Pigs once feared us, now we're the bores

What happened to the good keen man? The bush does not appeal to a modern generation, writes ROSALEEN MACBRAYNE


What has become of New Zealand's good keen pig hunters?

Their numbers are falling away because young men these days are too citified and soft, some old-timers believe.

But others argue that the good keen man is far from an endangered species. In a memorable scene from the film of Alan Duff's novel What Becomes of the Broken Hearted? tough urbanite Jake "the Muss" Heke tries to redirect his physical aggression by going pig hunting.

Duff is a great fan of pig hunters - "They are part of the character of this country."

It's a sad sign of the times that many youth prefer to go to the movies and McDonald's, he says.

With fewer blokes heading into the bush to bring home the bacon, the wild pig population is exploding in some remote areas and the animals are dying of starvation.

The Department of Conservation's Waikaremoana area manager, Glenn Mitchell, has had reports over the past two months of numbers of malnourished pigs and carcasses in Te Urewera National Park.

It's nature's way of culling, he says. Mr Mitchell, who oversees pig hunting in the vast park, has observed the phenomenon for more than 30 years and says it comes roughly in seven-year cycles.

Moderate winters help the pig population flourish, with sows raising 15 or 20 young in a year. With less food to go around and fewer hunters venturing to the far-flung areas of the park, pigs starve.

Although more trampers are coming to Te Urewera National Park, the number of hunters has definitely decreased over the past 10 years, says Mr Mitchell.

"Twenty years ago, a lot of middle-aged men would tramp in there wearing hobnailed boots and carrying wooden-framed packs. Now they are too old and their sons are just not following the tradition."

He says the new generation of hunters have much lighter and better gear and helicopter access, but are not as keen. They are more likely to make day trips on the fringes of the bush than camp out in the wilds.

"Nowadays, a lot take in more beer than food and leave their rubbish behind. It reflects the changing character of New Zealand."

George Johnston, archetypal Kiwi outdoorsman and friend for more than 30 years of the legendary Barry Crump, agrees that many young men of today are "softies" who prefer to buy their pork from the shop and play video games for recreation. But the 63-year-old has some sympathy for them.

Access to wilderness areas for hunting, deerstalking and trout fishing has become heavily restricted. Hunters - especially with dogs - now find National Park, Maori, forestry and privately owned land increasingly closed to them, he says.

"There are few places left where you can go bush, light a fire and cook a feed."

Some people are scared to go into areas used by dope-growers.

During his 30 years living at Te Teko in the Bay of Plenty, kids would get on horses and go bush with their dogs and a knife every weekend, but those days are gone, says Mr Johnston.

He now lives at Thornton, near Whakatane, and writes books on outdoor adventures for those who can no longer experience hunting themselves.

"A lot of the pioneering has gone out of it, which is sad. Now there are cellphones, freeze-dried dinners and fancy jackets and boots."

Getting away from it all can mean having helicopters buzzing overhead and four-wheel-drive motor vehicles roaring along bush tracks. "The adventure is gone."

Not so, says keen pig hunter Clem Aitchison, of Matamata.

The 33-year-old rates the thrill of the sport and the meat he brings home as the main attractions, even if work and family restrict him to day or weekend forays.

"It's great exercise and there's a lot to learn in the bush."

Modern day pig hunting is no soft option, says Mr Aitchison. Because of the hunting pressure in the areas he frequents, the pigs are wily and not easy to catch.

Bob Jeffares, editor of NZ Pig Hunter magazine, estimates New Zealand has at least 25,000 serious pig hunters and up to 30 clubs.

The sport has always shown fluctuations, with the number of hunters relating directly to pig numbers.

A hunter for 50 years and a judge of pig hunting competitions, Mr Jeffares reckons this past winter has been the most prolific for good-quality pigs in the central North Island for at least 20 years.

With "a heap of young blokes" as keen as ever, he says, pig hunters are definitely not a dying breed.