Waiting for the Ibex

After a meteorologically conducive Spring, the neighboring fields of our mountains (the Tortosa-Beceite) have exploded like an oasis after the rain. Primarily as a land of good wine, our vines have begun its unstoppable growth and consequently have become a tasty treat for our Ibex. Every year my friends and acquaintances farmers have started to notice the increasingly frequent entries in their own fields of our dear Ibex and elevate their already periodic and annual complaints.

 

Checked them and completed the corresponding requests, the competent authority has granted a permit for slaughter under standby mode, of those who are causing the damages.

 

Here I am today without my hunting partner Miguel, surrounded by mosquitoes, flies and black flies to make matters worse, sitting with my binoculars and my "iron": A Santa Barbara 7mm RM with downwind (our beloved garbinada) and watch for any movement or sound that the mountain can offer. The afternoon passes without too much upheaval and it starts to get dark and I start thinking... Should I give up? Is it too late? Something tells me (the Goddess Diana or maybe St. Hubert) that I should wait a lil more.

 

Suddenly, to my right, in the upper corner, appears simultaneously a male and my heart palpitations make echo in my ears. He begins, uninhibited, to graze and I, while watching it, I scrutinize, I admire and ... JACKPOT!

 

My visor is increased to six, but the evening is already riding behind me, time just runs out. It's him or me, death or defeat. I'm surprised about my shot and the animal, receiving a lethal dose of lead wrapped in a metal jacket, expires.

 

I leave my position with almost no daylight to get to the stunning lifeless body. It has twelve springs.