I'm an idiot.

In 1991 my dad and I did the 8 day circuit around top of Stewart island.
I had bought a nice new pair of those calf height boots. They were super heavy and within a few hours from the start I knew I was in for it.
By end of first day I had some pretty nasty blisters developing.
Then halfway through 2nd day one of the old boys boots fell apart completely.
We sat on the side of the track wondering what to do. It was a waste of time turning around cos we had flights booked and were both broke so unable to pay for accommodation.
Then I had a genius idea. I’d heard how some Sika hunters hunt in 2 pairs of socks, so we decided we’d give that a go.
Dad put my boots on and I did the sock thing for the next 7 days.
Best thing we ever did! Had to watch my steps a bit but was far better than those terrible boots.
Dad ended up using those boots for years. He loved them!
There’s a photo somewhere of Dads old boots getting thrown down the gully. Returned to nature!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Shearer

Tried to "zoom in" on a photo in a magazine the other day with my fingers.....:D Getting too used to this digital stuff I think.

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I was reading a book last night and nearly tried to zoom in on a picture. :D

idiots - we started a new hunter - bloody useless - one of the boys told him he could be a punk rocker -nick named him Spike Bastard -Spike was talked into giving vixen an oil finish - sanded it with metal still in woodwork - yes you can quess what the result looked like - sometime later Spike got pull thru stuck in barrel- took it to local gunstore where another idiot drilled into the muzzel with a drill to remove it - surrounded by the buggers at times lol

Day-hunting alone in the Blue Mountains, lightning struck me three times - in the form of three stupid mistakes:

Before heading away from the truck I decided my day pack was unduly heavy, so tipped it all out and re-packed only the bare essentials to lighten the load and make more room for venison. After a couple hours of fruitless stalking, my bowels told me that it was time for the appropriate ablution which I duly performed. Then dived into my pack for the dunny paper that I always carry, only to discover that I had omitted it from the bare essentials and foolishly left it behind with the unnecessaries. Damn and blast! So I cast my eyes around, and to my dismay bracken fern was the only available substitute – aaargh! Not relishing the bracken fern prospect, I despairingly searched again in my depleted pack until I came upon my DoC hunting permit. Hmmm, difficult decision, bracken fern or hunting permit. Luckily for both of us, the DoC ranger was somewhere else that day.

A few hours after the no-dunny-paper incident, I headed off downhill along a heavily overgrown firebreak toward a promising clearing, with rifle shoulder-slung to keep hands free for parting the dense brush. It was nightmare bashing through 3m high gorse, but the clearing was going to be worth it – surely heaving with unwary and tasty fallow deer. I finally got there after an hour or so of tortuous going and went to unsling my rifle, only to find to my horror it was gone - stripped off my shoulder by the gorse somewhere back up the firebreak. Aghast, I immediately forgot about the deer and set out to re-trace my steps without much hope of finding it in the dense gorse; thinking my insurance could cover most of the loss, but to claim insurance I would have to report it to the cops who were not going to be impressed with a loaded rifle lost (bolt closed on empty chamber but mag in and full). Thinking such depressing thoughts I gorse-bashed uphill nearly all the way back without finding it – thorough searching was impossible in the dense gorse. But then, back up near the top, miraculously there she was, hanging onto a gorse bush and waiting faithfully for me to come and reclaim her. Whew!!

After the lost-rifle drama, I returned to the truck and headed away empty-handed, on the theory to get out of there before something else went wrong. Arriving at the Forestry gate on the way out of the Bluies I unlocked the big combination padlock, placed it up on the free end of the gate boom, and gave the boom a good shove to swing it open. The hinges were obviously well greased because the boom flew around, gathering speed until it slammed into a stump by the roadside and the big padlock flew off at high velocity into the long grass. I searched for about 45 minutes, pulling out long grass and thistles down to the dirt, until it got dark and I had to give up and go home. Next morning I rang the Forestry office and confessed, expecting to be charged the cost of the lost padlock (about $100!). But the good Forestry bloke went out and looked himself, and soon reported back that he had quickly found it - just beyond my scorched-earth search area. He thanked me for bothering to search, and for telling them about it, and he said “well at least not all hunters are total a**holes (!?!).

hmm last year -duckshooting .hurried callfrom my mate "action stations ..birds galore round our maimai.told him to go ajhead launch the boat and Id catch up .grabbed all my gear ..being paranoid asbout a copstop grabbed my "secure ammo tin"for imn the truck"and after warp speed gear load and goodbye to her indoorsa motored out at speed .matey was waiting asnd i could hear the bloody geesae kicking up bobsy di.right wheres me pet 12g goose load? oh no fuckwit has bought the centrefire ammo tin!! mate being a very good bastrd ,had a wry smile and chucked me a packet of ammo.a couple of birds later mr FWwas calm again!SAID TINS ARE NOW LABELLED!!!