I will admit it: I have a lust for traipsing (fr. OF, 'trespass') through woods in cold weather, good food cooked out of doors, friends, and a few bottles of something tasty. All of this makes my boyhood memories of camping, hiking, and roasting my chilblains near an open fire seem all the rosier.
A hunter I am not, although I once was hunted by a black bear in New Mexico; an experience I am happy to say I came away from, literally, with "just a scratch" (but how many can say a bear claw attached to a bear leg scratched me just there over my left eye, as one stands smiling with drink in hand?).
But I must say that this story -- A Game Journey -- On a French boar hunt, life as a traqueur is not easy -- brought the scent of decaying leaves, woodsmoke, a crisp autumn day, and that certain stillness that one can only find deep in, say, an 100-acre wood. If you have a mind, enjoy the story and the photo essay. You may develop a desire for donning a pair of wellies and heading out for the Wild Wood.