Another winter day in paradise begins. I’ll start with a morning jog – that is sure to set me up for a good day. There’s a cold wind so I’ll seek a sheltered route in the bush. I’ll explore up the track across the creek. I want to know how far up the hill it goes. The map shows the track going most of the way towards the ridge. If it continues to the ridge, or if I can bush-bash the last bit, that will be my shortest route to town. I get about 50 metres from the front door when a gunshot echoes around. Then another. I slow, then stop. It’s Wednesday: hunting day. I change plans and face the cold wind on the exposed main road instead.

Saturdays are hunting days too.

And Sundays.

On Christmas Eve (a Sunday) our four-year-old and I were enjoying an adventure along the track beside the St Bertrand creek when shooting started somewhere nearby – apparently across the valley from us. There were so many shots that I guessed some hunters were doing target practice. Mr four’s guess was that they had found about 50 wild pigs and needed that many shots to kill them all. That amount of shooting relatively nearby unnerved us both and we headed home as quick as we could. Our adventure was curtailed.

I curse these hunters. It feels like every second time that I want to go into the hills I can’t because of the risk of being shot. Why do they get exclusive use of the hills three days per week? I wonder whether an American-style gun lobby has gained some influence with our town’s mayor.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a big fan of guns. They are very useful in certain situations, like on the battlefield. And maybe in other situations that I can’t think of right now. People in all those situations should have a gun. But on an otherwise quiet Saturday, Sunday or Wednesday I’d rather the hills around here were as safe for unarmed explorers as on the other days of the week. I really would prefer the risk of encountering a boar (seen one already), a deer (seen one of those too), a fox (ditto), or whatever else they are hunting, than the risk of encountering a supersonic bullet.