As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.
Oh to be rich and not idle, that is the life for me. I would hunt from Slovakia to Hungary, to Poland to Serbia to the Caucasus to the .....well that is the ends of the earth, and my passion would be Moorhuns.
Oh to hunt Moorhun, spelled with a capital M.
I was devastated though in reading about Western Capercaillie, the Heather Cock, as one is limited to one cock and it costs 250 dollars for the license. I need seven of the beasts in one to eat at the lodge and 6 to take home and relish over the next several years, as I place them in roasters and make special feasts to honor the great Wood Grouse of Europe.
In order to have adventures and expeditions one has to plan them or else they are over and done with, and all you are left with is nothing laying about the room to remind you of how miserable you were in being wet and cold and hot and dry all at the same time, sort of like suffering malaria.
I really do not like the details of things like what soggy boots to wear or lederhosen, because my passion is for the sexy things like......guns.
I envision for my Great European Grouse Hunt, the epitome of firearms, in a German Drilling. Blackpowder of course, as I have to look up if such a three barrel device exists, I will state I want a 12 gauge, and something that fires a 54 caliber mini ball. Oh to relish 2 shot in two barrels and a 54 caliber mini ball, in case a wild boar appears, or a bear, or even a lordly moose, as I saw one package where you got moose and Capercaillie all in the same hunt.
Now that would be something to delight me, a 16 gauge double and .........perhaps a 12.7 x 44 R. How could anyone not appreciate a shot and cartridge gun like that.
Such a dream because nothing of the sort ever existed I suspect, but I did find this JP Sauer 16Ga 9.3x82R German Drilling SxS
See this is the kind of gun one takes hunting and is upset it is only a double barrel instead of 3 barrels. That is the kind of misery I would like to relive again and again, as it stood by the wall covered in dust, and me thinking, how much nicer it would have been to have had a 3 barrel drilling instead of a two barrel double. The grouse would have tasted better and the moose would have succumbed in much more gallant fashion.
Russia has a lot of moose. Little bitty ones and big mothers that eat you.
But me, I am a Big Grouse kind of woman. I mean who could not shoot the bull of the woods, but it would require real skill to shoot a big olde bird in the Black Forests of Europe.
Yes moose are nice, but you just can't go around chasing moose with dogs or your puppies get killed. It is much preferred that one goes grouse hunting, and no I am not going woodcock hunting, as I do not care to shoot things that just do not appeal to me.
I need a dog too. Of course I prefer a hunting Irish Setter, but then again I doubt I would find one, so it would have to be a German Drahthaar, the famous German Wire Haired Pointer. Such a splendid dog would hunt up flocks of grouse to darken the sky and one would think it was an eclipse. Nothing like a German dog behaving itself and not ruined by the AKC.
That is about it in what matters to me. The Grouse, the Gun and the Dog. All other things do not matter, as no one remembers a sleeping bag except with disgust even in good conditions and no one takes out their shoes and fondles them fondly remembering wet feet in waterproof boots. No all that is required is a fire, a hot brandy, the Dog, the Gun in the corner, the pictures of Great Grouse, and of course the Carhartt big pocket chore coat, which of course still is covered in moose blood, grouse blood, dog hair and mud, and the fond trinkets still falling out of the pockets of taiga, some kind of bug that survived an ocean crossing and looks like it sucks blood and of course the spent shells, which one can lift to one's nose and sniff the scents of smokeless powder like the cork from a fine wine, as you lament the odors are dissipating each night as you sniff the casings.
Oh to hunt the Tur of the Caucasus an animal so handsomely beautifully ugly.
Or even the Ibex which is so regal that only the Kudu of Africa and the extinct Irish Stag can compare in raw beauty.
Oh to hunt them all, but to always return to my Great Grouse as my puppy lays her head across my filthy trophy coat, putting more slobber and hair on it, as we both lament that Heaven is not the rise of the Moorhun forever and a day.