Yesterday was shotgun day.
I packed a box of shells with my shotgun. It was a big box - 10 boxes of 25, so a total of 257 rounds when you added the loose rounds from the pocket of my shooting jacket.
I would not recommend firing 257 rounds of 12-gauge when you are barely three months from a broken collarbone, and have a titanium plate in your shoulder.
It was a beautiful day - mid 20s Celsius, gentle breeze - and the pain of Monday was just a hint on the horizon. Oh, the sacrifices we make for fun.
Monday 14 May 2018
Saturday 12 May 2018
Not A Tragedy, But An Atrocity
Seven people are dead in what appears to be a murder/suicide in Osmington, outside Margaret River in Western Australia's south-west.
Many, if not most, of the news reports use the word "tragedy" to describe the deaths.
I beg to differ - this is not a tragedy, but an atrocity.
A tragedy carries the connotation that nothing could have been done to prevent it - lives lost to an earthquake is a tragedy - but in this case, actions were taken by someone to take the lives of six others, before then ending their own. The murders are an atrocity.
The other point I want to raise is - I did not do it.
Whatever method was used to take those lives, I did not do it, so punishing me for the crime is simply nonsensical.
Many, if not most, of the news reports use the word "tragedy" to describe the deaths.
I beg to differ - this is not a tragedy, but an atrocity.
A tragedy carries the connotation that nothing could have been done to prevent it - lives lost to an earthquake is a tragedy - but in this case, actions were taken by someone to take the lives of six others, before then ending their own. The murders are an atrocity.
The other point I want to raise is - I did not do it.
Whatever method was used to take those lives, I did not do it, so punishing me for the crime is simply nonsensical.
Friday 11 May 2018
Australian fauna will find ways to kill you
I read something recently about the risks to other motorists associated with the debris from truck tyre blow-outs, and it reminded me of something similar.
Years ago, I'm pretty sure it was 1987, I drove to Adelaide for the Australian Formula 1 Grand Prix.
Start-to-stop, the trip was 2699 kilometres and the original plan was for a mate and I to share the driving. Unfortunately, he got a job in Melbourne between buying the tickets and departure date, so I drove the whole way solo.
There is not a lot of choice regarding roads across Australia - it's the Eyre highway across the Nullarbor or nothing - so directions are pretty simple. Drive east to Coolgardie, then south to Norseman, then east to Port Augusta, then south to Adelaide.
I took things easy, intending to make the trip in two days, with a night camping out somewhere quiet.
Early, VERY early in the morning on day two, somewhere east of Eucla thus on the Nullarbor and just into South Australia, I spied something on the road ahead. It was difficult to make out much detail because of the rising sun in my eyes, but whatever it was it most definitely had a different shape to that of the thousands of dead 'roos I had grown accustomed to seeing. Strangely, I never saw a single LIVE 'roo - I suspect that the turbo-charger on my car was whistling some 'roo repellent tune.
Anyway, there I was, travelling at the speed limit or a little over, and trying to work out what the heck it was on the road ahead of me. Finally whatever it was moved, and what few synapses I had that were active before coffee did their shape-recognition thing, and I realised that it WAS a 'roo, just one that a wedge-tail eagle happened to be feeding on.
Now the 'roos of the Nullarbor are mainly Red Kangaroos, the largest species, and the eagle sitting on the carcass ahead was bigger than its breakfast, so I am guessing maybe 4 metre wing span.
I could tell that the eagle knew I was there - maybe it heard the same turbo-charger whistling that the 'roos apparently found so repellent - because it decided to decamp the area. Wings spread it caught the morning breeze, and flapped a couple of times for lift-off.
Perhaps eagles need coffee in the morning too, because the damned bird FORGOT TO LET GO OF BREAKFAST!
So, picture this - I am driving at 110 kph or so towards a weird bird/mammal combo that is struggling for lift and altitude about a hundred metres ahead. I am thinking, "Do I brake? Do I drive on? Will that damned eagle get out of the way?"
