Frio y tiros largos / Long shot in the cold

Frio y tiros largos 

Despues de llegar a España, para pasar unas vacaciones con la familia y cambiar los aires Africanos, tocaba organizar los planes cinegeticos para las vacaciones. Joaquin y yo estuvimos hablando, y entre todos los planes surgio la idea de llamar a Daniel, buen amigo y cliente desde hace muchos años que vive en Murcia. Despues de hablar un rato de familia y los estudios, Daniel me propuso el plan de acercarme con Joaquin a Murcia y intentar cazar un Arrui. Le dije que si casi al instante y quedamos en que llegariamos la tarde siguiente.

 

Nos pusimos rumbo a Murcia el dia siguiente. El viaje se hizo corto entre las conversaciones y la musica. Llegamos tarde a casa de Daniel, donde nos esperaba una cena caliente, una cerveza fria y una cama, vamos como en casa. Despues de la cena tratamos el plan del dia siguiente, iriamos a la finca de un amigo de Daniel que tenia Muflones y Arruis en cantidad para intentar cazar un Arrui representativo.

La mañana se desperto fria y con viento, algo muy diferente a lo que estamos acostumbrados en Sudafrica, conversamos de camino a la finca que consistia de pinares, vallecitos y alguna montañita. Entramos y pusimos rumbo a la solana. Dejamos el coche un par de kilometros despues y nos pusimos a andar, Daniel delante, seguido por Joaquin y yo. Hacia mucho frio, pero como dice mi padre "sarna con gusto no pica". Hicimos una asomada a un valle y no vimos nada, aunque mas adelante se veia mas sol y seguimos con la esperanza de ver algun bicho. La siguiente asomada fue mas fructifera y vimos un grupo de Arruis muy lejos tumbados al sol y mas cerca habia 2 mufloncetes de media vuelta con un par de ciervas. Seguimos cautelosamente para intentar acercarnos a los Arruis, aunque no podriamos acercarnos mucho debido a los muflones.  

 
Llegamos a una roca grande desde donde teniamos los muflones muy cerca y no nos podiamos acercar mas a los arruis sin asustarlos. Nos tumbamos y medimos la distancia, 350 metros. Un tiro muy muy largo, pero si habia un macho tirable habia que intentarlo. Me tumbe, puse el bipode Harris y me encare el rifle de Daniel, un 30-378 Weatherby. Con los 20 aumentos yo buscaba un macho tirable cuando me dijo Joaquin que el animal que estaba mas bajo era el mejor. Daniel estaba de acuerdo y me dijero que cuando se cruzara lo intentara. Miraba al macho, que al sol era precioso con su larga barba y casi sin darme cuenta se cruzo. Joaquin me dijo que tirase, y yo como buen mandado puse la cruz en la parte alta de la paletilla y suavemente aprete el gatillo. Parecio pasar una eternidad entre el tiro y la reaccion del animal, que acuso el tiro y apenas se movio un par de metros hasta que cayo. Yo miraba a joaquin incredulo, acababamos de cazar un animal que siempre habia soñado con un tiro que me gustaria decir que no fue suerte. 

 
Nos acercamos al animal con prisa, tanta que nos pasamos de largo y cuando lo encontramos me parecio mas precioso aun. No era oro ni plata, pero la barba era preciosa y los cuernos curvados y simetricos, era todo lo que podia esperar. Despues de sacar las fotos pelamos el animal, y di las gracias a Daniel ya que sin el no hubiera sido posible. Pusimos rumbo al coche para intentar buscar un muflon, pero esa historia es para otro momento. 

Long shot in the cold 


After arriving in Spain, in order to spend the holidays with family and change the African air, it was time to organise the hunting trips for the holiday. Joaquin and I spent a long time on the phone, and one of the ideas that arose was to call Daniel, a good friend and client for many years who lives in Murcia. We spoke for a while about family and studies. Daniel suggested that me and Joaquin come down to Murcia to hunt a Barbary sheep, an animal I had always wanted to hunt.


We drove to Murcia the very next day. The trip was made short due to the many conversations and music. We arrived at Daniels house, where there was a warm dinner, a cold beer, and a bed waiting for us, it felt like being at home. After dinner we spoke about the plans for the following day. We would be going to the farm of one of Daniel`s friends, that had many mouflons and barbary sheep, and the main objective was to find a good representative barbary sheep.


