American Hunting: Starting with Solitary Life in the Wilderness

Chapter 200 Generosity and Stinginess Coexist

On this vast and unforgiving land, while one corner is witnessing the arrival of food and sustenance, other corners are shrouded in the shadow of hunger and despair.

The weights of survival are visibly tilting to one side on an invisible scale.

About eighty kilometers northeast of Lin Yu-an's camp, on a coastal tundra, the coastline has long been swallowed up by ice and snow and floating ice, forming a broken and rugged white inferno.

As evening fell, Vonia knelt beside a huge ice floe, laboriously striking the block of ice mixed with black rocks and seaweed in front of her with the back of her logging axe.

The cold sea breeze showed no signs of abating, cutting at her exposed skin from all sides like countless sharp knives.

Her proud scarf, made from a single Arctic fox pelt, was now barely able to keep out the biting cold.

The sea breeze penetrated through the gaps in her fur, seeping into her neck and taking away the little warmth left in her body.

Her fingers had become somewhat stiff, and the sensation in her fingertips had long since become numb; she couldn't even feel the pain from the vibrations of the axe.

Relying solely on the strength of their wrists and arms, they mechanically repeated the actions of hammering and digging. With each exertion, waves of soreness would surge through their shoulder and back muscles!

Once upon a time, this frozen coastline was her promised land.

A few days ago, after that devastating blizzard, she came to this storm-ravaged coastline, guided by her hunter's innate instincts.

Vonia keenly observed that the towering waves had swept some deep-sea creatures, along with seabed debris, ashore.

Then it froze together with a large amount of floating ice, forming natural "seafood ice sculptures".

This discovery thrilled her; she was grateful for nature's generosity and thought she had found a "gold mine" that could provide a continuous supply of protein.

She stopped what she was doing, turned to look at the fixed camera not far away. The cold lens was like a silent observer. She was panting heavily, and the white mist she exhaled was instantly blown away by the strong wind.

“Look,” she said, pointing with her axe to the shattered ice fragments around her.

“Three days ago, this place was a treasure trove! I didn’t even need to hunt; I could easily gather enough food. I thought to myself, this is amazing, this land loves me!”

"I remember the next afternoon, I knocked out a snow crab that was as big as my palm. It was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten here."

“I cooked it with snow water, and the sweet taste... I even said to the camera, ‘Look, this is the champion’s dinner.’”

As she said this, a bitter smile appeared on her face. "I was too arrogant. I even ate a large amount of stored mussel meat without any limit."

“I am full of confidence and feel that the most difficult period of this survival challenge is over, and the scales of victory are tipping in my favor.”

Vonia shared her survival experience over the past few days. Initially, she did have a good harvest, managing to knock out mussels, sea urchins, and even occasionally a few frozen snow crabs from the ice blocks every day.

But she clearly underestimated the barrenness of this land and overestimated the generosity of nature. Or rather, she forgot the most fundamental law of nature—balance.

Vonia only saw the generosity, but forgot the stinginess that followed. In the wilderness, the two always coexist.

Today, she spent the entire day venturing deep into this treacherous ice floe area, only to find one piece of ice that looked like it might contain food.

"Dang! Dang! Dang!"

The sound of the axe striking the ice was so crisp yet weak on the empty ice field. Ice shards flew everywhere, some even hitting her face and stinging like needles.

"Crack!"

Finally, a crack appeared in the ice, and a glimmer of hope flashed in Vonnia's eyes. She threw down the axe, reached into the crack with her frozen fingers, and peeled away the ice fragments.

Inside, there were only a few shellfish the size of a fingernail, with very little meat, and a clump of seaweed that had turned black from being frozen.

“Not enough…not nearly enough.” Looking at the meager harvest in her hands, Vonia felt a surge of powerlessness.

"Now, reality has given me a resounding slap in the face." She spoke to the camera again, her tone filled with exhaustion and reflection.

"That's the price. Just when you think you've found a shortcut, the wilderness will always show you in its own way that every gift comes with a price."

She tossed the axe aside, sat wearily on a relatively flat patch of ice, and let the cold wind tousle her hair.

In my stomach, that familiar, burning hunger surged up again.

It's a primal and savage feeling emanating from your genes. It ignores your will, tramples on your dignity, and issues only the simplest and most brutal command to your body—to eat.

Her main source of protein, those few pieces of dried rabbit meat, were completely eaten yesterday.

Her prized trapping skills proved utterly vulnerable in the face of this harsh environment. All her meticulously crafted lasso traps were completely destroyed in the blizzard.

The newly set traps, unable to find enough elastic small trees to power them, could only be made into simple fixed snares. Two days passed, and they found nothing.

She also tried digging.

Just yesterday, she put on thick leather gloves, took a survival axe, and went to a depression covered with spruce trees.

She didn't try to use the blade of the axe to cut the frozen ground, as that would only ruin it. Instead, she used the back of the axe, striking the ground forcefully, like a hammer.

"Dang! Dang! Dang!"

The dull thuds echoed through the forest, each impact sending shivers down her spine, but the result was utterly despairing.

She spent half a day's energy, but could only manage to carve a shallow pit less than twenty centimeters deep in the frozen ground mixed with ice and snow.

She had to stop, looking at the ridiculous shallow pit and her slightly trembling hands, a deep sense of powerlessness and a long-lost feeling of panic engulfing her.

Now, this coastline has locked all its resources in an icy vault. It doesn't have the right key; what it needs is a pickaxe, not an axe.

