Chamois hunting: I live in the Taleggio Valley, a small oasis of peace set among the Orobic pre-Alps ...
This valley is located close to the Brembana, Valsassina and Valtellina valleys, and is still today a place that seems to have stood still in time. Here I am lucky enough to fully enjoy true peace and live in contact with nature. Nature, just her. My relationship with it, being a passionate hunter, has always been intense.
Taking long walks, observing the environment, capturing prey, are the ways in which I express my feelings towards nature.
Some might say that killing animals to make "trophies", material or imaginary, is not really a manifestation of affection.
But this is precisely the essence of hunting: giving anyone the opportunity to think as they see fit. I did not introduce myself: my name is Antonio and this was the hunting trip for a chamois in the Alta Val Brembana. My friend Federico and I, both in life and in hunting, the year before we had sighted a specimen of male chamois, very large in age, near Pizzo del Diavolo, which marks the northernmost border with the Seriana Valley.
We were very far from the chamois and we limited ourselves only to observing it, without having the possibility to approach it due to the rough terrain, which limited our movements. While observing the animal, we admired it in all its beauty and power, the elegance of its movements. Not having captured him, we decided to focus our joke on him, to take home a trophy. The alarm went off early at 3.00. I got out of bed moving slowly so as not to disturb my wife Laura. I went to the window and watched a fantastic full moon lighten the cold night.
I went down to the kitchen and made breakfast. Federico, in that same instant, was surely making the same movements as me. I smiled at the thought, imagining the perfect synchrony between me and my friend. After breakfast I started to get ready. Once washed and dressed, I double-checked all my equipment, which I had packed the night before. A ritual just to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything. He left the house and got into my off-road vehicle. I stood still for a few moments to warm up the engine and took the opportunity to light a cigarette, the last one until the end of the hunt. I put the first gear and went to get Federico, who was already waiting for me in the street, knowing that I would arrive in a short time, since he knew my accuracy in appointments. Got into the car, we shook hands and began the journey towards the slopes of Pizzo del Diavolo. The journey took about an hour. It was 4.15. We got out of the car, in absolute silence and started the climb towards our destination.
On my shoulder was my Merkel SR1 air rifle, while on Federico's one Blaser R8, both with precision optics. It was still dark when we started down the first path, helping us with flashlights. We arrived near Pizzo del Diavolo around 5.30. Dawn was coming. We decided to return to the place where we had seen the chamois the year before. We hoped that its habits had not changed and that the animal had kept its territory. We took up positions and began loading our weapons, making sure everything was safe.
It was cold and Federico and I checked each other out to make sure neither of us had any problems with the cold. We were well equipped, but after so many years of hunting, we had learned one thing: that prudence and not taking anything for granted when hunting is essential.
During the wait, a little light began to filter through the sky, helping our observation that had been limited up to that point. In fact, not being able to see well at long distances, we helped each other more with our hearing, trying to steal every single sound nearby. I was about to tell Federico that maybe it was time to change the position, but at a certain point we heard some noises. The unmistakable sound of the chamois footstep accelerated my heart, which began to pump blood at greater speed.
I was excited and I told Federico, who replied that he too hoped to see what we thought, our chamois. It wasn't him, but a mother with her baby who was always behind her. I aimed the gun at the female, but Federico put his hand on my forearm, saying in a low voice: “If we kill the mother, we will kill the baby too. I think it is better to leave it alone ”. I was about to reply that we were wasting an excellent opportunity to take home a trophy, but Federico told me, anticipating me, that we were there not to take home a trophy, but the trophy, the male chamois that had escaped us the year before.
We were silent for a few seconds and I lowered the weapon. Federico smiled at me and we continued to wait. It was 7.30 and the valley was in full sun. I took the binoculars and began to observe all the surrounding environment in search of our chamois. It was a unique specimen, distinguishable by a scar on the right side, which perhaps he had obtained by falling on a rock to escape some danger. The observation gave no result and I got up to set off again towards another side of Pizzo del Diavolo. Federico was about to get up too, but suddenly crouched down again, pulling me down too. He aimed the rifle, telling me: "Straight ahead of us at about 100 meters". It was a very large male chamois, but slightly different from last year's specimen. He was turned on his left side and therefore we could not see the famous scar. Turning to graze on the grass, the chamois exposed the "war" wound. It was leaner than the year before, even if it kept all its majesty intact.
Our rule when hunting for chamois was one: “one shot”. We observed it as a matter of respect for the animal, to avoid that it could suffer if wounded to a non-lethal part, but which would have worn it out anyway while waiting for the coup de grace. I told Federico that it was up to him to shoot, since he had been the first to spot it. There had never been a rivalry between him and me in life, let alone hunting. Faith aimed the rifle and fired the shot, which went straight to the heart, killing the animal instantly, without making it suffer. The rule had not been broken. We began to approach the animal to prepare it for transport to the car. As we approached, Fede and I looked at each other satisfied. We weren't great talkers. For him and me, one glance was enough to understand what the other was thinking. We came close to the animal, now dead. It was very heavy and during the transport we did not know how many stops to rest. When we got to the car, we tied it to the roof and started the return journey.
As we complimented each other, at a certain point something came to my mind and I said: “Today we received a gift from Alta Val Brembana and we must not forget how lucky we are to live here”. I didn't fire a single shot that day; it had happened before, but it was never a problem. That unsuccessful shot wanted a live female chamois next to her young.
The hunting season was not over and there would be other opportunities.