HUN Chapter 127: Three Tents on the Tundra

At dusk, when the sun began to tilt toward the northwestern horizon, stretching the shadows in the valley longer and longer, they finally reached their predetermined campsite, a relatively flat, sheltered spot below "Wind Shear Pass."

"This is it." Old George set down his heavy backpack, supporting his body with his trekking pole, breathing heavily.

"That's enough for today. Go any further, and we'll be close to our target area."

Lin Yu'an looked in the direction he pointed, seeing the mountain slope ahead becoming increasingly steep.

Massive rocks and twisted glacial traces intersected, indeed unsuitable for continuing with insufficient light.

"I'll set up the tents, you two rest first."

Lin Yu'an proactively took on the task. He was only breathing slightly heavily, forming a sharp contrast with the two old men who were too tired to move.

"Good kid, excellent stamina." Stan sat down heavily on the ground, pulling out his water bottle from his backpack's side pocket and taking several big gulps.

Just as he finished helping Stan and George set up their tents and was preparing to boil water and cook, Lin Yu'an's sixth sense had a clear perception, that was sensing small game!

Immediately he shouldered his Mossberg 590A1 and said to them, "I'll look around and see if I can add some flavor to our dinner."

Hearing this, Old George looked up at the sky and reminded, "Don't go far, it gets dark quickly, and don't make too much noise. We're already very close to the sheep's potential habitat."

"Don't worry, I promise to be quieter than a kitten."

Lin Yu'an made an OK gesture, then turned and walked toward the huge pile of rocks on the east side of the camp.

He didn't go very far, just moving slowly under the cover of the boulders, relying on his sixth sense perception.

Remembering Old George's instructions not to make too much noise, he couldn't use shotgun shells because they were too loud.

He pulled out a strange device made of metal that looked like a metal shotgun shell from a waterproof pocket close to his body.

This was a 12-gauge to .22 rifled adapter tube. He skillfully pressed a small .22 long rifle cartridge into the rear of the adapter.

Then with a click, he loaded this special cartridge into the chamber of the Mossberg 590A1.

He worked the pump, closing the action. At this moment, this mighty tactical shotgun had quietly transformed into a gun that could only fire single shots but was extremely quiet and could shoot .22 bullets.

He crawled behind a boulder, his body pressed tightly against the cold rock.

He patiently scanned the complex terrain ahead, composed of tundra, scree, and low shrubs.

Soon, he discovered some tiny traces, scattered willow leaf fragments on the ground and small comma-shaped bird droppings. These were signals left by ptarmigan after feeding!

He didn't rush forward but maintained absolute stillness, letting his silhouette completely merge with the evening shadows.

After about ten minutes, his patience was rewarded!

Not far away, a rock that was almost exactly the same color as the surrounding environment moved slightly, then extended a small head with a red comb.

It was a rock ptarmigan. Its feathers in August were mottled gray-brown, perfectly blending with the colors of lichen and rocks, a true master of camouflage.

If not for that little bit of bright red and occasional movement, it would be extremely difficult to spot with the naked eye.

Then the second, the third... a small group of ptarmigan emerged from their hiding places, began clucking and pecking at tender plant shoots on the ground.

Lin Yu'an slowly raised his gun, through the red dot sight on the gun, steadily placing that tiny red dot on the fattest ptarmigan.

He didn't choose the closest one, but selected one slightly farther away but in a more advantageous position.

Because the wind was strong at the moment, he had to assess wind direction, after all .22 bullets were easily affected by wind.

Lin Yu'an's index finger lightly rested on the trigger, adjusting his breathing.

When a long exhalation reached its end and his heartbeat reached its steadiest moment, "puff."

An extremely slight sound, like a dry branch breaking, broke the mountain valley's tranquility.

The targeted ptarmigan's head instantly exploded in a small cloud of feathers. Its body didn't even have time to struggle before it softly collapsed!

The other ptarmigan were startled by this sudden turn of events, then fluttered their wings, making panicked calls, scattering into rock crevices and disappearing instantly.

Lin Yu'an didn't fire a second shot.

He calmly ejected the adapter tube that still smelled of gunpowder, put it back in his pocket, then stood up and walked forward to pick up tonight's trophy.

This rock ptarmigan felt heavy in his hands, with thick feathers. Obviously it had stored enough fat during summer, sufficient for the three of them to have a satisfying meal.

When Lin Yu'an returned to camp, night had fallen. Below "Wind Shear Pass," three small orange high-altitude tents stood stubbornly against the wind.

The bitter mountain wind, like invisible knives, howled down from the ridge, scraping across the nylon surfaces of the tents, making "whooshing" sounds.

The temperature had dropped near freezing, and every breath of inhaled air was cold.

Stan had built a semicircular windbreak wall using some relatively flat large stones in the wind-sheltered triangle formed by their three tents.

