Dogs versus Wenlock Monster

There are a few types of dogs living up here but 90% of dogs are itsa-bitzas and they're all huge.  Everyone has a dog or 5, especially if you're into hunting.

Hunting dogs are usually trained to be bailers or luggers.  A bailer is a dog that has a good nose, is fast and 'bails' up the pigs by barking or nipping at them.  Think of a sheepdog style of rounding up and holding them in an area, waiting for you to come in and finish the job.

There there are luggers.  Luggers are dogs that can have a good nose, have to be fast but they're strong and they bite.  Luggers are dogs like our current breed - great dane, bull arab cross. Her name is Dorothy and she's the size of a small horse.  Our other dog, Dolorus, is 6 weeks old but will be stronger and taller...  They hang off the pigs ears or face to stop them running. Some, like our dog's dad, just bite over the top of the pigs neck and press them into the ground, heldfast until you come.

My first dog up here was a Golden Labrador.  She was sooo hairy you could make a jumper out of her dropped hair on a daily basis.  She was a good guard dog and kept many people from jumping our fence and helping themselves - unless you said "hey sandy" and then she'd just roll over and ask for a pat while they robbed us...  Sandy went camping with us everywhere. She wasn't just a pet but part of the family. In fact, I dont think she knew she was a dog because she just expected to be treated like a queen.  Sandy was bitten by a snake while we ran her around the lakes and now she overlooks the ocean sunset at RedBeach.

One time we were camping on the banks of the Wenlock River gold mines with friends and were enjoying a few festive drinks around the fire when, out of the darkness, came this ear-piercing scream like a T-Rex roar from just outside the light of the fire.  To say I was scared was an understatement.  Think of my face-completely drained of colour and life, lots of body movement flailing around but not actually moving, mouth-wide open to scream but only something maternal from deep that came out like a grunt. That was me.  Standing on my camp chair, like that was going to save me, pearing over towards the kids lying on their swags next to the car tossing up whether to sacrifice them or hope that their father would come to all of our rescue.   "What the hell is that?" I managed to squeak out.  I'd never heard anything as loud and ear-piercingly dangerous in my life....

Our friends dog, a great dane/arab mix, black as the ace of spades takes off up the bank in the direction of the roar.  Gone.  Our other friends dog, a cattle dog cross, took off into the pitch black also, barking and carrying on like they were going to kill whatever monster lurked beyond the shadows.  Our Sandy girl had dug a hole under my camp chair and was litterly shaking with this pittying look in her eyes like "mum, what the f%*k is that?". No one was going to move her anytime soon. 

She was not a hunter.

With the other two dogs, who at the time had never hunted before and were more like giant dopey cats, were gone. The boys had no choice but to go after them.  One of them picked up the closest thing to him - a pocket knife.  My hubby dug around in the camp box and tossed up which would be sharper - the plastic butter knife or the rusted piece-of-shite machete. He went with the machete.  The other bloke took his steak knife off his plate.  No time for shoes or protective clothing and off they ran into the bush hollering after their dogs and hoping to god they didn't come across the newly discovered, carnivorous dinosaur that had come across us on their track to water in the dark. 

A few minutes passed and my girlfriend and I, still cowering around the fire and hoping the Gobin/Human-eating Monster would eat the boys first when in ran the dogs. They'd chased whatever it was, most probably a giant boar, until they lost it in the thick scrub.  Thank God. 

What on Earth they would have done if they'd come across that man-eater will never be known but my bet would be that anything would be able to put up a decent fight against three pleb hunters weilding plastic knives, pocket knives and a rusty machete.....

Beware those that camp on the Wenlock River. That monster has not been seen since......

Silverplatter Hunters!

