Recently I saw a cartoon
that made me realize still-hunting is a dying art. The cartoon was of a man
with his deer rifle screaming at his hunting buddy “I don’t want Patience! I
want to kill something,” Now days everyone wants to do things in a hurry.
“Hunters” careen through forests, gouging ruts in every hillside on their All
Terrain Vehicles. These so called hunters could not hear an earthquake much
less squirrels chattering, a deer bleat or a quail call. I can truly say I feel
sorry for the person who has never experienced still-hunting.
Still-hunting has always been a
part of my life. One time especially stands out from the rest and probably the
reason why it was my first time to hunt alone.
I will always remember the autumn I
was fourteen. It was the first day of squirrel season. The clock on the mantle had
just struck 6:00 and I was out of bed before the chimes stopped vibrating, as I
had not slept very soundly during the night. I dressed quietly by the faint light
from the fireplace, donned a soft flannel shirt, cotton twill pants, and wool
socks. Walking noiselessly in my socked feet, I carried my boots to the
kitchen. Sitting on the wood-box, I pulled on the boots and laced them tightly.
My rifle and a box of cartridges I gathered from the gun rack. Taking a denim
jacket from the hall tree near the back door, I threw it across my shoulder.
Grabbing some ham and two biscuits from the warming shelf, as I passed the
wood stove, I wrapped them in a clean dishtowel and stuffed them in my coat
pocket.
I wanted to reach my destination
before sunrise so I walked quickly to cover ground. The first lesson I had
learned from my dad and granddad was, “always be ready for the prey by dawn.
This is the time they are less likely to be expecting trouble.”
Now, I was squatting in the damp
leaves of the forest floor with my back against the trunk of a large hickory,
my eyes shifting from side to side as I scanned the grove of trees. The sun’s
rays were streaking through the trees and a slight breeze was blowing. I hoped
the breeze would give some indication of where the prey was hiding. My rifle
lay across my knees ready for immediate action.
This had become a test of patience,
whoever moved first was going to lose. I knew my dad and granddad had taught me
well, but now it was up to me.
Catching a glimpse of movement out
of the corner of my eye, or did I? I shifted my focus to the left. Scanning the
trees for the prey, I thought my eyes had played tricks on me, suddenly there
it was, only a part of the head and ears exposed.
Letting out my breath carefully
through parted lips and taking in another, I slowly brought the rifle to my
shoulder. Aiming just below the ear, I squeezed the trigger. The gunshot
shattered the stillness of the morning. There was a thud and the gray squirrel
lay dead in the damp leaves. I knew others would be in the vicinity so I did
not move.
The day turned into a
profitable one for me. By noon, I headed home with a game pouch packed with
gray squirrels. Granted I did not kill them all in the same grove of trees, but
every one I took still-hunting.
What is still-hunting you may ask?
It is not all sitting as one might think, but hunting in a quiet and methodical
way. Walking slowly, taking care not to step on twigs or loose rocks, stopping
often to listen to the sounds around you. Smell the musty scent of decaying
leaves; notice of the plants and animals in the vicinity. Don’t just walk
through the forest oblivious to everything. Use all of your senses, doze in
sunshine filtering through the branches of a pine thicket. Absorb the noise of
the forest the chirping birds, chattering squirrels, and the sighing of the
wind through the trees. Enjoy all of the elements that are part of the sport of
still-hunting.
Killing game is not the foremost
object of still-hunting. It is to learn as our ancestors did to become one with
nature and enjoy it. Many times, I have watched quietly as a covey of quail fed
nearby, or a vixen played with her kits. Deer and squirrels have come within
touching distance. Did I kill them? No! Still-hunting is foremost not a sport but
a skill that promotes harmony and respect for the world of which we have been
given guardianship.
Some persons will argue that
hunters are people that get a thrill from killing any creature in the wild.
Having been taught the skill of hunting by my granddad and dad both excellent
hunters and woodsmen I will argue that true hunters are the primary preservers
of the environment and wildlife that exist in the United States today.
If you are a hunter, take the time to teach a
youngster the skill of still-hunting. The most memorable times of my childhood
and teens are of the days I spent in the woodlands of North Carolina.