< We saw them on Monday, they passed in herds!>. The mountaineer friend, houndist who waits for the hare at the vents above, enjoyed, unwillingly, the spectacle of the beginning of the autumn migration of the "grays", the wood pigeons. And, back home, he got on the phone to pass the news, knowing of the interest of the undersigned. It is the beginning of October. In fact, there had already been some signs of moving wings for a couple of days, because even some huts in the plains had launched the season with the first thrushes.
October is a “starter” month, the whole winged world moves around and the wood pigeons in small branches, flocks and tribes sail on the new fresh air heading south. Thousands, millions of wings, converge in the bottlenecks of the mountain passes in small scattered groups and in huge herds. The former are the most within reach of the hunter, because they have to exploit the profiles of the hills more by flying relatively lower. The latter are often just to watch, they do not need to meticulously seek the calm of the wind, the large number is their strength and they pull straight high, not allowing opportunities.
Old hunting, almost ancient, that ai wood pigeons at the mountain pass without leaflets. Hunt of few numbers and few "rich" opportunities, made up of a lot of observation and a lot of quiet. Of right quiet, of course, because loosening your attention can mean missing the good flight of the day. Today the "numbers" are made on the plains, already in September, on the stubble of cereals and sunflowers, with batteries of molds and rides. In the plain it is a hunt that has become very technical, very participatory, which attracts many enthusiasts thanks to the large ranks of wood pigeons that have become sedentary and nesting in many locations. An unexpected "new deal" of homegrown hunting until a few years ago, an Ireland or an England of our home that on certain days even put behind the equipped diver huts, complete with flyers, among the foliage of the oaks montane.
On the other hand, the “free-lance” waiting hunt at the pass is done without help of any kind. The codicils are few: only the wind can be allied, but the right one is needed, neither weak nor too strong, which opposes the migratory flow. Good bad weather behind the birds, bad weather in front of them completely bad. No molds or leaflets, just a rudimentary parade behind a bush, patience, immobility and eyes aimed at the center of the valley, towards the great river of air, the transit corridor along which sooner or later a branch or a single branch will appear. colombo isolated, which will come forward low at a cruising pace. When this happens, one or more of them will almost touch your face and take your breath away. A unique condition and sensation, not replicable elsewhere and at other times. Few prey, but of great charisma and real wildness.
Colors of the dawn, of the clouds, of the leaves of the trees. Colors of a wood pigeon on the juniper of this new season's parade. To return to the origins.
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