BOB KORNEGAY: Squirrel hunters have a lesson to teach

Outdoor writer Clyde Ormond once wrote, “It is said that a successful squirrel hunter can sit so long and motionless against a hickory tree that his beard will grow through the trunk, and the only sound he will make is that of growing old.”

That is the very reason, I think, why hunting squirrels draws dedicated squirrel hunters like a magnet. I mean, just read the passage once more and pay close attention. The sound of growing old is beautiful music when played by a hardwood bottomland orchestra.

Granted, squirrel hunting will never be a “glamour” sport. For most, it has become little more than a fond memory of youth. Thankfully, however, there are still a few noble souls left who never quite grow up.

Take, for instance, the folks in certain regions of Louisiana. I’m not altogether certain this is still the case, but time was there were areas in the Pelican State where high school football games just prior to the opening Saturday of squirrel season were scheduled on Thursday rather than Friday. This just so squirrel hunters could arise early on opening day.

In most parts of the country, even the pursuit of deer or turkeys doesn’t merit such a degree of respect. In some locales, it seems, Ol’ Bushytail is still king.

For the truly dedicated squirrel hunter, however, it is not the squirrel itself that lures him into the woods on crisp fall mornings. It is instead just a simple mind-clearing opportunity to come upon a piece of ground where he may sit, long and still, at peace with himself and his world.

Of course, there are a number of other squirrel hunting techniques, equally worthwhile, that require not immobility, but careful, stealthy movement and rapt concentration. Most squirrel hunters have tried them all with varying degrees of success. Yet, it is the quiet stillness that lures the “real” squirrel hunter time and again into the cool, dark hardwood bottoms.

When a squirrel hunter leaves home for a morning’s hunt, he is filled with the same excited anticipation he feels on the verge of a quest for bigger game. From his driveway to the woods, all his thoughts turn toward bagging a limit and later stuffing himself with the delectable meat of this prolific little animal.

This attitude persists during his first hour or so in the forest, a time during which he strives mightily to take game, the kill itself being of utmost importance. Then, with three or four bushytails in his bag, he begins to feel an overriding tendency to shut down, or at least shift from red-line to idle.

When that happens, the squirrels around him that remain active have little to fear. For he has chosen a clean, dry spot of earth upon which to sit and a straight, comfortable tree to support his back. The .22 rifle on his lap, for the most part, remains where it is for the hunt’s duration. All his active senses level off and respond only to the euphoric, never-ending lure of the woods themselves; all stress a thing of the past, all worries light years away.

It is not uncommon for him now to doze; even falling into deep slumber is not out of the question. When he awakens, the morning will have progressed without him. The sun will have noticeably brightened and a light breeze will be blowing.

“A mite too windy for squirrel hunting now,” he’ll tell himself.

“Good,” his ‘self’ will reply as he closes his eyes once more.

Home again, his kill cleaned and put away, he once again faces the real world. Household responsibilities, day-to-day pressures and that weird sound his pickup engine has been making somehow are not the pressing problems they were yesterday.

A piece of advice, brethren: Pay heed to the squirrel hunter should your paths ever cross. Learn from him.

You’ll find him quite easy to recognize. He’ll be the one whose beard has grown through the tree trunk, the man with the contented smile on his face.

Contact outdoors writer and columnist Bob Kornegay at [email protected].