The following morning awoke cold and windy, something very different to what we are accustomed to in South Africa, we spoke the whole way to the farm. The farm had, pines, a few valleys and some mountains that weren't too high. We arrived and after driving about two kilometres, we left the car and proceeded on foot. Daniel in front followed by me and Joaquin. It was freezing cold. We came to a vantage point from where we could see a small valley but we saw nothing. Ahead however we could see a little hill which was bathed in sunlight and hopefully some animals would be there trying to catch the early morning rays. We walked on, hoping to see something. We came to another rise from where we could view the sunny hillside, from here we saw a group of about 20 barbary sheep high on the hill side a long way off, and half way between them and us were 2 mouflons, of about half a curl and a few female red deer. This meant we wouldn't be able to get as close to the barbary sheep as we wanted and that the shot if we got the chance, would be a very long one. 


We got to a rock, directly above the mouflons. We could move no further without alarming them and chasing the Barbary sheep off. We sat down and ranged the distance, 350 metres. A very very long shot, but if there was a shootable ram I would have to try and make the shot. I lay down, set up the Harris bipod, cushioned Daniels rifle, a 30-378 weatherby, and peered through the scope which I put on 20x. I scanned the group looking for a shootable ram when Joaquin told me that the biggest ram was the one at the bottom of the group. Daniel agreed and said that when he turned broadside and stopped I should shoot. I followed the ram through the scope, he looked beautiful in the sunlight, and suddenly he stopped broadside. Joaquin told me to shoot, I nestled the crosshairs high on the ram`s shoulder and squeezed the shot off. It seemed as if an eternity had passed between the shot and the animals reaction, he put his head down and slowly walked about five steps before collapsing. I looked at Joaquin perplexed, we had just hunted an animal I had always dreamt of hunting, with a shot I wish I could say was not lucky. 


We walked up to the animal hurriedly, so much so that we walked right past it, but when we found it he was even more stunning. He wasn`t a gold or silver medal, but his beard was long and his horns curved and symmetrical, he was everything I had wished for. After taking pictures we skinned the animal, and I thanked Daniel, without him it wouldn`t have been possible. We started the walk back to the car, and then we would try look for a mouflon, but that is a story for another time. 

ESPERA FALLIDA, RECECHO FRUCTIFERO. / FAILED NIGHT, SUCCESSFUL STALK

Espera fallida, rececho fructifero. 

 Eran las cinco de la mañana de mi ultimo dia de vacaciones y Robert y yo tomabamos un cafe en el campamento, la noche anterior habiamos estado de espera en un comedero para intentar abatir un bushpig que llevaba noches entrando. La suerte no estuvo de nuestra parte y lo unico que conseguimos fue airear a los bushpigs y ver un chacal. De vuelta habiamos decidido que intentariamos pistear el grupo de bushpigs que habiamos espantado la noche anterior. 

 Con mucho sueño y mas ilusion llegamos al comedero, encontramos las huellas y empezamos a seguirlas, era una piarita como de 5 o 6 de las cuales destacaba una huella grande. Las seguimos en silencio, muchos años llevamos cazando juntos Robert y yo que apenas hace falta hablar. Las horas pasaban y las huellas de hacian mas dificiles de seguir debido al terreno, los bushpigs parecia ir en direccion a la zona mas montañosa de la finca, que aqui llamamos "koppies". 

 Aqui ya era trabajo de chinos seguir las huellas y avanzar era trabajo arduo ya que el color apretaba y las huellas eran apenas visibles, andabamos en circulos ya que los bushpigs parecian buscar un encame. Subimos a lo alto de una koppie que forma un vallecito donde vimos que una huella se separaba del grupo, sin razon aparente. Cambiamos rumbo y seguimos esta nueva huella que ya parecia mucho mas fresca. Una paradita para tomar un trago de agua y seguimos a lo nuestro. Ya llevabamos 5 horas andando y apenas habiamos andando 5 kilometros. 

