The re-opening of State Highway 25A just prior to Xmas was a welcome boon to both retailers and holidaymakers alike. But not all Coromandel Peninsula locals were quite so enthused.
As I travelled over the Cyclone Gabrielle-ravaged road from Kopu to Hikuai, it was hard not to notice the entire route appeared to be carpeted in dead possums.
An entire generation of the noxious marsupials had grown up with zero traffic on the highway, so had become accustomed to using it as their personal thoroughfare.
Animal lovers might be appalled at this vehicular slaughter but I hate the damned things. DoC calls them ‘one of the greatest threats to our natural environment’ so I’m quietly thrilled each time I spot a fresh mangled corpse.
The pests were introduced here in the 1830s in the hope of creating a fur trade but all they’ve done is wipe out our native fauna and flora with their voracious appetites.
Perhaps it’s time we re-introduced the industry – I’m sure we’d all be a lot happier seeing Hollywood starlets draped in culled possum fur than farmed mink.
But not everyone shares my distaste for the furry beasts.
I was accompanying one of the many Japanese privateers I navigate for, when he spotted a bloodied mess on the roadside.
“Poor pussycat,” he announced solemnly.
“Actually it’s a dead possum,” I corrected, and his eyes lit up.
“Possum Bourne!” he hollered and chuckled to himself for the next twenty kilometres. Apparently this is the very height of Oriental motorsport humour, as he proceeded to recount the tale to every one of his compatriots for the rest of the week.
I probably would’ve joined in with the laughter except this encounter nearly killed us. It would appear that all organisms are sacred (even dead noxious ones) so we spent the rest of the event violently swerving off the road whenever we found another crumpled carcass in our path.
“They’re dead already,” I pleaded. “They’re not going to get their feelings hurt if we run them over again.”
This callous viewpoint would probably be shared with a classic car-loving mate who finally tracked down a Zakspeed-style front spoiler for his Capri.
He’s the kind of bloke who would rather spend the whole weekend polishing his car than driving it, but was overjoyed to finally obtain a period-correct splitter.
The afternoon he got it back from the auto painter (who had meticulously matched the colour with the original) he brought it over to show this correspondent.
He was in tears when he arrived.
“I was cruising over at a gentle pace, keeping a safe following distance so I didn’t chip the new paint, when a possum ran out in front of me. I could’ve swerved, or jumped on the brakes, but thought – nah, I can clear that comfortably.
Then the damned thing stopped in the middle of the road, and sat up on its hind legs to get a better look at the Capri.”
“Can’t blame him really but the bastard’s rooted my new spoiler.”
My own closest encounter with a live possum was in the back streets of Canberra, the night before their international rally.
The Australian capital is a soulless place at the best of times, but was made worse when I realised I was being watched by two beady little eyes from the shrubbery.
I was scrabbling around for a rock when my Aussie companion grabbed my arm.
“Mate – what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m gonna kill that horrible thing.”
“Mate – you can’t do that. They’re protected in Australia!”
I explained that they were one of many unwanted pests back home and the world would be a better place without them.
“All our biggest problems have been introduced to New Zealand – gorse, ragwort, stoats, rabbits, even 501 deportees. Did you know we now have a burgeoning wallaby issue?”
“Crikey! What are you doing about that?”
“Fortunately we have an outfit that turns wallabies into mincemeat. We call them the All Blacks.”
This article was first featured in the March 2024 issue of NZ Autocar magazine.
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