Pig Hunting.  It's a popular pastime for hundreds of Cape York and North Qld adults and there's a variety of justifications for the sport but you can't make a comment on it if you've never experienced it.  Pigs are in large numbers up here, so much that we have an annual Pig Hunt hauling hundreds of beasts into skip bins.  They are destructive, alien-looking beasts and they breed like rabbits.   That said, there are many people who take the sport very seriously.  Hours of stalking, preparation, stealth training for their dogs, hundreds of dollars worth of supplies not to mention the turf wars over hunting spots.  Some people use dogs and knives, others are bow hunters who prefer to stalk their prey themselves and others are shooters.  

We are more like "silver platter hunters" and I'll explain why....

For my birthday my friend took me out on a hunt so I could see what the hype was all about.  The dogs were on the back of the tray and when they got a whiff they jumped off and the excitement began.  Both of us jumped out and we took off into the bush, chasing the sound of the dogs barking.  My friend could tell they were on by the way they were barking and we could tell we were getting closer as the sound grew across the forest floor.  I fell over at least three times, face first into the mud in my haste to keep up.  When we arrived at the scene, we found a sow that had disembowled itself on a log but was not dead - my first kill was on a silver platter and an act of mercy more than anything else but it didn't stop there.... emerging from the innerds was movement and we quickly realised that she was giving birth.  With my skinning-knife, I sliced open the bag and out slid a wet piglet.  I breathed into it's mouth and it came alive.  Yes, I know what you're thinking! OMG! But in the  moment all I was thinking about was "oooh baby piglets as pets...."  Both my friend and I took a couple back to the trucks to show the kids.  I had obviously not thought this through because my hubby was not going to let me in the truck covered in blood and holding as many suckers as I could manage.  On the verge of divorce, I lost the battle and the piglets went to heaven to join their mum.

The second time I went out we were trudging through head-high razor grass, cutting my legs up and again I face-planted the mud at least half a dozen times trying to keep up.  The dogs would get on the scent and run, then the chase began.  Dog trackers are GPSs that pick up on the trackers on the dog's collars so they don't get lost.  It's soooo easy to get turned around in the bush and without them we wouldn't have been able to find our way back; let alone the dogs.  After about an hour of walking through swamps I was exhausted, and on the verge of spewing, when the dogs got on again.  We ran through across the waterway, hoping not to be eaten in the waste high creek, then into the long grass.  The dogs had come across a mob of sows and piglets and the screaming will stick in my mind forever.  I was panicked and frightened out of my wits end holding up a giant hunting knife as it shook in my hand - imagine a bad scene from a D-grade horror film when the victim has no clue on what she's in for.....  I looked for the closest tree to climb before realising I wasn't going to be able to haul my ass up it anyway when I came face-to-face with the boar.  He was about 90kg and his tusks could have torn me to shreds if it wanted to.  It was a face off and I dont know who was my frightened.  Luckily for me, it turned around and ran off.  I tried to yell out to my friend whom I'd lost in the adrenaline filled swamp and couldn't see more than 10cm in front of my face for the long grass.  Eventually we found each other and went to wash off in the creek.  On the verge of passing out the dogs got on again and once they're on, there's no going back.  Up we ran, across boulders, cutting my legs to shreds until finally we were upon a sow that had wedged itself in between two trees and wasn't going anywhere.  No need for dogs or stealth, it was handed to me, yet again, on a silver platter.

Last week my hubby went to Cairns to get supplies and on the way came across a big black boar eating a cow carcass on the side of the road.  They pulled up shortly afterwards to fill up the truck with the remainder of the jerry cans when they thought, what the heck. He had his rifle tucked into the back of the truck so pulled it out and got it ready. What were the chances of it still being there?  They pulled out, trailer load behind them to retrace their steps.  He stuck his new spotty out the window and low and behold this boar soaked up the rays and stood in the middle of the road just staring at them.  It was a sign. No dogs. No hunting or effort at all. Again, a giant boar handed to him on a silver platter.....

People hunt up here on a daily basis but we're starting to think perhaps we're just the "silver platter" hunters.