Let me tell you a story. Christmas 2015. Past lake Coleridge. Fall off the end of the road, and bump up the Wilberforce for a long while. Just as your brains are about to turn to jelly in your skull, pull up outside a vintage hut, complete with corrugated iron chimney, and a long drop slightly downwind.
Grab the rifle and snoop up the head of the valley with the boy and his rifle. The girls take a stroll along the river below us. Boy charges off, so I find a nice sunny glen that looks promising, and sit down to wait. A while later, I hear the boy charging back down to the hut. I wait a while longer, but nothing stirs, so I amble back too.
About halfway back, on my right hand side (the river side) I catch a glimpse of a goat running parallel to me. Knowing the girls are still probably below me in the river bed, I shrug and carry on my amble. I get back to the hut, and inform the lad about the goat. He grabs his rifle and off, after I remind him to hug the bank and shoot against the valley wall.
A few minutes later, there is the sound of a slightly suppressed 308 echoing down the valley. A while later, the triumphant hunter comes back with his prize. Then it's down to the river bank to gut and rinse out the kill. Time for me to pass the skills I learnt from my dad to my son.
A while later, a gutted and rinsed carcass is bagged and taken up to the truck. I ask my darling daughter to grab my folding Gerber knife for me as I bundle up the other bits and bobs.
Bump our way back to the boys place (minus brakes, but that is another story). After unpacking, can't find my knife! Ask around, nobody has seen it, not even my little angel. Assume it's in the bottom of one of the bags.
Home for New Year. Turn every bag, case, and ammo pouch out - NO KNIFE!!!
So, if anyone is up the Wilberforce, on the riverbank just below the hut, is a mint condition Folding Gerber Knife in its pouch. Free to a good home, but sorry, pickup only..
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