It’s pre-dawn dark and I’m on my way to visit Jack. My intention is to be snuggled up against his shoulder before the sun clambers over the distant horizon. From that point on who knows what the morning will bring, I suspect it will be something which tickles my fancy.
But, before I get there, there’s a distraction. Beside the track, and shining as bright as double diamonds, is a pair of deer eyes reflecting in my truck’s headlights. I waver momentarily, so does the deer, but then we both regain our wits and continue our separate ways.
Minutes later, before I regain my composure and original sense of purpose, I glimpse more dual diamonds. My truck slows but my heart-rate accelerates. Then, when the dazzled deer steps onto the track and stands broadside, my trigger finger begins to twitch involuntarily.
“Oi, woman, focus. You do not want a deer, you want to be atop of Jack!” My sense of social responsibility screams in response.
“YOU may not want a deer, but others do. Think how many people it will feed!”
I brake, open my truck door, load my rifle – the deer trots a few steps, turns about and then stands broadside again. Dammit.
I curse my lack of discipline as I disembowel said deer and wrestle it onto my truck. I’m all too aware I just lost precious minutes. Daylight is marching ever onward, by the time I get to Jack it will no longer be dark. I will be exposed, caught out by the multitude of wary beings of the backcountry.
At Jack’s northern toe I depart my truck. Tikka is over my shoulder, there’s a camera and box of ammo in my bino-harness, a pair of binoculars in one hand and a thermal in the other.
“Comin’ at ya Jack and I’m ready to play!”
Jack stands unmoved by my belated appearance. He is after all a mountain. His features are steep, gaunt and drab. He can be bitterly cold and cruel, sending me home broken and hurting. He can also be warm and generous, sending me home with treats and cherished memories.
I am smitten by Jack’s inhabitants. The hundreds of species of fauna and flora, especially those which struggle for survival in the harshest of environments. The quick little skinks and shy geckos, the tiny alpine plants and lichens and the gnarled broadleaf trees, which stand defiant against gales , snowfall , and rockslides.
Jack and his counterpart Jack’s Brother are enduring and tough, but they are besieged by imports. The wilding conifers and exotic weeds. The herbivores, which graze and trample. The predators, which annihilate the wee native creatures. The hares and hedgehogs and harrier hawks and the pigs. The pigs are worst of all.
My thermal is super-efficient at differentiating between body heat and hot rocks. My binoculars refine the visual search as the daylight brightens. There are two small mobs of goats, one on Jack’s shoulder, the other on his brow. And there’s a black boar sneaking out over the skyline – going, going, gone.
Time to stash the thermal then, time to plan – and, whether its Plan A, B or C they all start with up. Straight up ‘cos Jack is a straight up kinda mountain.
Early on I spy two nanny goats on Jack’s flank. Oh, how they appeal – not having to scale the mighty heights for starters, and they look like perfect eaters too. But, having learnt from my earlier food-focussed distraction, I know I must look past these wee morsels and target bigger numbers and bigger goats.
Higher and higher, straight up.
Panting – the transfer between oxygen in and carbon dioxide out is rapid and noisome. Sweat – copious leakage from every pore. Pain – the scrabbling up rock outcrops bloods my fingernails and the missteps and base-over-apex tumbles add to my collection of bruises and gouges. I push-on regardless – Jack needs me to be here – especially when Tikka rides my shoulder.
The two small mobs of goat merge. They feed like a mini swarm of locusts, ravenously devouring vegetation. Some stand on hind legs to reach the tops of snow-stunted shrubs, some leap nimbly up the gnarled broadleaf trunks, others rock-hop. No endangered plant is safe, no tidbit goes unnoticed.
A lone billy is constantly on watch. He trots from sentry post to sentry post, overseeing his harem. My route is altered by his route, I move when he moves. He is my nemesis.
When I’m close as I dare, I lay down in the wispy alpine grasses and prop Tikka on rock. Game on – ladies first.
Later, as I slowly descend Jack’s vertical features, a wandering billy calls from afar. I call back, a sickly sounding goat imitation if I do say so myself. Back and forth we communicate, him looking for love and susceptible to my coy come-ons.
Eventually we intercept one another. I am the one laying in the pig rooting with Tikka loaded and ready. He is the one high above, a silhouette on the skyline. One more fake bleat and then he is literally heartbroken as my bullet tears through his chest cavity.
The two nanny goats, bless them, are still feeding down low. By alternating modes between Cat Woman and Spider Man I negotiate a series of bluffs and outcrops till I am within close range. As blowflies buzz and crawl and pester, I wait patiently with Tikka on-call, till the time is right.
Fatigued now, I stumble down a shingle scree and onto the rock-strewn track with the two tasty morsels in-tow. My favourite mountain has provided once more.
I endeavour to be both friend and guardian in return for Jack’s favours. Today there are 11 less pests consuming endemic alpine plants. Next week I’ll be back – deer stalking, or with the pig dogs or culling wilding conifers – I cannot stay away, despite this being a one-way love affair.
