SWEDISH ELKHUNTING IN BRINGSJORD FOREST

My niece, Liv Bringsjord, is proudly showing off the trophy from the hunt in 1947.

Photo: Find Bringsjord

For a long time we lived in the belief that the antlers on the photo above originated from the first moose was shot at Bringsjord in recent times. But then Uncle Anton told a completely different story.

A gray and rainy afternoon in the year 1948 approached Kjell and me Uncle Anton in Garden to hear if there were any new developments in relation to the widow of Kvås. We knocked on the divided front side door in the middle of the old house, but without result, so we opened and went into the hall. There sounded the vociferous mood from the living room, and when we opened the door, sat a bunch of men around the large oval dining table eating nice dinner.

Uncle Anton wore broad, red striped suspenders and white, non-sassy shirt, and thrived as salmon in the water as host and master of ceremonies at the top of the table. Our appearance was reason enough that everyone had to raise their glasses with cider (?) and make a toast for the twins to Lina and a bowl for Degner Brinch; as Anton in straight associated line descended from.

It may be briefly mentioned that the others who sat around the black cauldron in the middle of the table with elk meat and gravy, was Uncle Thorvald at Vollen and his son; cousin Alf. Then it was Arian and two bachelors that we didn’t knew so well. One lived in Vestigarden - the other on Neset. Later on Uncle told that both had been snipers in Swedish forests during the war.

We realized immediately that this was not the time and place to talk to Uncle of the widow of Kvås, but we had become very curious about what kind of festivity this was, and promised to return on the first and best rainy day.

And there we were lucky. On Sunday poured it down, and mom and dad were having dinner nap and sent us off place. It is not always so easy to be delegates, but this time it was a cream job. Uncle ate residual dinner from the day before and picked up plates and cutlery so we got to taste moose meat, which is of course the best real men can eat, and so was the sauce that the pieces of meat was swimming in ...

I had learned that around a nice covered table one should keep the conversation going, and asked with assumed interest: "How did you manage to make such a good sauce, uncle? Is it the widow on Kvås who have been here? "

"No, no, Finn, this house needs no sauce cook from Kvås. Moose stew is made best by men! "He now had plenty of water on his mill and explained with a familiar voice: “Broth is boiled on a broken leg bone with carrot, onion and cut fat and pieces of meat in several hours on wood stove. This would provide 1st class elk-craft (broth) as the base in the sauce.

I did this already on Friday. On Saturday morning I took out the frying pan and browned meat - rolled in flour, onions and porcini, and poured this, along with the frying juices, over the stock pot. Salt and pepper? Yes! And so, the most important thing; a large fistful of rowan berries, that are picked directly from the tree after the first frosts, and a large pinch of blue-black juniper. After three to four hours of careful cooking on low heat from humble, semi-dry birch sticks, stir in the cream skimmed from the top of a large bowl of milk, and so; sim sala bim: we have the world's best moose stew! "

Uncle Anton smiled from ear to ear over his eminent art of cooking, and we bowed in the dust for his infinite knowledge in all manner of areas. But baking bread was not for him - possible that he had no baking-oven in the wood stove - so we got handed wort bread slice to mop up sauce with. And the job was done thoroughly, I can promise; game sauce cooked for real men! Heavenly...

A little later, when the table was cleared and the coffee pot and sugar bowl was put forward, asked Kjell: "How is it that you have got hold of as much moose meat, Uncle? Is it one that's been hit by a car up in Møskedalen? "

"Hit in Møskedalen! HIT IN MØSKEDALEN!!! "Uncle rose halfway up of the chair; "I should serve dinner from a moose that for hours have been injured and half-dead in Møskedalen? Such meat fibers are woven together like a ship hawser from Rope Factory in Mandal ".

