With the approach of small game hunting season approaching, here is an account of my first experience, of hunting on my own, and the humorous results. I hope you enjoy. First Hunt I remember my first hunting experience. My family had just moved to our eighty acre farm north of Ionia, Michigan in 1966. That summer and fall revolved around helping Dad build the modest house we would call home, as well as putting up hay and the daily chores that were required. At this time you had to be sixteen to purchase any hunting license, so again that fall I was relegated to serving as combination bird dog/deer driver for my Dad and Uncles. Then in 1967 as school began and my friends on the school bus began talking about the upcoming small game season, I realized a need to conform and bond with these fellows through hunting. The hunting bug was really taking over and all I could think of was opening day. I purchased my $5 small game license, a cheap upland game coat from Meijer for about $15, red buffalo plaid wool hunting cap, and a box of 12 gauge, #6 shot shell. All set. October 20th couldn’t come fast enough. The bus ride home from school seemed to take forever, but I knew exactly what I was going to do. Racing to the house I changed clothes as fast as I could, and urged on my brother Pat who was now going to become bird dog to do the same. Finally outside we met up with our even younger neighbor Rick who was soon to be bird dog two. Our plan was simple, down the fence row between our house and Ham Steel’s place to the south, through our woodlot, then up the fence row on the north side of the farm. Perfect. We knew we would see all kinds of game. That was a given. Rabbits, pheasants, grouse, squirrel. This was going to be good! Slowly we moved down the south fence line. I think a rabbit might have run ahead, but it was thick and hard to see for sure. The bird dogs stayed on “our side” of the fence and I on the neighbors. Down the row we went, slowly, steadily, stealthily until at the end. Nothing. Now our strategy shifted as we moved through the woods. One dog on each side of me we stopped frequently, listening, kicking brush piles. A cinch. We hunted with purpose that small woodlot. Nothing. Okay, one last shot at glory. The other fence row. Time for a different plan. Bird dogs on each side of the line, I in the middle. Ready, set, we’re off. Stay in sight. Down we go. Through the trees and thickets I didn’t think I was supposed to be the dog!!! They were walking without hazard, as I engaged thorns, thickets, thistles, pickers, and all other snarly brush known only to hunter or dog. Stop I said about half way up the lane. Listen. Suddenly we looked and about fifteen yards ahead on the ground was a squirrel. Without thought I raised the shotgun, aimed and fired. The squirrel or what was left of it was mine. Blown to bits as it was I put it in my coat game pouch and with glee couldn’t wait to show off my prize. Proudly displaying my game I showed Mom and Dad. Neither seemed too impressed, nor were they eager to assist in cleaning the creature. Looking over the shredded rag of flesh, and discussing the matter with the dogs we decided that the kill was beyond saving and would not be worth the effort to clean and cook. It was a mess!! The cats were treated to a feast, and I then as now have always felt badly about not trying to use that game. I learned a lot from that first hunt. 1. Use a weapon suited for the quarry. My shotgun was well suited to the pheasant or rabbit we expected to see, not so for squirrel. 2. It is OK to go game less. Shooting something just to kill it makes no sense and isn’t what hunting is about. 3. Use what you take. 4. See number 2 Since that first hunting experience I have hunted often, mostly unsuccessfully as I am not that good of a shot. My brother Pat on the other hand is very capable, and I find myself better suited to the role of Bird Dog.
Posted on: Sat, 18 Oct 2014 16:15:44 +0000
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