Mobility Impaired - Angler and Hunter Access

Written by: Sally Wenley  

It was about ten thirty in the morning and I was bored after a morning spent sitting in a toetoe, reeds and camo net-lined maimai with my dad at the northern end of the dam. The old rimu posts at the bottom of it were muddy and the ends of my fingers and toes became numb as we waited for the sun to show from the east.

Rising over the limestone hill dotted with cabbage trees and grazing sheep it began to thaw me out.

I shot with an old .410 and blasted towards flocks of mallard ducks, as did family members in nearby maimais, as they swooped around the dam about to land on the water. 

When the morning brightened further, and I warmed up, fewer ducks came into the large dam out the back of our family farm west of Hastings in Maraekakaho. Earlier in the morning a regular flurry of ducks circled.  “Shh,”’ Dad would whisper. “Keep your head down until we hear their wings getting close.”  His cheeks swelled as he squawked into the duck caller and the damp dog started shuffling around. 

The dam was nestled between towering hills on each side and a creek ran through it.  That summer had been dry, hence neighbouring farms’ shallower dams had shrunk but ours did not. The annual two days of Opening Weekend hunting started decades before I was born in 1970. Since being a kid I looked forward to the tradition of catching up with older cousins who helped set up maimais, including one in the middle via oars on a dinghy groaning under the weight of branches and dense bushes to get our possies ready for the weekend ahead.  I was the youngest and our head count was usually about 10 hunters accompanied by two keen labradors. We accessed the dam via a road into the back of the farm then drove through numerous paddocks to the isolated spot.

On Opening Morning, when I had thawed out, we would walk across to the paddock bordering the dam and hunt for rabbits in the swampy glade about 500m away.  That’s when a ranger appeared. He had walked over the hills, which is no mean feat. He walked back to the dam with us to check the number and species of shot ducks.

Five years later when I was in my last year at boarding school the bus we were returning to school in after a day on a farm rolled down a bank. Five people died and my spine was shattered. This meant my new shooting stance was from a wheelchair and my family ensured I could continue to enjoy the Opening Weekend followed by a group plucking session, bacon-and-egg pie and pumpkin soup. For several years family would help me get across the uneven grass and mud in the dark, then into a possie. I then bought an amphibious vehicle that I maneuvered into the shallows edging the dam and everyone helped cover it with camo nets as I sat in the middle of it – like a poncho. Towing my vehicle on the back of a trailer and lifting me on and off the hand-controlled Argo was a team job. Time moved on, the farm was sold, and now I live in Auckland.

The hand controlled Argo I used to get around.

My keenness for duck hunting didn’t wane, and I resumed the pursuit with my bloke and mates on the tributaries of the Waikato River near Waiuku. They lift me into a dinghy onto a bolted-down seat with a back I can lean against while trying to sight ducks. To keep me from falling sideways when swinging around with my gun I have a thick weightlifter’s belt around my waist.  A ‘drive-in’ maimai had been constructed in the reeds in the middle of the river. By now I had graduated from using a .410, followed by a 12 gauge that had a bit much recoil, then onto a 20-gauge Weatherby and now I use a 20-gauge Beretta. 

A weightlifters belt keeps me secured to a bolted-down chair in our river hunting dinghy.

I have been using a wheelchair for nearly 40 years so my joints that work are somewhat ‘over-used’. My hunting mates are also older, so lifting me in and out of boats, maimais and vehicles looked to me like it was becoming more challenging... for all of us. I chose to not go hunting early in the season last year, normally I would stay in their bach nestled precariously on sticks at the side of the tidal river with the log fire chimney poking out the top.  Inside it is cozy and there are comfortable bunk beds lining the fire accompanied by the aroma of damp socks, cooked bacon and gun-cleaning oil. 

However, last year when I read Fish & Game NZ magazine there was an article about an accessible maimai near Te Puke, so I gave them a call and booked a weekend’s hunting later in May. I had no expectations and was chuffed when I arrived to be able to park close to the maimai.  There’s also a green painted smooth concrete path leading into it that meant my gun and ammo didn’t fall off my lap bumping across uneven ground. I had a blast – literally and figuratively – as I could sit in the side of the green painted corrugated structure or wheel across several metres to the other side to aim at different spots above the wetland.  I also had a landscape view of the water from my chair thanks to a low wall. Not many ducks circled our possie that morning and I fired about five cartridges. The ducks kept flying but I was happy. 

Sally hunting from Eastern Fish & game's mobility impaired maimai last season.

As I said at the beginning of this article, I missed the rabbit. I have never excelled with a shotgun. But being part of the camaraderie, jokes and salt-of-the-earth friends and family are what I love about the game season. I aim to return to the accessible maimai in May.  I just need to find a motel in the Te Puke area that will allow a duck dog to stay as well. And for other mobility impaired hunters, I’d encourage you to get in touch with your local Fish & Game office. They may not have a purpose-built structure like the one in Eastern region, but I guarantee they may know of a spot or two that could work for you. 

The "drive-in'' maimai my friends constructed for me.