The Best Hunting Stories Ever Told

by Jay Cassell

  The two hares shot by Oesterle had both been strays. Jacob’s had not.

  “I could have gotten a stray early in the hunt,” Jacob said, “but I let it go. I often do this, because when the rabbit being chased finally is shot, I’ll recall where I saw the stray and so will know where I can immediately put the dog on a fresh track. Of course, you can’t always be sure you’ve got a stray coming at you.

  “When I do shoot a rabbit I leave it there until the dog arrives—if he’s going to arrive—because Champ enjoys finding something at the end of the line.”

  In the Northeast at the end of deer hunting (before the turn of the year) and waterfowl hunting (just after the turn of the year), cottontail and snowshoe rabbits are just about the only game that may still be sought. The larger and more athletic varying hare is a more challenging species to hunt than the cottontail rabbit, because the former runs faster and ranges wider, and because hunters usually follow it on snowshoes. Sometimes a few inches of new powder snow will cover a crust strong enough to support a man wearing only boots, but this does not happen often.

  The snowshoe rabbit itself is not troubled by any snow conditions, because in fall the soles of its feet develop a heavy growth of hair that, coupled with its huge hind feet, serve as “snowshoes.”

  This hare adapts to winter in another way as well: in the fall its brown summer pelage begins to change to white, and the transformation continues until the only dark fur left is on the tips of its ears. The change is brought about by the shortening of daylight and will occur even if the days are warm and without snow. The reverse shift occurs in spring. Each alteration takes about eight weeks.

  Deer hunters in the bare woods of November are well aware of the varying hare’s pelage change. The snow-white animals show up for incredible distances in the brown woods. Indeed, late fall is just about the only time that the hunter without a dog will have any success going after snowshoe rabbits, for when they are sitting motionless in the snow they are nearly impossible to spot.

  In New York State and northern New England the varying-hare breeding season begins near the end of February. The gestation period is thirty-seven days, and the latest litters—three litters a season seem to be the average—may be born as late as early October. The litter size varies from one to six, and the leverets, young hares, are born with full fur and eyes open, alert and able to walk and hop. Varying hares do not build nests; the female simply makes a depression on the forest floor.

  Varying-hare populations dropped precipitously in all but the remotest regions of the Northeast when it was settled and land cleared for agriculture. Now, with farm land reverting back to woods in many places, good hare habitats are being created.

  Varying hares require dense stands of conifers—spruces seem to be most favored—from 6 to 16 feet high as their base cover. They emerge from this base area at night to forage for food—a wide variety of plants, and buds of trees and shrubs—and during this foraging they use taller stands of conifers as avenues of travel. They dislike open spaces, and research has shown that even a two-lane highway is an effective barrier to them. The desire for overhead cover is undoubtedly born of a fear of attack from the air.

  Once in a while, however, you will note where hares seem to lose some of their caution. Not far from where we hunted, near an abandoned beaver pond, I found a set of hare tracks in the open, in a gully beside a logging road. The tracks went west until they encountered another set coming from the opposite direction. The two animals had met and cavorted in the snow for a while, and then one had plunged across the open road into the alder swamp beyond. The onset of the mating season almost certainly accounts for this exuberant behavior.

  Only a few weeks are now left for snowshoe-rabbit hunting in Vermont. But Jacob said, as we shuffled up the last hill toward our car, that the final week of the season was often the best time, for, among other things, the warmer weather makes it easier for the dog to follow the scent.

  Whether in January or March, however, varying-hare hunting has a singular appeal to those who like the woods to themselves. The deer-hunting hordes have departed, and one will usually go all day without seeing anyone save those in his own party. Sometimes the silence will be shattered by the snarl of a snowmobile, but the operator of this machine usually runs well-defined trails or logging roads, and a snowmobile cannot negotiate much of the thick cover the hare hunter must visit. Also, though one sometimes encounters cross-country skiers or snowshoers wandering through the trackless, snow-filled woods, most of them congregate at various skiing centers and dutifully pursue one another along marked courses.

