Le cerf sent très mauvais
I was driving through Raetihi last week and got an email from my local mechanic reminding me that my WOF was overdue. So I pulled into the very quiet little Toyota garage there and asked if they could do a WOF on the spot. Yup, no worries.
There were two other guys in the waiting area, and an old green, battered LN106 Hilux on the hoist in the workshop. I could hear that they were speaking French but the accent was odd. I speak a bit of French - used to be quite fluent as a kid - but these days its a case of Franglais and "parlez doucement s'il vous plait". Anyway the lady on reception was a bit flustered and she said something about not being able to communicate, so I offered to help. Turns out these two Frenchmen were from Tahiti, on a roving months-long NZ hunting trip. Their Hilux which they'd bought cheap had a failing clutch and they needed to wait a day for a replacement to turn up, which they weren't too happy about. They weren't too happy about the price either. And they really didn't speak English.
The conversation turned to hunting, they had just come out of the bush down River Road, about 20km south of Pipiriki, not sure which block. I thought that was interesting, as you've gotta be very careful down there. Our man was keen as to tell me all about his hunt and how successful they'd been. It was a bit awkward cos he'd obviously been in the bush a while and smelled like a lock forward's jock strap, really really not very nice, and he had alarming halitosis. So he insists on showing me what he'd got, and strolled into the workshop and gestured importantly to the mechanic to lower the vehicle. I found that very funny. Mr Tahiti opened up the canopy tailgate and I stuck my head inside to take a look....
FAR OUT!!!!!!!! I nearly cotched on the spot!
The malodorous stink inside that canopy just about floored me. Stuffed inside the tray, along with an array of filthy camping gear, clothing and old boots, were two fallow deer, still in their skins, clearly dead several days. The skulls were in a large cast iron pot, they had been boiled and largely, but not entirely, eaten. Judging by the way the skulls had been cut open the brains were first item on the menu. The remains of the meal were covered in flies, there were flies throughout the canopy, the flaps and neck meat where the animals had been cut was an ominous blackish-greyish-greenish colour. It was warm, about 22 degrees, and quite humid.
"C'est bon, oui? Tres savoureux, c'était une chasse très difficile mais très enrichissante" (its good, very tasty, hard hunt, but satisfying... and he's looking for me to agree that it looks good...)
Well, what can you say? I removed my head out of the back of the ute, glanced at the mechanic (who grimaced), and agreed that it was all very good, and tried to excuse myself. Didn't really know what to say.
Now the bloke follows me to my ute, wants to see what I've got. So I try and explain that there's nothing to see, its all packed away. Still not satisfied, Mr Tahiti asks me to open up my canopy so he can see what I mean, so I go ahead and show him two Engels, a bunch of Wolfpack storage boxes and a swag. I'll switch to English.
"Where is the deer?"
"In the fridge."
"Fridge? What do you mean?"
So I open up the one Engel and gestured for him to reach up and put his hand inside, so he does, and he finds a frozen solid red deer haunch in a proper butcher's bag.
Now I wish I could have filmed what happened next. This dirty, smelly, wrinkly, 60-something, previously friendly Frenchman gave me a look of utter scorn.
"Non non non, that's not right, you're doing it all wrong. You must let it ripen."
Now he was properly put out. There was no "speaking slowly" any more. I got a full-blown lecture on game meat preparation, at least I think that's what it was. Lots of head shaking and wagging the finger. He called his mate over and showed him what I'd done, which was obviously a crime where they come from. His mate agreed, bad Kiwi hunter. I didn't think it was a good time to tell him I am English. This went on for quite a while. It was extremely amusing.
They eventually gave up trying to convince me to adopt the Rotten Venison Code, and pushed off into town. My WOF was completed, and as I paid up the mechanic came over with a big smile on his face.
"They were in here couple of weeks ago mate. Had a big pig in the back. It was bloody hot, you should have..."
Nah, I said, don't wanna know. We exchanged notes on the degree to which we thought the venison was borderline rotten. And how kind it was for Mr Tahiti to offer some to the reception lady...
As I left I considered my forum name, and whether my Tahitian French mate would have understood my attempt to translate the word "flyblown".
Mouche soufflée? Is that right @Friwi?
All I can say is that when it comes to game, we clearly have some very very different ideas about how far "too far gone" is.
