Black Iron’s Glory

Chapter 71 Hunting Waterbirds

When Asahi dyed the sky red, Claude finished his second cultivation of the Six-Mountain Meditation and woke up.

Very well, all three of the partners lying in the cabin were sleeping perfectly, and Vericulo made a grunting noise, wondering if they were eating something good in their sleep. Bok Al is fine, drunk and noisy, so quiet has slept to this day. It seems that the blueberry fruit wine is more expensive than the Gandhi wine for a reason, at least not in the middle of the night when you're thirsty and looking for water.

Erickson shrunk into a bunch with a blanket in his arms and slept like a good baby. He took a break last night, and Verricolo said he didn't want to sleep yet, so he had to work in the middle of the night, let Claude rest first, and wake up in the middle of the night. Actually, it was about midnight, and Claude agreed to think about it.

But Claude was not asleep, but hurried to practice meditation, and by the time he woke up, it had been about an hour and a half. And Verricolo was still fishing, just two fine candles left for the skinned lantern, and he said he caught seven more fish.

Looking at their night fishing, it's not bad luck. Not counting the net catch, there are more than 60 lake fish caught at night alone, estimated to be worth seven to eight riazos. No wonder those fishermen say that night fishing is more profitable than day netting, and unfortunately it is not possible to catch so many fish every night.

Claude washed his face with cold lake water and pressed Verricolo to rest, taking the two fishing rods himself. Verricolo fell asleep pretty fast and snored shortly after wrapping a blanket.

Claude's fishing skills were not as good as Verricolo's, and he was run off several times by hooked fish, but even so, he caught four lake fish, one of which was a more valuable monetary fish. Though it is also a freshwater fish, the meaty, fresh fish with very few thorns, combined with its sharply shrunken gold coins, has always had the nickname of a wealthy fish, one of the few freshwater fish that the old pub is willing to buy at a high price. Claude caught this one, estimated to weigh about a pound and a half, and should be able to sell five or six sonars.

When Claude ran out of the two remaining fine candles, he couldn't do any more night fishing, looked at the glass hourglass, and found that the time scale was only 4: 20. This time should be the darkest moment before dawn, when the silver moon in the sky seemed blocked by the clouds, without waving down that silver glow. The lake was dark, only the large fish skin lantern on the mast of the small fishing boat and a little overshadowed candlelight, illuminating the lake around the small fishing boat with some dark red prints.

Claude felt safe on the lake and slept deeply with the three partners, so he simply started practicing meditation again. But after this exercise, he found the sky grey and the dawn had come.

Standing up, he stretched his lazy waist, rubbed his face, picked up the linen towel hanging on the boat's side, and twisted a wipe in the lake water. Claude picked up the iron pot, swayed it in the lake, sort of rinsed it clean, and then went to put a big barrel in the compartment of something. The barrel was filled with mountain spring water from yesterday, poured half a pot of water, and burned it on the stove.

To be honest, Claude insisted on bringing this big barrel of mountain spring water, which Erickson thought was more of a move because they were going to the Freshwater Area of Lake Beringa, and they were afraid of running out of water to drink? The lake is full of fresh water. But Claude said all the fishermen washing their faces and feet in that freshwater area were in the lake, and even poop was in the lake. So everyone agreed to send a big barrel of mountain spring water and spent a sonar...

Claude was about to cook half a pot of black tea, bought a large bottle of milk and honey yesterday, put it in later, honey milk black tea, had a cup in the morning not only to be comfortable but also to be full of spirit all day long.

It's just that Claude hasn't finished half a cup, which is mostly because it's too hot. Ericsson, who smelled sweet, woke up and rubbed his eyes and said: "What smells so good...”

Claude also poured him a large glass, they sat on the cabin board and sipped and drank, looking at the distant green mountains and the mountain foot lakeside that stretched to the distant reed bush...

Chaoxia is like a brilliant ribbon, dancing gently in the sky, dyeing a white cloud of colour into the bright, and slowly dyeing the whole sky red, the sky has brightened. Fresh morning winds over the microwave lake bring crisp bird chirping, a group of water birds flying in the far reed bushes, they hover in the air, some spread their wings high, some slowly fall into the reed bushes...

“It's going to be a beautiful day.” Erickson said.

Claude was trying to agree, but he suddenly asked, "What are we eating this morning? ”

“Uh...” Claude really didn't understand how Ericsson linked the weather to what he ate in the morning, and didn't respond for a moment and a half.

“Well... Ike, there's a lot of ingredients on board, but we don't have much to eat in the morning.” Claude sighed: “We forgot to bring the pan. I wanted to fry some steak eggs or something in the morning, but I couldn't find the pan anywhere in the cabin. We brought iron pots, barbecue grills, iron stoves, but forgot the pans..."

Eriksson was speechless, it was actually his responsibility. He put everything in the cabin, he forgot to bring the pan to the boat, just remembered to keep the chicken wings busy moving the barbecue grill up. It was a tragedy.

“When they get up and finish this pot of black tea, I'll cook another pot of goosebump soup.” Claude thought about saying that you can't have a BBQ in the morning, which is bad for your stomach, so you can only make some breakfast with this iron pot.

Bok Al finally got up and was in good spirits, greeting Claude and Eriksson out loud, then poured a big glass of honey milk black tea and sipped it up.

Erickson didn't give him a good look, “Humph” walked to the stern.