  Deep in a stand of young spruces, waiting for the sharp yelp of the beagle to signal that the chase has begun, one revels in a white silence broken only by the thumps of snow that have slid from heavily laden branches or the cheerful cries of chickadees that cannot resist a close inspection of the intruder in their domain.

  Then, when such a hunt is done, some closing ritual is proper. In our case, as we lounged in the brilliant midafternoon sunlight, the ritual involved a few bottles of imported beer and a batch of fat oysters I had brought with me from Martha’s Vineyard. Having spread a burlap bag on the hood of Jacob’s car, I shucked the bivalves open, and Jacob, who is a partner in the Tabusintac camps, a hunting and fishing lodge in New Brunswick, pronounced them as good as those from Tabusintac Bay.

  Eating raw oysters in the mountains is always a special experience; they seem particularly precious so far removed from the ebb and flow of the tide.

  Our little feast done, we drank a toast to Champ, who had done remarkably well on a cold day, and as we parted my companions invited me to join them in Vermont’s forthcoming spring season for wild turkeys.

  Squirrel Hunting: The Making of Young Hunters

  JIM CASADA

  A great American sporting scribe, Archibald Rutledge, once suggested that the ideal solution to so-called father-and-son problems lay in teaching boys to be hunters. Referring to his experiences with his three boys and his determination to do his best by them, “I decided primarily to make them sportsmen, for . . . To be a sportsman is a mighty long step in the direction of being a man.” Old Flintlock, as friends and family knew him, believed that hunting was the finest legacy a father could leave his offspring. It is my fixed conviction, he argued, that if a parent can give his children a passionate and wholesome devotion to the outdoors, the fact that he cannot leave each of them a fortune does not really matter. They will always enjoy life in its nobler aspects without money and without price.

  If one agrees with Rutledge’s philosophy, and I suspect that anyone with much experience afield would readily concur, the next logical question focuses on appropriate steps to take in the shaping and molding of a hunter. This involves many considerations: gun safety, sporting ethics, woodsmanship, marksmanship and the like. One of the finest ways to address all these matters while giving a youngster plenty of opportunities for action and every likelihood of a lifelong love of sport is through squirrel hunting. The sport runs as a bright thread through the fabric of American history. Hardy frontiersmen sharpened their shooting eyes and secured food for the table through hunting bushytails. The animals were incredibly abundant, thanks in large measure to vast forests dominated by that now-vanished giant, the American chestnut. The standard practice was to “bark” squirrels. This involved choosing a bushytail perched on a low limb or near the base of a tree as one’s target, then firing into the bark immediately beneath the animal. Accurate shots would stun or kill the squirrel with flying bark. This sensible practice had dual merits—no meat was damaged and the hunter could retrieve his lead bullet to be melted down and recast.

  Such hunting required superb marksmanship combined with equally adept woodsmanship, and it was accomplished in these skills have played a key role in American wars from the Revolution right down into the modern era. For example, the Overmountain Boys, a group of highly skilled hunters whose efforts proved vital in defeating British forces at t
he pivotal Revolutionary War battles of Cowpens and Kings Mountain, came from the Appalachian backwoods of what today are parts of Tennessee and Kentucky. Moving through the woods like wraiths and firing with the same deadly accuracy they employed when squirrel hunting, they proved an elusive and deadly foe that left the Redcoats in disarray.

  Jumping ahead to World War I, America’s most decorated civilian soldier, Alvin Cullum York, a quiet country lad who had grown up hunting, braved the deadly killing fields of the Western Front and single-handedly killed 25 Germans, captured 132 more, and took 35 enemy machine guns. In the same conflict, staunch mountain lads who had hunted squirrels and roamed hardwood forests from boyhood formed the heart of the 117th Infantry that stopped German forces at the critical Battle of the Bulge. More recently, a man of my personal acquaintance who learned his shooting savvy and fieldcraft through countless days spent in the late autumn and winter woods saw three tours of duty in Viet Nam. For the first two he served as a sniper and the third one found him training other snipers. He is, quite simply, the finest woodsman I have ever known. Interestingly enough, he still ranks squirrel hunting as one of the sports he enjoys most. Individuals such as these—and there were countless others—were able to perform their daring deeds and earned the lasting gratitude of their country thanks to the fact that they possessed special skills. These skills included stealth, keen eyesight, a knack for hearing and immediately identifying woodland sounds, and appreciation of the habits and preferred habitat of the animals they hunted, superb marksmanship and the ability to remain perfectly motionless for extended periods of time. In short, they were woodsmen of the first order, and their woods-wise attributes were a direct product of long, patient hours spent hunting squirrels.

