WHISTLING SIKA THROUGH THE KAIMANAWAS
Smoke rises from the barrel of the 7mm-08 and disappears into the canopy of the ancient forest. The adrenalin starts pumping. The shining cuckoo, who’s been narking on us since we started climbing the tree-covered hills, finally shuts up. Everyone is awaiting Sam’s next move. He starts sprinting – not quite the move we expected – and after 50 metres of ‘Usain Bolting’ through the bush, he stops.
“Phew – thought I’d missed it”
Sam says and puts his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
On the forest floor, between two massive decomposing logs, on a bed of moss and ferns and lit up by the few rays of sun that manage to penetrate the awning of
