I was searching for a new adventure, something that could touch me deeply, break the routine, and reignite the pure thrill of hunting, this time with my two loyal pointers.
I had already explored many places, but I longed for something different, something that would surprise me and leave an indelible mark. One evening, while browsing online, I came across Ropotamo Reserve, in Bulgaria. The description spoke of a remote land where the forest meets the sea, and the possibility of hunting woodcock with the Black Sea stretching out on the horizon. There was something in that thought that struck me, as if a buried desire had suddenly awakened.
Ropotamo, with its ancient forests and vast wetlands, was the perfect destination. Here, woodcock find refuge during their migrations, among ancient trees and mist-covered meadows. Their abundance, combined with the wild beauty of the place, promised not just a hunt, but a journey into the soul of nature.
I carefully planned everything: a flight to Bulgaria, renting the guns locally, and sending my pointers through a safe and reliable transport service. It was the first time I had been separated from them for a trip, but I knew we would soon be reunited in a place where nature, with its slow and silent rhythms, would welcome us like old friends.
When I arrived at the reserve, I was left breathless. The forests of Ropotamo spread out majestically, between the green of the oaks and the blue of the Black Sea on the horizon. The wind blowing from the sea carried with it the salty scent, mixed with the fragrances of the earth. It felt as if that untamed nature was calling me, whispering promises of peace and adventure.
Reuniting with my pointers was a moment of pure joy. They were full of energy, ready for the adventure that awaited us. The hunting lodge where I would stay for those days was simple but comfortable, nestled in the silence of the forest, where only the rustling of leaves and the distant sound of the waves broke the stillness. That evening, looking out the window, I felt at peace. I knew that the next morning, at dawn, something magical would begin.
The first morning was bathed in golden light as I stepped out with my pointers. The damp ground and the fresh air promised a perfect hunt. The dogs, as if guided by an ancient instinct, moved confidently through the bushes and ferns, their noses hunting for scents invisible to the human eye. And then, suddenly, one of my pointers froze. That suspended moment, charged with tension, was what I had been waiting for. A woodcock took off, its wings fluttering loudly. My heart raced, but I chose to let it go, enjoying that perfect moment. It was just the beginning of a long hunting day.
In the following days, the reserve revealed its true magic. My pointers worked tirelessly, exploring every corner, while I savored every flutter of wings, every pause. The view of the Black Sea, with its shifting colors depending on the time of day, provided the backdrop to an already extraordinary landscape. The oak forests opened up at times onto clearings that revealed the vastness of the sea, and I often found myself stopping, simply to admire the wild beauty of the place, feeling that with every breath, I was becoming more and more connected to the land.
Each evening, after hours of hunting, I returned to the lodge with tired muscles and a full heart. I sat by the fire, watching the flames dance, reflecting on the sudden flutters, my pointers running through the trees, and the solemn silence of the forest. The nights were long and calm, and the thought of a new day at dawn filled my soul with gratitude.
When the fifth day arrived, and it was time to pack my things, a deep sense of melancholy enveloped me. Every gesture seemed slower, every item packed a small goodbye to that land that had welcomed me and changed me. I looked at my pointers, tired but satisfied, and I realized that the wild nature of this place had penetrated my soul, weaving itself into me like a sweet nostalgia. The forests, the sea, the wind… it all seemed to have left an indelible mark on my spirit.
It wasn’t just a hunt, it wasn’t just days spent in the woods. It was the discovery of a deep connection with nature, of a silence that spoke louder than any sound, of a call that, I knew, would stay with me for a long time. And as I prepared to leave, my mind already turning to the thought of returning, I understood that the true magic of Ropotamo was not only in its beauty, but in its ability to make you feel part of something eternal and untouched.
