"This bird is huge…"
Zhao Zhan rubbed his hands together in surprise as he stared at the massive bird still flapping weakly on the ground.
Hearing his reaction, Jiang Hai smiled. He stepped forward, snapped the bird's neck cleanly, pulled out the arrow, wiped it off, and tossed it into his backpack with practiced ease.
"Let me do it!" Zhao Zhan hurried over when he saw Jiang Hai about to lift the bird, eager to carry it himself.
Jiang Hai didn't mind and handed it over. But the moment Zhao Zhan picked it up, he was startled.
He had assumed it wouldn't be very heavy—after all, Jiang Hai had lifted it effortlessly with one hand. Only then did he realize how deceptive a bird's size could be.
Birds often look much larger than they actually are because their feathers fluff out, and once those feathers are removed, the body is far smaller than expected. On top of that, most birds have hollow bones to aid flight, so even large birds aren't necessarily heavy.
Unfortunately, Zhao Zhan didn't know what kind of bird this was—and the weight caught him completely off guard.
"This is a fully grown wild turkey," Jiang Hai said with a grin, taking the bird back. "It's probably around twenty-five kilograms—about fifty pounds. Uncle, if you take this back, you probably won't be able to leave this afternoon."
Zhao Zhan smiled awkwardly as Jiang Hai took the turkey from him, but he quickly pulled out his phone to take pictures.
He had seen turkeys before coming here.
Many ranches and farms around Winthrop raised them. Americans loved eating turkey the way northerners loved dumplings—turkey showed up at almost every holiday meal.
Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, New Year's… honestly, it sometimes felt like Americans didn't eat much else. That said, turkeys really were popular in the U.S. For Chinese visitors, though, eating turkey was mostly about novelty.
Chinese people were far more accustomed to local chickens, which had tender meat and rich flavor. Turkey meat, while lean, tended to be dry and tough, making it harder to chew and digest.
So although Zhao Zhan and the others had seen domesticated turkeys before, this was their first time encountering a wild turkey.
A wild turkey was like an oversized, ferocious version of its farm-raised cousin. Domesticated turkeys typically weighed around ten kilograms—about twenty pounds—but wild turkeys could grow up to thirty kilograms. They could fly, too, and were incredibly aggressive.
Otherwise, with their awkward running speed and limited flight ability, they would have been wiped out by predators long ago.
An adult wild turkey's fighting ability was comparable to that of a coyote. It was definitely not a creature to underestimate.
But against humans, it stood no chance.
Carrying the turkey, Jiang Hai decided not to hunt any further. They already had more than enough food. He headed back toward the riverside camp, while Zhao Zhan eagerly went off to show his photos to his old buddies.
This, naturally, displeased the other uncles.
Before Jiang Hai even finished cleaning the bird, they insisted on taking pictures with it themselves, hoping to claim a bit of glory. Only after everyone had their photos did Jiang Hai finally begin processing the turkey.
At that moment, the policeman returned from downstream, carrying two rabbits and a freshwater bass.
After washing everything in the stream, they decided to keep things simple—there weren't many cooking methods available out here. The rabbits and turkey legs were roasted, while the fish and remaining turkey meat were boiled. Two pots of fish soup were soon bubbling away, and there was more than enough meat to go around.
As everyone added their own seasonings, the aroma quickly spread through the camp.
Zhao Zhan and the others were already starving. As soon as the food was ready, they dug in, thoroughly enjoying the meal.
Afterward, they cleaned up all the trash and buried the leftover bones before continuing their journey.
Once they crossed the stream, even Zhao Zhan and the others noticed a clear increase in wildlife. The animals here were far less afraid of people.
Small birds occasionally perched on branches, watching them curiously. Rabbits darted through the underbrush, while wolves and foxes flashed by in the distance.
At first, everyone was shocked.
They had seen rabbits before, but spotting wild wolves and foxes was rare. Even though these were technically coyotes—about the size of rural dogs—they were still wolves.
One uncle even managed to snap a photo of a coyote and bragged about it endlessly. Completely wild!
Before entering the mountains, however, Roga DeCarter had made it clear: all carnivores in the Appalachian Mountains were protected species. Hunting them was strictly forbidden. Anyone who fired a shot would be immediately expelled, sent back to Winthrop, and face legal consequences.
So they simply observed from afar, marveling at how well-preserved the environment was.
By around 3 p.m., as the police were preparing to lead them to set up camp, one officer suddenly raised his hand, signaling everyone to stop. He then gestured for them to move forward slowly.
Though puzzled, the men crouched down and advanced carefully.
Soon, they reached a patch of tall grass.
Parting it slightly, Jiang Hai glanced ahead—and sure enough, there was a herd of deer.
When Zhao Zhan and the others saw them, their bodies trembled with excitement. Although this was supposed to be a hunting trip, no one knew whether they would actually get the chance. Just encountering a herd like this was already rare luck.
It was a large mixed herd—mostly white-tailed deer, but also including reindeer, moose, and elk. The animals had clearly lived undisturbed for a long time and hadn't noticed the group lying in the grass, aiming at them.
"There are about sixty deer here," the policeman said, his words translated clearly. "Around forty are adults. We'll target the adults. The smallest ones aren't worth it—no head specimen, no transport value."
"Now we'll assign targets so there's no confusion later."
Hearing this, the men gradually calmed their nerves and waited for the allocation. Soon, each of the twenty men was assigned a specific deer based on personal preference.
Some wanted white-tailed deer, whose antlers were elegant and sharply forked. Others chose reindeer, with their wide, coral-like antlers, while a few set their sights on moose, whose antlers grew upward from a single base like jagged spears.
No matter the type, antlers like these were incredibly rare in China. Just having the chance to hunt one was already thrilling.
The deer were divided among the twenty men. Jiang Hai and the police officers, naturally, had no interest in claiming any.
At the officer's command, the men pulled their triggers.
Unfortunately, they had only trained for three days—really, just two—and their accuracy was… questionable.
Gunshots erupted.
The deer, startled by the sound, bolted instantly and scattered in all directions. Panic set in, and the men fired wildly, but hitting a moving deer was far harder than they'd imagined.
Those with little firearm experience quickly emptied their magazines, reloading again and again, but by the time they were out of ammunition, the herd was long gone.
Many deer were hit, but most wounds weren't fatal—shots to the hindquarters or backs. The injured deer limped away, and while it hurt, they weren't in danger. Over time, they would recover in the forest.
Out of more than sixty deer, only three failed to escape.
Twenty men had fired over three hundred rounds—and hit just three targets.
It was… somewhat embarrassing.
Even worse, only one deer had been taken down by a rifle; the other two were hit by shotguns. Pellet spread made shotguns far more forgiving, while rifles required precise aim.
According to the prior assignments, the police had recorded who was responsible for each deer. Once shots were fired, ownership was fixed—regardless of who actually landed the hit—preventing any disputes.
As the three "winners" celebrated loudly, the other seventeen uncles could only sigh in regret. The opportunity had been right there, and they'd missed it.
Watching the police bleed the deer and carefully seal the heads for specimen preparation, the three men were so excited they were nearly speechless.
In China, deer head specimens were usually made from hide and stuffing—not real heads. This, however, was the genuine article.
Seeing the smug expressions on the trio's faces, the others felt a sharp pang of envy.
What a pity—they hadn't managed to hunt a deer.
(To be continued.)