In the autumn of 2006, shortly after I was diagnosed with
ALS, my wife and I embarked on a two-week whitetail safari in the Southeast. My
hunts in North Carolina , South Carolina and Georgia went smoothly thanks to the
help and generosity of people we hadn’t met before this trip.
Spooky Squirrels
Some folks
say they only hunt squirrels because it hones their stalking and shooting
skills, making them better big-game hunters. I need no such excuses. I go
squirrel hunting because I love to hunt squirrels.
As a teenager in Pennsylvania
I used to rush home from school, grab my single-shot 20 gauge and orange vest,
and head for nearby woodlots in search of bushytails. When I was in my mid-20s,
I lived in Philadelphia .
Every Saturday in October and November I’d wake up at 3:30, drive to State Game
Lands in south central Pennsylvania and greet
the dawn on a hardwood ridge overlooking the Susquehanna
River , squirrel gun in hand. My pulse always started racing at the
glimpse of a tail flicking among the branches or the sound of a small critter
shuffling through fallen leaves—and it still does!
While we
were finalizing plans for the North
Carolina trip, I learned that my host, Mike Marsh,
shares my passion for squirrel hunting. Although deer would be my priority,
Mike also put squirrels on the hit list.
The day
after I shot the two does, Ligia and I slept in and relaxed all morning while
Mike (a freelance outdoor writer) worked in his home office. After lunch Mike and
I drove about 30 miles to meet his friend Basil, who had “the perfect squirrel
spot.”
Basil emerged
from his tool shed when he heard us pull into the driveway, and we held a brief
meeting to map out our strategy. We’d be hunting about a mile from the house; Mike
drove the pickup along a double-rut road and Basil followed us on his
four-wheeler. When we stopped, Mike helped me onto the four-wheeler behind
Basil and then followed on foot while we motored 200 yards through creekbottom
hardwoods.
We reached a
small opening among some oak trees where Basil had set up a corn feeder to
attract deer and hogs (baiting is legal in North Carolina ). The corn, dosed out by the
feeder in timed intervals, also draws other critters such as songbirds,
raccoons and squirrels.
It took my
friends several minutes to find a firm place where the legs of the plastic
patio chair didn’t sink in the soft ground. I settled into the chair—wiggling
around to make sure it wouldn’t shift or sink—while Basil opened my four-legged
walker in front of me and draped my camo coat over it. Situated 15 yards from
the feeder, this setup doubled as a gun rest and mini-blind. Mike handed me his
20 gauge Remington autoloader and a box of #6 high-brass shells, and wished me
luck.
“We’ll be
about 400 yards over this way,” Mike said, pointing to my right. He carried a
.410, Basil toted a .22.
Today + These Woods = Not a good
time and place to be a squirrel.
I relaxed, inhaled
deeply and relished the earthy, leaf-loam scent of the autumn woods. My heart
began beating wildly a half-hour later when I heard the sound of claws on tree
bark somewhere behind me. I audibly tracked the squirrel’s progress as it scampered
from branch to branch and passed overhead, taking the high road toward the
feeder. I finally saw the rodent descending a tree trunk 10 yards in front of
me, slightly to the left. It paused 10 feet from the ground and struck a
classic squirrel pose: facing downward, body flattened against the tree, head
held out.
I mustered enough strength to lift
the shotgun from the walker and raise the barrel high enough to draw a bead on
the squirrel’s head. The gun wasn’t rock steady, but I punched the trigger and dropped
the afternoon’s first bushytail. The earthy, leaf-loam scent of autumn woods
smells infinitely better when mixed with the pungent aroma of burnt gunpowder.
By nightfall I had tallied four
squirrels. Then I heard a sound that told me I wasn’t the only hunter in the
area. A barred owl hooted loudly from a nearby tree, and another owl answered
off in the distance. They called back and forth for a few minutes, and their
spooky conversation reminded me what day it was.
When Mike and Basil returned, I
greeted them with “Happy Halloween!”
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