South Island New Zealand Wallaby Hunt
I’m not what you would consider a hunter. I would rather sit around a fire with the true hunters after the day’s hunt to enjoy their company than wake up at “zero dark” to hike yards to the stand, much less miles stalking in the cold to begin the hunt each day. I hunt so that I don’t forget that something died so I can live. I hunt to remind myself that I, too, am responsible for the death of my meal. Hunters see the meat section of a grocery store differently than non-hunters.
Fortunately, my work and duties expose me to many people whose current or past professions require the expert use of some form of firearm or weapon. Most of these types enjoy the outdoors. A dinner outside the gates of Camp Pendleton, California, was the catalyst for the subject of this story.
Friends training in Camp Pendleton invited a group of us to dinner along with their counterparts with the New Zealand Special Air Service. We gladly accepted. I was fortunate to sit next to a “bloke” who lived on the South Island.
We became fast friends after he saw a text from my daughter. She sent me a picture of the new AK she just purchased. Admittedly, it took a while for a So Cal Dude to understand the Kiwi accent. He claimed it was the Queen’s English. I thought it was bogus. As food was served and bottles emptied, we understood each other well enough. The evening resulted in invitations to visit each other in the future.
I took him up on the invitation several months later. A plan was made to visit in May. New Zealand’s seasons are opposite of ours here in the United States. May is fall in New Zealand, so the weather for a hunt was perfect.
Our flight landed in Auckland, a brisk walk to the domestic flights terminal, then a flight to Christchurch in the South Island. One interesting fact is that upon arrival, the New Zealand border patrol will be especially attentive to any shoes you have, whether you are wearing them or not. They don’t want you transporting anything harmful to their environment. This is no joke.
Upon arrival, I was greeted by my host and his friends. Most were former or present military, and some were not. It’s pretty eerie how those with a military background can immediately communicate verbally and non-verbally. All were very friendly and enthusiastic outdoorsmen. When they weren’t hunting, they were fishing, river boating, hiking, skiing, mountain climbing, etc.
The plan was to hunt on a farmer’s sheep station bordered by Crown land. The farmer had an infestation of wallabies. I was told to shoot as many of them as possible because a landowner must keep a record of his wallaby population control. The Crown will hire professional hunters for population control and bill the landowner if s/he fails with this responsibility. Wallabies are non-native species considered pests like jack rabbits in the western United States.
My first trip to New Zealand was before their military-style rifle and magazine capacity gun ban. I was issued a VZ rifle. I also used a suppressed bolt action rifle chambered in 7.62×39. Yes, suppressors are still sold without restrictions. Their philosophy is that no civilized person would want to shoot a loud gun.
Next, I was taken to the local sporting goods store to buy gaiters. Although one can sleep “under the stars” without fear of snakes or other “nasties” in New Zealand, it is infested with weeds that have spikes that seem to jump at you at every step. They are worse than cactus. Gaiters are a must. In addition, for those “vertically challenged” like me, I recommend thick pants or a cup or both. Ouch!
Sleep was a sleeping bag on a military cot in a sheep shearing building. It had a unique smell that went away after I reconciled with it. Bio brakes were an outhouse. Cooking was via a campfire. Bathing was in the cold fast, running creek. Mobile reception was non-existent. It was heaven.
Walking up and down the hills pushing the wallabies to run and expose themselves was fun but grueling. My phone summarized my accomplishments for the day: 13,286 steps, 4.7 miles walked, and 143 flights climbed. Tired but happy, I slept solidly until the alarm rang at zero dark to go back up the hill. I woke in a jolt, dressed, and made the coffee. Perhaps I will make a good hunter after all?
Philip Pines enjoys everything outdoors with a special fondness of the freedoms and beauty of Utah and Texas.