In early February, the
out-of-doors can be an inhospitable place, and with deer season long concluded,
many outdoorsmen hang their hat and dream about spring by the fire. However, thanks to last year’s regulation
amendment, squirrels remain in-season with rabbits, until the last weekend in
February. Pursuing either may provide
enough adrenaline to ward off winter’s chilly advances.
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| Photo by Matt Reilly |
Two Triples
After a 25-fish morning
on a Blue Ridge brook trout stream with my older brother, Phillip, I embarked
on my drive home with the sun in my eyes.
The warm mid-day sun had raised the mercury almost 20 degrees since
dawn, and I knew the woolly bushytails in my favorite woodlot would be drawn up
into the hardwood canopies to soak up the rays.
My trigger finger itched, and I pressed a little harder on the gas
pedal.
Dead oak leaves crunched
under my boots with just a few hours of daylight left. I couldn’t blow any shots and expect to leave
the woods with my limit of plump squirrels.
Luckily, I thought, with the winter mating season in full swing, my
quarry would be a bit distracted.
Sneaking to within range of a playful bunch might present multiple shots
for my 20-gauge scattergun.
I crossed a small creek
at the base of a ridge and paused, listening for activity. Nothing.
Continuing up the ridge on heel and toe, I made two steps before a gray
missile bolted from the trunk of a white oak and began scaling another. I shouldered my shotgun and landed the bead
on the hesitating, spread-eagle gray. A
squeeze of the trigger cashed #6 shot for the evening’s first bushytail.
I hadn’t shucked the
spent shell before two more squirrels fled from the creekbottom. One made an acrobatic attempt to find safety
in an adjacent tree, and a report from the 20-gauge dropped it as it struggled for
footing. The other made an athletic
departure along a fallen oak tree, but the third and last shell in my chamber stopped
it short.
A half hour later I found
myself running out of light. At the base
of the next ridge, I could hear the scampering of multiple squirrels in the
dense creekbottom, hidden only by a small rise.
When I was sure they were distracted with each other, I closed the
distance to a wide oak trunk over the rise in quick bursts, imitating the sound
of a pouncing bushytail.
The first shot was
presented when an alarmed gray jumped from the trunk of an oak into the
branches of another. Peeking around my
temporary cover, I took aim and sent it tumbling. The next peeked around the base of another
oak, presenting a head shot that didn't go unclaimed. A third held tight on the forest floor for
several seconds before making a mad dash up the nearest hickory tree. I ran forward ten feet before he began his
assent up the trunk and, taking a quick knee, fired a rising shot for a second
triple and the last of my limit.
Rabbits in the Open
It was in the final week
of the 2012-13 deer season that I was perched high in a tripod overlooking a
food plot of clover, radishes, and alfalfa.
The green lanes were cut from the surrounding pine and rose thicket,
which I knew to hold scores of cottontails.
In fact, it was rare that I made the walk to my stand without jumping a
rabbit or two, and any time spent in the camouflaged perch was likely to see
regular bunny traffic coming to the wood’s edge to feed on leafy greens.
A .22 in the place of my
.243 would have filled the pot, but instead, at a later date, I approached the
thicket with a shotgun and small game loads.
Countless rabbit trails emerge where the pine-needled edge meets grass,
so I surveyed for concentrations of traffic before diving into the tangle.
Once inside, potential
rabbit hide-outs are easy to spot. Bent
over cedar trees, hollow logs, rose bushes, tree piles—each should be
approached, gun at the ready. I
proceeded in this manner for two hours, and jumped a total of five
cottontails. In each case, it escaped
without injury with no shots fired.
It is typical of spooked
rabbits to return to their individual piece of cover when danger has moved
on. However, keeping a tight eye on
return routes, I could detect no movement after several minutes of waiting.
Regardless, there is no better
way to jump-start your heart in the frozen February woods than with the
spirited exodus of a fleeing rabbit.
With any luck, next time’s score will lean in my favor!
Originally published in the Rural Virginian
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