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In search of Darkness.

There was a time that when I heard the word "hunting", all I thought about were squirrels. It was my number one passion when it came to hunting. I couldn't imagine a better time than being at the base of a tree mid morning as the sun warmed the branches overhead, maybe a 22. cal rifle cradled in my arms or my trusty Remington 870 in 12 gauge across my lap, either way I was happy. I was able to find peace and a space to think when I ventured that hollow alone with just my little Sako P72 topped with a Weaver K-4. I learned to slow up and scan the tree tops or branches that lay in the sun's light. Many time I found a good grey sunning it's self in the morning's first rays.

I had a ritual of sorts, I would pick my way through the brush and leaves to make it to my favorite tree, I'd clear out my seat a little and sit down, then taking whatever pocket knife I had on me, I would open it up and set it in my lap or maybe stick it into the ground. I did this because our tick population has exploded and I used that knife to end their attack on my pant legs. If I killed as many squirrels as I did ticks, I'd have to buy a new freezer.

I would sit motionless, listening to the leaves in the slight breeze, hoping to hear that unmistakeable rustle of a squirrel in search of acorns. It helped that I was propped against an old oak tree that always seems to produce a pretty good crop. I killed many grey squirrels and a few beautiful fox squirrels under that tree. I spoiled myself and turned myself off of the death. I loved the time, the hunt, the image of a squirrel taking in his moment of silence and warmth as he too enjoyed the sun's rays. I found myself unable to pull the trigger and thus, I've shied away from hunting them as hard as I once did.

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Permalink Reply by johnny twoshoes on January 27, 2016 at 17:49

My burning desire to hunt bushytails was renewed a little this year when my uncle called me up and wanted to know if I wanted to head for camp. We had some basic maintenance to handle at camp so we used that as our excuse to head to camp for a weekend. Riding along were our pair of 870's and some blaze orange. After taking care of the issues at camp we turned in for the night knowing we would search to get some life goals completed the next morning.

See, my uncle John and I share the same desire to wrap our hands around the cape of a black squirrel. A black squirrel is just a color faze grey squirrel, but we don't have them around our place at home. The same woods we bear hunt though seem to be loaded with them, until we hunt them that is.

Waking up the next morning we headed for town, the little town of Tionesta Pa is sleepy, almost as sleepy as I was without having that hit of caffeine to get me going, but soon I would have as much coffee as I wanted and a hot breakfast to go with it, fuel for the day.

We hunted old haunts and new lots in hopes to get a black squirrel, but we were met with a silence in the woods I've never experienced before. Even the birds didn't have a morning song to share. Bleak is the only way to describe it, it was almost as though they heard we were coming to town and left for vacation. No birds, chipmunks, squirrels, nothing.

My most exciting find being an acorn that the deer or turkeys hadn't found first.