thrill of expectancy with which we scanned the country in sight, and listened for a distant bellow. These cattle would have been of no account to a "pukka" sportsman, for though they had been feral for generations, and though in colour they seemed to be reverting a good deal to dun, they were still painfully domestic in appearance. But to us they were good enough "wild cattle." They were not easy to come across; they kept page 129in the bush all day, and it was only in the cool of the evening that you might hear the big bull out on his stamping ground, pawing the earth and bellowing, and later perhaps get a glimpse of his harem.

The first time I ever caught sight of wild cattle, I had followed their tracks down a bush creek, getting more and more cautious, and more and more keen until I saw the fresh mud actually oozing into a hoof mark, and knew I was almost upon them. And when I found myself in the midst of a little scattered feeding herd, I was so excited that, my rifle muzzle vibrating whole inches, I clean missed four or five shots, and had to do my long trudge home beefless and heart-broken.

But to return to our evening look-out.

After a long wait we spotted something dark on a bit of rough open, a mile or more away on the other side of the valley. "Oh, it's only a bit of brown fern; but give us the glasses." It moved. "Hooray, it's a bull. I can see his horns." Cutting a long flax leaf¹for a leash to keep old Charlie from going after pigs, we tore off down the track across the stream, up from the thick scrub to the more open bush, whichever way we could best get through, panting and sweating,

¹ Phormium Hookeri.

page 130and wildly excited, hoping to get above and behind him. Then, coming out into the more open country, we took advantage of every bit of cover until we could plainly see the very formidable big brown beast below us, standing out in the open. Then, unmindful of its accustomed fierce kick, we loosed off the heavy Martini, slipping the big dog in case of a miss, and with another shot or so the business was finished. And then? Well, I own that for a moment there was just a little feeling of regret, and even shame. We had destroyed a fine animal who was having a happy time, and doing us no harm, and we had done it without any good excuse, for, though we took home his hide, we hardly wanted it, and his carcass was entirely wasted. But there was no denying that the watching and the spotting, and the long wild scramble round had been no end of fun. Bred in mankind for millions of years, I wonder if the lust of hunting will ever be eradicated. In all of us, except in womanly women, and effeminate men, it is still pretty powerful, especially in youth. But beside the joy of stalking there was the charm, to us more or less urbanised boys, of getting entirely away from humanity, and living for a time an almost purely savage life. And about killing eatable beef, wild pigs and bush pigeons, page break

Plate XVIII
A Bush Fireplace

Plate XVIII
Pair of Bellows

page 131there was certainly no unpleasant after-thought. For bush beef is tiptop, and though I have often had to eat, when hard up, tough and rank wild boar, a bush sow in good condition is food for the gods—as different from tame pork as is Cheddar from chalk. And a bush pigeon, fed on the right berries, is, I maintain, the finest table bird on earth.

And how we slept that night in a bed of springy bracken a foot deep, under the stretched "fly," the last thing we heard being the pathetic demand of the little native owl¹for more pork, more pork-pork-pork-pork!

We returned more than once to that happy valley. Now it is all cleared and grassed and fenced, and I for one never want to see it again.

Years later I met some more wild cattle. Clad in blue dungarees, cotton shirt and light football boots, and carrying a handy slasher or cutlass, I started off on foot to spend the day exploring part of a new block of land we had taken up in the back country. A rapid drop of many hundred feet, a waded stream, and then a climb of a mile or two up a steepish ridge, brought me well into the heart of the bush. Then another rough

¹ Spiloglaux, N.Z. Venatica.

page 132descent, and I had reached a stream that I wanted to follow out to the main river. After boulder-jumping down this creek for some distance, I noticed signs of cattle, and continuing my way very quietly, I came, on rounding a sharp corner, upon a couple of calves, and stood stock still. The calves, who had never seen a human being, were much interested, and came slowly up to smell the strange new thing, and one even licked my coat. But my scent had been carried down the gully, and there were anxious danger calls from the mothers, which by and by the calves obeyed. Following them down stream, as the gully became narrower and narrower, and its sides more and more precipitous, I became a little thoughtful, for, said I to myself, if they have to turn back, these two scared and anxious mothers won't be likely to treat me with any particular ceremony. A little further on I could see we were coming to a fall or something, and could hear the cows close ahead, so, at a place where a huge fallen rock had left only the narrowest passage-way, I scrambled high up the precipitous side and waited events.

Presently, with the greatest caution, muzzles outstretched, and wild eyes staring everywhere but upwards, came the two cows, the calves following. Just as they page 133reached the big rock I gave a yell, and they all jammed for some moments in the narrow neck before they got clear and away. Then I came down and went on my way, chuckling.

I had been particularly proud of the way my new football boots, thoroughly wet, had enabled me, jumping, to land safely on the slippery boulders, but soon my pride was no more. For the three leather discs underneath, on which came all the pressure, soon hurt like red-hot pennies under my foot soles, and the homeward miles were trudged in the acutest torment.