So I slept very early on Friday night, the box of bullets buried in Barranquillos I have eaten a little moral, so at 12 I was in bed a few kilometers from the spot montearíamos the next day.
knew we had a good chance of getting wet, but it was not just the water that wanted to be a hero of our day, but the fog also wanted to hear these spectacular mountain gorges, one of those shady oak and tight.
At 11 am we were all in our places, hunters, fog and water.
Before loading the rifle, turn on radio and are in contact from all loose and different positions of the spot to exchange views on a market visibility we had.
already at 12 am the rain began to gain ground fog and decided to drop, because we believe that visibility was adequate.
Even before the release we heard the first shots, and was when the doors of trailers and vans were opened when we could really appreciate what we all suspected, that was very good. The density of cattle and the pigs raised by dogs and seen by hunters who could not throw did confirm our hopes, the work of the nursery and the group had given their fruits and the spot was loaded.
These days are part of the hunt and are doing to retain its purity, at the top of the stone I was huntsman, no viewfinder, with cold hands in his pants trying to rub Queno lose mobility, feeling the drops down my face ... I'll be masochistic ... but I felt more hounds, I felt that the currencies of our time, new technologies, modern amenities were useless to the infinite power of the mountains, it is who rules and protects his players, players who on Saturday took to the mother saw an ally to try to win the game to the hunters with modern rifles, comfortable cars and tremendous viewers, hunters on Saturday to cost them a little more to do their job.
Gentlemen, this is the hunt and this is what makes me ...
Soon we will tell you my day is not wasted ...
PS: I stole some photo Compisa
P.D2: 47 vein and 15 pigs
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