Squirrel shoot out

I cannot count the squirrel hunts I have been on in my life, but one stands out among the rest. I had met Stacy to take a little walk about in Catoosa WMA and maybe shoot a squirrel or two. We had planned to meet up with Ron and Ray at the long field around 10 am (that was the earliest they could get there) and maybe do some deer scouting. Stacy and I got out of the truck a little after daylight and went through the anti-seed tick ritual of skin so soft and permanone application. We wondered around in the woods for a while when Stacy saw some cuttings on a stump and said "I think we ought to sit here". I had a 22 magnum and Stacy was packing a 12 gauge, we sat up on opposite sides of the small hollow we had entered and within minutes I saw a squirrel. "BAM" I dropped him, and with that crack of the rifle squirrels broke from there hiding places running away from me into the barrage of shotgun fire compliments of Stacy. This pattern continued for half an hour until we thought we had filled our limit of 20. I don't know if we miscounted or didn't find one, but we ended up with nineteen. All of this in 30 minutes out of a stand of about 7 hickory trees. I don't think I will ever be able to duplicate a day like that but hope keeps me going back. The magical day ended after meeting with Ron and Ray, showing them our bounty and bragging about Stacy's shooting prowess. We probably would have wondered around the woods some more but Ron decided to see if he could hit a hornets nest with a throwing stick...he could. After a long run back to the trucks we left catoosa. Stacy and I with 19 Squirrels and Ron with 100 seed ticks.

A squirrel in a tree is better than two in the bush?

It was a horribly foggy morning when Big Papaw, The Boy, and myself made our way to Cove Creek wildlife Management area for some early fall squirrel hunting. We split up as we left the truck. Partly because it is easier to be quiet in smaller numbers and partly because of Big Papaws emphysema. So Big Papaw sat near the truck under some hickory trees and the boy and I traipsed off down a freshly cut logging road. We didn't go far till we reached the recently logged area and I knew we should probable go else where since all this disturbance surely ran the squirrels off. I took this opportunity to use the bathroom. That is when the boy (who is six) said calmly "Hey there goes a squirrel over that log." By the time I zipped and grabbed the Marlin 22 mag the squirrel was gone. Well I was really teaching the little fellow how to hunt wasn't I.

After some enjoyable sneaking around in the woods we found a nice log to sit on and the boy commenced to eating his snack (a cereal bar) and my snack (a granola bar). While drinking water and discussing why we couldn't just put a hickory nut out on the ground and wait for a squirrel to come get it and then get him, Big Papaw came over the 2-way radio." Hey......... I have one in a hollow tree up here................why don't you come back here." We said yes and made tracks.

We arrived and Big Papaw explained how he was watching a doe when he saw a squirrel running around and proceeded to shoot at it only to wound it and watch it run into a hollow tree. I had voiced a concern as to the validity of the squirrel being in such a small hollow tree so Big Papaw picked up a stick and stuck it up in the tree and we all heard the "CHUCHECK, CHUCHECK" sound of a pissed and wounded squirrel. "I hate to leave a wounded animal and by the length of the stick he is probably about right here" he said pointing at a spot on the tree. "Do you think you could shoot through the tree with that magnum". I said " sure I even brought some solid points. I took a few steps back and shot the tree. The squirrel rolled out the hole at the base of the tree shot through the head and shoulder. If you don't believe me enlarge that photo and see for yourself. While you are looking at the photo take note of the smiles on our faces over one little squirrel. That is what I love about the outdoors, It is always an adventure.

Gigging

We slipped through the tall grasses silently and single file. The darkness of night has long since closed in shrinking visibility to a couple of feet. Deep throated croaks in the distance dance in my ears like a siren song. We approach the pond less by sight more by memory. We take a minute to collect ourselves and organize. Ron checks the three pronged gig at the end of a 7 foot long laminated bamboo stick while I familiarize myself with the on/off toggle on the spotlight. I locate the general location of a larger croaker by the sound of his call. Ron (without a word to each other only the familiarity of the activity) starts moving in that direction. I turn the light on and begin searching the shoreline and almost immediately I see the tale tale glowing eyes of our official state amphibian the bull frog. I hold the light as still as possible in our prey's eyes blinding him to Ron's approach. In one fluid motion Ron drives the gig home like a spear. The next couple of seconds are tense until the gig is raised from the water with our first pair of succulent legs hanging for all to see. Several similar little dramas played out that night before we loaded up our trash bag full of frogs and left. While the act of frog gigging is fun, it pales in comparison to the feast we will enjoy after dropping the breaded legs into hot oil. If you haven't ate frog's legs you haven't lived.

spring squirrel and a G-Hog

My belly was soaking wet from the dew which clung to the grass even though the sun hung high in the sky. I lay flat sweating like a man with a secret barely breathing and hoping my earlier carelessness didn't cause me to miss my opportunity.

The morning had started out well, I made it to Cove Creek Wildlife Management Area right at daylight. The squirrels were moving on this opening day of the 2002 spring squirrel season and despite It being kind of muggy and foggy I only walked 100 yards when the first boomer found itself in the cross hairs of my Marlin 22 Magnum. I probably initiated 7 stalks that morning and brought down 5 Squirrels (all gray). I had slid them into the back pouch of the dove vest I was wearing over a camo T-shirt when I noticed the squirrels were now silent. This didn't suprise me because it was 10 am, typically nap time for squirrels in my area. I knew I wouldn't see any more squirrels until an hour or so before dark, but I still wanted to hunt.

I thought maybe a ground hog or two might be in one of the fields TWRA maintains on this managed area. So I hit a nearby logging road and headed up toward the closest of the fields. I walked right up on the field like an idiot. half not expecting to see a whistle pig at the first field I walked up to I wasn't exactly sneaking. Of course there was one standing on it's hind legs and appeared to look at me as I cleared the wood line. I quickly fell to my stomach, red faced at breaking a rule my father had always drilled into my head. He always said " your always hunting even if you are walking back to the truck, you are always hunting" I decided not to wait to long, I don't know if it was to not give the ground hog enough time to run to his hole or my anxiousness to see if I had screwed up. I raised up to one knee, my Marlin in front of me. I was relieved to see the hog still standing looking in my direction. I aimed at the top of his head (since I new my rifle would drop some at 150 yards) and pulled the trigger. I don't think he even heard the shot, since the bullet blew his brains out the back of his head leaving all of his meat undamaged. I made it back to the truck by 11:30 am but felt pretty good since my dove vest was so heavy that I think I pulled a muscle taking it off.