or 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...----------------------------------------------------
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?"
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?"
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."
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.
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.
- "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.
