Patience is a hunter’s virtue. The old story goes that the American Indians said, “The white man walks much and sees little; the Indian walks little and sees much.” Sometimes I’m such a white man it’s hopeless.
Sunday morning was a perfect example. Anne and I went to Warren’s place because he had a problem with pigs. We’d been on Saturday evening to get the lie of the land and, as we’d driven up to his house, we saw a boar trot away into the blackberries.
“I reckon it’s just the one pig,” said Warren. There was sign everywhere but not acres of rooting, so his observation seemed spot on. There was a good chance the boar was bedding in the blackberries where we’d seen him.
Anne and I walked in as dawn struggled through the morning mist. We headed for the downwind side of the blackberries. No pigs. I was restless.
“I’m going to sus out that gully,” I said, pointing away to one we hadn’t looked in before it got dark the night before. “Wanna come?”
“No,” she whispered. “I’m too lazy. I’ll wait here and see if he comes out of the blackberry.” She’s too polite. Really, she thought I was being an impatient fool.
As I walked towards the gully I thought, “She’ll be really peeved if I stumble across that boar.”
Of course, I didn’t. I was only a couple of hundred metres away from Anne on my way back when two quick shots rang out. She got him as he ambled out of the berries only 30 metres from her.
Patience, Grasshopper. Walk little, see much.