Thread: End of an era

Hahahhaha! 'Mericans...

Originally Posted by kimjon

You got me inspired Gibo. Since this is my last day - I thought I'd share what happened on my first day. Enjoy:



On return to NZ I looked for culling work. My first application was turned down, however I got lucky and I was offered a second chance to apply for a culling job in a different location. I jumped at the chance and submitted an application.

My interview was ‘’interesting’’. The project was brand new and the staff to carry out this work were been hired in order of importance. I applied for a joiner hunting position so I was basically the last to be interviewed. I remember it like it was yesterday as I was actually in the South Island with a mate picking up an FJ40 Landcruiser that I’d purchased on an impulse buy off Trademe. We flew down together with our rifles and day packs. The plan was to then drive back at a leisurely pace stopping to go hunting in likely looking areas on our way back to the North Island. A couple days into this road trip my phone rings and an American man asks if I can make an interview the next day? I look towards my mate who can overhear the entire conversation due to this man’s incredibly loud voice and my mate simply nods his head, so I answer yes (as I really wanted the job). We are now committed to drive nonstop from Dunedin up to Thames over the next 24hours! We arrived just in time and cannot thank my understanding mate enough for his efforts for helping me get there on time by sharing the driving duties on a rotational basis.

At the field base I was greeted by the American man who was wearing fingerless gloves, a set of dog tags around his neck, with long black hair pulled back in a pony-tail with a camo bandana tied around his head that reminded me of Brett Michaels (from the band Poison). He was very loud and wasn’t shy about telling me how many animals he’d shot or how many men he’d killed during the various wars he participated in whilst ‘’serving’’ as a Paratrooper! He painted the picture that he was some kind of Army hardman with elite tactical training and time spent in the battleground gaining hard earned experience!

I was led to a room where a huge man who stood about 6’6’’ awaited at the head an interview table. He exuded what I can only explain as ‘’mana’’ gained through spending a lifetime in the backcountry. Although this man was a giant, he was warm and softly spoken, he wasn’t intimidating at all and during the interview he asked most of the intelligent questions.

The third man in the room was also an Ex-cop who had just signed up to the role, he was build like Arnold Swatzaniger. I could tell he was still pretty green when it came to hunting, but to his credit he didn’t try to hide that fact either and was open about only been in the role for a few days.

Then finally sitting in the background was a very wirery old Maori man who didn’t say a word during the entire interview. Although he didn’t speak nor look at me, I knew he was listening and taking in my every word. I couldn’t read this man; he would have been the ultimate poker player with his expressionless face that he managed to maintain during the interview.

I was very intimidated by this line up and stuffed up a few easy questions which I would have otherwise aced under normal circumstances. I really didn’t know how to feel about my performance at that interview and on my drive home I kept going over and over it wishing that I could go back in time and have another go at it. I was nearly home when my phone rang again. I answered and it was the American from the job interview;

‘’Do you want the job son’’ he asked in his Tennessee twang?

Before I could answer he went into what I could only describe as a series of paraphrases all coined from well known movies. I can’t remember the exact words he used but it was something along the lines of;

‘’This is a dirt down the shirt job son, you’d better be shore you want to do this job as there are others lining up to crawl over broken glass just waiting to take it from you. I’m going to work you so hard you’ll be begging to leave and then I’m going to work you even harder again until I break you. I’m going to smoke your arse and I guarantee you’ll be crying in your bed at the end of each day asking for your mummy to come and get you. If you turn out to be slower than old people having sex – then your arse is grass boy and you’ll be gone’’

Not really sure how to respond to that, I say; ‘’umm yeah okay, I’ll do my best’’ and accepted the job over the phone. The American wasn’t happy with that and demanded that I turn my new acquired FJ40 around to come back to the office and sign the contract that day. I was a little pissed off as I’d gone without sleep for nearly 24hrs and had just about made it home which was an hours drive from Thames, now I had to turn around again...but on the flipside I’d just scored ‘’my dream job’’ so I was also excited and a little scared of what I was about to embark on at the same time.

I drove back to the office and the American was waiting outside for me. He didn’t say any words, but he certainly gave me the impression that I’d kept him waiting? He whisked me through a rabbit warren of office doors, then sat me down at a desk and told me to wait there. He made me wait for what seemed like an eternity before finally re-emerging with a freshly printed contract for me to sign. He stood over me in absolute silence in the ‘’at ease’’ stance and watched me sign it and then right on clue just as I dotted the ‘’i’’ he spoke;

Well son... you’d better give your soul to Jesus, because your arse belongs to me now boy!’’

The way he said it, I couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’d rehearsed it in his own mind before this moment. I looked up, once again not sure how to respond to that – so I didn’t. But right then and there I thought to myself this guy is either hardcore or a real dick! As it turns out, I could write many chapters exclusively about this guy and it definitely wouldn’t be about been hardcore.

As you can imagine, the American didn’t last very long in the job. He was completely out of his depth in the NZ bush and didn’t have a clue what he was doing. The older Maori man who sat in on my interview was suitably appointed into the Team Leader role and this is where my true hunting apprenticeship begun....


kj

Ha ha classic! Yip im with the rest, more more more and a book
You have a knack that can take the reader there with you.

Cheers, but on reading it over it looks like I need to turn off my auto-correct haha

Nice KJ, you have a way with words and killing stuff. Impressive. Best of luck with your future endeavors.

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Originally Posted by bully

thanks, what was the projectile, did you mostly chest shoot, or head/neck, if it was possible?

Sorry Bully, didn't see this last night. We just used factory ammo - basically what ever we could get at the time.

My career has spanned a period where a couple of major (US) wars occurred and when there is a war on overseas soil involving the US, getting your hands on .223 (5.56) ammo becomes increasingly difficult. However what these ammo shortages taught me was that almost any factory .223 ammo regardless of the brand works well on goats. I prefer 55gr highland ammo myself, but that's just a subjective observation based on observed ''killing power'' not a hard and fast fact. In recent years I've been using Hornady training ammo (brass case) and it has revived the accuracy in my old rifle...so who knows, what ever works for you really?

What you've got to keep in mind is that we tend to get the first shot off with all the time in the world to pull the trigger...then all hell breaks loose and the remaining animals are usually shot on the run as they try to escape. I mainly take head shots if there are just one or two animals. I use shoulder shots by default if there is a mob or if the distance is getting beyond about 50m.

kj

That was a good long stint, well done