I have read the chronicles of my colleagues on Barranquillos so well that you count the monterión of which we enjoy the present. So I try to tell you otherwise on a little more personal. This was the great dream for me since I had the opportunity to be one of this exceptional group of friends, not that there are clear options Barranquillos to kill the beef in your life, if not so many, many times he had heard of this farm. Actually ride this farm has a special flavor and have the privilege of being there is a big thing I do not know why or try to explain, but the feelings are different. This craving
start enjoying the day I put toward the Centenillo on Saturday afternoon directly from another hunt, and there I espareban Perico Germain. Talk to one of the houses we had to spend the night and exceptional dining, laughing, Marc and glasses, often say that the hunt is the before and after but on days like these is when you really appreciate that this is much more that three hours the position represented 40% of the pleasure it gives us the passion.
The next day, you realize that you're wrong, you're right, that's your site, greetings and hugs to friends and the draw, the 4 of Anvil ... located in the lower half of ravine, with a good dump, and the shade of the front Pizarral. The nerves are stressed, looking for bullets, you think you heard that story a day of the great vein that you do not know who snuck in getting the job, look at your box end, you see nothing, you think that turkey is set to rise as Navy, but not heard that story ... ... but it did not live. And look for the point where more dominasl, where you see this verea seems most taken, you move to the right to dominate the cliff, but you miss the Cocorote the hill ... well, right here. You begin to hear the first shots in the string, jod ... as are the animals high ... Ponchito! Poncho! a vein! the cliff ... and you saw that verea first hour venaete reraise a ten points, not ugly, you leave meet, you lose ... where is it? and within minutes a branch ... a horn leans to no more than ten meters from my feet, I put it ... is 12 ... and breathe disenchantment.
A venao another half hour, this one looks older! I put it, is very long ... chimmm pummm ... dead! venao shrinks the front legs and jumps a meter ... but no! run ... and run ... and empty pods are playing on pidras the post ... it was ... Similarly
which was the second and the first deer, and the second. It is not my day ... and it is not normal. The pig! the pig! Pummer Chimm ... Popi dumps a marranete to 200 meters cliff gets down a couple of tantrums follow, are now more ... is whole ... look at my orchestra teacher (Popi) ... Throw compare ! Hand bag and without thinking in ravine below me, I start looking for that wild olive ledge where I saw the dog last time ... there are ... a great mastic where not only are the dogs and the pig should be in ... I go deep as I can and the pig ravine coming down, stop it again and now it is mine! I get behind the dogs because I have been away for help as their bodies hold the mouth so you can get this over with so much effort is costing them, you take the knife from its sheath and to see to that ... who has caught the ear ... you look ... you look into my eyes ... "quiet man, this is done ..."
Slowly, disfrutanto the moment, breathe, you thank your colleagues the good work and little by little back. The rest of the morning more of the same, another pig Popi with another spectacular shot, many failures to females and Poncho venaete is that you can not cough. My personal
day of hunting as such a disaster, did not give to Spain ... but friends, and enjoyed in Barranquilla!! There are ways and ways to mount ... there monterías and lumber camps ...
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