In driven wild boar hunting there are those who argue that all stakes are the same, while many swear otherwise. Who to blame and who is right?
It is undeniable that in any wood some "trots" are much more frequented than others, but it is also true that when a wild boar is chased by a hungry pack of dogs it behaves in an unpredictable way. So, even if a hunter always had the choice of the stakes, he would never be XNUMX% sure of having a "face to face" with the King of the Macchia. But I think we all agree on one thing: if we want to spend a few hours in peace and enjoy a nice Maremma hunt, the stake that luck (or bad luck) will have assigned us to the draw "should" at least be to our liking. . I say this because unfortunately it could happen that we have to stay on the edge of a large one, when instead we would have preferred to be in a narrow fire stop, or maybe vice versa. How many times then have you happened to be in the mail near an impetuous stream that makes you hear nothing, in a point where there is poor visibility, or to have a neighbor who listens to the games on the radio and cheers or every goal or parade? Everyone has their own preferences and likes and this is not discussed.
For example, whenever in the Tenute delle Forane they make the joke of the "Villa", I would always like to be assigned the "Sassone" mail. It is neither bad nor beautiful post, I like it because it is a bit out of the way and on more than one occasion I have killed some nice boars. When they let me, I always stick with it very willingly. Giampiero Bernacchi, the manager of the "Forane", the last time we hit the scrub of the "Villa", a sprightly gentleman armed with a rifled carbine placed us at the Sassone Browning BAR 30.06 S, while he decided to relegate myself in the middle of a plowed field. Do you want to know how it ended? The mail hunter at Sassone frying three large boars while I not only saw and heard nothing, but I was almost sunburned! Giampiero justified his strategy by stating that it was precisely in function of the trust he placed in me, if he had decided to leave me alone in that field where instead it would take four guns. Then, according to him, the Saxon's post was one like many others! But after that day Giampiero, realizing that he had not completely convinced me with his harangue, promised that whenever we would have hunted in that area, if it really pleased me, he would leave me the Sassone's mail.
One very cold Sunday in December he was up to his word because he didn't let me take part in the postal draw. "Marco, go to the Sassone with a dozen rifles. Arrange five along the cart track to your right and the same number to the left. Today, if we find the whole pack, it's fun". As happy as a child who has just been granted permission to open Christmas presents can be, I called the post office from "one" to "ten" and told him to follow me. We all knew each other so lining up perfectly equidistant and getting online didn't take us too long. That day there was an icy north wind and despite my optimism I had to admit that, where we were eleven, the wind was blatantly "bad". However, I hoped that despite this the hunt still managed to push us against some boar. I loaded my Heckler & Koch 770 Kurz .308 Winchester caliber with 150 grain reloaded TIGs, checked that the “red dot” battery was charged and then sat directly on the famous big stone. Only then did I remember that in that wind it would be almost impossible to hear the sound of the horn. It had been a long time without my having any indication if the hunt had begun, but I assumed so because I heard some barking in the distance and even a couple of shots. I consider the wild boar hunt to be one of the most beautiful forms of hunting ever, but unfortunately it can be very exciting as if it were deadly boredom. More than an hour passed without an opportunity to pick up the rifle presented itself to me and, needless to deny it, the morning enthusiasm was slowly diminishing. No blackbird, jay, thrush or wood pigeon had crossed the cart track in front of me, much less some suspicious noise had attracted my attention. Last but not least, in that God-forgotten corner of the scrub he didn't even take the Midland Alan 607. I decided that I could afford to call Giampiero to hear the news: “Don't you hear anything? Towards the sea it seems the landing in Normandy from how many shots they have fired. It seems strange to me that no wild boar has appeared up there yet. ”“ We've got a good herd up there ”, the dear friend of Capalbio replied excitedly. Those words heartened me and while I tried in vain to sharpen my hearing more than my sight, two - three placed under me a first shotgun discharge went off. A little later another followed. I picked up the HK and got on the alert, even if the echo of a canizza was not yet heard. A frightened blackbird crossed the cart track flying so low that it almost took off my hat! Two others followed it on the same path and a jay croaked loudly as an intruder had entered its territory. We thought about it. I checked that the "Red point"Was on and the safety was off, I assumed where a wild boar might have come from and I got ready. The wait lasted a few seconds. I saw a black ball rushing towards me at full speed and I barely had time to put the red dot on him and pull the trigger.
The big boar took the blow, but instead of falling he swerved sharply to regain the thicket. He could not make it. I hit him hard two more times. Before moving, I waited for the dogs to arrive, I wanted to make sure they weren't bringing another animal, then I got help from the nearby post office to drag the dead boar to the clean. I was curious to see the effect of my shots "hot". The first ball had hit him on the muzzle, had come out of his throat and had also caused a deep cut in his abdomen along its entire length (huge TIG!). The other two had entered the cashier, spaced ten fingers apart from each other. I removed the magazine and reintegrated the shots fired and after having chased away the last "Maremma brindle" I went back to sit in my beautiful stone armchair, useless to deny it, with a different mood. After thirty years of practicing the wild boar hunting still batting today, after I shot one down, I can't take my eyes off him anymore. I was looking at him and re-examining him in delight when a furtive patter broke the unnatural silence that reigned in the woods. An unequivocal sign that something was approaching, but I didn't understand what. It could have been a dog, a fallow deer, a roe deer or maybe another wild boar! If in doubt, it is better not to be caught unprepared. I grabbed the .308 and aimed directly in the direction of the noise. I waited a few moments in that position and lo and behold the familiar shaggy silhouette of a beautiful boar entered the lens (which is not exactly crystalline) of the Pro Point. The HK fired by itself and a quick 150 grain in the neck relentlessly pinned it in place.
As experience shows, I always waited for the dogs to arrive before letting my guard down, but this time they didn't show up. That sly had tried to force the encirclement on the sly, but it had gone wrong. The second boar was slightly smaller than the first, but it was no less beautiful. In less than half an hour I had killed two animals: one chased by the pack and the other alone, without dogs or "scanned", as they say in my part. Ninety times out of a hundred, a boar it presents itself to the hunter posted in one of those ways, and the shot can be easy or difficult, the important thing is not to be surprised. Giampiero must have heard the shots because when he phoned me he immediately asked: "How many dead?". "I spread two big ones and they also pulled under me, but I don't know how it went." We both let ourselves be aware that soon we would be able to tell each other all the details in person, because, regardless of the game bag, it had already been decided that the joke would be over by lunchtime. Through "Radio Macchia" it was a canaio who told us that it was time to return. Helped by my mail mates, I posed the two boars for the inevitable ritual photos and then, after having collected my things, I ran to the rialto (the meeting place where you eat and where the killed wild boars are sectioned). I couldn't wait to tease the good Giampiero. He wasn't the one who claimed that: "One stake was worth the other"
Marco Benecchi