Several long, polar days passed as the two men used their ammo much more sparingly for target practice. They couldn't spend all winter plinking away at decoys and training targets of the various game Pokémon in the region. Fortunately for both of them, there was plenty of ammo to go around, with Wilson even vowing to dip into his supply of ammo that his grandson's rifle took. Unfortunately for the budding outdoorsman, most of his target practice's success turned out to beginner's luck that just ran dry. Most of the shots from his Encore weren't the best kill shots at the vitals, as noted by the veteran hunter. He remembered one of his shots going completely off the mark from a rogue wind blowing, making him jerk and causing the bullet to go towards the targets rear into its stomach. All complete with a disappointed frown from Wilson to look down at such a shot.
Wilson wanted to teach the newcomer to hit the vitals, including the spinal cord, neck, and very occasionally the brain. Not only to cause the target the least amount of suffering possible, but to ensure that the two of them wouldn't be squatting in the snow for hours chasing it through footprints and small splatters of blood against the snow. Hitting a Sawsbuck in the leg or rump was the antithesis of what he was trying to teach his son. Branching out and trying to aim for different kill spots over the course of a few days was difficult, but well-rewarding for both of them.
On the flipside? The meat Wilson cooked was delectable. Jack reasoned that it was just as, if not better, than the cuts of steak he had at the multi-star restaurants. So lean, so natural, so much flavor! No wonder people liked being coming to the far, chilly corners of northwestern Unova!
Routines for hunting practices continued for a few days, with Jack's aim slowly improving despite the comically-off shots he made on occasion. But shooting at inanimate targets from the comfort of a firing table only carried him for so long.
The sun rose over the hills to illuminate the morning with its golden rays, dashing away the nocturnal predators of the wilds. Wilson was already wide-awake and mostly prepared for a busy, important day not only for him but for Jack as well. The hunter was in his gray and coat and snow pants in army camo layered over a jet-black long-sleeved shirt and pants to combat moisture, in addition to his feet being warm in his tall boots. On his head was a matching knit cap except in a pixel design style, while his chin was kept warm by his aged white beard. Wilson was ready for a big day about to greet both hunters. Jack was still slumbering in his bed, completely unaware and uncaring about the preparations his grandfather made.
Of course, the first step to any day is getting out of bed, and the veteran hunter knew how to get his grandson active. Wilson had a smirk on his face as he cooked a slab of venison inside the cabin, filling it with the addicting aroma of cooking, free-range meat the old fashioned way. The young man stirred momentarily and awoke from his nostrils having a real-life dream of a succulent meal in the making. Jack sat up in his bed and saw Wilson decked out and waiting for his grandson to get up and get ready.
"Man, something smells good…" murmured Jack as he rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath of the sizzling aromas from their breakfast. Wilson gave his son an equally warm grin.
"That would be our breakfast. I couldn't just wake you up by rocking you around like I'm trying to get a small child to go to school," spoke Wilson as he walked around the cabin and finished gearing up, "Now, you might not like getting up early, but it's a necessity in these parts. The days aren't that long now, and waking up early means you get to do more stuff in the day. Like, say, going on a Pokémon hunt and bringing it back."
Jack sobered up instantly as he realized why Wilson woke him up so early. Today was the first day they would travel together and try to hunt something! Jack was looking forward to this.
"Wait… we're going to actually go hunting today!?"
The expert took his shotgun off the wall and stood it up on the floor with a soft but impactful thud.
"Yep, today's finally the day you get proper field experience. Get yourself ready to head out soon. Some of the big ones are early birds, and if you can witness me tagging a trophy Sawsbuck on your first actual trip, well, that just makes it better."
Jack threw the blankets off him and got out of bed, determined to storm out into the Unova wilderness and bring home the bacon at this instant. He was hardly affected by the sudden cold wave that attacked his exposed body as Wilson laughed at Jack still being in his sleepwear and going towards the door
"Ah, I nearly forgot," chuckled the grandfather, "no Hotchkiss hunter would ever go out there looking like that!"
