"Wake up! It's four o'clock! ". I open the heavy eyes of an atavistic sleep and I see umbrellas and sunbeds around me. No, I am not dreaming. In early September the sea is a real charm and after rising early this morning to go to roe deer hunting there was just fine a few hours of relaxation. The tiredness of the selection hunter alarm clocks is soon felt and as soon as you lie down a second Morpheus is immediately there lurking.
"If we want to go to the post above the ditch of the nettles we must hurry”Vincenzo urges me out of breath as he shakes the sand from his flip-flops. "To get there it takes a good hour of walking". Within ten minutes we pass from the “September tourists” version to that of “heated selection hunters”: the heat of this terrifying summer just doesn't give up, and makes even the smallest movement tiring.
The first stretch, lasting about half an hour, reaches another stakeout, generally full of lucky encounters. But that's not what we're headed for. We cross a stream now dry, flooded with ferns, brambles, marruche and all the existing weeds. We advance in the thick scrub with the light clothes that let the thorns penetrate. We go up a hillock, stepping on millions of dry twigs left over from the recent cut. "Damn, what a noise we make! Right now that we're almost there!”Vincenzo whispers annoyed. But the water hasn't passed this way for many weeks, and just looking at it makes everything “crack”.
"Stop! Stop!”Vincenzo intimates to me, himself motionless as a statue of salt. I never expected something was already out there, it's just 18.15pm, and it's hot!
"it's a boy? " I shyly ask Vincenzo, who in the meantime has slowly brought the binoculars to his eyes. "it is "that" male"- Vincenzo smiles at me in delight -" ...what do you call it? White Stuttgart!". FOLLOWS
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