- Joined
- Mar 11, 2001
- Messages
- 70,011
- Reaction score
- 1,007
October 30, 2003
No hunt matches search for rabbits
Charlie Farmer, Springfield News-Leader
Banjo the beagle yodeled earthy music, sweet to the ears of those who savor sight and sound of miniature, floppy-eared hounds. He was headed our way.
My son Scott and I were in good position to intercept the rabbit. We stood 20 yards apart on a knoll matted with weeds, briars and rusted remnants of a dilapidated farmstead.
The vegetation in front of us was thick, but there were enough gaps in the cover to spot a rabbit bounding ahead of the dogs. All we had to do was look straight ahead.
The distinctive voice of Banjo grew louder and more frenzied. We guessed the dog to be about 40 yards away, angling in our direction. A flash of movement off to the left grabbed my attention. I readied the shotgun and scanned the weeds and prickly briars.
Commonly, the rabbit pursued by hounds in thick cover will hop several feet and then stop to listen. I figured the cottontail was holding tight. But then there was another blur of movement.
For a moment, I thought it could be the dog coursing through the brambles. Finally, I saw the rabbit tucked into a tight ball, low to the ground. I could have taken an easy sitting shot. And would have done so with a .22 rifle, but instead waited until the animal ran.
The decision nearly cost me.
Without warning, and apparently deciding the pursuer was close enough, the ball of fur sprang, darted and zig-zagged for the ground as though stung by a hornet. Instead of a calculated broadside crossing shot, my only hope of a hit was firing at the bouncing, white cottontail on the verge of disappearing.
I snapped a shot of number 6 pellets from the improved cylinder barrel that caught up with and tumbled the rabbit. I astonished myself with the shot.
The first rabbit of the season felt pleasingly heavy in the game pouch of my canvas hunting coat.
Scott and I were not alone that day. We were in a group of 11 friends, with seven beagles. Our scruffy rabbit patch is on Corps of Engineers public land in east central Missouri. I call us the rabbit gang, a collection of men and boys who began a tradition in 1985 and have for the most part held on to it as a special treasure ever since.
Our numbers, in terms of hunters and dogs, vary from year to year, but the nucleus of regulars stays pretty much the same.
The rabbit season in Missouri opened on Oct. 1 and closes on Feb. 15, 2004, with six rabbits a day allowed.
As for eating wild rabbits, most hunters, including this one, enjoy the meat. They are easy to skin and prepare for the table, and there are many excellent recipes for wild rabbit.
For most of us who wanted to hunt with our dads when we were growing, the cottontail rabbit was the perfect quarry. It was then that my dad bought me a pair of good hunting boots.
He told me that the boots would help me find rabbits. Also a canvas hunting coat with a game pouch for keeping the rabbits and sometimes even a bobwhite quail or two.
While this story is about a single rabbit hunting troop in Missouri, the successful formula has broad applications.
Maybe a band of hunters just happens to fall in place. Other times, one or two hunters, knowing full well the advantages of combining man and dog power, make it happen by drawing sportsmen together. That's how our group evolved.
Hunters generally agree that rabbit hunting does not rank high in terms of glamour. No far-away exotic destinations or private leases to cloud the sport's simple purity. This is basic hunting that many of us cut our teeth on as youngsters. As we grow older, we generally complicate the process by choosing more exotic forms of the sport.
For all of us, we think back to those first hunts of youth when the rabbit patches beckoned on cold, winter mornings. The memories are still vivid, the sport just as exciting as it once was.
When you rekindle the flames in becoming part of a hunting fraternity, you retrieve part of your youth. A hunting tradition saved that could have been lost for good. Something that can be passed on.
Canvas coats, leather boots, frosty mornings and baying hounds are part of the total picture. In a land full of hunting options, I believe the rabbit gangs of the country are the heart and soul of sport, tradition and camaraderie.
It is never too late to start or become part of your own rabbit troop. As for my son and I, we know what we have and will continue to fan the flames.
