On the one hand, I think I overdosed on humble pie; but on the other hand, such is an archer's lot, at times...
Firstly, there's a little swamp that nearly dies by the time the build-up season arrives, save for some muddy wallows in some deep, dark pandanus. Without fail, this is a stronghold for pigs, especially good boars; but also without fail, it seems an impregnable fortress, a haven that beats us time and again - either the wind defeats us, or the crunchy leaves defeat us, and further, it is so dark and gloomy in there that the boars can see-out much better than we can see-in. Yesterday, I tried my luck there again. I found that there was still a good amount of mud, which solved the problem of crunchy leaves in exchange for the lesser problem of avoiding squelching sounds; and the wind was holding steady in my face! My approach through the sun-lit reeds on the edge of gloomy pandanus took about half-an-hour for some fifty yards, carefully scanning with the binoculars at each step. Eventually, I was over the threshold of the fortress, oozing gently and slowly around the first pandanus, still scanning with the binoculars at each step. With the pace of a snail and the patience of a saint, I continued thus further inwards, investigating one cautious step at a time. I spent another twenty minutes like this, even though it is only a small area, until my eyes bespied a coarse patch lying in the mud through a mess of pandanus. I couldn't make-out what it was, and couldn't get a clear shot anyway. I had to change position and rotate my way around this particular clump. Silently through some gently flowing water over mud I went, until I could see more of this coarse-looking quarry. It wasn't very big, and I guessed that if it were a pig, it would be around the twenty-five kilogram mark in weight. I couldn't see head nor tail, but I allowed my mind to trick itself into thinking I could see a shoulder. It was a mere three metres away, and from my crouched position I hauled back on all 83 pounds of Silvertip, and let fly with a home-made Douglas fir arrow - "Thunk!" into a bristly pandanus log. Nothing stirred. Evidently, there were no pigs home. Perhaps it was too early, and this particular morning was a little cooler than normal. "Oh, well! Not to worry! It was an awfully good stalk, anyhow" I thought to myself. I proceeded to make my way through the pandanus, a very painful process due to their spiney thorns, and found that my arrow was well and truly lodged in the log, and to attempt further to retrieve it would mean certain death by pandanus. I decided to leave the arrow to posterity, a monument at least to the fact that an archer was indeed here - I doubt it will last through the wet season, save for the broadhead, which will be well-rusted!
I took a trophy photo:
I took a photo of my muddy right boot:
I took a photo looking back to where I'd left my Silvertip:
Then, I carefully made my way out of the clutches of that infernal pandanus, and back to my bow. I packed the camera away, and took a drink. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement! Quickly I was at the ready! It was a black boar, moving down toward the dark refuge along the edge where savannah meets pandanus. The wind was good. The boar was unaware of my presence. Surely he would enter-in, and I would smite him! Alas, not so. He just vanished away, I know not where. I spent the next twenty minutes slowly and carefully oozing my way around those pandanus clumps searching to no avail. Perhaps he could sense something, or perhaps he thought he might make his way to a bigger and better swamp a couple of kilometres away whilst the day was still relatively cool. I trudged the two kilometres back to the Toyota, and drove another few kilometres along the station tracks to a creek that offers half a chance to the lucky and careful. In the past, I've tried my best to walk quietly along the edge of the creek, particularly along cattle pads, which makes for mostly quiet walking. I have been most satisfied with the stealth afforded by removing my boots and proceeding barefoot, but was becautioned against this last season when I stepped over a deadly brown snake sunning itself on the pad without realising it until it departed with a rustle. So yesterday, with boots already caked in mud, I hatched a cunning new plan to sneak quietly. As the water's edge is the worst for walking along, due to its composition of coarse sand and pebbles, the best option, I discovered, was to actually walk through the ankle-deep water in the creek. A great level of silence can thus be attained if one puts one's mind and feet to it. Soon, I was stalking a group of three feeding boars on the bank above. I had to round about forty metres of creek to get close, but once there, I discovered that the bank was too high and steep, preventing me from easing-up for an attempt. Happily, one of the boars fed (I don't know what he was eating, as it was just sand and dry leaves up there) side-on, at what I suppose was about twenty or twenty-five metres. I couldn't see his head or legs, just the majority of his flank. Ideally, my arrow should fly an inch over the bank in front of me, and on into the boiler room of the boar. Alas, I forgot about my training and practice, and made that fundamental error which is too painful to speak the name of, and my arrow went sailing harmlessly over the boar's back. The boars went away to parts unknown.
I found my arrow lodged in a sapling:
Here is a magnificent wallow along the creek:
So here I sit, shaking my head at my folly yesterday, and consoling myself that at least it was an adventure (I also got to hear and see two adolescent dingoes howling, and a beady-eyed whip snake staring at me; on the drive out there, I saw a marvellous olive python, and found another of the same species floating dead in a dam, and pulled it out to help keep the water nicer for the cattle)!
Cheers,
Ben
Topic: The Essence of Chagrin... (Read 671 times)
