The Wild Chicken Hunt

In the early days of this macadamia farm, there was a lack of meat. However, there are several wild chickens in the area. When I want meat, I will find it. I figure, how hard can catching a wild chicken be? You would be surprised. These guys fly much better than farm poultry. Allow me to set the scene for you...

The work day is over, clouds are rolling in as they normally do. I can hear the roosters in the area. Several of them in each direction. The air is thick and cool with the aroma of rain coming off the volcano. The only tools to hunt with are a sling, knife and some rope. I suit up and get into the thick of the land.

First step, make a spear and small fire to harden the tip. If I can get to one, I want to make sure it is a solid and fatal strike. Amazingly, nothing seems to burn. Not dry leaves, nor kindling will catch a flame as I shield the warm breeze with my leather hat. Finally, we get a small fire rolling with palm leaves and our spears are ready to go.

Another fella from Montana has joined me on this hunt, for we both want some fresh meat. We start in the direction of the closest rooster crow and hop an ancient stone wall into a coffee field. The wind begins to whip up stronger, blowing the flowering coffee buds into the air like a light dusting of snow. We are on a private farm and in this area of the island; cops don't get called, locals deal with problems themselves. Stealth is a must, as the dense areas can quickly open up into a camp site or house.

We follow the calls around the coffee groves when the rain begins. A drizzle at first, so we continue into denser areas of macadamia trees and sprouts (which have leaves like thistles). We speak with our hands and keep low to avoid being seen. In the clearing ahead we can hear the rooster seemingly taunting us and it's hens jump a wall into the sight of a house. We have to find new prey.

We track another group to the backside of our farm when the sky opens up and the rain pours down. At this point, we have been in the slow rain for a hour. My buddy heads into shelter and calls it a day. I refuse to go without a kill. I lay low and let the rain roll off my hat while listening to the cadence of water falling on the leaves. I spot my prey wandering into thick, tall grass, easily the height of myself. My only option is to crawl on the rocky soil and leave my spear behind. The parted grass makes a tunnel way where wild boar have traveled. As I get deeper into the density of the terrain, I can no longer move and have to turn back. After another hour, soaked in rain with cuts on my arms and dirt on my face, the sun falls low and the last days of light are all that I have to make it back.

When I emerge from the tunnels, I see the chickens. I pull out my sling, picked up a lava rock and load my weapon. It is perched in a palm tree and staring me down. It is in that second that hunter and prey connect. It's fait is in my hands as I twirl the rock around my head and launch it at my dinner. She flinches and cries out as my lava stone speeds towards her. A palm leaf dips down in the wind and alters the path, missing my target by only inches. She flies away with the others as I load and fire again. I watched my meal take to the sky as the clouds parted and the last bit of sun shines on the wet ground as the dark lava stones dully glisten.

I walk back to my yurt with only a few fresh oranges that fell in the rain storm. Something catches my eye, low on the ground and motionless against a macadamia tree. A hen, watching as I pass by. I pull out my knife and slowly lower myself, only feet away. I could have lunged out and easily grabbed it by the neck, when I thought it odd that it would remain so still while I was so close. That's when I saw the egg protruding from its side. It was nesting with over a dozen eggs. I staired into its dark tiny eyes and thought about my next actions.

I stood tall, sheathed my blade and returned to my yurt. Accepting that my dinner was not worth the cost of a dozen chicks.