Contact free-lance columnist Charlie Farmer at 1197 East Court, Ozark MO 65721 or e-mail cjoutdoors318365@aol.com
No hunt matches search for rabbits
Charlie Farmer, Springfield News-Leader
Banjo the beagle yodeled earthy music, sweet to the ears of those who savor sight and sound of miniature, floppy-eared hounds. He was headed our way.
My son Scott and I were in good position to intercept the rabbit. We stood 20 yards apart on a knoll matted with weeds, briars and rusted remnants of a dilapidated farmstead.
The vegetation in front of us was thick, but there were enough gaps in the cover to spot a rabbit bounding ahead of the dogs. All we had to do was look straight ahead.
The distinctive voice of Banjo grew louder and more frenzied. We guessed the dog to be about 40 yards away, angling in our direction. A flash of movement off to the left grabbed my attention. I readied the shotgun and scanned the weeds and prickly briars.
Commonly, the rabbit pursued by hounds in thick cover will hop several feet and then stop to listen. I figured the cottontail was holding tight. But then there was another blur of movement.
For a moment, I thought it could be the dog coursing through the brambles. Finally, I saw the rabbit tucked into a tight ball, low to the ground. I could have taken an easy sitting shot. And would have done so with a .22 rifle, but instead waited until the animal ran.
The decision nearly cost me.
Without warning, and apparently deciding the pursuer was close enough, the ball of fur sprang, darted and zig-zagged for the ground as though stung by a hornet. Instead of a calculated broadside crossing shot, my only hope of a hit was firing at the bouncing, white cottontail on the verge of disappearing.
I snapped a shot of number 6 pellets from the improved cylinder barrel that caught up with and tumbled the rabbit. I astonished myself with the shot.
The first rabbit of the season felt pleasingly heavy in the game pouch of my canvas hunting coat.
Scott and I were not alone that day. We were in a group of 11 friends, with seven beagles. Our scruffy rabbit patch is on Corps of Engineers public land in east central Missouri. I call us the rabbit gang, a collection of men and boys who began a tradition in 1985 and have for the most part held on to it as a special treasure ever since.
Our numbers, in terms of hunters and dogs, vary from year to year, but the nucleus of regulars stays pretty much the same.
The rabbit season in Missouri opened on Oct. 1 and closes on Feb. 15, 2004, with six rabbits a day allowed.
As for eating wild rabbits, most hunters, including this one, enjoy the meat. They are easy to skin and prepare for the table, and there are many excellent recipes for wild rabbit.
For most of us who wanted to hunt with our dads when we were growing, the cottontail rabbit was the perfect quarry. It was then that my dad bought me a pair of good hunting boots.
He told me that the boots would help me find rabbits. Also a canvas hunting coat with a game pouch for keeping the rabbits and sometimes even a bobwhite quail or two.
While this story is about a single rabbit hunting troop in Missouri, the successful formula has broad applications.
Maybe a band of hunters just happens to fall in place. Other times, one or two hunters, knowing full well the advantages of combining man and dog power, make it happen by drawing sportsmen together. That's how our group evolved.
Hunters generally agree that rabbit hunting does not rank high in terms of glamour. No far-away exotic destinations or private leases to cloud the sport's simple purity. This is basic hunting that many of us cut our teeth on as youngsters. As we grow older, we generally complicate the process by choosing more exotic forms of the sport.
For all of us, we think back to those first hunts of youth when the rabbit patches beckoned on cold, winter mornings. The memories are still vivid, the sport just as exciting as it once was.
When you rekindle the flames in becoming part of a hunting fraternity, you retrieve part of your youth. A hunting tradition saved that could have been lost for good. Something that can be passed on.
Canvas coats, leather boots, frosty mornings and baying hounds are part of the total picture. In a land full of hunting options, I believe the rabbit gangs of the country are the heart and soul of sport, tradition and camaraderie.
It is never too late to start or become part of your own rabbit troop. As for my son and I, we know what we have and will continue to fan the flames.
Contact free-lance columnist Charlie Farmer at 1197 East Court, Ozark MO 65721 or e-mail cjoutdoors318365@aol.com
