The pines were planted in rows and trimmed up to chest height. To see for any distance we had to bend at the waist or kneel and peer ahead. We were on the edge of a hay field, about a quarter of a mile from fields of alfalfa and oats.
Rabbit hunts are the same the world over. Just because we were in Chilean Patagonia didn’t change the game.
At a rocky outcrop, from a tangle of downed logs, two hares leapt up and streaked away, with their black tails down, their ears laid back, they ran like deer, but zigged and zagged like low-flying doves through the timber.