I had to check the mouse poison and traps at the Hilton this morning and see if the weeds in the winter wheat stubble and been mowed completely so I cruised over to the Hilton. There were no mice in the traps so I’ve been skunked since I baited the place. Never, never before have I gone so long with an empty trap line over there.
Last night Graham got a good look at one of those critters living in the attic and my hunch from the night before was correct. Flying Squirrels. They were running and racing around up there late and actually went out on the roof of the Hilton. I have to give them credit, they have a lot more courage than I do out there on that roof. Of course, I’ve never mastered the art of controlled falling like Flying Squirrels have. I asked Graham if he was familiar at all with the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons. He wasn’t which was just another indication of my age versus his age. I’m 61 and he’s 9. I grew up with Rocky the Flying Squirrel and Bullwinkle the Moose while Graham has grown up with more sophisticated animations. At any rate I explained to him that Rocky wore a WWII Fighter Pilot’s head piece and goggles.
Having Graham there was pretty cool. I want to get him there more often. When I am there I am always digging in my files and coming up with memories of my father, my father-in-law and the others who have passed on into the happy hunting grounds. Those memories always make me smile. Perhaps one day, long from now, Graham will be up there, will dig back into his file and pull out a memory, think of me and smile. If he does, it will all have been good.
I was thinking about my earliest hunting memories. I remember that old Remington autoloader that was my grandfather’s. It wouldn’t always kick out the empty casing but it didn’t matter. He’d given it to me and I’ve just never had a gun that created that same feeling. I remember my first wild duck falling from the sky. It was actually just a little east of where I hunt now. How ironic. One shot, a hoot, a holler and fifteen minutes of searching for the duck. We had no dog but my dad, bless his soul, was bound and determined to find his oldest son’s first duck. I’m sure that if we hadn’t been so broke, he’d have had that bird mounted for all time. As it is, that wasn’t necessary. I think about that bird all the time.
Then there was my first pheasant. Shot while road hunting on Kent Road just west of the Claude Cross place. I had spotted the rooster in the first couple rows of corn. We stopped, I loaded that old Savage single barrel .410 gauge shotgun and it seemed like my feet never touched the ground as I headed into the corn field. The dog picked up the trail right away and soon there was a commotion in front of me. A rooster pheasant going airbone, a dog nipping at it’s tailfeathers as the bird gained speed and altitude. I only had one chance and it was my first-ever chance on a bird. I took deadly aim, pulled the hammer back and snapped the trigger. By the time the shot pattern from that old single barrel .410 reached the bird, it had flown a fer piece. But, a perfectly placed shot scored a hit on the head of the bird and the next night it was dinner.
I’d like to have that old single barrel .410. I’d hang it on the wall in my carving room and just stare at every time I go down there. A gun, two hands on the piece, I’ve never really been able to capture that way that old gun felt.
I went over to the Hilton tonight after officiating the 9th grade football game and after a quick meal. I’d left my digital camera in the Hilton and this time of the year, it’s really hard for me to resist the pull that the place has on me. There were a few deer in the alfalfa right in front of the Hilton but I was moving too fast and too loudly and they spooked into the marsh. I stuck around a few minutes and got to listen to the coyotes howling to the north of Al Heath’s Tamarack swamp. Cool stuff that 20 years ago we’d never hear around these parts. There were no coyotes here then. There is just something wild about the sound of coyotes or wolves howling.
In the coming weeks I’ll be spending more and more time over there. It is a spiritual thing for me. It’s a way to really get in touch with my outdoors background. The place just speaks to me. It’s peaceful, never hurried.
Tomorrow, I’ll check it out briefly in the morning before heading to “The Nong!”
Graham in the Doorway of The Oshaukuta Hilton
Oshaukuta Outdoors 