A Maltese hunter has admitted he does not actually kill birds, and instead uses his hide for quiet masturbation.
Jeffrey Spiteri (his hunter alias, not his real name) has a hunting hide, or dura, on the secluded cliffs between Fomm ir-Riħ and Ġnejna. However, he says he has never shot a quail, turtle dove, or any other bird.
“I work as a project manager and am married with three young kids, which means I don’t get a lot of ‘me time’, if you know what I mean,” said the 44 year old from Mosta.
Three years ago he told his wife he was going to take up bird hunting. He says it came as quite a shock to her, as he had previously been a vegan.
“But she said she loved me and understood my need to blow off some steam. If she only knew how much steam.”
Mr Spiteri describes his routine, which he goes through every morning during the annual spring hunting season.
His quest to have a tranquil wank starts when he wakes up at 4 a.m. “so I can crack one out at the crack of dawn,” as he puts it.
He makes a ftira, fills his Thermos with coffee, grabs his shotgun (“and my firearm,” he jokes) and heads to Ġnejna with his dog, Rambo.
“I only called him that so I could fit in with the other hunters. I wanted to call him Snuffles,” Spiteri admits while trying to hide his embarrassment.
Once he arrives in Ġnejna, he parks his Land Rover and walks slowly but purposefully over the garigue to his dura, taking in the magnificent scenery and fresh countryside air.
“The smell of wild thyme really gets me going,” he says.
After checking to make sure there are no police around, he begins his ritual. Entering the hide, he pulls down his trousers, sits on an upturned soft-drinks crate, and starts going at it.
“I’m sure many of my friends would think I’m weird if they knew the truth, but it actually makes me feel one with nature, which is hard to do in this fast-paced world we live in.
“Although, admittedly it is a bit awkward when I accidentally make eye contact with Rambo. He always looked so confused, and sometimes I swear I can detect a little envy in there too.”
After he finishes, he cleans himself up and returns home, relaxed and ready for work.
“Before I leave I sometimes buy a couple of dead birds from someone else, so my wife doesn’t think I’m a bad hunter,” he confesses.
Asked if the other hunters knew what he was really up to, he replied, “Oh yes, they’re very sympathetic. I’m quite well known, actually. They call me Jeffrey il-Ġerrej.
“I also get frequently interrupted by wildlife enthusiasts and botanists. It’s like they can’t read the massive ‘PRIVATE KEEP OUT’ signs. Then they trespass and I have to warn them that all the yellow spots on the ground aren’t lichens,” he says.
Does he worry that spring hunting will one day be banned, depriving him of his cover?
“Yes, it does concern me. My plan B in case that happens is to become an estate agent. Who’s going to notice one more wanker in that profession?” he says.
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