Mount Tapi looked down on us as Mike guided the Toyota down the track and around rain-scarred switchbacks that are to even unsealed roads what three waterbaths are to a programmable thermal cycler. On such a journey you need complete faith in your driver. Hanging on to the door grip is optional, but recommended. Scree on one side and a sheer drop on the other, we kept an eye out for freshly turned soil. Wild pigs love to get at the roots of ferns, and there was plenty of sign that they’d been here recently, but none of us could see rustling in the gorse nor the black shapes against green grass we were looking for. A row of cream-tufted toetoe followed a stream down the side of the hill, and we watched for a fruitless few minutes before driving on.
Through the gate where we’d had to chase away the bullocks, and the valley widened; lush green grass and native scrub lay below us to our left — and the occasional rabbit loping for cover. Then Mike spotted a feral cat — yet another pest — and stopped, telling Andy to pull down the back seat and get out the .22. While he loaded the short magazine I watched the cat nonchalantly walk around the bluff and out of sight — probably after a rabbit. We drove on a little while, and I got out to open the next gate — and saw the cat sitting thirty yards away.
After the cat (whose day was probably completely spoiled by a round of hollow point up its arse) we saw that the hill below us was covered in rabbits. We drove through the gate and sat in the truck, the engine ticking over so that the sudden quiet wouldn’t disturb them. Andy tried shooting a few rabbits; but although we saw the earth kick up the rounds were falling short. He used to shoot competitively but there must be a world of difference between taking your time at a rounded target, concentrating on technique and breathing; and shooting down a hill with the wind gusting at an unranged target no more than a foot across.
We drove on a little further, to the next paddock. I took the rifle from Andy but while I was steadying my aim on the open door of the truck the two rabbits I had sighted decided they’d be better off in the scrub. I was about to give up when Mike pointed out another one, sat in the shade of a small tree, about 150 yards down the hill. Through the sights I could make its head and ears. I dropped the bolt; aimed about a foot above its head. Squeeze not pull — and the rabbit went down. Andy whooped and even Mike grinned approval. I half-ran down the hill, through a clump of manuka, and brought back Monday’s tea.
Mike #2 hadn’t been idle: while retrieving the dogs he’d managed to kill another pig and had brought it down off the hill. It had been a good haul for us: three eating pigs, one left on the hill; and a rabbit. Eventually we got back to the house, and I gutted the rabbit, feeding the innards to the outlaws’ dog. I had to remember how to skin a rabbit, not having done it in 20 years, but managed quite well:
That evening I dived in the pool, and then had a spa with a rather disappointingly average beer.
Rabbit casserole
I left the carcass in the fridge overnight, but Monday morning I chopped the backbone and the legs, and rubbed salt into it. For full flavour I should have left it hanging in the tackle shed but I wanted to see if it was any good. I quartered eighthed a red onion and got a few sprigs of rosemary from the garden. I put these, with some black pepper, with the rabbit
and poured on, ooh, about that much cheap chardonnay.
In the afternoon I poured over a pint of chicken stock and four or five cloves of garlic, and stuck it in the oven to casserole slowly. Because there were four of us to be fed I also seared four chicken legs and put them in the pot with the rabbit. I served it with crunchy roast potatoes and runner beans fresh from my mother-in-law’s garden.
The rabbit tasted a bit like chicken, but was denser and had a subtle, not at all gamey, flavour. We all enjoyed it, and with any luck I’ll be taking Rachel out one evening this week to get some more.
And the pigs? There is 3 kg diced pork in the freezer ready to be made into vindaloo at the end of the week, along with a rack of ribs; and 5 kg random pork that my brother in law wants to make into salami. The two Mikes have the rest.
I like the pictures of the alpacas better.
It seems that you’re having a
niceamazing time around there!!… WoW!!…I gotta tell you that (as a pathologist) I really overlooked the pics, but I agree that they are somehow creepy for some people… but the culinary end of the story is worth it!. Enjoy and keep us updated!
