Wednesday, October 17, 2012
A friend of ours has planted oats this year... and hurt his hand. He's very conservationist (being involved in most of the 'greener' projects around. He's a good man) but the reality is he's disappearing under a tide of wallaby (being against the forest margin they have lots of hiding places and lots of lovely grazing). He's put in heroic efforts at fencing - within weeks the wombats dig holes and the wallaby follow. So it's shoot or poison - and a normal year involves more than 1000 - (I gather he's been doing this for half a century, and the numbers just get bigger, it seems.) He can't shoot right now, as his hand is injured, so I went up there last night. The rain got me after an hour - maybe 3/4 of an hour of dark - and I had to bring the rifle out of it. But I had shot 16 wallaby. Here I have to shoot at 70-100 yards, there it was 30. Even I can hit things at thirty yards. So last night I worked until 2 turning 11 of them into food (couldn't in the dark find the others, they were found and buried this morning). Ah. Self-sufficiency. Easy, isn't it? I will say the gutting and skinning are a lot better than before the night started. Nothing like 10 in a row to get even the dumbest practiced. Anyway, tired day, and now I am for bed.