She recalled stories from her childhood home in Siberia, told by the old hunters about the harshest years of the "White Disaster," when heavy snow would seal everything off. Even the most experienced hunters would exhaust themselves in endless waiting and searching, eventually becoming part of the white wasteland along with their prey—a situation so similar to her own!

“No, I can’t die here.” Vonia stood up abruptly and wiped her face with the back of her gloved hand.

Vonya forced herself to suppress those negative emotions; panic and despair were more terrifying enemies than hunger.

She faced the camera again, her eyes regaining a hint of the hunter's calm and sharpness.

"I made a mistake." She seemed to be reflecting on her own actions, or perhaps warning her future self.

"Over-reliance on a single, unstable food source, and forgetting to plan for the worst when food is plentiful."

"Now, I must pay the price for my mistakes and make up for them with more physical effort and risk."

She carried the heavy axe and walked heavily toward her shelter.

As darkness fell, one had to carefully navigate around the tidal fissures covered in floating snow along the coastline, proceeding with utmost caution with every step.

Her campsite was a semi-subterranean hut cleverly built from a hollow in a huge rock, using moss, branches, and mud.

It was warm and secluded, once her proudest work, a symbol of her wisdom. But now, it's more like a cage imprisoning hunger and cold.

Back in the hut, she used an axe to crack open the shells of the mussels she had knocked out of the ice that morning, took out the pitifully small pieces of meat, and threw them into the pot that had been blackened by soot.

Then, from a corner, she took out some of her "food" from the past two days.

Those were plant roots and stems that she had painstakingly dug out from under the snow, frozen black and emitting a strong earthy smell.

There were also a few pieces of pale pink inner bark scraped from the spruce tree. This stuff provides a little bit of carbohydrates, but mostly unbearable bitterness and coarse fiber.

She threw everything into the pot, added snow water, then took some embers from the fireplace and slowly lit a small pile of firewood.

As the flames rose, she began to stir-fry the inner bark, and a strange smell began to fill the small space.

It wasn't the aroma of food, but a mixture of earthy, bitter, and faintly fishy smells.

After stir-frying for a while, she added water, stirred it with a wooden spoon, and simmered it for a period of time before pouring the murky "life-saving soup" into a wooden bowl.

The soup was bland and tasteless, with a lingering earthy and bitter taste. The mussel meat was pitifully small, almost imperceptible in the murky broth.

Even after being stir-fried or boiled, the roots and bark remain tough and chewy, like chewing on a lump of damp wood.

Vonia drank the bowl of liquid without expression, or rather, forced it down her throat.

The burning hunger in my stomach was only temporarily suppressed by the bowl of warm liquid, but it did not disappear.

It was like a lurking beast, ready to awaken again at any moment and devour her sanity in a more ferocious way.

After finishing the soup, she leaned against the cold stone wall and closed her eyes. Hunger dulled her thoughts, but also made certain memories exceptionally clear.

She felt as if she had returned to her childhood, to that small village in Siberia, during the winter hunting festival, when the whole village was immersed in a sea of ​​joy.

The campfire blazed brightly, filling the air with the aroma of roasted venison, the rich fragrance of blood sausage soup, and the sweet scent of berry wine brewed by the women.

Her father handed her a piece of roasted venison leg that was dripping with oil. The hot, powerful red meat, with its rich flavor of fat and spices, was the most wonderful taste in her memory!
"Meat...I need meat..." This thought echoed in her mind like a spell.

She suddenly opened her eyes, a resolute glint in them. She couldn't wait any longer; sitting and waiting for death would only lead to her demise!
She knew that if she couldn't find a new source of food by tomorrow, her last hope would be the bow.

She had to take the initiative! Vonia stepped out of the cabin, her gaze fixed on the distant forest, which appeared increasingly gloomy in the setting sun.

She decided to venture deeper into the forest in search of a new hunting ground. She didn't know what lay there—perhaps new hope, perhaps even deeper despair. But she had no other choice.

Facing the camera one last time, this time, her face no longer showed the previous frustration, but instead displayed a resolute calmness.

“In my hometown, there is a saying: When the forest is silent, the hunter must roar.”

"Now, the forest is silent, it has hidden all its gifts. So, it is my turn, with my footsteps and my bow and arrows, to make it speak again."

"My energy reserves should allow me to complete one more long-distance tracking hunt. This is my last chance!"

She gently stroked the arrows in the quiver, as if she were caressing her own child.

“I will head west into the forest where I found bear droppings. The terrain there is more complex, which means there may be more animals and more dangers.”

"If I can find prey before dark, I can continue the challenge; if I can't..."

She paused for a moment, then forced a smile.

"Let the forest decide my fate! This is how my ancestors survived, and I won't let them down!"

She checked all her equipment: the heavy axe on her back, the multi-tool pliers at her waist, and her most prized ranged weapons, the recurve bow and the last eight carbon fiber arrows in her quiver.

Vonya's eyes hardened again at that moment. She was a hunter, and a hunter's destiny was to seek life in the wilderness until the moment she fell.

She took a deep breath, tightened the fox fur scarf around her neck, and prepared to step into that more distant forest tomorrow!

Further south, on the edge of the coniferous forests, Kelly's situation was even worse than Vonia's.

If Vonya's predicament is "resource depletion," then Kelly's desperate situation is "betrayal by tools."

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(I've read this carefully several times, so it shouldn't be filler. I'm daring to stand here and ask for monthly votes! I, "Mountain Dwelling in Cold Years," am begging for monthly votes, you understand?)
(End of this chapter)