LOCKDOWN HUNTING
There are no flies on a determined hunter
LOCKDOWN, DAY 13, on a farm west of Randfontein; boredom was starting to set in. What’s a man to do during this time of Covid-19 in order to stay sane?
Boredom turned to shock and anger when I perceived that determined invaders were now posing a threat to my family. Our supplies were running low; any food not locked away came under attack from marauders lurking in the nearby bushes. I had to devise a defensive stratplan as a matter of urgency.
Walk-and-stalk hunting did not come into this, as the raids were being made directly on the homestead. I would have to lure these rogues in with bait – smelly bait – and shoot from a hide. This wasn’t a time for high-minded ethics – we’re talking problem animal control here. I chose the kill zone carefully, drawing on my military training of 45 years past. I had to be sure of my kills, so I hung the bait exactly 11 metres away, which allowed me to shoot from a concealed position, braced in the upper frame of our kitchen’s stable-type door which provided a steady hold on the target.
Given the nature of the quarry, there was but one weapon to choose. Yes, it was a case of overkill – sort of like shooting a lone infantryman with a Tiger tank – but you can’t take chances in situations like this – you have to be utterly ruthless. I would use round-nosed monolithic projectiles and I wanted nothing less than six foot-pounds of muzzle energy. I chose my Weihrauch HW30S air rifle, capable of shooting calibre-sized onehole groups at 10 metres.
The bait-station comprised a sheet of white paper stapled to a target frame. I smeared four different baits onto it: Bovril, apricot jam, sugared water and the gravy of tinned dog food. Within minutes the first raider showed up – a large specimen that settled on a splash of dog food, rubbing its front paws together with glee, its beady eyes scanning for signs of danger.
I was ready for him, my rifle cocked with an 8.4gr JSB pellet in the chamber, safety-catch off. I’d pre-focused the little Hawke fixed 4-power scope, so target acquisition was fast and I instantly locked onto my prey. I knew I had to hold the crosshairs a body-width below the target. I breathed in deeply to steady my nerves then slowly let out my breath and concentrated on steadying the bobbing scope-wires. Eventually they settled, and with my eyes firmly riveted on the rogue snuffling at the dog food, I touched off the hair-weight trigger.
In less than the blink of an eye there was just a hole where the invader had been crouching. Splashes of blood and goo radiated outwards from the hole, and part of a severed leg, stuck to the paper, twitched forlornly. There’d be no mounted trophy here, no
Rowland Ward entry. I whooped like a schoolboy. My first fly-kill with an air rifle, and to be honest, it was a shot I will probably remember for the rest of my life. Yes, I know – I am easily amused.
OVER THE NEXT hour I shot 12 more flies, some large and some small. I missed a number as well, but when I finally called it a day, I had discovered that fly hunting is fun. It requires precise shooting technique, superb trigger control, and a perfect follow through to obliterate your target. It tests your skill.
I wish I could claim I’d invented a new shooting discipline, but fly shooting has a long and illustrious history in – yep, you guessed it – Australia. Like competitive metallic silhouette shooting, which first took root in Mexico, initially using live animals for targets before converting to metal cut-outs, fly shooting followed suit in Oz, where a bunch of blokes initially got together informally to test their skills against each other by shooting flies with their rifles. The popularity of the game burgeoned, competition grew fierce, and an arms race quickly ensued. Rules were formalized, and because of the vagaries of live flies, standardized paper targets were created.
Today fly shooting is an accredited shooting discipline in Australia, and a target depicting a standard March Fly is engaged from a bench-rest at 300 and 500 metres for centre-fire rifles, and 200 metres for rim-fire rifles. The rifles used are state-ofthe-art creations, many with custom-made actions, barrels and stocks. And, as can be imagined, the kind of optics enabling a competitor to hit a fly at half a kilometre can be mind-bogglingly expensive.
In 2019, at Batemans Bay on the far south coast of New South Wales, 81 competitors gathered for the Sporting Shooters’ Association of Australia’s annual fly shooting national championships. They’d come a long way since that first bloke smeared jam and Vegemite on a target!
My fly shooting objectives are more modest. I simply enjoy vaporizing the annoying creatures while doing what I love more than anything in the world – shooting. Apparently there are ten fly species found in South Africa. My goal is to shoot a horse fly, a bluebottle fly, a cluster fly, a sand fly, and a common house fly. That’ll be my “Randfontein Varminting Grand Slam”, and only then will I be able to brag to my shooting mates that I’ve taken the Big Flyve!