The bush is listless and perfectly silent. It is deafening, but for the ring in my ears. I inhale the crisp moist coniferous autumnal air deeply into my lungs. I love the boreal forest. It has a magical healing quality. The Northern hemisphere is part of my dna. I am decompressing at a fast rate.
Last weekend Goldenbollocks and I caught Muse in Oslo. They blew me away, again. They arrived in typical grand style, as if they had just landed from another planet. They are from another musical planet. The dedicated army of tweenies in the mosh pit was peaking. They rock.
When Hunterboy picked me up on Friday afternoon, there was no one in the world I was happier to see. I am on the phone for the whole 5 hour trip to Sweden, ranting. I apologise. I take one final call, I am silent and say nothing on the call. I hang up. He turns to me and asks me how my wife is doing, smiling.
There are not many birds this year. A cold spring and a low stock of alternative species for predators has hit the bird population hard. The morning sesh is done and we make camp and the fire. We eat, drink and fire up a couple of Habanos. We are lying on our backs with the dog snuggled between us looking up at sky blue. The sun is blazing. We laugh like school boys falling dizzily into the arms of a boreal nap.
I met Renny and the Bitches last week for a beer in Oslo to discuss the blogfest next August. Renny and I are impressed the Bitches rock up, a couple are from a different city. Cool. Renny is a beautiful human being. The bitches are absolutely lovely, and quite tasty. The animated discussion is infectious. Everyone will contribute to making the blogfest a great success. I make a note to name my new band Renny and the Bitches.
Hunter's dinner consists of pork filet in juice, fresh veg and 2 bottles of excellent claret followed by whisky for desert. The dead soldier count of the day’s pils consumption is high. The half bottle of aquavit was medicinal. I am horizontal at 7:00. I am fucking exhausted. I am sawing major timber by 7:01. I am woken 12 hours later by the sound of the dog slurping his balls. By gods that’s a great design feature.
I have taken so many flights in the past two weeks I am thinking my next property purchase will be an airport. The purchase of a tour plane, of course, must follow.
We saw 12 birds and got 4 shots away between us. There is nothing in the bag. It is the worst season on record. We are ready to depart the boreal forest. We have a long drive ahead of us. I promise not to use my phone. Anyway, my phone battery is dead. Thankfully my mojo battery has started to recharge, but I think it will take a couple of months to get it fully charged again.
Beaverboosh
Showing posts with label Birds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Birds. Show all posts
Friday, November 6, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Crocodile Lars
I love birds. I love hunting birds. I have since I were a lad.
Once I had Mrs. BB in my sight, it took a good 6 months of patient tracking and stalking before I nailed my target. She was very sporty.
When she (surprisingly) agreed to marry me, I limited my bird hunting to the boreal forest. 1 in the bag is better than 2 in the bush.
In Norway, hunting requires a government proficiency exam. This is a good measure as a course that teaches safety must be taken. It trains newbies to not accidently blow each other’s heads off.
Having hunted, been on shoots, and capably handled my weapon for many years I assumed I would not require this proficiency exam. I was wrong. They don’t call this country NOWAY for no reason.
As the course and exam are in Norwegian I have avoided it to date. I speak social Norwegian, but this level of Norwegian language is a big challenge for me.
Never one to let rules get in the way, in past years I chose to hunt using my UK license, albeit illegally. I would claim ignorance in the event of an altercation. Members of my family-in-law are very law abiding, as are most Norwegians. My criminal activity was clearly no longer acceptable.
I started the course this week. Our instructor is Crocodile Lars. He has an impressive track record as a hunter and fisherman. He has spent months alone in the Canadian outback surviving on his bounty. He is really cool. He looks like Woody Allen and has many of Woody’s mannerisms. A bit surreal really.
Crocodile Lars is Swedish and speaks Svorsk, as sort of Swedish Norwegian. I can barely understand a word he says but with his acting out of great hunting vignettes using arm and hand gesticulations I think I get the message.
His English is excellent and he loves sharing his stories with me, particularly his Canadian ones. He is good value!
Thankfully, he has informed me he will be able to sit the final exam by my side, in a room separate room, and translate to English where required. Of course, being linguistically incompetent, I will get more time to complete the exam.
I am both relieved and grateful. This is where NOWAY makes up for its initial high barriers. It often caves into practical compromise.
I am exhilarated at the thought of bird hunting this year and the subsequent repast. I always eat the birds I catch.
Beaverboosh
Once I had Mrs. BB in my sight, it took a good 6 months of patient tracking and stalking before I nailed my target. She was very sporty.
When she (surprisingly) agreed to marry me, I limited my bird hunting to the boreal forest. 1 in the bag is better than 2 in the bush.
In Norway, hunting requires a government proficiency exam. This is a good measure as a course that teaches safety must be taken. It trains newbies to not accidently blow each other’s heads off.
Having hunted, been on shoots, and capably handled my weapon for many years I assumed I would not require this proficiency exam. I was wrong. They don’t call this country NOWAY for no reason.
As the course and exam are in Norwegian I have avoided it to date. I speak social Norwegian, but this level of Norwegian language is a big challenge for me.
Never one to let rules get in the way, in past years I chose to hunt using my UK license, albeit illegally. I would claim ignorance in the event of an altercation. Members of my family-in-law are very law abiding, as are most Norwegians. My criminal activity was clearly no longer acceptable.
I started the course this week. Our instructor is Crocodile Lars. He has an impressive track record as a hunter and fisherman. He has spent months alone in the Canadian outback surviving on his bounty. He is really cool. He looks like Woody Allen and has many of Woody’s mannerisms. A bit surreal really.
Crocodile Lars is Swedish and speaks Svorsk, as sort of Swedish Norwegian. I can barely understand a word he says but with his acting out of great hunting vignettes using arm and hand gesticulations I think I get the message.
His English is excellent and he loves sharing his stories with me, particularly his Canadian ones. He is good value!
Thankfully, he has informed me he will be able to sit the final exam by my side, in a room separate room, and translate to English where required. Of course, being linguistically incompetent, I will get more time to complete the exam.
I am both relieved and grateful. This is where NOWAY makes up for its initial high barriers. It often caves into practical compromise.
I am exhilarated at the thought of bird hunting this year and the subsequent repast. I always eat the birds I catch.
Beaverboosh
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