LUCKY # 9a and 9b

I have a liking for guns. When I was younger I was a member of a gun club and my brother and I used to win the junior championships each year, either him being first and me second or vice versa each year. Whilst I don't own a gun anymore I would still like to fire one. At targets though, not at live things. My brother didn't mind shooting animals. I did. He would go on deer, pig, goat, duck etc. shooting trips. I would take a camera. In the early days I used to own guns and did go on a couple of shooting trips. The only animal I ever shot was a deer and I am really sorry that I did that.

9 a. In 1978 I went for a weekend trip with my brother's friend Richard (not Richard of RBB) to the Orongaronga's (part of Rimutaka Forest Park). This is a mountain range close to Wellington. Richard's parents owned a bach at Palliser Bay which we used to use as a stepping off point to go up the rivers into the bush. We drove over there late on Saturday night and stayed in the bach before walking pre- dawn along Ocean Beach and up one of the rivers. We climbed up scree slopes and cut across the bush line looking for game. I had my Parker Hale Lee Enfield based .303. This was a fantastic gun that I had bought when I was 15 and still at school. I remember buying it at Tisdalls in Willis street at lunchtime, carrying it back to school (with a couple of boxes of ammo) and giving it to Father Scanbury the sports master to look after until after school. Oh the good old days (pre Columbine) eh!

Parker Hale .303

When we shifted our position for a better vantage point of the river below my feet gave way beneath me and off I went down a steep bit of stony ground, over a small cliff and crashed into a second line of bush. This had the positive effect of slowing my descent but the Manuka and other small trees had very sharp branches that ripped and scratched my face, arms and legs while the rocks bashed and bruised the muscles underneath. All this time I had the trusty .303 firmly in my grip and it twisted and twirled under my body as I went down. At this time of my life we were cowboys in a lot of things we did but we did have gun sense. We never walked about with a round up the chamber. We only chambered a round immediately prior to taking a shot. If it hadn't been for this there is the possibility I might have shot myself or Richard. When I finally came to a standstill I was too far down the bank to climb back up so made my way down to the river and walked back to the coast. Richard abandoned the hunt and eventually joined me on the river bank. We cleaned up as best we could and headed back to wellington. My scratches and bruises were hurting like hell but my girlfriend Suzanne was very sympathetic making it all worthwhile.

This little experience wasn't life threatening but could have turned out badly.
My other bad experience with a firearm still sends shivers down my spine.

9 b 1972. My brother was off to a friend's farm and asked if I wanted to come along. He said bring a gun as the farmer had a rabbit problem that needed sorting. Now, I've never shot a rabbit and never will do so but I said yes. Why? A bit of sibling bonding I suppose. My brother and I had grown apart over the years. I picked up the old Anschutz .22 from my Dad's place. The gun hadn't been used in a while and I hadn't shot a gun for a while either.

Anshutz .22

At the farm when we went out shooting there was a point where I had a rabbit lined up in my sights. I had the stock pressed against my cheek, sighting down the barrel across open sights and was gently squeezing the trigger when my brother fired and brought down 'my' rabbit.  I was secretly pleased that I didn't fire. As this was late in the day we were calling it quits. I still had a bullet in the chamber of the single shot .22. Before getting in the jeep I stretched out the rifle at arms length, pointing it at a clay bank and pulled the trigger. There was a very loud explosion, much louder than a .22 report is normally. I felt something sting my cheek and my eyes were blinded by smoke and dust. After the shock (mine and the others around me) we established that the bullet in the chamber had exploded and back-fired from the bolt mechanism. My face was black with gunpowder and my cheek was bleeding from a deep cut that a piece of the brass cartridge had made when it exited. On checking the rifle we established that there was a piece missing from the bullet carriage in the gun. It was a small piece that had the double function of carrying the bullet and closing off the rear of the brass cartridge ensuring that all the impetus goes down the barrel. Fairly important I should think. If I had pulled the trigger when I was sighted on the bunny (that chewin' the carrot guy springs to mind) with the rifle so close to my eye the explosion and backfire could possibly have sent the cartridge piece into my brain and the gases and gunpowder would undoubtedly have permanently blinded me. Someone was looking after me that day.