 Robert estaba atento a la huella y yo buscaba al bushpig debajo de algun arbusto, y asi seguimos hasta que encontramos bajo una acacia un encame fresco, pero vacio. No dimos ni 20 pasos hasta que debajo de otro arbol vimos un bulto naranja, miramos con los prismaticos y sin decir nada, Robert puso los palos y yo me encare, puse el puntito rojo detras de los que parecia la paletilla y aprete el gatillo sin dudar. Al tiro el bulto cayo desplomado, y Robert y yo nos acercamos rapidamente, la sorpresa fue mayuscula, de cuerpo pequeño pero colmillos preciosos. Se trataba de un macho viejisimo con amoladeras gastadas y navajas despuntadas. Despues de una sesion de fotos nos pusimos rumbo a casa, felices y con una nueva experiencia compartida con un buen amigo. 


















FAILED NIGHT, SUCCESSFUL STALK









It was five in the morning of the last day of my holidays and Robert and I were having a coffee at the lodge. The previous night we had waited by a feeding place to try and shoot a big bushpig that had been coming in for a few nights. However luck was not on our side, and the bushpigs smelled us and run away, and only a lonely jackal came in. On the way home we decided to go back the following morning and follow the tracks of the bushpigs that had ran off. 

 Feeling very tired but filled with hope we arrived at the feeding spot from the previous night. We found the tracks and started to follow them. It was a sounder of about 5 or 6 pigs, and one track stuck out. We followed them in silence, having hunted together many years, we barely need to talk to know what each of us are thinking. The hours ticked by and the tracks became harder to follow due to the terrain, they seemed to be going in the direction of the rockier part of the farm, with rocky outcrops which here are called "koppies" 

 It was now very hard to follow the tracks, and it was an arduous task due to the heat and the spoor being nearly invisible. We walked in circles and it seemed the bushpigs were looking for a place to bed down. We came to the top of a koppie which formed a little plateau and here we saw that a track separated from the rest for no apparent reason. We changed course, following this single track, which seemed fresher. We took a five minute break for a drink of water. I looked at the watch, we had already been walking for nearly five hours and we had barely covered 5 kilometres. 

 Robert focused on the spoor, and I looked for the bushpig under the bushes where it may be bedding down. We carried on until we found a place where the bushpig had bedded down, but he was gone. We covered maybe a further twenty steps, when under an acacia we saw an orange shape, we both looked through the binoculars, and without a word Robert set up the shooting sticks and I got ready. I put the red spot tight behind what I thought was the shoulder and pulled the trigger. At the shot the animal collapsed, and Robert and I rushed to the spot, when we got there we were left dumbstruck. The bushpig was very skinny, he was a very old male with worn down upper and blunt lower tusks. We set him up for pictures and after that carried it back to the car. On the way home we were both filled with joy at an amazing trophy and an amazing experience I got to share with a good friend.

MISMA HORA, MISMO SITIO, DISTINTO CORZO / SAME TIME, SAME PLACE,DIFFEREN ROE BUCK

MISMA HORA, MISMO SITIO, DISTINTO CORZO

Era la primera vez que subía a cazar corzos a este coto de león, estábamos en abril, la veda recién abierta, por lo que los corzos deberían estar tranquilos como así nos confirmo Jorge, este es el guarda con el que íbamos a cazar, joven si, pero con mucha experiencia, se conoce aquellos montes mejor de lo que yo voy a llegar a conocer nunca.

Como siempre iba con mi padre, teníamos un precinto de corzo cada uno, yo ya sabia que mi turno era segundo, así que deseaba que mi padre tuviera suerte rápido para poder entrar en acción.

Habíamos quedado con Jorge a las 6:30 de la mañana en la puerta del hotel, desde donde partiríamos hacia el coto.

De camino al coto yo no paraba de observar el paisaje, tan distinto de mi sierra cordobesa, rápidamente me di cuenta de que allí los animales tienen mucha defensa, y que no iba a ser tarea fácil. A las 7 de la mañana estábamos en el coto, dejamos el coche, preparamos todo y empezamos a subir un carril ya a pie.

