![]() "It's not far off." An air of anticipation infects the party. "That's a good pig, weighs about 120lb," says Proud. Telltale hoof marks can be seen in the mud. A patch of excavated earth, flattened ferns near a river-bank and half-chewed tawa berries - a porcine delicacy - lie scattered on the ground. 44 rifle and a handful of clothes-pegs - to hold wounds closed if the dogs are injured. They're great around children." We set off along an overgrown track, armed with four hunting knives, a Harrington Richardson. "I really miss my dogs when I'm away," says Proud. Hunters worship their dogs, and many a marriage breaks up - so the story goes - when men are told to choose between family and animals. Hope, Rosie, Smoke and Sting are to accompany us on a pig-hunting expedition in the Rangitoto hills, outside Te Kuiti. "There's no alternative." F OUR eager faces peer out of wooden crates as Jimmy Gill and Proud draw up in a dusty pick-up truck on a balmy Saturday morning in April. "Hunting with dogs is the only effective way to control the population," he says. Without the nation's 25,000 pig hunters, farming would be in crisis, says Bob Jeffares, editor of New Zealand Pig Hunter, a weekly magazine. Tough, coarse-haired creatures with razor-sharp tusks, they plough up pastures, steal lambs, destroy fences and root up crops. Pigs, originally released as a food source, are widespread. The Department of Conservation (DoC) spends a quarter of its budget on controlling these intruders, and New Zealanders see it as their patriotic duty to assist. With native birds and vegetation ravaged by introduced animals, all mammals are now regarded as pests. "We don't know how lucky we are," says Aran Proud, a hunting companion of Jimmy's. Attitudes towards animals are robustly unsentimental and there is only a tiny anti-bloodsports lobby. ![]() ![]() New Zealand is a hunter's paradise, thanks to the profusion of legal prey and the virtually unrestricted access to habitats. Social life revolves around pig-hunting competitions in which, typically, carcasses are arrayed in neat rows and children chase greased piglets around pens. In rural communities, pursuing pigs is a way of life. New Zealand is a nation that, despite its clean, green image, is hooked on bloodsports one million people - a quarter of the population - hunt, fish and shoot. "It's a real family-oriented thing," Jimmy Gill says. His mother, Renee, was a keen hunter until the children came along. Jimmy Gill spends every spare moment in the bush. Alan Gill has been catching wild boars for nearly 50 years. He's a natural-born killer." If there is a gene for the hunting instinct, Teira must be fizzing with it. Jimmy Gill says: "He runs around the house with his toy knife, stabbing the dog in the ear. "He had his first kill before the age of one," says his grandfather, Alan Gill, indulgently. He has experienced the thrill of the chase with his father, Jimmy, on forays around Te Kuiti. Just 2 years old, Teira already knows what he wants to be when he grows up: a pig hunter. Suddenly he points a toy gun at the visitor. With his blue eyes and curly blond hair, Teira Gill is a picture of cherubic innocence as he bounces on the settee. Writing for a British audience, Sydney-based KATHY MARKS shatters the illusion of a tranquil New Zealand peopled by dwellers in peaceful harmony with nature.
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