Jack looked at his feet and embarrassingly giggled at his current state. Going out in subzero weather, before the sun could warm up and illuminate the land, in nothing but his longjohns?
Yeah, no. There was a reason Wilson was around.
Wilson politely turned around to offer Jack some privacy in taking off the night clothes to put on his warmer, better-looking attire. Once he had on warmer, layered protection like Wilson, the two of them sat down to eat some of the delicious meat that was cooked to perfection. Wilson conversed with Jack about the rundown for today with a more serious face and attitude.
"Now, you have to be my second pair of eyes and ears. I can't just directly lead you a trophy Pokémon by just copying my every move. I still want you to pull your weight because we're in this together. I can't always be at your side and it's been a while since I hunted with a partner, personally. We will be heading to a spot I trod well in the past and always gave me decent results. There'll also be a lot of walking involved just so you know."
Wilson cleared his throat and tapped his plate to warrant his grandson's full attention,
"And just remember this: not every trip is a success."
Jack looked a little deflated at the truth as he chomped away at the slab of meat but allowed him to continue.
"Often times you will come back empty-handed. But it's all about that one trip where you find, shoot, and recover a Pokémon. If a day turns out to be a fluke, use it as an opportunity to figure out how to make the next one better."
"And what happens when I do get that moment where I find, shoot, and recover a Pokémon?" asked Jack. Wilson finished his plate and lesson with some deadpanning.
"Then it's your lucky day, unless you get so excited at finding a Pokémon after many failed expeditions that you scare it away."
Jack looked at him for a long moment before saying something and finishing off his breakfast with a hungry chomp.
"Very funny."
After they had eaten their meal, the two got their most important tools: their guns. Jack got his Encore ready with half a dozen .308 cartridges snug on the stock band he added. Wilson loaded his trusty hunting shotgun with his expanding slugs for his primary weapon. In a move that surprised his grandson, Wilson fitted a red leather bandolier across his chest with a pistol-sized holster over his left hip. In the holster was a silvery chrome revolver with black grips and a bright red blade on the front sight post, partially loaded. The barrel measured about two-and-half inches long, with the gun itself about seven-and-half inches to the very end of the grip, making it easily portable as a snub nose revolver. And to top it off, he stuck a knife about double the barrel length of the revolver into a sheath attached to his right boot. Wilson was ready for any Pokémon while Jack looked on, impressed and a little scared by how heavily Wilson was armed. His voice grew a little shaky but questioned his grandfather about the ordnance.
"Is that really necessary?" asked Jack with a blended tone of fright and fascination pointing at the revolver on his hip. Wilson sighed, drew the gun, and opened the cylinder to show five loaded holes and one empty one.
"Four Fifty-Four Casull: designed to be double-action Pokémon repellent," Wilson explained his reasoning for bringing extra firepower as he spun the cylinder close to Jack. "If you find yourself targeted by an angry mother Ursaring, well, you want to make sure you are well prepared. Not that my eighteen ninety-seven won't do the trick, but it never hurts carrying some extra protection. Plus, this magnum's as good for bringing down the Pokémon you've been stalking, and easier to carry around than a full-length rifle. The weapon of choice for handgun enthusiasts."
Jack countered Wilson by asking why there was a sixth empty chamber in the revolver.
"Old-fashioned safety habit," he answered as he closed the cylinder with the hammer resting on the empty chamber and put it back in the holster. "Load one, skip one, load the rest. It's what everybody with proper sense did back then. I trust it enough to protect me from an angry Ursaring mother, but I don't trust it enough to believe it won't take off my foot if I lug it around fully-loaded and accidentally nudge it. It never hurts to be extra safe with firearms. Of course, newer models like this one are keener on safety, and you can load six if you want. And out there you may as well, but for me, I stick with the old-fashioned habits. Plus it ain't my only protection out there. The last thing you ever want from a gun is to have it go off randomly, no matter what."