  Today the sport has faded from the popularity it once enjoyed (as recently as 1960 squirrel hunting ranked as the most popular type of hunting in almost two dozen states), thanks in no small measure to the remarkable comeback stories of wild turkeys and the white-tailed deer. Nonetheless, squirrels remain incredibly abundant over much of the country, and that consideration, together with the tidbits of history noted above, suggest that squirrel hunting is an ideal way to mold and make a young hunter.

  A youngster whose sporting apprenticeship involves a lot of squirrel hunting will learn much about the woods, for becoming consistently successful in the sport requires precisely the same abilities that will serve one well with bigger, more elusive quarries such as turkeys or deer. Moreover, with proper exposure, the youthful hunter will soon realize that he is involved in an ongoing learning process that will continue as long as he takes to the fields and woods. The dean of American camping, Horace Kephart, summed matters up nicely when he stated: “In the school of the outdoors there is no graduation day.”

  An ideal way to get a budding hunter started in the sport is with some pre-season forays into the autumn woods where he is an observer rather than hunter. It is easier to move through the forest unseen and unheard at this time of year, thanks to the fact that hardwoods still retain their leaves. This means squirrels are less likely to spot you at a distance. It also makes for quieter movement than is likely to be the case once dry leaves cover the forest floor, and at this season the tell-tale sights and sounds of dropping nuts or shaking limbs are a big help in locating the treetop tricksters. Some basic lessons regarding nut cuttings (“sign”), the location of nests and den trees, and general observations of squirrel behavior will be a real plus once actual hunting takes place. Ideally a mixture of still hunting and stalking should be employed once the apprentice actually goes hunting, and it might be best to take a youngster a few times as an observer and “helper” before putting a gun in his hand. Recollections of my first hunt when I actually carried a gun, a borrowed .410, remain as warm as that late October morning was cold. Seated shoulder-to-shoulder with my father, we watched and waited as the sun turned a heavy frost into a woodland sparkling with diamonds. Then, as the woods began to come alive, a nearby sound caught my attention. Carefully and slowly turning my head, as I had been taught, I spied a big old boar bushytail easing down the side of a shagbark hickory. “Ease your gun up and remember to squeeze the trigger when you’re on him,” Dad said. Moments later he was giving me a proud pat on the back as we admired my first squirrel. For me, as I suspect is true for countless others of my generation, the moment remains a magic one, transcended only by the day when I shared a similar experience with my daughter.

  Those are the sort of memories (and training) every youngster deserves. A good introduction to still hunting comes by taking a position in close proximity to a mastladen hickory or a grove of oaks, while old logging roads, ridge tops and river bottoms all lend themselves to effective stalking. As a rule, particularly if you have done a bit of homework in advance, action will be frequent enough to satisfy the sometimes short attention span of eager youngsters, and it is always important to remember that fun, along with safety, comes first and foremost. Make sure the hunt is enjoyable and there is every likelihood that you will be making a sportsman for life.

  There is no set age at which a boy or girl is ready for their first gun, but usually it is somewhere between the ages of nine and twelve. Strict attention to sporting ethics should be a part of the educational process, and that means focusing on taking clean shots, shooting accurately and cleaning and eating the kill. Of course, once the ravenous appetites of youth have sampled the delights of dishes such as squirrel and dumplings, the latter will become a welcome part of the experience.

