The Best Photo I Ever Took

I am not a good photographer and I don’t even enjoy taking pictures that much, but once in a while accidents happen and a picture becomes memorable.

Back in the 2008/2009 hunting season my friend Bob decided to start a pheasant hunting preserve in his property near Battle Creek, MI. He really wanted to have his own place to train his dogs and wanted to keep the preserve low profile and attendance was by invitation only, and as far as I know I was the first and last, if not the only, guest.

A major difference at Bob’s preserve is that although he would release both rooster and hens, he wanted only roosters to be shot to better represent real wild pheasant hunting. The hens would provide more opportunities for the dogs to work and Bob hopped that they would breed with rooster that would occasionally scape become the seed for future wild pheasants.

Unhappily the experience did not prove successful.

By the last day of the season Bob had a couple roosters left and asked me to come by and help him work the dogs.

Since released birds are slower and shot much closer than wild pheasants, I decided to take a small bore shotgun that I would probably never use otherwise. The little Browning Model 42 Grade VI that I bought from Dave Grosser was perfect to the job. The full choke should put the entire half once payload of the .410 shell on the birds or miss them completely.

After Bob planted the two lost roosters and a couple hens, he released his German short-hair Daisy and we followed her. First she pointed a hen, and we flushed it and watched her fly over the tall grass towards the tree line. Good luck!

Next was a rooster, and both I and Bob shot at him.

The last bird of the day was the last rooster. Daisy pointed and Bob flushed it. He started climbing and I shouldered the little pump gun and hit it on the head, and he tumbled.

Daisy retrieved the last bird of the season and we walked back to Bob’s front yard. He offered me a whisky and we spent the remaining of the afternoon enjoying the spring sun and talking about life. The amber liquid inside the glass was almost the same color as the setting sun.

Orange Day

“Orange is the color of November in Michigan. Not the soft orange of aspen or maple, for the leaves have already fallen. I mean the harsh fluorescent of blaze orange that glows along the county roads and in the little towns up north on the fifteenth of the month.”

John Mitchell, “The Hunt” (1979)

My first “Opening Day” was in 2002, shortly after relocating to the United States. I knew almost nothing about deer hunting in Michigan then and set with my back to a tree on same state land between Portage and US-131. I was cold and uncomfortable and never saw a deer, that day or that season.

Since that day I’ve hunted every opening day, shared them with different friends, had good ones and survived some terrible days under gale force winds and other misery, bagged seven or eight deer, and always had venison as the center of our Christmas dinner.

The one constant in all these years is that I still wear the same blaze orange vest and carry the same Remington 870 shotgun. I now wear Under Armor and learned to be tolerant of the cold, if not comfortable in it.

Over these years, I learned to enjoy the time afield a lot more. I accomplish a lot at a tree stand or ground blind, even if I never see a deer. There is time to read, think and reflect upon life in general and how blessed we are for being able to continue to do what we like. I think a lot about my father and other friends that are no longer with us. I look forward to the magical moment when a whitetail will float into view, ghostly silent, and offer itself to my insatiable desire for venison and fresh liver. During the day I anticipate making the call home to let my wife know that I have succeed in providing her and the children with another meal; even knowing that she does not eat venison or other game in general.

Today is different. I am working in Italy, several thousand miles away from my tree stand or one of Greg’s ground blinds. I will not be driving west on M-43, passing the small cafes and diners with large orange signs that simply say “HUNTERS WELCOME”. Greg and I will not be meeting in the dark by Kay’s old red barn, exchanging liverwurst sandwiches, walking in together past the “Small South Woods” tunnel and then splitting up, one going to the “Small Center Field” the other to the “Big North Woods”. I will not hear the morning fusillade, a truly “Twenty-one Gun Salute” to the great whitetail deer, and we won’t be chatting over the radios at lunch time complaining that there are no deer left in Southern Michigan. And at dusk we won’t walk out together, discussing the highlights of the day or if successful, dragging a buck or doe that gets bigger and heavier for each foot of way.

The fact that this was the first year that I killed a buck with bow and arrow in October, does in no way diminishes the importance of opening day. But I still feel privileged, and I will be in the woods before dawn next Saturday, the 19^th.

Hooking Generations

My Father, a very young "Tuim" Meirelles 

Rio Paraná, 1960's

Me, your host, and Matrinxã (Brycon cephalus)

 Fazenda Buriti do Retiro, 2004

My Son, Daniel and his Pacu (Piaractus mesopotamicus)

Fazenda Buriti do Retiro, 2004

As a rule I only post on photo per blog, and for good reasons. I am not a good photographer, I almost never have a camera with me, and therefore, I tend to keep them for some special occasion. But this story could not be told without the pictures above.

If you take your time and have a close look at the three photos, you will notice one thing in common, and it is not necessary the fishing. My father, myself and my son are all using the same rod and reel.

The complete outfit is perhaps five feet long, and the old casting reel can do more bird nests than flock of doves. I don’t even know its brand.

But there is one very special thing about it. This rod belonged to my grandmother, Genoveva, who really enjoyed fishing, and by my estimations it has been in the family for over fifty years (the first photo predates the others by about four decades).