Wilson ended on a slightly more entertaining albeit grim note about his sidearm to make Jack think about it to the point of keeping his Encore unloaded until it was necessary.
"And it has even more kick than my shotgun."
Jack did not like hearing that.
(All right, I see your point. Let's hope I don't have to shoot that. Ever.)
On slipped their gloves, holsters, and a small spray of Pokémon odor to mask their presence from potential prey to mark off the last bit of preparation for today's expedition. Soon they went towards the door to brave the hostile environment outside their toasty haven. The drastic change in temperature hit them full on as the morning sun shined its light on them. Jack clutched his Encore from the cold, and managed to not chatter his teeth upon going outside the cabin. Wilson's face was like stone, hardly wincing from the winds and air temperature that made the entire outside world their playground. He took a deep breath and made his way towards the woods.
Except Wilson suddenly stopped after no more than thirty steps, recalling one other piece of information helpful when one is about to look for game Pokémon in the dead of winter.
"Oh! One more thing," Wilson announced as he turned to his surprised son, "use the bathroom before we go. The outhouse, directly behind the cabin. You really don't want to have to take care of business right as you line up your sights."
Jack grimaced, silently saying "seriously?" to the outdoorsman.
"What? You don't want to run back here if you gotta do your business, do you?" Wilson replied, ushering his grandson to relieve himself before continuing. Jack hurried up and did his business in the cold, unhappy outhouse, leaving almost as fast as he went in.
Now they were truly ready to go on a hunt together and get Jack valuable first-hand field experience.
Jack and Wilson officially went on their way into the daunting woods in the early morning hours. Jack followed closely behind, trying his best to keep a lookout for any Stantler, Sawsbuck, or even an Ursaring as Wilson led the way. And they walked. And walked. And walked. And walked for an indeterminable amount of time through the frozen forest and discerning levels of snow. When Wilson said this involved a lot of walking, he was not kidding. And Jack quickly grew bored walking amongst the bleak-looking trees and trying to force his body or mouth not to shiver.
"How long does a hunt usually take?" asked Jack earnestly. This was one of the few times Wilson turned around at his grandson during the hike.
"It depends," Wilson said without emotion, "It really depends. Some are long, and some are really long. They all take a while. Just keep your head straight and imagine what you'll do once you finally see a Pokémon."
That answer did not help Jack much. All he could feasibly do was play along and try to toughen out the dull part of hunting. Marching out in the snow-coated wilderness for about an hour was a stark contrast to Jack's fantasies of hunting.
To try to pass the time, Jack decided to admire the scenery all around him. Sure, there were dead husks of trees stripped of leaves, but after taking a more respective perspective, it became apparent that there also were all sorts of birches, cedars, evergreens, and other types of trees. All of them could probably be mistaken for a sleeping, shaven Abomasnow. Every onewas thickly laden with the accumulated dusting of snowfall and frost; tree limbs leaned downwards from the weight of the precipitation on them. Some of the limbs were stooped low enough that Jack imagined one could get a hug from the trees…or be snatched up and hung high in disdain.
He turned around and noticed that the cabin was now entirely hidden from the many crisscrossing trees and tiny changes in the slopes making up the ground.
"Now we're really out in the wild," silently mused the novice hunter. Jack then stopped and took note the footsteps unmistakable prints he and Wilson left behind on the soft material beneath their feet. At least it would be easy to find their way back… or should be. Not that he wanted to abandon his grandfather and make a break to the cabin to indulge on some steaks and backstraps with a classy glass of alcohol in front of a fire.