  In time, the young hunter should reach a point where he can venture into the woods along or at least separate from his adult mentor when they go hunting. If possible, it is a good idea to include some hunting with a dog as a part of the overall introduction to squirrel hunting. A boy with a capable canine companion will know joys beyond compare. Make it a point to relive each hunt afterwards, quietly discussing what was observed and learned. Work in exposure to finding one’s way in remote terrain, and while afield pay attention not only to squirrels and squirrel sign but other evidence of wildlife—deer trails, rubs or scrapes; turkey droppings or scratching; or maybe something as simple as eating a few sticky, sweet persimmons, picking frost-nipped pawpaws, or gathering black walnuts to be cracked later.

  What you are doing, after all, is shaping a member of the next generation of hunters, and though we too seldom think of it in that light, being a part of that process is an awesome responsibility. Properly done though, the education of a youthful sportsman is as rewarding as it is important. You will reap a deep sense of inner satisfaction through knowing, as Archibald Rutledge put it in his inimitable fashion, that you have given a youngster a gift—hunting—that “inculcates patience, demands discipline and iron nerve, and develops a serenity of spirit that makes for long life and a long love of life.” Those are qualities all of us would like for our offspring to possess, and one of the finest ways to make this happen is through providing them with an apprenticeship in squirrel hunting. Savvy in the ways of the wilds and trained in the school of the woods, the young Nimrod will have acquired skills that bring ample rewards throughout all his years.

  Shotgun Versus .22 Rifle for Squirrels

  The decision on whether to use a shotgun or a .22 when hunting squirrels is to a certain degree a matter of personal preference. Each has its special attributes as well as shortcomings. A shotgun makes sound sense when leaves are still on the trees and getting a full view of a bushytail can be problematic. Similarly, a scattergun has obvious advantages when dealing with a fleeing squirrel or one busily scurrying along a limb or the forest floor. A .22, on the other hand, places more of a premium on marksmanship (something that should certainly be stressed to young hunters), and a properly placed shot between the shoulders or in the head leaves the meat undamaged. Also, longer shots are possible with a rifle, and unlike the situation with a shotgun, you only need to see a small part of the squirrel (its head) to take a telling shot. When hunting in pairs, especially if you are using a dog
, it makes sense for one hunter to carry a shotgun and the other a .22. That way you are ideally equipped to deal both with squirrels that hide high up in a tree and those that decide to light a shuck for the next county.

  Different Tactics for Hunting Squirrels

  A wide variety of tactics can be used to good effect when hunting squirrels. Whenever possible, it is a good idea to expose beginners to all of them. Here’s a brief listing of the most popular techniques.

  *Still-hunting. Probably the most popular approach to squirrel, still-hunting involves getting comfortably situated in a prime spot, such as near a den tree or in an area where mast is plentiful, and waiting for squirrels to appear. It is vital to keep still and remain constantly alert.

  *Stalking. This involves easing through the woods looking and listening for your prey. It is best accomplished when leaves are still on the trees or when a recent rain makes near-silent movement through the woods possible. Old logging roads through forests are ideal for this approach.

  *Hunting in pairs.

  *Hunting with dogs.

  Some Thoughts on Safety

  When I first started squirrel hunting, my father rationed out shells to me one at a time. Once he decided I was ready to be in the woods by myself, maybe over the next ridge from him, that practice continued. Never mind the fact that my gun was a single-shot .22, he knew that having only one shell would make me select my shot with great care. He explained this in detail, strongly hinting that to fire a shot and then sneak back to him asking for another shell without a squirrel in hand was something that just shouldn’t happen. There were misses, but not many of them, and all the while I was learning the vital lessons of careful shot selection and making absolutely sure of one’s target. All of this was accompanied by plenty of common sense instruction in gun safety. There was also one period of painful probation when I had the first gun of my own, a little .410, taken away for a time after getting caught crossing a fence without unloading it. You will have to decide how best to approach issues of gun safety, appropriate respect for the quarry, and related issues, but they should be an integral part of the hunting experience from the outset.