Inappropriate Behavior: Possum Huntin'

This is one of several posts I had hoped to write during my mourning time in Auckland, but never got around to for obvious emotional reasons. But I don't want to lose it, because these are memories I really want to get DOWN on "paper" before I lose them. As I've mentioned before, I've written blogs on events from my days in Bangkok that I TOTALLY forgot about. That scares me, but makes me grateful that I took the time to record them. So, here we go...

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Possums abound in New Zealand, to the tune of 70 million, in fact (the human population is about 4.5 million). Legally, they're considered a pest, and most people who live in this country and own a gun take great pleasure in shooting them. There are several reasons for this. Like any mammal in this country, the possum was introduced, not native, and so, without any natural predators, has spread across these two islands like the Swine Flu. They eat your gardens, your trees (good luck getting a single fruit from a fruit tree), and damage and eventually kill a lot of native plants and trees. We have a few fruit trees on our property, peach and plum, and I got 2 plums and no peaches last year - the possums had gnawed on them all, and only partially, which is somehow way more frustrating. And they drive my dog batshit crazy.

Even a local school will occasionally hold a possum hunt as a fundraiser.

When you tell a local about possums around your house, like, "Hey, I think I heard a possum last night,..." the first response you always get is, "Did you shoot it?"

The first time I heard one, I was in the bathroom, and I heard the familiar sound of tires on gravel outside the house. I stayed still to make sure someone was actually visiting us (a rare occurrence) so late at night. One small worry about living in the middle of nowhere, is you have a small bit of unease, as if someone could drive up your hidden driveway and slaughter you to death and no one would ever know and your dog and cats would feast on your dead carcass to survive. Or even if someone did get an emergency call, it'd take them over an hour to get there, so we're totally dead anyway.

Or maybe that's just me.

Anyway, the possums,...right. So, I continued brushing my teeth or whatever, and I heard the gravel sound again. And then it stopped. Perplexed, I opened the door and peered out. Nothing. At some point I figured out I was hearing a possum instead of a car. Me armed with a searchlight with the power of the Sun, and Beau with a rifle, we found it perched on top of a tree. Well, we smelled it before we saw it. For a cute fuzzy little thing, they stink like a dead Ton-Ton.

And with a bang that shattered the still of the night and made my own heart freeze for a few beats, the possum was dead. We called up our neighbor, Paula.

"What do you do with a possum?"

- "You kill it."

"No, it's already dead."

- "Great!"

They're actually pretty cute, unlike their haggard-looking American cousins. They're more teddy-bear like with soft fur that is made into expensive socks and mittens. Well, teddy bears with evil red eyes. Oh yeah, and they carry and spread Tuberculosis too! Awesome!

I'm building them up as these bad guys cause well, we shot them. A few of them. Okay, by "we" I mean that One-Shot Beau shot them. My job was to hunt them down. And as much as I hate hunting, and as awkward as I still feel about the whole thing, a part of me, honestly, also liked it. Okay, I said it. Now I feel like a jerk and not the great animal lover I claim to be.

Anyway, it was late at night, and one of those nights with no moon, so when I stepped outside it was total blackness. I could hear the ocean, as usual, but I couldn't see anything. I made a couple of ginger steps down from the deck when suddenly I heard a bunch of thrashing and running about. That sent me back into the house pretty damn quick. Until I realized, of course, that there's really nothing in New Zealand that could attack and hurt me, duh. Well, non-human anyway. I realized I was probably hearing possums. I looked at the clock -- it was midnight.

Tiptoeing into the bedroom, I leaned over Beau.

"Um, Beau? I know you're sleeping..."
- "Whuh!?"
"Well, there's a possum out there, and if you want to stay in bed..."
- "Huh?"
"Possums, outside, in the darkness...But I totally get it if you don't want to..."
- "No, I'm up."

A few minutes later we were dressed and ready. Me once again with my power light and Beau with his shotgun. Or rifle, or whatever. I flipped the switch and began scanning the trees. It was like the searchlight from a helicopter. Seconds later, the light caught a flash of neon red. Yikes. That's how you find them -- their eyes glow a diabolical red, unlike any animal I've ever seen. I guess that makes shooting them easier, if you imagine they've the devil in 'em.

