Larry Eckart
Well-known member
Skunk and Squirrel
This post combines two recent hunting experiences into one story.
On September 29 I flew to Alpena, Michigan to meet two friends. Together we were going to duck and grouse hunt an area in northern Ontario that we had hunted many times, but not for the last ten years.
Once upon a time I lived in Michigan. Those years led to many trips to the fishing and hunting areas of the mitten state, as well as into Ontario. When I moved to South Carolina in 2010, those trips stopped. Now, in retirement, this would be my first fall trip to the north woods. I was stoked, not just to go hunting but simply to be in the north woods. Balsam fir. I wanted to smell balsam fir. Wet popple leaves in a grouse and woodcock covert. I wanted to smell those leaves.
Driving across the Mackinac Bridge that separates the Upper Penninsula from the Lower Penninsula is an experience in marveling both at mother nature and the incredible ability of man to master that nature. While Michigan is north, the Upper Penninsula is North!
Customs was an easy get through. The Ontario Fish and Game people now allow you to get your license, outdoors card, and waterfowl stamp online, so we were good to go as we motored through Sault Ste. Marie.
We stayed in a cabin on St. Joseph Island, Ontario and hunted that vicinity. On such trips planned so long in advance, you never know what you will get with the weather or the migration. Even though we would hunt early -the first week of October- we had done well that week in previous years, that far north.
Much, much different than our previous experience in and around the Great Lakes ten years ago was the current water level: a full 3' higher than normal. Our local knowledge was rather useless. It was like hunting an area we had not been before.
Example: we knew of one narrows about 300 yards wide that ringnecks and bluebills used annually as a flight path. That 300 yard narrows was now 3/4 of a mile wide! Crazy! Every place we used to stand in knee deep water was now shoulder deep or over our head. Crazy!
We resorted to the time honored principle: be where the ducks want to be. On Monday night we found an area being used by ringnecks and mallards. Thank You Lord! Anticipation and excitement made it hard to sleep.
Did I mention rain? On the day we arrived the rain came in bands that mimicked the bands of a hurricane. Heavy rain. Pause. Heavy rain. Pause. Repeat. My buddies accused me of bringing hurricane weather with me from North Carolina. We woke the first morning to thunder and lightning.
Waiting until 8:00, the storms abated and we motored to our chosen spot. Where there were ducks last night was an empty marsh this morning. Strange! Beyond strange, for two days we stared at mostly empty skies in areas where in other years we had seen and killed many ducks. Motoring out into big water where we normally would see rafts of ringnecks, we saw nothing. Nothing!
After flying and driving over 1,000 miles and hunting two days I ended up with zero birds. Skunked! I shot a few times but the bird strap remained empty. Our luck was bad. Even on the day we planned to grouse hunt we received solid rain and 40 degrees all day long. Skunked again!
Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The opportunity to be with friends in a beautiful place is its own reward. Would I have preferred a strap full of mallards and ringnecks? Of course! But it was not to be.
Here are a few pics of other rewards from the trip of skunk:
This balsam fir would look and smell wonderful as anyone's Christmas tree.
View attachment IMG_2323.jpeg
Nothing like a good fire to ward off the chill of rain and empty bags.
View attachment IMG_2324.jpeg
The local bakery had a raisin pie straight from heaven. I only had one piece. At a time.
View attachment IMG_2325.jpeg
Here is a pic of where we hunted. Pretty good looking marsh, eh?
View attachment IMG_2330.jpeg
We used an 18' Starcraft outfitted with a Pop Up Blind. Here is a view from inside the blind.
View attachment IMG_2328.jpeg
We may have hunted before the migration arrived but not before the colors came out. A photo of St.Joseph Island in its glory.
View attachment IMG_2333.jpeg
Because two of us flew in, we did not bring fishing equipment. We did, however, stop at the famous St. Mary's rapids in Sault Ste. Marie. This photo shows my friend Mark standing before the rapids. Ten years ago, this was one of the more dangerous places to wade because 2' and 8' of water look the same. Now, with three feet of water added to the Great Lakes, the St. Mary's rapids are nigh on impossible to wade. If you enlarge the photo, you can see a sign and line of froth half way out. That used to be a concrete berm three feet out of the water that you could walk to and fish both sides. Not now. The guys we saw fishing were basically fishing from shore or near shore.
View attachment IMG_2335.jpeg
Thus three experienced hunters came home without one duck. Skunked! To add insult to injury, when friend Mark check his luggage at the Alpena airport, the $70 baggage surcharge he was expecting turned into $170 because one bag was a few pounds overweight. I doubt he ever flies Delta again.
