Tales Venatori: Sul Po ', for what is my experience, if you want to hunt aquatic you do not have to fear the cold, or rather, you must be able to bear it, because you leave early for hunting days and the wet is cut to slices and enters your bones, just like the enthusiasm for the day that is about to begin ..
My father had a fabulous box: there was a reed shed in which three of us could comfortably fit in, him, John and I, and even the small boat with which we reached him was perfectly hidden in that riot of reeds. The appointment was usually for 4 in the morning: I remember that up early has never weighed on me. Today if they asked me to get up at 4 in the morning to go to work I would send someone to that country, but hunting is hunting, and when she calls you, you answer. I only perceived such dedication in the eyes of my fishing friends! From the storage it took about 15 minutes to reach the post: it was freezing minutes and the cold did nothing but numb and slow us down: but my brother Giovanni and I were little more than children and the cold did not frighten us; the real hero was our father!
The temperature was always around 5-7 ° C and I still remember my mother chasing us with scarves and sweaters in her hand .. Once arrived, the first thing that had to be done was to hide the boat, not before having placed the yoke : consisted of about 90 molds including morette, pochards e wigeons. They weren't even missing Germans e ladles which could be seen perfectly from afar even when the water was stirring, which happened practically every day in the lagoon. Then Dad (he could only touch them) placed the live calls.
During the moments of peace you enjoyed the silence of the swamp, which is a different silence than what you might perceive elsewhere. From time to time the water knocked against the keel of the small boat, with every gust of the west the scents of the river reached you and you could almost imagine the sound of the distant surf.
I still remember the shed perfectly, also because from time to time we still happen to go hunting, and it seems to me to go back over the years. Dad had built it, or so he told us: a little less than five meters long, it was about three meters wide and the thing that fascinated me most was the fact that it was entered directly by boat. Hidden it was well hidden, and the reeds seemed to be positioned artfully; on lean days I tried to identify the other huts not far from ours, but the hunters in the area knew how to do it, and identifying them was not something for everyone. Naturally my father knew how to indicate the position with his eyes closed and to us, children, he seemed like a magician.
In long years of hunting we have never had to complain with our neighboring hunters: no one passed us by and among all there was a respect of the past, something that seems to have been lost in recent years.
The huts were about 700 meters away from each other and this allowed us to place the molds with confidence. Dad preferred to move them away from the shed several meters, creating a nice wide line that embraced the shed, forming two points. And in fact the molds positioned in this way were able to really attract large flocks of ducks, our main objectives: they were often brunettes and pochards, who were more easily fooled by this game.
When the ducks arrived it was as if they aimed the first mold until they reached the sides of the shed and then came back, getting closer and closer and positioning themselves on the sides, in perfect shooting position.
When this happened during dawn, the scenario was truly a dream broken by the first shots. Later, wigeons, mallards and teals showed up regularly and on some days you were lucky, on others a little less. What delighted you, however, was always the fabulous spectacle in which you immersed yourself for a whole day: hunting memories that will accompany me forever ...