- Joined
- Jan 7, 2003
- Messages
- 1,131
The man feels the cold with his back but it starts to get warmer. Its morgning and the fog is leawing the swamp where he sits infront of his newly made campfire.
Hes been walking for some hours with his spitz (dog). The dog has been away for a while and the man knows this probobly means its in contakt with moose. He has to wait and see whats happens, and as hes hungry and sweaty he has found some tarwood, made some fussticks with his homemade knife with almost black blade from years of intense use.
He has found some water in a klear well near the place he sits. The place is choosen with great thouroghness to give sight in bouth ways if a moose appears.
The water now boils in an old coffeepot he has used for many years and he takes some coffeepowder from his birchbarkpot and puts in the boiling water. He takes his knife with the slightly upsvept point and holds it through the handle not to burn his hand when he lets the coffee boil up again. He then pours it into his cup made made by his father of curlybirch many years ago when he was still alive and they used to hunt togeter. The dark knife leys on the stumb beside him as he eats some bread and dryed meet with his eatingknife, a rather new, but wellused stockman. He is eating and drinking his coffee and thinking of old times. His old things carrys storys from another time and he is lost in good memories about previous hunts and friends when the dog barks in distance.
The man hurries to pour the last coffee over the fading fire and put his things in the backpack. He makes sure the old knife he made himself a long time ago sits in its black and somewhat weared sheat. He then takes his mauserrifle on the shoulder and starts walking towards the barking. The day is still young and it seams to get exiting.
Bosse
Hes been walking for some hours with his spitz (dog). The dog has been away for a while and the man knows this probobly means its in contakt with moose. He has to wait and see whats happens, and as hes hungry and sweaty he has found some tarwood, made some fussticks with his homemade knife with almost black blade from years of intense use.
He has found some water in a klear well near the place he sits. The place is choosen with great thouroghness to give sight in bouth ways if a moose appears.
The water now boils in an old coffeepot he has used for many years and he takes some coffeepowder from his birchbarkpot and puts in the boiling water. He takes his knife with the slightly upsvept point and holds it through the handle not to burn his hand when he lets the coffee boil up again. He then pours it into his cup made made by his father of curlybirch many years ago when he was still alive and they used to hunt togeter. The dark knife leys on the stumb beside him as he eats some bread and dryed meet with his eatingknife, a rather new, but wellused stockman. He is eating and drinking his coffee and thinking of old times. His old things carrys storys from another time and he is lost in good memories about previous hunts and friends when the dog barks in distance.
The man hurries to pour the last coffee over the fading fire and put his things in the backpack. He makes sure the old knife he made himself a long time ago sits in its black and somewhat weared sheat. He then takes his mauserrifle on the shoulder and starts walking towards the barking. The day is still young and it seams to get exiting.
Bosse