He struck out his hands in a resigned gesture and sat down on the chair: "No, no, Kjell, this is prime moose from Uppsala in Sweden. This moose is shot by none other than Jöns Lejonstjerna, Archbishop of Uppsala, and sent refrigerated with "Legati missi» to Anton Olaussen Bringsjord in the Royal Swedish Elk-hunter Union’s blue Volvo Amazon.»

"Huh?" I said, "How did you managed to get it?"

"Now you just dip piece of sugar in a cup of coffee here - and listen carefully - I will tell everything about how that occurred."

"Early in the World War - at least one year before the twins to Lina were born - demanded the German occupiers that all firearms should be submitted. Especially they controlled that rifles to members of shooting teams were filed. But on Bringsjord were at least two bachelors who knew that they could not sleep without their beloved "Lange Krag" (Krag-Jørgensen rifle) at bedside. So they packed together rifle and ammunition and fled to Sweden, where they lived by shooting elk in the large Swedish forests. Yes, they shot so much moose over there, that the illicit Norwegian police troops, which were trained in Sweden under the war, got served elk on the menu at least twice a week."

This was naturally disastrous consequences for the moose population. The result was that in 1945 there were only a handful of moose back throughout Swedish Uppland, while in Norway - after six years without hunting - was practically overrun by elk, yes on Bringsjord could womenfolk not hang out white washing on the clothesline without a moose ran off with the embroidered tablecloth fluttering between horns.

... A moose ran off with the embroidered tablecloth fluttering between horns.

As soon as we became aware of the sad state of our sister nation, the men sat down around this table and discussed what we could do for the Swedes as thanks for their help during the war. The result was that we in summer 1946 wrote a letter to "Royal Swedish Elk-hunter Union" where we offered board members three days free elk hunting in Bringsjord-forest that autumn. We were given a solemn letter back where the three who sat on the Board promised to come to Bringsjord Lyngdal pr. Farsund in September.

Since it was I who signed the letter, came a beautiful morning a yellow Volvo with blue trailer into the yard. The driver got out, bowed and said he had the honor of driving Agency in Kungliga Svenska Älgjägarforbundet to the big moose hunting on Bringsjord, and if I could please show them the way to the hunting ground?

I threw my bike and trampled away into Silje Vollen in Strømnes. There driver parked the yellow car with blue trailer and opened the doors so that the three gentlemen could rise on Norwegian soil and greet rigid; "Good morning!"

So I showed them the beginning of Skoddeveien (Mist Rroad) and recommended them to follow this through to the hunting ground.

Two of the men were wearing blue mössor *, one had a yellow. They unpacked rifles and loaded them up with sharp hunting ammunition, before they went up Mist Road in good Swedish hunting scheme, i.e. so that whoever had yellow mössa went in the middle.

* Mössor; Swedish for hats.

Now it well so that the distance from Bringsjord to the Swedish border is bigger than most other places in Norway, so nobody here had heard of Swedish hunters' mössor-performances" and beast, and all sorts of creatures poured therefore out to get a glimpse of the quirky troupe. And as usual in heath race reputation far ahead of the hunters, so on a small hill top in Egeland valley stood the big elk bull and waited for them.

Swedes were so flustered when they finally looked up from the rocky road and saw the majestic moose enthroned before them, that they got the disorder in hunting scheme. When the first bluemössan halt, was yellowmössan inattentive, and suddenly he was foremost, and everything was just crazy and they did not know who was in command, and the guns fell down from the shoulders and several shots went off and ricochets buzzed wall between, and both moose and hunters prostrated. The three Swedes drew mössorne well down over their head, and moose drew his last breath and died on the spot.

A few minutes later pulled 1. bluemössan the hat up on his forehead, looked well around and whispered, "All clear!". And great was the amazement when they all saw the king of the forest lie flat out in front of them; stone dead.

"This must be the biggest moose I've ever seen," said last-bluemössan, "wondering how old he is?" Oh, "said yellowmössan," it is easy to decide, we just count the tags on the horns. "

Then they began to count, but always came forward to different numbers; one got 15, one with 18 and the third 13. "This was difficult," said the last-blåmössan, "we'd brought with us the blue tape is in Volvo, so we could have marked tag where we started to count. As it is I'm afraid we do not stop the count on right tag ... ".

