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| I have been a hunter / shooter most of my life. I grew up in the south-east of South Australia amongst the Pinus Radiata plantations where wildlife was plentiful, and a pest. My first rifle was just a single shot bolt action .22 cal, with which I would wander into the bush with armed with 5 cartidges, returning most times with 4 rabbits, sometimes 5. At least twice a week Dad and I would go spotlighting and return with a few roos, mainly to feed the dogs, although we would eat one occasionally. After a lapse of some years [ when I discovered beer and shielas ], a mate of mine, KB, invited me pig-shooting in northern New South Wales, and a life long hobby had started. That initial trip was to a place called Maude, some 35 miles north of Hay, on the Murrumbidge River. We camped on the river at a place called Horshoe bend and walked in the mornings, went to the pub in the heat of the day, and spotlighted at night. Feral Pigs are cunning animals and extremely elusive when hunted on foot. Over the next 10 years or so K.B. and I would go to Maude every friday night, returning early Monday morning, and every year would go for a month, usually around May when water was scarce and the pigs would have to come in twice a day to drink. We had many good times up in maude, and made many life long friends, but as time went on , Pigs became a little scarce. Often we would put in 54 hours for a few pigs. |
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| In about 1982, I corrosponded with the local constabulary in Cunnumulla, in far north Queensland, and they invited us to visit. After many preparations we set off and drove for 18 hours and collapsed in the Warrego Hotel, with mine host Roachy. After another 18 hours or so getting to know everyone, and every inch of the pub, we set off for the shearers quaters which would become our home for 4 weeks every year for 18 years. The property I won't name, nor the owner, but it is 870,000 square acres, which is just smaller than England, and it was all ours to hunt on. The first day we went spotting in an old cessna 187 (complete with wooden prop), and marked the ferals on a grid map, and spent the next 4 weeks (oops, 3, 1 was spent in the pub), rounding them up. this tradition continued for all our trips there. |
| The poor cocky's up there are trying to run a few sheep and cattle. Down near home one can run 15 sheep or 8 cattle per acre, with ample food and drink. Up in the Far North they would be lucky to have one head per 10 acres, have to use bore water as a drinking supply.. As for food, what little that grows is consumed in competition with feral pigs, rabbits, cats, dogs, dingoes, horses, donkeys, camels, foxes, crows, eagles and goats, and millions, yes millions of kangaroos. All of these are completely feral and for the most, have not ever, or rarely seen a human before. So most cocky's want you to basically get rid of as much as you can. Some even supply the ammo. Four of us staked out a water hole at 4 am on the black soil plains and bagged an incredible 450 feral pigs in an hour. the only reason we stopped was to cool down our weapons. It was 5 hours work dragging them up into a pile before setting fire to it. |
| As you can see by this time we had graduated to a little more sophisticated weaponry. The norm was a auto or semi-auto 5.66 [223] (such as a rugar or AR-19), with a 10 shot pump action and a heavy cal pistol as a back-up, should a particular pig and yourself have a personality clash. |
| WR and KB |
| KB, me and WR |
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