“Old Dona Veva” currently resides at Fazenda Buriti do Retiro (municipality of Morrinhos, Goiás, Brasil) and it is still in use, almost exclusively to pull some smart fish from the dark waters of my father’s private pond, at the very end of the orchard.

Sometimes I think about kidnapping “Old Dona Veva” and bring rod and reel to my home in Michigan, where it would have a boring life in a highly visible place in my office, between books and big game trophies. But no, that would not be right.

I just cannot “Old Dona Veva” from “Tuim’s Pond”. Let them keep each other company.

Besides, if I stole that rod, I would have another big fight with my brother Rogério.

A Sunday in Lombardia

TAV Cieli Aperti

Once again my friend, and your virtual Italian tour guide, Signor Pino Facchini, took me to an interesting and entertaining tour of the Italian shooting activities.

We started the weekend by meeting for lunch at T.A.V. Castiglione Torinese, located on the shores of Fiume (River) Po, and about 20 minutes from my apartment in Torino. Signor Maurizio Di Benedetto, club manager and president, graciously offered us lunch – risotto, salad, cheese and fruits, and of course a good bottle of wine.

Sharing a meal at one’s table is one of the most important social acts in the Italian culture and something all of us should make a practice of doing.

After lunch Pino and I shot a couple rounds of International Trap (Fossa Olimpica), when he shot perfect score. After that, as a visiting American, I was invited to shoot “Universal Trap”. This is mix of American and International Trap: a single launching wobble machine, but the shooters rotate stations after each shot and the firing line is 8 meters (8.8 yards) behind the trap house. I am happy to say that I did very well at it.

On Sunday morning, 25^th September, I met Pino at his home in Grugliasco and we started our journey to Lombardia (capital Milano). Lombardia is one the northern Italian provinces and stands between Piemonte (where Torino is located) and Veneto (capital Venice).

We made a stop in Brescia and visited Castellani S.n.c. (www.castellani.brescia,it), manufacturers of shooting apparel. According to Mr. Maurizio Castellani, owner and president, they dressed over 80% of all shotgun athletes at the Beijing Olympic Games. Signor Maurizio told me that the only reason that he drives a Porsche is to respond quickly to his customers.

Around lunch time we arrived at A.S. Trap Concaverde (www.trapconcaverde.it) in Lonato, very close to Lake Garda, which is one of the most beautiful locations in the world.

Our first commitment was lunch, which was being served in the full service restaurant that is part of the club’s facilities (which also include a gun shop, permanent booths for corporate sponsors and industry representatives, and electronic score boards, so anyone can keep track of the competition in real time.

There are twelve international trap fields at Concaverde and the range is surrounded by a dirt berm some 12 meters (40 feet) high, 120 meters (130 yards) from the firing line. The bearm is covered with a green mesh and has a couple different functions. Besides the safety aspects of shot containments, it also serves as a great sound and wind deflector or barrier, and provides good visual contrast for the orange clay pigeons. Additionally, the mesh helps reclaim the shot fired, so it provides both environmental as well as economical benefits. There are gutters at the bottom of the berms where the shot rolls down and is reclaimed.

With six shooters per squad, there were 72 on the firing line simultaneously, and it resembled a thunder storm. The shotgun reports were the thunders and the falling shot the rain.

This particular Sunday there were around 750 athletes competing. The competition was for 100 birds, and most shooters fire two 28 gram (one ounce) rounds per bird. That would mean about 9,400 pounds of lead shot that become an additional source of income to the club.

We stayed at Concaverde until the Piemonte squads finished shooting and at around 3:30 PM we started our back towards Torino, but Pino planned an important detour on the way.

We drove to Cologno al Serio (by Bergamo) to visit and shoot at T.A.V. Cieli Aperti (www.cieliaperti.com). Cieli Aperti means open skies, and along with Concaverde is one the most outstanding shotgun ranges that I ever had the opportunity to visit.

There are eight International Trap fields at Cieli Aperti, and some of them double as skeet and Five Stand (Compak) fields. The sound deflector and shot reclaiming berms surround the complex. The shooting stations are not only covered as in other clubs that I visited, but they are basically enclosed by safety glass, so the shooter can fire comfortably in any weather, there is reduced wind influence on the targets and the expectators can watch in complete safety. Needless to say that there is good sound insulation in the inside of the “stations”.

T.A.V. Cieli Aperti was designed and built by competitive and exhibition shooter Renato Lamera (www.renatolamera.it), and he and his family manage the complex.

It was late afternoon, but Pino and I were welcome by Adriano Lamera, Renato’s son, and we shot two rounds of International Trap. Shooting Pino’s son, Rocco, Beretta 682 I did my best score to date, braking 22 birds.

After shooting we continued back to Torino with an additional stop in Carisio. We had dinner at a truck stop, and that was like no other truck stop dinner that you may have ever had. Besides a liter of good local red wine, we had agnolloti pasta, tagliata con funghi (prime steak with mushrooms) and gelatto (ice cream).

I finally arrived at my apartment around midnight, tired but really happy for the privilege of learning and experience so much on a single day.

This morning I was talking with some other SMGC’s members and admiring the fall colors painting our tree line under the blue October sky, and I can tell you that I would not trade it by any high technology shot reclaiminig berm anywhere in the world.