The pass days on Monte Argentario are almost legendary for the locals. In mid-October the invitation of his friend Fabrizio for a day of thrush hunting it comes as an unexpected gift that makes me happy: I have been dreaming of living this experience for years.
"Unfortunately not even a zirlo is heard this morning, Vince '!”Fabrizio greets me sadly when I arrive in Porto Ercole in the dark, and his words, mixed with his slightly perplexed expression, are like a cold shower. We have a quick breakfast at the bar trying, with various anecdotes and ruminations, to cheer us up and hope. My mantra "infects" Fabrizio too: "Never say never!" and with all the hope that this October dawn inspires we set out.
The road climbs along the coast, overlooking the sea. We go up between the hairpin bends and with every meter gained in height the generous slice of sea that the Creator served to the Portercolesi swells, until you lose your gaze on an endless horizon.
I got out of the car, I change the choke to the barrel of the gun, put on my cartridge belt and, after a few hundred meters of walking, we arrive at the place where the take-off is located.
It is still dark when, with the rifle on my shoulder, I begin to study the environment and the possible trajectories of the thrushes. After a few minutes of waiting, a first thrush draws a black arrow against the indigo background of the barely lit sky. With a lightning strike, his flight is lightning, while the light feathers, swaying in the air, testify to the success of the shot. "Do you want to see that this day, despite the funereal expectations, is starting to turn well ?!"I tell myself, after this first meeting. Unfortunately, I'm wrong: my game bag hosts only three thrushes, and Fabrizio's ditto. While we are intent on looking in the grass for a fallen thrush that had been hidden by the shadows of dawn, three figures in the distance emerge from the bush and, loaded like mules, proceed upwards, stopping near Fabrizio. They are Giordano, his brother Giorgio and his father Cesare, on their way to a post for a day of wood pigeon hunting. Greetings and good luck.
An hour goes by, maybe more, the guns are on their shoulders now, you don't need to be ready: since the sun has risen, not even a thrush has passed. We like the initial idea of spending the day here less and less. Rather, our attention is drawn to the shots we hear from time to time coming from parts of Giordano's hut. While we are with our ears tense (and a little jealous) towards the shed, Fabrizio receives a phone call. It's Giordano himself ...
"If thrushes don't pass there, why don't you come here to us ?! Several flocks of wood pigeons, and today they also seem to believe in the tense!".
Before finishing reporting the call to me, Fabrizio has already unloaded and put the rifle in the sheath. In no time we are at the shed. Giordano is fumbling with pistons and rackets, and his wide and skilful movements are reminiscent of those of an orchestra conductor. And his "musicians" seem really diligent: flocks of wood pigeons they arrive as if recalled by a mysterious magnetism. We rummage in our pockets and backpacks for cartridges with a little thicker lead, but we scrape together very few. Fabrizio and I position ourselves one to the right and one to the left of Giordano, trying to leave him as much room as possible for movement.
A large flock of doves heads from the ground towards the sea, Giordano throws flyers in flight and begins to move the plungers more and more briskly. The flock seems to believe it, and from a distance it turns towards the shed, closing a wide circumference between sky and sea. As soon as he comes within range Fabrizio and I go out into the open with perfect synchronism and the five shots fired by our rifles are echoed by four thuds of doves on the ground.
We turn to Giordano, amazed to see him without a gun: he is so entranced by the perfect success of the maneuver that he preferred not to break the spell, continuing with his skilful movements to maneuver the brim. And so he continues to do for hours, until almost noon, giving Fabrizio and me the opportunity to embody an unexpected number of wood pigeons. Who would have thought? A day born with strong expectations for thrush hunting, had deeply disappointed us almost before starting.
The lucky encounter with Giordano, his skill and a bit of luck instead made us live a magnificent day of hunting. Surely the best supporting actor today is the splendid panorama that can be enjoyed from the top of Monte Argentario: boundless sky and sea, adorned with green islands and the rugged and luxuriant coast of Mediterranean scrub, fill the eyes with beauty and the heart with gratitude. .
Text and photos by Vincent Frascino