A week after that trip small game season opened in North Carolina. I know that in the minds of many hunters today, small game is just that: small. Deer is the deal. That is fine. I am not a deer hunter. Ever since my wife and I moved to North Carolina this past summer, I had been looking forward to getting out in a good woods filled with hickories, oaks and beech trees. I was interested in returning to a pleasure of my youth: squirrel hunting. Hardly anyone hunts them anymore. While I would still look out for bow hunters, I would have the woods for the most part to myself.
And I did. After scouting a few days I found several woods on public game land that was filled with the trees that squirrels love. Actually, let me be more specific: I called the manager of the local game land and he told me which areas had more trees specific to squirrels. His direction saved me many hours of labor.
I was out this past Monday morning, opening day, at the crack of dawn. In order to get into a back area away from bow hunters, I used my boat and not just my legs. Motoring out in the fog, I looked up and was surprised by a streaking group of 15 ringnecks. I wanted to ask them, "What are you doing down here already?"
I tied up my Whaler about five feet from shore so that the waves of passing boats would not throw it up on shore. After loading my newly acquired and sighted, Marlin 60, I let the woods take me in. It had rained the previous night. It was cool, wet and quiet. The woods were everything I remembered from my youth. I feel sorry for the boy who does not know the feeling of being surrounded by something greater than himself. The woods and marsh, though quite different, have that in common: the sense of being surrounded by something greater than yourself.
I can be pretty intense when I get to hunting. This day, I let myself relax. I looked around not just for game, but at the setting. There is something stable and rooted and comforting by the presence of 60-75' oaks and hickories. From my world viewpoint, it is pretty cool to think of God as someone who would be interested in making hickories and oaks and mornings like that one. In such company there is peace and renewal and satisfaction and gratitude.
Squirrels. There were many squirrels. There were no other hunters. The Marlin 60 may be as old as the trees of my morning. But that is one straight shooting gun. As the pic bears testimony:
View attachment IMG_E2351.JPG
Larry
PS: I know that squirrel meat has the reputation of being tough. I found that while there is an outer membrane (correct term?) that is somewhat tough, inside that outer skin the meat is as tender as you might wish it to be. Grilled to 135 degrees. Mmm good!
This post combines two recent hunting experiences into one story.
On September 29 I flew to Alpena, Michigan to meet two friends. Together we were going to duck and grouse hunt an area in northern Ontario that we had hunted many times, but not for the last ten years.
Once upon a time I lived in Michigan. Those years led to many trips to the fishing and hunting areas of the mitten state, as well as into Ontario. When I moved to South Carolina in 2010, those trips stopped. Now, in retirement, this would be my first fall trip to the north woods. I was stoked, not just to go hunting but simply to be in the north woods. Balsam fir. I wanted to smell balsam fir. Wet popple leaves in a grouse and woodcock covert. I wanted to smell those leaves.
Driving across the Mackinac Bridge that separates the Upper Penninsula from the Lower Penninsula is an experience in marveling both at mother nature and the incredible ability of man to master that nature. While Michigan is north, the Upper Penninsula is North!
Customs was an easy get through. The Ontario Fish and Game people now allow you to get your license, outdoors card, and waterfowl stamp online, so we were good to go as we motored through Sault Ste. Marie.
We stayed in a cabin on St. Joseph Island, Ontario and hunted that vicinity. On such trips planned so long in advance, you never know what you will get with the weather or the migration. Even though we would hunt early -the first week of October- we had done well that week in previous years, that far north.
Much, much different than our previous experience in and around the Great Lakes ten years ago was the current water level: a full 3' higher than normal. Our local knowledge was rather useless. It was like hunting an area we had not been before.
Example: we knew of one narrows about 300 yards wide that ringnecks and bluebills used annually as a flight path. That 300 yard narrows was now 3/4 of a mile wide! Crazy! Every place we used to stand in knee deep water was now shoulder deep or over our head. Crazy!
We resorted to the time honored principle: be where the ducks want to be. On Monday night we found an area being used by ringnecks and mallards. Thank You Lord! Anticipation and excitement made it hard to sleep.
Did I mention rain? On the day we arrived the rain came in bands that mimicked the bands of a hurricane. Heavy rain. Pause. Heavy rain. Pause. Repeat. My buddies accused me of bringing hurricane weather with me from North Carolina. We woke the first morning to thunder and lightning.