Bok Al was somewhat strange: “What's wrong with him? ”

Claude shook his head: "Boa, is this your favorite night fishing party? Drink yourself a bottle of blueberry fruit wine and get yourself drunk, then snore all night, nothing helps. The three of us were tired all night, so you think Ike would be happy to see you? ”

Bork Al was embarrassed: “Sorry, Claude, I didn't know I was going to get drunk, but the blueberry wine was so delicious, I didn't realize I drank so much..."

“You don't drink much...” Verricolo also got up, and he walked over to pick up the iron pot and drink black tea, which would be just the right temperature, not hot or cold, perfect for a large mouthful of pour.

“There's half a bottle of your blueberry fruit wine left. Neither Ike nor I drink it. There's two more bottles in the cabin that you can take with you. Such sweet fruit wine is what those women love to drink. I didn't expect you to like it, so it's all yours. That's it, half a bottle of fruit wine is drunk, I really don't understand why you're still arguing about drinking every day...” said Verricolo.

Bok Al was beaten in the face, he could only drink black tea with his head down and pretend he didn't hear anything.

Claude smiled and helped him play the field: "Come on, Vero, cut it out, pour the black tea in the cup, I have to cook breakfast in this iron pot, we forgot to bring the pan. ”

After a busy hour or so, he finally had enough to eat and drink, packed his things, and Erickson took a small fishing boat to the seine first. The catch in the net was quite good, with more than 20 lake fish, and now more than 100 lake fish in the living tank.

Once you put the net in the lake again, you'll be near the reed bushes hunting water birds and wild ducks. Claude pulled the two firewire guns out of the cabin and asked, "Which one of you comes first? ”

Villicro said, "Give it to Boa, I'll catch a fish first. ”

Erickson raised a half sail, and the breeze slowly brought the small fishing boat closer to the reed bush. Everyone stopped talking and lay down on the side of the boat, only showing their eyes in front to avoid drawing the attention of the water birds who were looking for food in the reed bush.

“Over there...” Villicro whispered, about a hundred meters away, a group of herbs looking for food in the bushes with their heads down.

Better yet, if in a past life, hunting a white eel would take three years in prison. Claude leaned against the bow of the ship, aiming on his knees, whispering a reminder to Bok Al: "I'll hit the left, you hit the right one, don't forget. ”

Hundreds of meters away, even though the leech is relatively large in shape in the water birds, Claude's eyes are not much smaller than a yellow bean, especially those reeds that swing with the wind, adding a lot of difficulty to the targeting.

Claude pulled the trigger and put the fire rope into the medicine box...

“Boom! Boom!” Two blasts exploded and a white cigarette exploded at the gun's mouth.

“Missed!” Villicro sighed beside him.

Instead of hitting anything, Bok Al and Claude broke the tranquillity in the reed bush with the sound of a fireline gun, and countless waterbirds spreading their wings into the sky.

“You didn't aim for anything!” Claude's airway, if Bok Al hadn't pulled the trigger first, would have been more focused before he would have fired, rather than pulling the trigger in such a hurry.

“I, I have clearly targeted...” Bok Al distinguishes himself.

“Never mind, next time I'll shoot first.” Claude doesn't want to argue with him, he hasn't practiced a few times a hundred meters away, and it's perfectly normal to miss a shot: “Ike, move forward, I think those waterbirds are parked in the reed bush over there. ”

Claude fired seven shots, only one wild duck and one white eel. Bok Al fired ten shots, didn't hit anything, and finally threw the gun angrily and grabbed Verricolo's fishing rod to go fishing. Because while they were hunting, Velikoro caught more than a dozen lake fish.

Erickson made a western turn in the Middle East of the reed bush in a small fishing boat, and finally got the two prey Claude caught onto the boat, thanks to the boat more than four meters long. If it weren't for the boat, the hunted almond wouldn't have been able to pull it out of the reed and the water bush.

Verricolo removed the sight from the barrel, and now he and Claude are hunting, which is much more efficient. It is true that in the reed bush is the paradise of these waterbirds, where countless waterbirds were shocked by gunfire, but soon fell down again, so Claude and Verricolo did not lack a hunting target, although some of the targets were still a little small.

In the middle of the day, they hunted down seven waterbirds, and of course they missed more. Eriksson came and fired five or six shots, and he, like Bok Al, missed nothing.

Bork Al also stopped fishing, and he laughed at Ericsson for not hitting him, and they argued again.

At this point Claude and Villicro supported the small fishing boat and picked up the last of the hunted water birds, which were all running out and the two decided to rest for a while.

Listen to Ericsson and Boquer keep arguing. "Otherwise you'll know who's blind by comparison...”

It's better than that, but there's no goal now. After half a day of looking around Bok Al, his eyes finally lit up, pointing to the bow direction and saying, "Over there, there's a piece of wood in the water, so let's hit that wood. ”

This wood should be a trunk of long trees, half-floating in the water, barely exposed to the surface of the water, about 200 metres from small fishing boats.

“Okay, hit that wood.” Ericsson promised, “Whoever can't hit him is blind. ”

Verricolo put the sight back in and calibrated it, and Claude handed his own fire rope gun to Ericsson, and they fired more than a dozen shots at the wood. The problem was that it was too far away, and the wood or the tree was doing it for a long time, and it was not clear if anyone had been hit, so they started arguing again.

Birk Al looked up for half a day and wondered, “Huh? Why is that wood getting closer to us? It won't be windy. ”

Verricolo looked back, a little silly, but soon he jumped: “Come on, it's not wood, it's a Niros crocodile! ”