One shot-Beau did it again. It was almost like a magic trick. There was the mind-jarring shot and a half second later the soft *thump* as the body hit the ground. We checked to make sure it was dead (yup, real dead), and grabbing it by the tail, Beau tossed it into the back of his truck. We continued on. There were more. *BAM* *BAM* Two shots, two more dead, two more tossed into the truck. I was relieved he was such a good shot; I think if one were still alive I wouldn't be able to take it. My searchlight fixated on the last one - spotted a good distance off in a tall tree.

"Is it too far?" I asked.
- "Hrmmm..." said Beau.

He raised his gun and shot. There was a great cacophony of breaking twigs and branches as the possum exited the world, downward. We gazed down where it was -- an impossible-to-reach place without some climbing rope and crampons. Hmmm.

Back at the truck, we stared at the bodies.

"How many do you have to skin to make money on them?" I asked.
- "They told me it takes about 14."
"14? That's a lot. How much money do you get for 14"
- "They said about $90."
"That doesn't seem like a lot."
- "So, get after it."
"What?"
- "Skinning them."
"Fuck no!"

I found out later there is some kind of hand machine you drop the dead possum in, turn a crank, and it somehow de-skins them as you wind it like a hand organ. Still.

The weird thing about this, besides some small residual guilt about killing ANYTHING, I don't feel totally bad about killing possums. I still don't believe in hunting for a sport, and am RABIDLY against trophy hunting, but it's good to see the "other side" of the issue, not that there are m(any) animal rights activists crowing for the NZ possum.

Still.

One Day Off

Yesterday, Memorial Day, was one of those RARE days - the FIRST in fact - when BOTH Beau and I had absolutely no job to go to at all. And yet, I was astonished when Beau said, "This is the first time I've had an entire day off since I started at Wally World." I knew we both worked nearly every day, but I didn't know he had never had even a single day off from all jobs since then.

It was a VERY important to me that we get out of Missoula and do something nature-related. The whole big deal about Montana is supposed to be its natural beauty, and when Beau started fantasizing about moving back to the United States from New Zealand, it was his peaceful, happy memories deep within the forests, rivers, and mountains of western Montana that lured him back. I knew, that both of us, more so for him, we had to get out of the city that had been demoralizing us for so long and DO something active. I wanted to camp for one night, but our schedules wouldn't even allow that (we both worked until 11pm the previous night), so it was going to be a day trip. I asked around, did my internet research, and finally came up with Holland Lake. A place about an hour, hour and a half away (no sweat for us) that featured a forest full of trails, a giant picturesque lake (with appropriately snow-covered majestic mountains in the background), and...a waterfall! Who isn't a fan of waterfalls?

Honestly, I'm not a big fan of hiking. I'm not a fan of anything that makes me carry heavy equipment like a gold miner's pack mule, breathe like I'm having an asthma attack, or makes me a sweaty mess (I'm not a "glistener," I'm a SWEAT-ER, a red-faced one), for no reason than just to do it. If there is an intended goal, like a waterfall, then I am a bit more motivated. Hiking has always struck me as one of those things that you're supposed to say you really love doing. I just don't.

But, this time, I WAS motivated and excited. Yet on Monday morning, it almost didn't happen. Beau had asked me about three times when I wanted to leave, and I had always answered, "Well, as soon as we get up, but pretty early" (since my days of sleeping in until noon are long behind me). And though Beau no longer gets up at 5am like clockwork each morning (thank god), he still is up bright and early almost every day. Well, I finally crawled out of bed a little after 8am, tried to get him up, was not successful (as mentioned, we had both worked late the previous night), and went and took a shower. Finally, Beau crawled out of bed. He turned on the TV, he lazily put lotion on, he had some Lucky Charms, HE MADE A POT OF COFFEE. I think the sound of the percolator is what set me off. Like, he couldn't buy a frickin cup of coffee on the way? (which I had figured he'd do anyway). I, already being dressed and ready to go, was not entirely pleased by this languid ritual. I tried to "motivate" him to hurry up, but Beau has never appreciated my *ahem* gentle nudging.

