Radio is no exception. He who is first, wins. I'm far from a consummate broadcaster. Truth be known, I'm a failed accountant and a former sheep farmer with a stutter who can't spit out the word rural, an obvious impediment for someone fronting a farming show. The likes of Mike Hosking and Paul Henry, to name but two, are light years better than me but where I was smarter than the average bear was seeing the niche opportunity of rural broadcasting on commercial radio some 22 years ago.
That opportunity finally comes to full fruition today with the launch of The Country, a rebranded farming show on Newstalk ZB, the country's lead talk station. Of that I'm very proud.
Duck shooting opening day is but five sleeps away, assuming this fine publication reaches your rural mailbox on a Monday.
One of the beauties of duck shooting is that all men are equal in the maimai. Take for instance our pond in Riversdale which, once a year, hosts a reunion of old mates who all went to Riversdale Primary School in the 1960s. We have all taken our separate paths in life, had our successes and bumps and bruises along the way, but have all, touch wood, made it this far.
There's a professor, a lawyer, two farmers, a stock agent and a West Australian fencer who goes by the dubious moniker of Hideous Ross! Chuck in yours truly and we are a truly eclectic bunch. A scenario, I'm sure, replicated in many maimais.
Over the years it would be fair to say beer has been a constant companion once the weapons of mass destructions are put aside mid-morning. However, age wearies all men. We are now in our mid-fifties and beyond, contemplating how many opening mornings we have left on this mortal coil.
To that end I have been trying, admittedly with little luck thus far, to institute an element of physical exercise into a day which is dominated by an excessive calorie intake. I figure a fit duck shooter is a healthy one, thus hopefully extending our longevity.
Two years ago I was successful to a degree when I bullied the two farmers and the local publican to join me on a one day 240km charity bike ride for the Westpac Rescue Chopper just six days after opening day. Fear of failure meant we took two hours out of the middle of the day to go for a training ride. The ritual beers that night at a neighbouring maimai never tasted sweeter.
I've tried to institute an afternoon round of golf. Alas, I'm outnumbered by bowlers. And, as we all know, bowls is really just a holding pen for the cemetery (another quote from my father, which proved visionary, as he himself was a bowler).
Plus just to prove we're taking our mortality seriously, we've now started a maimai sweepstake on who is odds-on to meet their maker first. Hideous Ross is the early bookie's favourite at 5/2 but we're all, unfortunately, on the downward slope of the bell curve. However we've made a pact that the last remaining survivor of the Magnificent Seven, must return alone to toast his fallen comrades on one last opening morning, faculties permitting of course.
In the meantime here's hoping for fit and healthy camaraderie for many more years to come. Safe and happy shooting! May your aim be true. I'll catch you on The Country.
