Thrush Hunt - “An Exceptional Game Bag”. I took the hunting license at 16 in March 1963 and since I finished high school in 1965, my days are regulated on hunting also because in my country they are all hunters (of thrushes!).
So for days in the village there have been rumors of fabulous game bags made in Calabria by Peppino, son of the gunsmith Vito, Raffaele who works in the armory and a few others. My uncle Franco, the one who gave me the "sacred fire" since childhood and who together with other 4/5 friends makes up my hunting party is a very good friend of both Vito and Raffaele and tries to know where this mysterious one is. place.
It is a Saturday afternoon and I am at home when around 19 pm I get a call from Uncle Franco: “Come immediately to the armory!”. I am quite amazed by the phone call and in 5 minutes I am on the spot. They take me into the back room where I find Peppino, Raffaele and uncle Franco.
In great secret they tell me that the next day we will go hunting with them, that we will go to Calabria and that there are many thrushes. Finally they make heavy threats to me if I ever have to reveal to someone the place where we will go !! I am stunned and at the same time I panic: yes and no I will have about thirty cartridges. But uncle Franco, always generous, invites me to buy everything I need that he will then pay the bill.
Purchase of 1 kg of CORDITE powder, refined in Ceglie Messapica and sold in packs of 1 kilo wrapped in newspaper and tied with string; 500 capsules 6,45 three holes, 1,5 Kg. Of chemical wad (red and sticky!), 5 boxes of white cardboard and 15 Kg. Of Montevecchio tempered lead n.9.
With all this paraphernalia I go home when it is about 8 and I retire to my attic with a sandwich not before I have told my mother to answer my friends who will certainly call for expulsion the next day that I am in bed sick. So I get to work on my desk where I have placed all the equipment. In a huge drawer I have an infinity of used cardboard cases of all brands; the best are the Martignoni and the Summonte which can be recharged even 3/4 times; the worst the red flakes dog.
Then I pass to the selection of the shells and with the special device I remove the fired capsules and insert the new ones. With a 20 gauge case cut that contains about 2 gr. of powder I introduce it into the shells with a well-pressed cardboard. The dispenser cannot be used with Cordite which has the consistency of bran. So the wad in such quantity as to leave space for 30 gr. lead and for the edging that I will have to do by hand with an old machine.
When I finished this Sisyphean effort at about 3am, I barely have time to put on my hunting clothes. Uncle Franco arrives with his gray Lancia Fulvia 2C with Raffaele: it's 3,30! Why this early departure? Raffaele's response: “Someone could follow us. “Sic! There is another car (Fiat 1100 R) with Peppino and the two brothers Pierino and Pasquale. Departure. Go to Calabria a thrush hunting from February onwards it is a habit of the Fasanesì and usually a stop is made in Trebisacce to have a coffee. But we pass Trebisacce without stopping for the usual fear of being followed. Not having slept a wink, I try to sleep in the car, but I can't. Once in Sibari we take the road to Corigliano, when at a certain point we turn right. I have not seen the sign and so I ask Raffaele to finally reveal the name of this mysterious place. He tells me that we are headed to Spezzano Albanese and that there are many thrushes and indeed he urges me not to waste cartridges in the early morning because I could run out of them. How many times have I heard these speeches; I'm always skeptical.
Once in Spezzano, it is located on a hill, we go down from the north side and after a couple of kilometers we stop. The area is made up of hollows with small olive groves and scrubs; it's 5,30! Around 6 it begins to rain: the usual bad luck!
At 7 you can already see well, but the rain continues sustained. At 7,30 while it continues to rain I see a thrush crossing the road, then another, then another: rain or no rain I go out. I go out I all go out. Time to get shotguns and cartridges and it rains. I have placed my 500 cartridges in a cardboard box and I decide to put it on my shoulders. As soon as you set foot on the ground, the boot sinks down to the calf: the earth is soaked with water! After having traveled about 200 meters, having forded a small stream and climbed a hill, I am exhausted and I decide to stop even if Raffaele invites me to continue because, he says, further on is better. I am in a small clearing among the olive groves and I settle behind a bush after having arranged the cartridge case more or less dry and having loaded my Saint Etienne side-by-side. I'm ready!
From the olive grove in front of me they come out continuously thrushes, merli, Cesene, transfers: it's an Eden! I alternate splendid shots with sensational pans that are soon forgotten given the number of wild animals. The only problem is the recovery because it breaks through the ground and even a few meters is a pain. Unfortunately, even if ethically incorrect, the thrushes that stretch injured do not go to get them. At a certain point one falls a bit far away but, since I made a nice shot, I decide to go and get it. Between the outward and the return I do another 9!
At about 10,30 I hear Uncle Franco calling me because he has run out of cartridges. I go to him, who fires a Breda automatic, but I warn him that my cartridges are reloaded and are not well calibrated, so the shotgun could jam. He hears no reason, he takes my cartridges and starts shooting. After seven or eight shots the shotgun jams: a shell remained in the barrel. In an attempt to extract it, it loses the magazine spring, which has flown somewhere, so the rifle can only fire at 1 shot.
So he asks me to go to the car and get the spare shotgun, one brace Gitti nicknamed “the ember” because it has wobbly closures, while I leave the Saint Etienne to him. When I finally get back to my seat it is about 11,30 and the movement has subsided. Another half hour and we return to the machines. For my part I killed 75 thrushes (recovered) by firing over 300 cartridges. In 6 we caught over 500 thrushes.
We have breakfast with focaccia, empty and filled with onion, sandwiches, wine and beer. Around one o'clock, after a timid attempt by Pierino who would also like to stay in the afternoon, it is decided to return. Unfortunately, the last torture awaits me: Uncle Franco entrusts me with driving the car. While after a few kilometers he and Raffaele snore like trombones, I try to keep myself awake by smoking one cigarette after another (then I used to smoke unconsciously!) And nevertheless, I travel the last kilometers from Martina Franca to Fasano almost asleep. Arrived at home upside down on the kitchen table this huge number of thrushes amid the screams of horror of my mother who does not know where to put all that game. I am destroyed but happy to have been the actor of an unforgettable day that will remain forever indelible in the archive of memories.
Richard Turi
Fasano di Puglia, January 1967.
* Archive photos and not corresponding to the Author's Story.
(Passion Hunt Archive)