I felt like this ONE day was weeks in the making (and waiting), and felt it ticking away... So therefore, we argued.

Well, I won't go into the details of that, but we did get out the door, finally. Like an hour later.

And the mini road trip was on. I love road tripping with Beau. He drives, I read aloud, we both watch scenery. I often comment that our relationship was built on road trips, since the first SEVERAL times we were together, we spent MUCH of that time driving from one place to another. And then in NZ it continued in even greater force driving from our isolated village to other cities and during our mega north to south, two week road trip.
The drive was nice, as immediately the countryside got more rugged and the mountains taller. As we got closer to Holland Lake, we frequently spotted mule and whitetail deer on the sides of the road. Then we reached the parking lot where all the trails started, got my backpack ready (water, extra clothes, and of course, chocolate), and started the hike.

It wasn't bad, not at all. The various ascents weren't too challenging and the forest was lovely, not to mention that trail skirted around the edge of the lake the whole time. A couple of points had some breaks in the foliage to really see the vastness of the lake with the mountains as backdrop. Along the way we only passed a few people, which was nice, and as usual, EVERYONE has a dog (usually a Lab or Golden Retriever) with them. One already heavily-laden couple even had their own two dogs carrying dual-fanny packs of who knows what. There was even one group that had a baby in a backpack and a small three-year old walking along. Shit, if a three year-old can do it...
We walked in single file, sometimes Beau in front, sometimes me. We talked about different stuff along the way. I'm a fast walker who stops a lot and Beau's a slow walker who likes to soak it all in. It kind of evens out.
As with most falls, you hear them and sometimes even feel them, before you see them. That always kind of lends to the excitement. It's always one of those situations where you round a bend and POW - there they are in all their drama. And there it was! Lovely mid-sized waterfall.We climbed up on some rocks and sat down to rest and enjoy the view. Almost immediately, what looked to be very large chipmunks, ("It's a ground squirrel," Beau informed me), emerged from the various rock crevices and came toward us with surprising boldness. It was clear from their plumpness and audacity that they'd been fed many times before. So, we dug out the only thing we had, chocolate. "Will chocolate hurt them?" (You always hear horror stories about what it does to dogs). "I don't know," said Beau. So, not letting that stop us, we broke off very small pieces ("Dark chocolate is probably healthier anyway," I said as I chose it) and gave them each one. You'd think we had given them crack. Happy little squirrels!
I gave a very uneasy "Arrrrr" out when one climbed purposefully up on my thigh, but thankfully, they scare just as easily as they approach, and my nervous vocals sent it darting away in fright.

Then there was a very interesting moment when the little birds in the trees surrounding us suddenly gave out these sharp chirps. The squirrels, knowing exactly that "sharp chirp" = "danger danger" all immediately dove for cover, and in a split second, we went from a gaggle of gregarious company, to being totally alone on the rocks.
"Look," pointed Beau and in the distance, soaring in broad circles, was a bald eagle (not pictured above). "Ooooh" was my thoughtful reply. Pretty amazing to see nature at work like that. I have now heard the small bird equivalent of "Holy shit! It's an eagle! Run!"We hung out there a bit more, playing with the squirrels, who eventually re-emerged, and we continued to stare at the falls. Of course, I took 10,000 photos until my memory card filled. And finally, as a couple kids showed up, fists full of crackers for the squirrels, we got up, and made our way back down. I really enjoyed the walk. It was a bit of a brisker pace, as it always is on the way back from these things, and we talked and talked (I did a bit more of the yapping), talking about our families and our futures and whatever else came up.

I think we really really needed this little jaunt, and I am grateful for it. And seeing the Pirates of the Caribbean (hmm, it was okay), and chomping down the ribeye steak (mmmm steak), I ordered at Outback Steakhouse back in town helped make the day even better.

As for today, oh well, back to work for the both of us. And -ooh ow ooh- seems I'm a little tender.