On 24/7/2010 a report was transmitted via Sky news to other world news services, including Telstra Big Pond Internet News, entitled -
'Roo Row Sees Australia Condemned by EU'
Animal Rights campaigners tell of the horrific deaths of baby kangaroos at the hands of 'roo hunters in Australia -- and compare this inhumanity to the clubbing of seal cubs in Canada. Although I have no question about the need to 'cull' an animal population that has soared out of all proportion in the last decades, I have personally witnessed the slaughter described, and been sickened. I don't know what the answer is. I do know the following story was my response to what confronted me, some 40 years ago.
The night was not so dark at all. A near full moon bathed the open spaces in soft grey light, striped with long dark shadows from the gum trees. It just felt darker when the lights of the ute were on full beam, and the spotlight pointed its invasive finger through the bush.
I wished we could stop again to stretch our cramped legs. Last time had been beautiful. Not just the stretching, although that was overdue and good. But the sudden absence of artificial light and noise...the feeling of being surrounded by an eternity of space and quiet...alone, and yet not lonely. Strange and lovely it was. I had never seen the stars so dazzling, the moon so large and benevolent, the sky so all-encompassing. I didn't know the sound of silence could be this total, the air this fresh and clean. The harsh bush was so different...soft now, dressed in its nightwear. I had never felt smaller or more insignificant.
"There's one! Quick, spot to the left. No! Bloody further left!" The harsh words and a lurching turn of the ute jolted me out of my reverie, and as my eyes refocused outwards again, the cause of the shouting and the sudden forward thrust of the roaring motor was immediately apparent.
He was magnificent. A big red old man kangaroo. Sailing, pounding down, sailing again. Weaving in and out of the scrub and the light, every move so gracefully fluid, so effortless. Out into an open expanse, muscles rippling, long legs stretching then bunching, head constantly turning, seeking escape. And suddenly he found his goal - a narrow, well-flattened path into dense scrub.
Shots rang out...close...very close. But the trees deflected the whining bullets, sheltering their own from the intruders. Curses from the men, joy from me, as the ute slewed around and the hunters were left with only frustration as their prize. Much earlier, when the men had been discussing the build-up of kangaroos on the station and decided to go spotlighting, they had challenged my husband and myself, saying, "What about you, townies? Coming with us?"
It had seemed exciting then, an adventure. The first hour had been all of that and more. Much fruitless searching, and then a sudden sighting of a small mob quite close to thick scrub. Too far away for shots that time. But near enough to see the red alert of alien sound and smell flicker through the peacefully grazing group like an electric current. A shivering moment of standing tall, ears turning like sonar trackers, skin flinching. Then a slight sinking down as the mighty springs of their muscles coiled for flight. In three, maybe four huge leaps, they were gone.
Now, after the chase of that dignified old man roo, I felt uncertain. I understood the increasing numbers were a problem. I understood shooting by good marksmen was humane compared to poisoning. But somehow, knowing all these things just didn't help. A knot of hurt and sadness began in the pit of my stomach, as I tried to keep up a good front. After all, we were guests, and the men were doing what they assured me they had to do. So I became a whole lot quieter as I wished desperately that we wouldn't find anymore this night. But my wish was in vain. The worst was still to come.
They shot ten kangaroos that night. Some were dropped in full flight - others as they began to turn away from the dazzling brightness of the pitiless spotlight. Almost all were dispatched with a single shot and none were left to suffer - but it was small comfort to me, or the roos. The last was a gentle grey doe, mesmerised by this alien light. Her soft stricken eyes stared in confusion and terror, and she was a perfect target. After she had fallen, we could all see movement still continuing in her pouch.
My pain became an overwhelming sickness as one of the men pulled a joey from her. And then red-hot rage engulfed me as he said, "I'll just put this little bugger out of his misery." He took a firm grasp of the baby's tail as he spoke, and began to move towards a nearby tree. I could see what he planned. Guest or not, I couldn't control myself any longer. I exploded out of the ute, physically and verbally.
I'll never remember the words I said as I took the baby and bundled the confusion of legs and tail into my jumper. I only know that three strong men stood there like shamefaced schoolboys as my fury boiled over. My horror and their embarrassment were such that I was given their promise that any future joeys would be given to me. Thankfully, they kept their word and I would successfully raise nine kangaroos to adulthood.
The one who would grow up to be the biggest and best of these babies was this first one, my Snoopy. He became a Big Red Boomer who stood taller than me - an 'old man roo' who never failed to melt at the sound of my voice...the touch of my hands. Despite everything, I was his Mother...and he was my baby.
© 2010 CHRISTINE LARSEN All Rights Reserved
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