A while later shook 1. Bluemössan discouragement off themselves, "We will take the elk down to the car, so we can use blue tape and count."

After the moose was relieved stomach and intestines, tied a rope around the hind legs and began pulling it toward the car. But it went very slow and sluggish and heavily, yet it went mostly downhill, and soon they had to sit down to take a breath and drink blueberry juice.

Then there appeared a Norwegian. Suddenly he was just standing there, right next to the moose. "This is an unusually fine elk," he said, nodding approvingly, "full grown nine-year-old, I see." The Swedes looked puzzled at each other. This Norwegian man was obviously a proper sharpening.

"It's something we're wondering," said 1st bluemössan. "We do not know who shot the moose, or what he died of, for that matter. There are no bullet holes on the moose. Could he have died of fright and heart defects when bullets riddled around us?"

North man bent down and examined the moose briefly, and then he straightened up and asked: "Is one of you priest in Church of Sweden?" Yellowmössan nodded diligently; He was bishop of the Church of Sweden.

"Bishop! God heavens, then it is surely that it is you who has shot the moose, "said the Norwegian confidently, "you see - the bullet has gone straight in one ear and right out the other." Now the bishop was so happy that he spontaneously offered north man a glass of blueberry juice.

Yellowmössan was so happy that he spontaneously offered north man

a glass of blueberry juice.

"It's one more thing I could mention to you," said the Norwegian, "I see you draw the elk wrong way; you draw it against the hairs; pull it either with the hairs - so it goes so much easier! "The three of Agency for Kungliga Svenska Älgjägarforbundet, missed again to thank for the good advice, before north man was gone away, just disappeared.

The three “blue and yellow” made as north man had said, loosened the rope from the hind legs of the moose and tied it around the antlers. So they started with new powers; and now everything went so much easier, although it mostly went uphill.

A while after they had passed the place where the moose was shot, said the 2nd bluemössan: "It was a very intelligent man, this northbagger; there is no doubt that we pull the moose wrong way".

"Yes, he was a royal genius. Thanks to him everything now runs so much easier," said yellowmössan.

"Yes, he was unusually sharp," said 1st bluemössan, "but ... in this way we comes further and further away from the car ...?"

This amazement got everyone to sit down in the heather and think it over again. After a while, grip 1. bluemössan the word and concluded something like this: "The most important thing is that we get the elk down to the car." The other two sighed heavily, but agreed.

Then they loosened the rope around the antlers, tied it around the elk’s hind legs and began pulling him toward the car. It went very slow and sluggish and heavily, although it was mostly downhill, and it was dark night before they were down at Silje Vollen.

Uncle Anton looked over at Linas twins sitting with big eyes and chin drop and swallowed every word. Then he threw his head back in his chair and laughed and laughed and laughed till he nearly tumbled to the floor. We looked at him with sheepish smile around her mouth and wondered if it might have gone mad, so we thanks nicely for the food and ran home.

When we tramping and soaked came home and told my father that he was not the first shot moose in Bringsjord-heath after the war, but that first one was shot by  Jöns -archbishop of Sveeden, he sat chewing tobacco in his throat and could have been strangled.

 "And this year, the bishop sent several tons Swedish moose meat to Uncle Anton with refrigerated with legati as thanks for heart-heat we here at Bringsjord has shown to our Swedish sister nation ... is not it great?", said Kjell excited, while his father coughed in the way and raise for breath.

"This Uncle ..." dad said when he finally rediscovered the power of speech, "this Uncle can imagine you anything. Uncle Anton has got hold of some cheap meat from a moose cow which was hit by the route bus in Kvås. The widow would not have it. "

This story was reprinted in the newspaper «Lister» Saturday 10th October 2015.