Bøger af Guy de la Valdene

A sportsman and naturalist takes a look at conservation, structuring his reflections around a year in the life cycle of the bobwhite quail--from one generation's birth through mating and raising of their own young--and reconciling his passion for hunting with a deep sentiment for the wild.

An ode to one mans lifelong love affair with huntingValdnes wondrous field memoir is a rich sportsmans miscellany memorable and erudite fowling lore, camp etiquette, ballistics, poaching ethics, glorious anecdote, bloody ducks, persistent bawdiness, and better wine than you or I'll ever drinkall elegantly spun as an affectionate andsentimental educationof loss and renewal.Its a terrific book. Richard FordPart memoir, part history, The Fragrance of Grass stands as a testament to Guy de la Valdnes deep love of, and abiding respect for, the natural world and all that inhabit it. Set in places as far afield as France and Montana, Saskatchewan and Florida, this is a beautifully written book that is also an elegant treatise on everything from dogs, birds, and wildlife to food, wine, and women. The Fragrance of Grass will be treasured by all sportsmenand bythe readersof Tom McGuane andJim Harrison. The authors first book in nearly a decade, it is now being published to coincide with the paperback edition of his classic Red Stag.FROM THE INTRODUCTIONI am watching a thousand feathersgrey partridge feathersfloating high on the surface of the pond in front of the cabin I pretend to work in. I have plucked a million feathers from the bodies of all the grey partridge I have cooked in my life, beautiful golden-brown feathers that match the fall colors of the cypress tress that grow on the edge of my pond.It is November, and all at once winter includes me.On the porch of the cabin there is a wooden rocking chair, weathered and comfortable, that I sit in every day.On quiet afternoonsI think about the slowing growth of the loblolly pines I have been watching for twenty years, the everchanging face of the pond now active with fish, and the condition of the natural world outside of my custody.. . .I have hunted at least one hour a day for three months a year, ever since I was eight years old.That translates into more than 5,000 hours in the field, a lifetime walk that, under different circumstances, might have taken me from Paris to Istanbul and back.If to this hike I add the time I have spent shooting . . . I can safely assume that I have had my hands on the stock of a gun for one whole year of the sixty-plus that I have been around. I like to walk, and I know guns.