😉
I was actually just going to gloss over both of these posts, and pretend they weren’t there and that none of my friends are murderers, but since you asked so nicely if I was okay with the post yesterday (there goes your reputation!) and there is an “on-” title and since you like rational arguments, here is a comment anyway:
The death of the animals that you ended up eating doesn’t bother me as much, actually, if I’m being consistent and moral about it. You eat meat anyway, and if it’s a choice between meat from an animal that was running wild until the moment it died and an animal that was raised for the sole purpose of eventually being eaten, and lived in captivity under conditions that are optimized for human convenience or taste of meat rather than the animals’ well-being, then I guess hunted animals are the preferable choice. And if people ask me why I don’t eat meat, and I’m forced to list the reasons, I am always very aware that the things I say don’t apply to game, but very few people actually catch that. I think I’ve only ever had one or two people pick up on it (“So you’re okay with hunting, then?”) in the past ten years.
I don’t feel okay with hunting, and I have all kinds of emotional issues about cute animals dying, and about people I like killing animals I like, and about killing for pleasure, and about comparing dogs to Gilsons – but if push comes to shove and I’m forced to be rational, I can’t object to eating game if the alternative is to eat other meat. I can still object to it if the alternative is no meat at all (i.e. if for some reason a former vegetarian switches to an all-game diet. That would not be okay to me. Unless, maybe, if they are lost in the wild and surrounded by grass, poisoned berries, and bunnies. But arguing that as inconsistent would be an appeal to probability – just in case anyone was trying to go there.)
No, wait, it’s actually this kind of fallacy
(The “aha, but what if there was no food at all”-type potential rebuttal to my objection of vegetarians switching to game)
I’m just having arguments with myself, I know.
Unless, maybe, if they are lost in the wild and surrounded by grass, poisoned berries, and bunnies
Unfortunately, you can’t survive on rabbits alone.
Eva, I eat meat (cutting down quite nicely though), but used to be vegetarian. The first meat I ate after two years of vegetarianism was wild boar piglet in France – about as free range and organic as you can get. (And very tasty – sorry). It was a wee bit of a slippery slope from there (especially when I was a student and postdoc and couldn’t afford the good stuff), but I now try to eat free range / grass fed / organic meat whenever possible. And no farmed salmon. Hypocritically enough, I don’t think I could actually shoot an animal, although I have eaten a fish that I caught myself (I made my husband do the prep work though).
Richard, the rabbit casserole sounds divine. Take a tip from a French friend though and add an apple or two next time – YUM!
I guess I’m optimistic that they’ll be rescued before the malnutrition kicks in, but pessimistic enough to assume they’re there long enough that they need to start eating the bunnies. Maybe a few days. No clue how they got there and where “there” is, and Wikipedia is sorely lacking in details of a time line. Man, I sure won’t be consulting Wikipedia when I’m lost and hungry! I’ll just use Urban Spoon
Cath, our comments crossed. That was obviously in response to Raf. Why is everyone online while I’m trying to survive in the wilderness!
You could survive by eating your wireless card?
No, Wait…
Thanks for the tip about the apple, Cath. If I manage to get time to take Rachel and get some more bunnies this week I’ll try that one. For the record, I didn’t even look up any rabbit recipes, I simply thought about how I remembered rabbit tasting 20 years ago and aimed in that general direction.
My grandpa always said there’s nothing better than, um..knawing on a rabbit’s head with a bottle of beer.
But this could be a solution to the bunny infestation plaguing the University of Victoria
Your grandpa sounds like a wise old bird. Um.
I assume he meant chewing on a rabbit’s head with your teeth, and drinking a bottle of beer: but knowing Australians I’m not taking any chances with assumptions like that.
I was thinking that, given the rabbit infestation, it might have been better had you left the feral cat alone…
But I have no problems with eating meat. Or not. Lots of food out there for the likes of us.
Biological control is a problem, isn’t it? Do we leave the feral cats to get the odd rabbit and the native bird life, or…
What an exiting adventures you had in the past weeks.
Those opposed to hunting must not forget that we are not herbivores. Humans hunt, like many animals do. Would you stop a lion from killing?