Hunting memories rarely fade, they weld friendships and are the protagonists of numerous evenings among hunters. This too, which tells of three friends in search of the black grouse, must have fascinated many hunters.
Ever heard of the black grouse? When my father told me about it he called it black grouse, and in itself he has the character of the mountain people, solitary, proud and strong. I am also a mountaineer, born in a small village near Sondrio and here hunting is before a Sunday challenge between man and nature, life and survival. This is why the elders of my family have always had respect for him, the same that they felt when hunting a black grouse. Until the age of 16 I had seen few and from afar.
Let's say that I was not interested in both hunting and game and only slowly I savored the taste of nature and the days spent in the mountains, alone with themselves, at most with some hunting companions. Mine is Mario, my cousin who shares with me the passion and love for our mountains and for the art of hunting. We often go, when it is in season, to hunt black grouse and the day I want to tell you about today was truly unforgettable. Imagine the wonder of the Lombard Alps, snow-covered and silent, cold and austere and two friends in search of the black grouse. The beauty of hunting for two is that, if your companion loves chatting, you can hear and tell a lot of funny stories. Mario is a born storyteller, and as we reached the hunting lodge he gave me wonderful hunting experiences in Russia, Africa, and Europe.
When we arrived at our destination, we prepared the equipment, ate something and rested for a few hours to prepare for the next day's hunt. We were excited like two kids, we always are the night before the action.
That night I forced myself to sleep as much as possible as the alarm clock would go off at two in the morning, and to my surprise when I woke up Mario was already up waiting for time X. We had a nice coffee, and we brought with us a small snack. Less than an hour after waking up we set off towards the hunting ground a few hours away by road. Along the way, as usual, we met a friendly hunter who lives in the area. Impossible not to question him about the presence of roosters. “With all that snow” he told us, “it will be difficult to hear the song”, but while we were there, it was a must to continue. We arrived at the shed, organized the previous evening by Franco, before dawn and the show was one that I wish everyone to admire at least once in their life. We didn't even have time to sort out our things and take a stand that the first hens started singing love songs, fluttering right over our shed. All three of us realized that it was a particularly delicate moment, so much so that even the slightest noise would have been enough to scare them. But no, the silence was absolute, and we hardly felt cold anymore. Soon, the males arrived, attracted by the song. Arrived in dribs and drabs, with powerful jumps and engaged in majestic mid-air combat. It was like being in the middle of a documentary. “Luckily I brought my camera with me” I thought, because so close and so beautiful I was sure I would never see them again. It was above all the contrast between black, blue and red, against a blinding white of snow that made the surroundings magical. Unfortunately at that moment it was impossible for me to open my backpack to look for my telephoto lens, the success of the whole day would have disappeared and I certainly did not want to hear Mario and Franco ...
That day, however, Mario thought to break the magic, who in an attempt to remove the safety and shoot aroused the suspicions of the female black grouse that in no time at all flew elsewhere leaving us with a bitter taste in our mouth. Mario looked at us a little disconsolately, while I took the opportunity to take my camera out of my backpack with a five-star view and immortalize some roosters several meters away from us to be hunted. Only after an hour of waiting did a delicious surprise arrive. A wonderful adult male glided towards us, showing off his wonderful fork. I still remember that he walked on the snow wary, emitting characteristic whistles and to show his strength he vibrated in a menacing way that mottled blue plumage. It was a beautiful specimen. I stood admiring it for a few moments before taking up the small rifle, and focusing on a particularly difficult target given the distance. Normally in these situations I use small 5,6 mm balls.
While I was aiming I calculated the distance, the ball used, the angle of site, the calibration and in the end I put my finger on the trigger. I could hear my teammates watching me tense and excited by the difficulty of the shot. For its part, the black grouse did not want to sit still, his was a dance full of truly suggestive acrobatics. It stopped after a wonderful vault and I knew that this was my moment. I fired without hesitation, taking home a wonderful specimen of black grouse and indelible memories.