 |
 |
|
|
|
August, 2005
A Wading River Coon Hunt
By Matt Curry
Head lights pierced though the black night as the truck slowly crossed over the narrow wooden bridge. From the body of the truck, bawls and barking echoed across the river and swamp, announcing the arrival of the coon hounds and hunters. Out in the far reaches of the swamp a large graying coon looked down the river to where the voices of his adversaries could be heard. Without too much concern the masked bandit went on with his search for crawfish along the bank, once in awhile going out into the stream to dig out a sweet fresh water clam. This old bandit wasn't at all worried that the pack of hounds just might be coming to give him a race again. Many a night this same pack of hounds and hunter had tried to tree him to no avail, for this veteran of the swamps had always managed to avoid going up a tree.
Just as determined as the bandit was to evade this pack of persistent hounds, the owner of the pack was determined that he would tree this smart old evasive coon that had made a mockery of the trailing and treeing ability of his coon hounds. Although the hunter was determined to get this coon, he also felt admiration for this critter. The races that he had given his hounds were always long, with plenty of false tree taps along the way, and always the same result at the end of the race: the hounds losing the trail in the water of the river. Even though these hounds were veterans, the old masked bandit was even more seasoned than the pack.
This night the hunter thought would be different. All summer it had been rainless, but tonight it had been lightly raining all day and the scenting conditions should be such that the hounds shouldn't have any trouble putting the pressure on the old ring tail. Upon unleashing the four hounds, they were off running in search of a hot trail. It wasn't long before they gave cry that a coon was up and running. It was a fast, barking, bawling run cutting though the small end of the hassock swamp and after twenty minutes the treed barks could be heard, saying to the hunter come and get him we have him up this tree. The hunter knew that this wasn't the old masked bandit that he sought, for he knew full well that it would not be easy to tree the old invader.
Upon getting to the tree the flash light beam showed mutable twin diamonds eyes glistening in the bright light. The young coons stared down at the commotion at the bottom of the tree, the hounds were leashed and led away for tonight these weren't the quarry that the hunter was after.
Again the hounds were cast, it was quite a spell before a bark was heard, then another, as the hounds picked away on the cold feed trail. Soon the barking increased until a full blown hunt was in progress, it was right in the area that the old bandit always was found. The barking was constant and the trail led down the river across to the other bank, coming back up river. Then it crossed back to go though the hassock swamp, it was a typical old bandit race, sure enough it was the one that this hunter wanted so badly, to save face. The minutes, then hours, ticked by hardly noticed for it was a musical howling red hot coon chase that was a pleasure to listen to. Even the chilling soft rain could be tolerated as the hunter took in every audible event of this chase. There wasn't too many lulls in the chase, the hunter was right about the scenting conditions being just right. Along about 1 :30 in the morning a long check was in progress, he thought could this be that the hounds were checking the tree that bandit went up. Sure enough the sweet music of treed barks echoed out across the swamp and river into the hunter’s ears.
Being wet to the skin from the rain, he waded across the river belly in the direction of the barking, though he surely would have swam across to get to this finally treed coon. It had been a long three-hour race and now after many nights in pursuit of this coon it was coming to an end. As he approached near the treed coon, he noticed that the coon had made the mistake of going over a point of high land that jutted out into the swamp, and with the pack hot on his tail he had to take to a tree. Upon arrival at the tree it was noted that it was a big spruce that had branches at the very bottom of its trunk. It took some time to locate the coon in the tree, for he was very stingy to show his twin diamonds to the hunter below, with all the commotion below his curiosity got the best of him and he looked down at the treeing hounds. This was all the veteran coon hunter needed, for as seasoned as the bandit was, the hunter was his equal. The shot rang out and the hunt was over.
On examining the coon it turned out that it was a very large male, muzzle grayed. Closer examination turned up that it had lost a hind leg. Explaining some of the mystery as to why this coon would not tree and preferred to lose the hounds by other means, also explaining that maybe he didn't make the mistake of going over the high ground, for this smart crafty bandit knew that the spruce had branches low to the ground, enabling him to climb easily into the tree. With some regrets, but a whole lot of admiration for this coon, the hunter slung it over his should and started on his way back across the river to his truck. The tired hounds trailed behind him, knowing that this hunt was over.
The admiration for this particular coon must have been ingrained into the hunter for this particular hunt happened thirty five years ago and is still remembered as clearly as if just last night. Enjoyable good memories last forever.
Email nick [at] noumbrella [dot] com with your questions, comments and concerns.
Design and Content © 2002 to 2006 No Umbrella