It didn't seem all that bad out here. He didn't feel much of the cold anymore now that he was out here walking for some time. Jack did not mind being armed to the teeth out in the brumal heart of nature while bundled up in insulating, layered clothing. Soft, shivery crunches of snow came with every step to and behind an imprint of their soles. They were accompanied with wispy, spectre-like winds dancing across their exposed faces and a slowly rising sun giving a dying golden-pink tint to the landscape being shunned by a great gray cloud. The environment invoked thoughts of what and how it was like for the early settlers and mountain men, the ones brave enough to plunge into the wild with their ragged coats and muskets to penetrate deeper into the quiet landscape to bring civilization as they expanded into more seemingly desolate climates knowing that it was far more dangerous than the more mild regions where they came from…
(How do Pokémon survive out here? Or even humans?)
Wilson stopped and crouched at the base of a sturdy tree, inspecting some scratch marks made by a Pokémon. He investigated the scratch marks carefully and noticed a near-hidden trail of hoof prints leading to a curvy path left of the tree. Wilson grinned as he found the fresh marks of game Pokémon. The reason for the grin was the fact there were two trails, side-by-side of one another. One set of prints seemed to belong to an adult Pokémon, and the other set of prints were about half the size; most likely a juvenile.
"Jack! Come here." Ordered the veteran and breaking his grandson's concentration. He awkwardly approached the tree and squatted to see the marks and the fresh hoof trail. "These are freshly made tracks, which means whatever made them is still relatively nearby."
"Oh?" awkwardly replied his grandson, noting the two differently sized sets of prints.
"Look here. They came from the right and moved to the left. No signs of looping here, which means they must have continued in one direction. And that is where we are headed."
Wilson lowered his voice considerably and spoke into the novice's ear.
"Eyes and ears," whispered Wilson as he stepped up his stride while trying to remain quiet. He crouched slightly in a small effort to help conceal himself from any watching eyes. Jack grew eager at being shown hope of getting rewarded for their patience. The novice followed close behind the expert again, moving quickly and in a slight crouch to mimic Wilson's movements. Both of them followed the crisp trail of hooves, wherever they might lead. Now it got exciting for Jack; they at the stalking phase of their hunt.
And the two men continued alongside the trail of hoof prints, expecting to see any actual Pokémon up ahead while being very cautious. The hunters passed through thickets of varying size and density, towards whatever made the scratches and left the trail; no other footprints strangely crossed their path to toy with them. They were practically the only humans in this small pocket of Unova, but that did not mean they were alone in the wintry woodland. Pokémon could be anywhere, even more so the ones they didn't want to meet up close. Still, they pressed on with even more uncountable minutes passing by. Jack couldn't wait to see how shooting a real Pokémon would be done, especially by one of those terrifying slugs that bloomed into six smaller, sharper fragments. He only hoped that once they found the Pokémon they were actively searching for, they wouldn't have to do much more walking.
By now, the sun was already high towards its daily peak as the vision got about as the morning light allowed. The hunting duo was now in a more densely packed version of the woodlands with the trees growing taller and seeming to lean against one another to blot more of the sun. Wilson came to an abrupt halt and held his hand away from his face, signaling Jack to stop as well.
"Sssh, look," whispered the stalker. He swore he saw a vague brown and white figure make a movement against the dead bramble ahead. Or, it could be his mind playing tricks on him for concentrating too hard out in the dense, frosty fields.
In either case, the grizzled grandfather eyed the scenery up ahead with a predatory eye and slowly drew his shotgun against his face, looking down the sight. He transitioned to a very slow and diligent march through the snow as he actively aimed at the area in front of him. Jack copied his grandfather's movements, drawing his rifle from his holster. He held his breath and peered through his scope as an improve set of binoculars to help his grandfather in finding a target. The two moved like soldiers slowly sweeping a building at night.
They came to a more open section of the untamed forest when Jack also saw the same movement that teased his grandfather and nearly gasped when he saw it. He saw movement of a mostly white thing a couple of feet off the ground, understanding that clumps of snow do not move in the air by themselves. Jack eyed the white object for another minute as he watched every modicum of movement from it. Then a coffee-colored object sandwiched between two white sticks rose a higher. The apprentice grinned and breathed in enthusiasm as he whispered to his mentor,
"I see a Sawsbuck! To your right! See it!?"
