In the modern wild boar hunt, the one to understand large numbers, the jokes that are still able to leave their mark are not many. Today the hunts that remain etched in everyone's memory then become those during which the value of the contenders, hounds, shaggy and sapiens find the maximum exaltation. In short, those days at the end of which, regardless of the number of animals killed, everyone would like to say with immense pride: that day I was there too!
Text by Frederick Cenci
After so much water, finally the sun. Fortunately, once again this year with the Castellaccio team we have been able to enjoy at least a couple of hunts of those that are not forgotten. Jokes where hounds, shipyards and postmen have been able to work in perfect synergy, reducing to the pole even some of those really disreputable verracci that, as they say in the jargon, know how to "read and write"! This winter at least here in Tuscany the bad weather has really overtaken itself, putting even the most experienced belts to the test. So after about two months of almost uninterrupted rain, finally that Saturday morning the dry north wind pushed the clouds away and gave us a radiant sun.
After so many hunts tanned like divers, the colorful anti-water harnesses remained at home and all of us shipyards tackled the woods with renewed enthusiasm. They hunted on the Torrino hill, a vast area of "slow scrub" interspersed with some very thick bushes where wild boars love to recover when the east wind blows briskly from the eastern quadrants. And that cold morning in late December the wind was whipping right from the east. Together with my father we had made some patrols in the vast holm oak woods that cover the slopes of the Torrino and with great pleasure we had found that there was not a single square meter of land that had not been properly overturned. The weather conditions of the previous days had reduced to the ground huge quantities of succulent acorns ripe at the right point, a real delicacy for our bristly friends. After a brief consultation, we estimated that there might be five or six in the area boars, including a handsome male who, judging by the footprint, could reach the quintal. Piero, a very trustworthy person in charge of the pre-service bureaucratic operations, was quicker than ever, since the beautiful sunny day had filled the rialto as it hadn't been seen for some time. Considering that the last two times we had hunted in the area in question most of the wild had gotten away with piercing the beaters line, we decided to change the line of posts, advancing it a few hundred meters.
The first part of the armor was therefore placed following the bed of a ditch that descends steeply from the ridge of the knoll to reach a wide road, along which we placed the scaccioni. The excellent weather conditions facilitated the work of our auxiliaries and so, after a quick approach, at least three hounds began to bark at a standstill in one of the canonical sheds in that area of hunting. "The dogs are standing still in the thick of the Torrino, watch out for the post !!" One of the construction sites near the garage announced over the radio. A few minutes passed and most of our pack went up to the wild. The hounds intensified their action by locking the wild ones, which did not hold out for long. The continuous crescendo of the stopped bark culminated in a deafening rising: some wild boar had left the lestra. The excitement among the shipyards was immediate. "They left, here they are!" "Watch out for the post office, the animal is standing upright!" "Come on scaccioni, shouts, shouts!" The dog was truly spectacular, about twenty Maremma hounds, excited more than ever, were firmly pursuing a beautiful sow weighing about sixty kilos. An angry couple warned us that the dog had reached the very new armor. We all stood with our ears tense towards the dog in the hope of hearing it fade away until it went out in correspondence with the shots. So it was. Little by little the barks thinned out until they finally stopped, occasionally a few barks were heard "out of fear" of those made by the younger dogs who arrived last in the wilderness. The sow, a few hundred meters ahead of the canizza, reached the cave at a brisk trot, but a few meters before wading it paused for a moment to listen better to its pursuers.
Boars hooked ... but there was a nice line of fire
Her delay was fatal to her. Giancarlo, the lucky postman, aimed straight in the shoulder and let go of two shots that looked like one. The sow, hit by both bullets, swerved to the right, ruining her back to the ground down the bank of the ditch. Its descent ended close to a large gray boulder a few centimeters from the water. «She is dead, she is a beautiful female; call the dogs they're all here! " - Giancarlo declared on the radio a few minutes after the shooting. That new line of fire seemed to work perfectly. The scaccioni positioned just outside the ditch had worked great, directing the boars decisively towards the armor. While most of the hounds were still enjoying their prey, Tanacca, a young tawny Maremma hound, barked again at a stationary not far from the sheds from which the first female had left. Its loud, rhythmic barks could be heard distinctly from a great distance. Tanacca was barking in position, motionless about ten meters from the lestra, keeping his nose on the edge of the wind. The acrimonious use of the old solengo reached them decisively. From time to time the cadence of the bark thickened until it culminated in spectacular doubling of voices capable of stirring the minds of all who could hear it. «… Beware, Tanacca barks steadily; eye could be a verraccio! " - shouted Gabriele on the radio while with two dogs on a leash he tried to approach the squats. "Those who have recovered the dogs wait to untie, better try the set shot!" - retorted Rinaldo. In short, the scaccioni resumed their positions, and while a couple of willing canai took charge of the recovery of the last remaining hounds around the wild, the others began to approach the dog at a standstill. "Watch out, I'm going under him!" - shouted Rinaldo, the shipyard manager, over the radio, before disappearing among stipe and strawberry trees. While all our attention was directed towards Tanacca, we heard a deadly discharge in the lower part of the line of fire. The echo, of at least eight overlapping shots, ran along the entire valley of the Chioma stream. The amazement for that unexpected Santa Barbara attacked us spontaneously.
After a few moments of absolute silence, radio Macchia broadcast the usual question on tape: «… what have you asked? … Is he dead?… Post you answer! ». The answer came immediately and renewed in all of us the already growing enthusiasm. Fabio, the postman's manager, with the proverbial phlegm that distinguishes him, whispered over the radio: "... a nice train has arrived at the post office, at least ten wild boars have forgotten us in single file about thirty meters away, a couple of them should be dead , but I'm not sure; anyway they all stayed inside, not even one came out! ». The herd of wild animals led by an old sow had left on the sly, as often do the most cunning and nervous boars by repeated chases by the hounds. In short, as they say in the jargon, those were certainly hooked wild boars, those who prefer continuous movements rather than nesting in a dense shed. A standing hound on the sheds and five six boars standing in the hunting area are a really nice prospect! We immediately decided to pull a few hounds over to the area of the armor where the bristled train had derailed; but it was not necessary to take even one step. Like an explosion, after a few seconds we heard a roaring canizza rekindle in the woods; they were the hounds who, returning from the first dog, had intercepted the olfactory trail of the herd, quickly recovering afterwards. The exhortations of some shipyards remained in the rear were continuous: "Beware of scaccioni, shout, shoot, fire the wild boars are pointing at you ... come on, there are six ... come on, come on don't stop!". As it is easy to understand, those boars who had already tried to cross the armor line would hardly have tucked up that escape route; in any case the scaccioni began to do their duty by holding the wild on the beat.
Well done Tanacca!
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