One windy late afternoon in 1969, during a school break, my elder brother Jon, who was 21 at the time, took me hunting with his Stevens single-shot shotgun. I, being six years younger, was equipped with a small but sharp blade called a ‘duku chandung’ in Iban.
The shotgun had just been inherited from our uncle, Ngauh Narang, my mother’s eldest brother, who had no children of his own.
Jon was his favourite nephew and became the proud owner of the shotgun.
Jon had already used it successfully to hunt various games, including wild boars, deer, barking deer, foxes, and mouse deer.
We set off on foot from our humble residence on the edge of the jungle in Bukit Tinggi, located in the upper Melupa basin in Saratok, far away from our longhouse Kedap.
With two powerful torchlights in hand, we made our way towards a specific spot about an hour’s walk from our home.
Along the way, we stopped at a spot where a special banyan tree was bearing fruit, attracting flying foxes, pigeons, and the special pheasants that we called ‘Sengayan’. Jon shot two flying foxes, but one of the pheasants escaped.
As dusk approached, we had to use the torchlight to navigate. I wrapped the flying foxes in leaves and placed them in a woven basket that I carried on my back.
We continued towards our intended destination, which was another special fruit tree in the jungle, approximately two kilometres away.
This tree was known to attract game such as foxes, mouse deer, porcupines, and other animals. By the time we arrived at the spot, darkness had fallen, and we relied on our torches to see.
“You must remain quiet,” Jon whispered, and I nodded in agreement. “Keep your torch shining towards the treetop, just in case the foxes are already there enjoying the fruit,” he instructed me in a whisper, to which I responded with a thumbs-up.
The wind had subsided, and it was a warm evening. Glancing at my watch, I noticed it was already 8:30 PM.
We were near the fruit-bearing tree, and Jon signalled for silence, which I obeyed. I shone the torchlight and noticed movement at the treetop.
Jon gestured for me to keep shining the light on it, while he also aimed his shotgun.
Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger, and the shot hit the target, causing it to fall.
We quickly approached and discovered it was a civet, a catlike animal, struck between the eyes by the gunshot.
Jon was truly a skilled marksman. The civet, with its black and white spots, resembled a cat, leading the Iban people to call it ‘jelu mayau’ (catlike animal).
Jon was elated, and we called it a day. With four shots fired, he had killed three game animals — the two flying foxes and the civet — but had missed the pheasant.
My watch showed it was already 9:25 PM, and we left the spot triumphantly. Upon returning home, we found our parents, Uncle Ngauh, and maternal grandmother still awake and waiting. My mother prepared dinner for the two of us.
I was deeply impressed and inspired by Jon’s sharpshooting skills, but at 15 years old, I was too young to handle the shotgun.
It wasn’t until 1983, while serving as the principal of SMK Sedaya in Kanowit, that I realised I needed a licence to carry a firearm.
I felt the need to demonstrate to the students that I could carry a gun, although I knew it was a foolish and potentially dangerous idea.
Consequently, I applied for a firearm licence from Sibu Resident Ignatius Angking (later Datuk), who happened to be a cousin of my future father-in-law, Edward Kechendai.
I remember him asking me in Iban, “Kapa nuan nya ah?” meaning “Why do you need the licence?”
I replied that I needed it for hunting, but little did he know that I intended to carry the gun to school. Without further questioning, he granted me the licence.
Around August of that year, I brought Jon with me to SMK Sedaya, along with the gun. The intention was for the students to see the gun.
I was certain that news had spread throughout the school that I had been seen carrying a shotgun. Two of my teachers inquired about it, and I confirmed their suspicions.
When Jon left three days later, he discreetly took the disassembled gun back to Saratok, ensuring it remained concealed, as opposed to when I had carried it openly.
Looking back, I realised how foolish my actions were, even though my intentions were positive.
In truth, I had only fired the shotgun once and missed a pitiful mousedeer in Saratok one evening in 1979.
The recoil from the shot hurt my right shoulder. That missed shot was the only time I used Jon’s shotgun. My firearm licence has since expired, and I have no intention of renewing it.
Jon’s shotgun is still in good condition, but he is likely to pass ownership to his second son, Joe Stanley Mawan, who is currently working overseas, as his other two sons have no interest in it.
Jon continues to use the shotgun for nighttime hunting, but he recently mentioned that he missed his targets twice. Perhaps, at 75 years old, his eyesight is failing him.
DISCLAIMER:
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.