This temporary stone wall wasn't tall, but it was enough to block most of the strong wind from the main direction.

The compact portable gas stove was placed in the center of this "shelter," and with protection from the stone wall and their bodies, the blue flame stubbornly stabilized.

In the small shelter formed by the tents, a cluster of bright flames danced on the portable gas stove, bringing the only light and warmth to this cold world.

Seeing the game in Lin Yu'an's hands, Stan's eyes immediately lit up.

"Well done, kid!"

He rubbed his red, frozen hands and came over, "I thought we'd have to gnaw on that damn beef jerky again tonight. Quick, let me see."

Lin Yu'an smiled and handed over the trophy. This was a perfect kill, with only a small bullet hole in the head, the rest of the body intact, the feathers even retaining their luster.

Old George, who was organizing his sleeping bag inside the tent, also poked his head out. He looked at the wound on the ptarmigan's head, then at the shotgun behind Lin Yu'an, his eyes full of confusion.

"How did you do it? Using this 12-gauge big guy and still keep the meat so intact?"

Lin Yu'an didn't explain much, just pulled out the still somewhat warm brass adapter tube from his pocket and handed it to Old George.

After receiving it, Old George instantly understood the secret. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes, which then turned to genuine approval.

"Ha! Using a bear-hunting cannon to shoot mosquitoes, and only hitting the mosquito's wings. Kid, you always surprise me."

"Alright, enough praising, we should think about how to eat it." Stan said impatiently.

"Let's make a stew. In this weather, nothing's better than a pot of hot soup with meat."

The two old men had no objections, they also thought the young man made sense.

Lin Yu'an began his operation, skillfully skinning the ptarmigan, then cleaning out the internal organs.

He didn't choose the time-consuming task of deboning, but used his sturdy hunting knife to chop the entire bird, bones and all, into fist-sized pieces, setting them aside.

He placed a medium-depth small pot on the stove head, first throwing in bacon to render the fat, which was also the practice of many Alaskan hunters.

"Sizzle, "

When enough fat had rendered, Lin Yu'an removed the bacon and immediately threw the ptarmigan pieces into the pot, quickly stir-frying.

The meat pieces contacted the hot bottom of the pot, their surfaces instantly contracting, color changing from pink to seared white, and a pure meat aroma began spreading in the cold air.

"Oh my God, just smelling this makes me feel warmer!" Stan leaned over, taking a deep breath, his face full of intoxication.

After the meat pieces were all seared to a light golden color, Lin Yu'an poured water into the pot, quickly covering all the meat pieces.

"Your turn, chef." Lin Yu'an said to Stan with a smile.

Stan chuckled and pulled out a package of high-altitude instant mashed potato powder and a small handful of dehydrated onion pieces from his food bag.

He skillfully scattered these two ingredients into the pot. The broth quickly boiled again and began thickening due to the addition of the potato powder.

Lin Yu'an lowered the heat, keeping it at a gentle "bubbling" simmer.

The fresh flavor of the ptarmigan, the richness of the mashed potatoes, and the mild sweetness of the onions slowly merged in the small pot, weaving together into a fragrance full of warmth.

Old George had been watching silently, and now he also pulled out a small flat metal flask from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and poured a small capful of whiskey into the pot.

"George! You old drunk! Aren't you saving that for emergencies?" Stan said in surprise.

A rare smile appeared on Old George's face, "A little liquor removes the gamey taste and adds layers to the soup's flavor."

"This reminds me of when I was young, doing this with coworkers too. Not many of those old guys are still around."

Lin Yu'an watched the two old men contributing their treasures to this pot of soup, word by word, and warmth surged in his heart.

This was no longer just a dinner, but more like a warm ceremony belonging to the three of them.

After a long while, a pot of thick "whiskey ptarmigan potato chowder" was finally complete.

After Lin Yu'an made the final seasoning with salt, he served it in their three titanium bowls. The meat pieces were tender, almost falling off the bone, and emitted a faint potato fragrance.

Stan was the first to blow on it and impatiently took a big sip.

The scalding chowder slid down his throat, "Oh! God! So hot! But the taste is very good."

Old George was more refined. He used his spoon to scoop up a piece of well-stewed leg meat that easily separated from the bone and put it in his mouth.

The meat wasn't too dry, the broth was rich. He closed his eyes in satisfaction, taking a long breath, as if even his soul had been comforted, or perhaps he was thinking of his youthful days.

The three of them sat around that small flame, sipping the soup in small mouthfuls and eating the meat in big bites, none of them speaking anymore.

In this cold pass dominated by howling winds, words were unnecessary.

Only the scalding chowder in their bowls, the companions beside them, and the shared anticipation for tomorrow in their hearts were the most real existence at this moment!

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