Cuando nos acercábamos a lo alto del carril, Jorge nos dijo que nos preparáramos, que había un prado donde los corzos salían de vez en cuando, y así fue nada mas asomarnos, vimos un corzo que ya estaba saliendo del prado y adentrándose en el monte, mi padre se preparo todo lo rápido que pudo, y ya con el corzo casi apunto de desaparecer , tiro, el corzo pego un salto y se fue visiblemente tocado, Jorge y yo nos fuimos a intentar dar con el, encontramos sangre y empezamos a seguirla, y después de media hora de rastreo el corzo se levanto a unos 20 metros de nosotros sin darnos tiempo a tirarle, a las 2 horas decidimos dejarlo , Jorge iría otro día con los perros a intentar dar con el, por la sangre ambos pensamos que el tiro estaría en el jamón.

Ese día ya no volvimos a ver nada mas excepto un corzo sin descorrear muy lejos, y una corza, eso si el amigo Jorge nos metió un “tute” de  andar curioso.

Sin mas y muy cansados nos fuimos a la cama con esa sensación amarga que se te queda después de fallar un lance.

A la mañana siguiente repetimos la misma operación, misma hora y mismo sitio, volvimos a dejar el coche en el mismo lugar, y cual fue nuestra sorpresa que al asomarnos al prado había otro corzo, solo unos metros mas debajo de donde mi padre había tirado el suyo, rápidamente me tumbe para poder apoyarme sobre la mochila, el corzo no paraba y cada vez estaba mas lejos y mas tapado, por suerte se paro,, y dispare, el corzo no salió por ninguno de los sitios por donde debería de salir , fuimos hasta el sitio del tiro y el corzo apenas se había movido, estaba a unos 5 metros de donde lo había tirado

Era un corzo bonito, muy parejo y muy alto, hasta momento era uno de los mejores que tenia.

Como si de una repetición se tratara habíamos tirado en dos días en el mismo sitio y a la misma hora dos corzos distintos.

                      

                                          SAME TIME, SAME PLACE,DIFFEREN ROE BUCK
                                   

It was the first time that I would be hunting roe bucks in this area of Leon. It was april, and the hunting season had just opened, so the roe bucks should be very calm. Jorge, the guide with whom we would be hunting, may be young but he has a lot of experience. He knows those valleys and mountains better than I will ever know them. 

As always I was going with my father, we each had a roe buck tag and I already knew my turn would come after my dads, so I hoped my father got lucky as soon as possible so that I could start my hunt.

 We had agreed to meet Jorge at 6:30 am in front of the hotel, from here we would travel to the hunting area. On the way to the area, 

I couldn't stop observing the landscape, so very different from the landscape of Cordoba. I quickly realised that the animals had a lot of defences in this area, due to the terrain and this hunt would be quite hard.  

 At 7 am we were in the hunting area, we left the car and got everything ready and started the climb following the path on foot. When we were approaching the top of the path Jorge told us to be ready because there was a field where the roe bucks came out to feed often. As soon as we could see the field we also saw a roe buck which was already leaving the field on the way to the thick bush. My father got ready as fast as possible and with the roe buck already entering the bush, he shot, the roe buck jumped at the shot and was visibly hurt. Jorge and I went to the place where the roe buck had been to try and find it. As soon as we got there we found blood and we started to follow it. 30 minutes later the roe buck jumped up 20 metres from us where it had been bedded. We didn't have chance to shoot it another time. We decided to leave it 2 hours later, deciding that Jorge would come another day with the dog to try and find it. We both thought the shot was a bit far back, near the back leg. 

 The rest of the day went by and we only saw one more roe buck very far off and one female but Jorge made sure that we had walked our fair share, which was a lot. 

 Back at the hotel, in our state of tiredness, we went straight to bed with the sour feeling that always remains after missing an opportunity.

 The next morning, we followed the same plan as the previous day: same time, same place. We left the car where we had the previous day, and to our surprise when we approached the field from the previous day we saw that there was another roe buck, only a few metres away from where my dad had shot his. I lay down and rapidly rested the rifle on the back pack. The roe buck was walking and was getting further away by the second, luckily he eventually stopped, partly covered by a bush. I aimed and pulled the trigger. At the shot we lost sight of the animal but he hadn't exited from the bush he had been standing behind. We walked up to the spot where the roe buck had been standing and we saw that he had barely moved 5 metres from the spot where we had shot him. 

 It was a very nice roe buck, very symmetrical and very long. At that moment it was one of the biggest I had hunted. 

 As if it was a repetition, in 2 days we had shot two different roe bucks, in the same spot, at the same time.