The experienced tracker stared at the direction his grandson gave him for a long moment, eventually seeing the brown and white mass move on its own. And right at its side was a rather plump looking Deerling with two small nubs on its head; the first antler points growing. It was worryingly looking around in every direction but behind it or the Sawsbuck. Wilson silently swallowed, held his breath, and calmly thumbed the exposed hammer. It made an inaudible click, signaling that it was hot and ready to fire.
Wilson circled a teeny bit to the left for a better view and gingerly rested his gloved index finger on the trigger. He also crouched to help stabilized himself with a few quick breaths to reset himself. Wilson shot a quick glance at Jack and pointed his left index finger at the young man's eyes, then to his eyes, then to his shotgun, and added his middle finger for a double point at the Sawsbuck.
"I hope he's paying close attention…" thought Wilson as he closed his left eye and took aim at the larger Season Pokémon. He held his breath and kept the muzzle of the model 1897 as still as he could. His target moved further out and a little to the left, now giving a crystal clear view of his side. Lucky, the Deerling was more towards the Sawsbuck's rear half, so that it wouldn't interfere with the shot. Not that Wilson would mine bagging two Pokémon with a single slug, but in the case of shooting only a Deerling or Sawsbuck, it wasn't even a contest.
Jack was watching as close and precisely as he could without spooking Wilson or the Pokémon. The budding tracker struggled to watch through his scope or with his naked eyes, and he settled for his naked eyes for a much broader view. His heart was madly beating against his ribcage in anticipation of hearing the hardened boomstick work its loud, destructive magic.
"Do it, do it do it do it!" Jack demanded in his mind as waiting a few seconds seemed more like waiting for a few hours in icy, inanimate agony.
Wilson did all of the calculations in his head and adjusted his aim right behind the Sawsbuck's foreleg, where the heart and lungs were kept. Wilson squeezed his gun tight and the trigger tighter.
*BOOOOOM*
A sudden blast of thin smoke and rattling sound thundered from the muzzle of the shotgun like a godly firework. The shocking soundwaves lethargically rippled through the raw, harsh air, startling every Pokémon in a square mile radius, and intriguing those double the distance away. The exotic, expanded slug cut through the air at an impossibly fast rate and hit the Sawsbuck in the compartment housing its heart and lungs. The primary projectile bored through the upper half of the heart and completely demolished most of the heart. As the slug came into contact with the first vital organ and violently crumpled up, the six other fragments broke off and veered into separate paths. Most of them were deeply embedded and awkwardly tumbled in the tissue of the lungs, causing exponential amounts of damage to the most critical organs of the target. The sheer amount of force, trauma, and shock overwhelmed the Sawsbuck who went limp and dead before its body touched the snow. Its Deerling friend almost bleated in fear and ran as fast as its legs could carry even deeper into the wild, disappearing among the woody trees and knots.
No fuss, no further chasing, no excessive physical hardship caused. The Sawsbuck didn't feel a thing as its brain was occupied trying to process the booming sound behind it.
All this occurred in under a fraction of a second.
Jack greatly winced at the sound but stared again in awe of the once-still standing Sawsbuck dead in an instant. Wilson kicked the shotgun shell out of the gun where it was embedded at his feet. Nothing more, nothing less.
[Author's note: The revolver Wilson brought with him just in case something bad happens, specifically a .454 Casull Redhawk, is another real-life firearm. Big, heavy, and packs a wallop for a handgun. In some big revolvers, you can safely chamber weaker ammo in it for a less punishing warm up. For the hotter ammo designed for it, the recoil's nasty, but the damage it inflicts is even nastier. The intended ammo may not be the most fun thing to shoot all day at a firing range, but a gun not being fun to shoot doesn't matter much in a case of life or death out in the wilderness. Always be prepared.]