FYI, a car travelling at 110 kph covers 100 metres in a hair over three seconds.
By the end of second one, I was starting to panic. The eagle had gained a little altitude, but was still directly above the road.
By the end of second two, I was starting to think that I was about to die in a slimy, maggot-ridden mess of 'roo guts, fur, and feathers.
Somehow the eagle, that monster eagle, clawed harder for altitude, and by halfway through second three, I was convinced that I would drive under it and all would be OK.
Then some ethereal bombardier said, "Target in sight, fly straight and level, bombs away," and that cursed bird/mammal split into two separate animals again, and the already dead half was headed straight for my windscreen, closing speed 140 kph, while the live half curled away to the left and zoomed skywards, no doubt laughing hard.
I swear, I missed that 'roo by less than the height of the radio antenna. I can tell, because when I stopped at the next road-house, there was a tuft of red fur snagged on the tip.
Years ago, I'm pretty sure it was 1987, I drove to Adelaide for the Australian Formula 1 Grand Prix.
Start-to-stop, the trip was 2699 kilometres and the original plan was for a mate and I to share the driving. Unfortunately, he got a job in Melbourne between buying the tickets and departure date, so I drove the whole way solo.
There is not a lot of choice regarding roads across Australia - it's the Eyre highway across the Nullarbor or nothing - so directions are pretty simple. Drive east to Coolgardie, then south to Norseman, then east to Port Augusta, then south to Adelaide.
I took things easy, intending to make the trip in two days, with a night camping out somewhere quiet.
Early, VERY early in the morning on day two, somewhere east of Eucla thus on the Nullarbor and just into South Australia, I spied something on the road ahead. It was difficult to make out much detail because of the rising sun in my eyes, but whatever it was it most definitely had a different shape to that of the thousands of dead 'roos I had grown accustomed to seeing. Strangely, I never saw a single LIVE 'roo - I suspect that the turbo-charger on my car was whistling some 'roo repellent tune.
Anyway, there I was, travelling at the speed limit or a little over, and trying to work out what the heck it was on the road ahead of me. Finally whatever it was moved, and what few synapses I had that were active before coffee did their shape-recognition thing, and I realised that it WAS a 'roo, just one that a wedge-tail eagle happened to be feeding on.
Now the 'roos of the Nullarbor are mainly Red Kangaroos, the largest species, and the eagle sitting on the carcass ahead was bigger than its breakfast, so I am guessing maybe 4 metre wing span.
I could tell that the eagle knew I was there - maybe it heard the same turbo-charger whistling that the 'roos apparently found so repellent - because it decided to decamp the area. Wings spread it caught the morning breeze, and flapped a couple of times for lift-off.
Perhaps eagles need coffee in the morning too, because the damned bird FORGOT TO LET GO OF BREAKFAST!
So, picture this - I am driving at 110 kph or so towards a weird bird/mammal combo that is struggling for lift and altitude about a hundred metres ahead. I am thinking, "Do I brake? Do I drive on? Will that damned eagle get out of the way?"
FYI, a car travelling at 110 kph covers 100 metres in a hair over three seconds.
By the end of second one, I was starting to panic. The eagle had gained a little altitude, but was still directly above the road.
By the end of second two, I was starting to think that I was about to die in a slimy, maggot-ridden mess of 'roo guts, fur, and feathers.
Somehow the eagle, that monster eagle, clawed harder for altitude, and by halfway through second three, I was convinced that I would drive under it and all would be OK.
Then some ethereal bombardier said, "Target in sight, fly straight and level, bombs away," and that cursed bird/mammal split into two separate animals again, and the already dead half was headed straight for my windscreen, closing speed 140 kph, while the live half curled away to the left and zoomed skywards, no doubt laughing hard.
I swear, I missed that 'roo by less than the height of the radio antenna. I can tell, because when I stopped at the next road-house, there was a tuft of red fur snagged on the tip.
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