- Home
- 80 Days
- Pole to Pole
- Full Circle
- Hemingway
- Sahara
- Himalaya
- New Europe
- 80 Days Revisited
- Brazil
- Photo Gallery
- Keyword Search
- Photo Search
- Geography
- Accommodation
- Activity
- History
- Nature
- Person
- Transport
- Advanced Search
- The Chatter Box
- Chat Room
- Competition
- Polls
- Register
- Bookshop
- Bibliography
- Links
- Instructions
Hemingway Adventure
Cáorle (second day)
With the Barone on our own private tombolo - an island built for the express purpose of shooting ducks. After settling into our barrels we keep out of sight until a duck flies over. Hemingway took a book and a hip-flask with him. Now I know why. Several hours later Alberto takes aim and bags our only bird of the morning.
'Motor-boats only came in the late sixties, you know.' A smile flickers at the corner of his mouth. 'Of course we all thought it was the end of the world. Like we did when the electricity pylons came in the fifties.'After about half an hour the narrow channel broadens into a lake, in the middle of which is a tiny artificial island with two plastic barrels sunk into it. Each one is around four and a half feet deep and allows room for the swivel-seat shooting stools.
Alberto and I are put ashore and lower ourselves into our respective barrels. Our boatman throws the decoys into the water beside us then reaches into a cage and produces a number of real ducks which he drops unceremoniously overboard. These are the vivi, live ducks, tethered in the water, whose plaintive quacks will hopefully attract their over-flying colleagues within range of Alberto1s Beretta.
Alberto is no mean gun - only last week he bagged forty or more. But today things are slow, and he produces his duck-whistle to augment the cries of the vivi. Though it looks deceptively simple the whistle can, in the hands of an expert, produce all sorts of diVerent sounds for the different breeds.
All we need now are the ducks. Everything else flies over - geese, swans, cormorant, but the ducks are giving us a wide berth. The one promising flock swings round and heads up from the south towards us.
'Get down!' cries Alberto. But the flock veers away at the last minute. 'Probably mallard,' comes Alberto's disappointed voice from the barrel next to me.
Apparently mallard, being a native of these parts, are canny and used to hunters, whereas other ducks, from the sticks of Eastern Europe, passing over on their annual migration to the lakes of Central Africa, are less likely to suspect the presence of men pretending to be small islands.
As time passes, Alberto tends to embellish the qualities of his adversary - 'Ducks are very intelligent, they see and hear well'- at the expense of his own species: 'Who is that by the camera wearing a red jacket? ... Who is that idiot standing up?' But most wounding of all is that the chicken millionaire in a nearby barrel has bagged four already.
'His ducks are calling well,' admits Alberto.
Certainly our vivi, having got over their initial indignation at being thrown in the water, seem to be quite happy, dipping for fish and not attracting anyone.
Choose another day from Hemingway Adventure
PALIN'S GUIDES
- Series: Hemingway Adventure
- Chapter: Cáorle (second day)
- Country/sea: Italy
- Place: Cáorle
- Book page no: 67
Bookmarks will keep your place in one or more series. But you'll need to register and/or log in.
){kind=link}