off-site
Hunting
WILL BOYS BE BOYS With lockdown around the corner, Ant Niterl and a few mates decided to make the most of their last unrestricted weekend. It went as expected: banter, the odd brew and a fair bit of time spent searching the hills for dinner...
W
e are living in weird times. The earth has been humbled by an invisible enemy and everything we knew to be the norm quickly changed. Our direction of life for the next while was up in the air, so a bunch of us lads thought we would go to our therapeutic place and enjoy being among New Zealand’s flora and fauna. Of course, we’d also be attempting to harvest some red gold in the form of venison, and would no doubt find the time for a few tall yarns along the way. So, a group of ten burly blokes from different walks of life filled
“What? That piece of s*** over there? The boys lost it in fits of tears.”
up our utes and ventured south of Hamilton to a private block of land run by a good rooster called J-man. A hut erected by J-man and his old man many moons ago sits at the bottom of their property among the lush, mossy forest which kisses the pristine running water of the Whakamaru Reserve. Simply beautiful. Later that evening under the stars, J-man was telling us with nostalgic tears in his eyes how at the age of 14 he helped his old man build the hut. That’s when I piped up, pointed at the hut and said, “What? That piece of s*** over there?” The boys lost it in fits of tears. Anyway...
The writer enjoying a well-earnt beer.
