In the scorching summer, the snow on Whitney Peak had thinned to just a tiny cap, as if the mountaintop wore a mini white hat.
The small town of Sierrane at the foot of the mountain became the best viewing spot, with a perspective that felt like the optimal filter personally adjusted by God.
Whitney Farm got its name from Whitney Peak, because a part of the farm included the foothills of Whitney Peak’s remnant range, which also served as the farm’s forest area.
Click, click, click — the harsh sounds were incessant and unpleasant, but they truly made one’s adrenaline surge.
“Paul, we’re here for the hunt, not for a military party.
With that one burst of bullets, all the small animals within two kilometers would have to buy tickets and run away.
Who would dare to be prey here?” The other person, like a hardened criminal in a movie, made a crisp click, removed the magazine, and quickly took out a new one from his body to load it, a series of fluid movements.
“Hahahahaha,” he laughed wildly, then turned and began to furiously spray a thick spruce tree in the distance, as if the tree owed him eight million.
After emptying a magazine, Paul shouldered his gun, walked over, snatched the beer Ernst had just opened, and chugged it down.
“So refreshing!” “You politicians are just two-faced.
In front of voters, you’re all prim and proper, suited, smiling.
If it weren’t for being family, who would have thought you needed to release so much stress behind the scenes?
No wonder they always say there are many oddballs in Washington; it turns out they’re all hidden beneath the suits.” Paul Arlington was the eldest among Ernst’s generation in the Arlington Family, already 36 years old this year.
The Arlington Family was a very large family, so much so that John often said his father, who was Ernst’s great-grandfather, treated his wife like a sow that constantly gave birth, a perpetual motion machine of reproduction.
John had a total of eight siblings: two older brothers and two older sisters, and two younger brothers and one younger sister.
However, interestingly, the Arlington Family’s prolific gene seemed to end with John’s generation.
No matter how hard the eight siblings tried, none had more than two children.
By Sylvie’s generation, it was even more extreme, with all of them being only children.
Ernst even joked about this, “At this rate, our generation might cause the Arlington Family to die out, directly becoming an endangered family.” And indeed, this almost came true because Paul Arlington, who married at 21, had no offspring.
They had been checked at the hospital, and both husband and wife were normal, but they just couldn’t conceive.
Fortunately, five years ago, Ernst’s other cousin, Nathan, had the first next generation of the Arlington Family at the age of 30, finally allowing the entire Arlington Family to breathe a sigh of relief.
It was precisely because of this that when Ernst acted like a playboy in Hollywood, no one in the family jumped out to criticize him.
After all, for the sake of the next generation, everyone was much more tolerant of these minor flaws.
“No choice, once you embark on this path, you have to follow the rules of the game.
No matter how dirty it is behind the scenes, on the surface, you have to pretend to be a human saint, emphasizing the contrast.” Ernst pouted; he was only interested in hypocritical women.
The few chatted for a bit, then began to pack their gear and continue onward, preparing to venture deeper into the mountain forest.
Remington 11, Beretta 35 — these were the most commonly used shotguns in North America.
Since they were going on the hunt, they naturally chose the most powerful firearms.
As for AKs and Desert Eagles, these were just for fun, to satisfy the urge to shoot.
The biggest threats in the mountains were wild boars and cougars.
No matter which they encountered, these guns would be a death wish.
Wild boars had thick hides and flesh, making it difficult for AKs and pistols to inflict effective lethal damage.
Even if hit, it wouldn’t cause much fatal injury to the wild boar.
Basically, if you hit the opponent ten times without killing it, one charge from the opponent and you’d lose your life in the mountains.
Cougars, on the other hand, were too agile and good at ambushing.
When it hunted you, you would have little time to aim.
Shotguns were different; with their wide area of damage, they were an excellent choice for both wild boars and cougars.
The group walked for over half an hour before finally discovering their target.
“These are five piglets.
Their mother should be nearby.
We just need to hide and wait.” Not far away, several small wild boars were frolicking in an open space.
Ernst estimated they weighed at least seventy to eighty pounds.
Piglets weighing seventy to eighty pounds could only be seen in North America.
In North America, wild boars can breed twice a year, with a litter of about four to six piglets.
Crucially, they have no natural predators; lions and leopards, these wild boar killers, all work on the African savannas and pose no threat to North American wild boars.
Furthermore, Americans aren’t keen on pork, and wild boar meat is tough and gamey, so no one buys it, nor do they know how to cook it.
Even if someone wanted to eat it, no hunter would sell it.
Hunting wild boar for personal consumption was fine, but if they wanted to sell it, they would need a contagious disease quarantine permit from the inspection department, which was not only troublesome but also costly.
It was already hard to sell and could even result in a loss, so who would be willing to do such a thankless job?
Don’t think quarantine is a small matter.
Whether in America or Canada, the issue of infectious diseases in wild game is strictly monitored.
Every year, many people contract various infectious diseases from consuming wild game.
This has led to wild boars becoming a plague in North America.
The government even begs the public to hunt them, as just dealing with these wild boars costs tens of millions, even hundreds of millions of dollars annually.
“Here they come,” John whispered.
Ernst, who was leaning against a large tree, instantly concealed himself.
After not spotting the target for a while, he asked John in confusion, “Where?
Are you getting old and your eyes are playing tricks on you?” John didn’t indulge Ernst, nearly knocking him down with his bear-paw-like hand.
“Can’t you see the birds moving?” In the distance, the previously silent mountain forest suddenly startled a large number of birds.
Ernst understood: if the sow hadn’t returned, such a commotion wouldn’t have been possible.
Everyone held their breath and lay in wait.
Soon, a massive figure appeared in their sight, and Ernst unconsciously swallowed.
“This is too big, isn’t it?” Wild boars in North America vary in size depending on the region, with those in the south generally being larger than those in the north.
However, generally speaking, adult wild boars weigh between 150 kg and 260 kg.
But Ernst estimated this particular wild boar in front of them could exceed 300 kg.
“It is indeed very large.
Our luck is really good today.
This fellow is at least 350 kg, possibly even 400 kg.” John showed no fear; instead, his eyes gleamed with excitement.
Such a large wild boar, if hunted, would be enough for the old man to brag about for several years.
“Paul, Diego, you two go to the left.
Ernst and Kevin go to the right.
Rodrigo, circle around to block the escape route.
Wait for my signal.” There were six people in total on this trip into the mountains, with John being the only elder.
“John, why don’t I go with you?
Diego is enough for the left side; he’s an excellent hunter.” Diego Arlington, John’s younger brother’s grandson, was one year older than Ernst.
However, unlike Ernst, this fellow grew up on the family farm since childhood.
His family’s farm was also in Visalia, not as large as Whitney Farm, about half its size, but still a super-large farm.
Its location was to the east, while Whitney Farm was to the west, both among the top five largest farms in Visalia.
This was the Arlington Family’s influence in Visalia.
So, whether it was farm work or the hunt, Diego was an expert and the strongest among their generation.
“Don’t talk nonsense.
Don’t worry about me.
When I was hunting, you weren’t even a placenta yet.” The others exchanged glances and reluctantly complied.
After all, time waits for no one, and wild boars have keen noses.
If they dallied any longer, the prey might well slip away.