I headed for the same ridge, but got sidetracked, which is one of my favorite things to do while hunting. I went close, but veered off to the left and found a spot that looked like it needed watching. Or napping.
Nope, couldn't settle, and I had to see what was further on. A little draw, and on to the next ridge, and a stream... I heard leaves rustling. And not the ones I was rustling!
This called for a slow sneak, and mimicking the leaf rustles I was hearing.
S l o w l y I snuck, step by step, inch by ...oh. Sorry. Wrong routine.
It took me a half hour or more to get within eyeshot of the rustlers. (Sounds like a western, eh?) Yep there were two of them. I was content to just watch for a while, as Carolina wrens are some of my favorite birds. But they sure weren't squirrels. But this WAS a nice place to sit, so I sat, and the wrens moved on. I listened to a pileated working on a branch, the slapping of the beech leaves in the breeze, and the rustling of the leaves in the thicket. Sure was loud for a couple of wrens. And that sure was a big wren, looked about twelve pounds or so.
Binoculars up, and there is a hen turkey working in the brush. Scratch scratch... scratch! Where are the rest of them? I only see one, but maybe they were tag-teaming me. Well, can't hunt it, but, what glory would be mine if I bagged a photo of her? Starry-eyed, I fetched up my camera. Long minutes passed as she worked nearer, almost into the open, then back into the brush. This happened many times, until I was almost ready to take a shot of the twiggily obscured bird and post it with an explanatory, "That blob in the smilax is..."
But even that was eliminated from possibility, because, as any hunter knows, when one is presented with a project such as this, it is time to Cue the Squirrel.
All of my focus was in the viewfinder of my camera. So, of course, directly behind me I hear the scrabbling of little feet on bark. I can see him in my mind's eye, mouth pulled to one side, eyebrow cocked as he hangs head-down ten feet above the crunchy carpet and peruses this intruder. "Ahem," says he. Intent on the turkey, I dare not move, so I ignore the rat. This, of course, is the vilest insult that one can hurl at a squirrel.
The squirrel then proceeded to heap upon me the loudest, most excruciating excoriations, imprecations and protestations, thus defending his pride and position, and venting his righteous indignation regarding the impudence of this uninvited meddler in domestic affairs.
Well, I was squirrel hunting, right?
I looked over my shoulder. Yup, just as I had imagined, about fifteen yards behind me. I looked to the front. There she scratched. The squirrel barked one last wheezy complaint and scampered down and away, having proven his point. I looked to see if I could get a fix on him. I heard a bunch of leaf rustling and the pitter patter of turkey feet in the thicket, then all was quiet again.
Well isn't THAT par for the course? :mad:
I slowly gathered all my stuff, put it where it belonged, and got up to move along. It was getting late, and I had a bit of a drive ahead of me yet.
A petulant bark-wheeze wafted thinly through the late afternoon air, the kind that comes from a disgruntled tree rat, surveying from on high a kingdom gone woefully wrong. There is no approaching him.
I set off across the ridge, heading toward a draw, and down a tree trunk came the game. Must be young and ignorant, because after all this, and with me shuffling along in front of God and everybody, this squirrel came down a tree to gawk. I pulled back, and thought way too much, actually tried to aim, and missed just under it. I never heard that unimpeded shaft hit land again. Pretty one, too, with a good Zwickey on it.
I hope someone finds it, and wonders where it came from.
Killdeer
Topic: Virginia Squirrel Hunt 2010 photos. (Read 322 times)