Waiting until 8:00, the storms abated and we motored to our chosen spot. Where there were ducks last night was an empty marsh this morning. Strange! Beyond strange, for two days we stared at mostly empty skies in areas where in other years we had seen and killed many ducks. Motoring out into big water where we normally would see rafts of ringnecks, we saw nothing. Nothing!
After flying and driving over 1,000 miles and hunting two days I ended up with zero birds. Skunked! I shot a few times but the bird strap remained empty. Our luck was bad. Even on the day we planned to grouse hunt we received solid rain and 40 degrees all day long. Skunked again!
Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The opportunity to be with friends in a beautiful place is its own reward. Would I have preferred a strap full of mallards and ringnecks? Of course! But it was not to be.
Here are a few pics of other rewards from the trip of skunk:
This balsam fir would look and smell wonderful as anyone's Christmas tree.
View attachment IMG_2323.jpeg
Nothing like a good fire to ward off the chill of rain and empty bags.
View attachment IMG_2324.jpeg
The local bakery had a raisin pie straight from heaven. I only had one piece. At a time.
View attachment IMG_2325.jpeg
Here is a pic of where we hunted. Pretty good looking marsh, eh?
View attachment IMG_2330.jpeg
We used an 18' Starcraft outfitted with a Pop Up Blind. Here is a view from inside the blind.
View attachment IMG_2328.jpeg
We may have hunted before the migration arrived but not before the colors came out. A photo of St.Joseph Island in its glory.
View attachment IMG_2333.jpeg
Because two of us flew in, we did not bring fishing equipment. We did, however, stop at the famous St. Mary's rapids in Sault Ste. Marie. This photo shows my friend Mark standing before the rapids. Ten years ago, this was one of the more dangerous places to wade because 2' and 8' of water look the same. Now, with three feet of water added to the Great Lakes, the St. Mary's rapids are nigh on impossible to wade. If you enlarge the photo, you can see a sign and line of froth half way out. That used to be a concrete berm three feet out of the water that you could walk to and fish both sides. Not now. The guys we saw fishing were basically fishing from shore or near shore.
View attachment IMG_2335.jpeg
Thus three experienced hunters came home without one duck. Skunked! To add insult to injury, when friend Mark check his luggage at the Alpena airport, the $70 baggage surcharge he was expecting turned into $170 because one bag was a few pounds overweight. I doubt he ever flies Delta again.
A week after that trip small game season opened in North Carolina. I know that in the minds of many hunters today, small game is just that: small. Deer is the deal. That is fine. I am not a deer hunter. Ever since my wife and I moved to North Carolina this past summer, I had been looking forward to getting out in a good woods filled with hickories, oaks and beech trees. I was interested in returning to a pleasure of my youth: squirrel hunting. Hardly anyone hunts them anymore. While I would still look out for bow hunters, I would have the woods for the most part to myself.
And I did. After scouting a few days I found several woods on public game land that was filled with the trees that squirrels love. Actually, let me be more specific: I called the manager of the local game land and he told me which areas had more trees specific to squirrels. His direction saved me many hours of labor.
I was out this past Monday morning, opening day, at the crack of dawn. In order to get into a back area away from bow hunters, I used my boat and not just my legs. Motoring out in the fog, I looked up and was surprised by a streaking group of 15 ringnecks. I wanted to ask them, "What are you doing down here already?"
I tied up my Whaler about five feet from shore so that the waves of passing boats would not throw it up on shore. After loading my newly acquired and sighted, Marlin 60, I let the woods take me in. It had rained the previous night. It was cool, wet and quiet. The woods were everything I remembered from my youth. I feel sorry for the boy who does not know the feeling of being surrounded by something greater than himself. The woods and marsh, though quite different, have that in common: the sense of being surrounded by something greater than yourself.
I can be pretty intense when I get to hunting. This day, I let myself relax. I looked around not just for game, but at the setting. There is something stable and rooted and comforting by the presence of 60-75' oaks and hickories. From my world viewpoint, it is pretty cool to think of God as someone who would be interested in making hickories and oaks and mornings like that one. In such company there is peace and renewal and satisfaction and gratitude.
Squirrels. There were many squirrels. There were no other hunters. The Marlin 60 may be as old as the trees of my morning. But that is one straight shooting gun. As the pic bears testimony:
View attachment IMG_E2351.JPG
Larry
PS: I know that squirrel meat has the reputation of being tough. I found that while there is an outer membrane (correct term?) that is somewhat tough, inside that outer skin the meat is as tender as you might wish it to be. Grilled to 135 degrees. Mmm good!
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