As has been happening for some years, this June too brought us a hot and dry summer. The hunt for the male of roe, from the very first outings, the encounters have been satisfying in terms of numbers, except for the ironic, diabolical fate of meeting almost only females. This morning I gladly leave the rifle at home to immerse myself in the no less exciting role of companion. Paolo has been assigned a young male and I am happy to follow him on his adventure. The touch of the trigger is not the only nor the most intense emotion of hunting, and the enthusiasm with which I jump out of bed at 3.30 am is tangible proof of this. Another (and not secondary) reason for my enthusiasm is the company of the faithful Hermann di Paolo. An exemplary Bavarian, beautiful, correct, elegant: the perfect company for the hunter, faithful and discreet friend of his handler. It is very dark and we are surprised to find a thick and humid mist outside the door. The cheeky starry nights of the previous evenings had spoiled us a little, making up for the dry, boiling air that petrified everything during the sunny afternoons. This morning, however, the effect is that of a sauna. The car in silence and we walk on the stubble, made soft and silent by the humid cloud that surrounds us. Visibility is really poor, we feel enveloped in a milky mantle that while hiding the wild hides us from their eyes. We reach a hedge of shrubs that borders the first field, we decide to stop here waiting for the mist to unravel.
Hermann curls up at our feet, we sit on the ground in order not to dominate in the middle of the field, and wait. The first glare of the day causes the water particles suspended in mid-air to vibrate and slowly evaporate. As on a mirror where a warm breath has spread its opacity, so the scenery around us regains its sharpness. A porcupine returning from its nocturnal raids comes from the field in our direction. He doesn't notice us until he reaches 5 meters. Hermann intercepts him with his eyes, but gives no sign of alarm. Proud and serious he fixes the animal with his stern gaze without emitting any sound or movement. Pecked by the Bavarian's gaze, the porcupine stirs the quills and, frightened, quickly swerves away from us and goes to be swallowed by the brambles loaded with small unripe blackberries.
The first rays of the June sun break through the hills and hurl themselves like darts on the fields. One of them goes to warm the red fur of a fox mother who with care and meticulousness plunges her muzzle into the soft plumed fur of her baby to free him from insects. The scene captures us, for a moment it makes us forget our role as "predators" and gives us back with interest the fatigue of the alarm clock a few hours after dinner. We decide to leave the temporary posting to arrive at a more favorable observation point, protected by the last wisps of mist. At every step we break out. In unison, we crouch when the red of the elf cross our binoculars. His bearing, size and absence of a powerful stage make him look like a young male. From the lenses of the long shot I confirm to Paolo that it is an M1. Paolo stretches out to look long and immediately confirms that the garment is perfect for him. The young man roe he is not stationary in the field, but picks up the grass and in the meantime he walks, without actually ever stopping. There is no need to shoot from where we are, the silhouette is not entirely visible. We decide to move a little higher on the hillock, in order to increase the perspective.
We are completely discovered but luck comes to our rescue and between us and the roe in motion not one, not two, but three bales of hay that cover the roe deer (and we for him) giving us all the time to sneak higher. .
Without wasting time, Paolo sets up the rifle, standing on the bipod and resting on the backpack. His elbows are also firm, his shoulders relaxed, his breathing regular. He turns to me, a few meters from him, looking for my “0k”. At 180 meters, no adjustments will be necessary for the rifle calibrated at 200. I prepare myself for the sound of the shot, which surprises Paolo, me but not Hermann, sitting at my feet, motionless as a cuirassier. From the binoculars I observe the roe who collects the blow with a jump on the spot, then runs a few meters remaining hunched and staggering. A few seconds after the shot, the hooves of the deer split the sky in the painful farewell of the last breath. Then we don't see it anymore.
We wait just long enough to then head together with Herman on the anschuss. The young beak is not seen but in our hearts we have no doubt of finding it. The heartbeat we feel, man and dog, is certainly not linked to the result of the shot, but perhaps to the gratitude and freedom we feel as we walk on these stubble now dry again under a warm, generous summer sun.