Late-Season Squirrels

When I was a kid, squirrel hunting was listed among Iowa’s most popular outdoor pastimes.  Not just for young hunters, but for adults as well.  Then, as now, you looked for squirrels in places where newly fallen acorns covered the forest floor like a carpet of marbles.  In a time preceding road ditch to road ditch farming practices, acorn producing oak woodlots were abundant.  Squirrels were beyond plentiful.  A .22 caliber rifle was the weapon of choice and ammo was cheap enough that even a kid could scratch up the money needed to sharpen his ‘squirrel eye ‘ by plinking tin cans.  In addition to being fun to hunt, squirrels were also flavorful and nutritious.  Fried or baked, squirrels became one of my favorite outdoor entrees.

Times change, and squirrel hunting no longer enjoys its former popularity.  Most of my boyhood woodlots have been bulldozed, burned, and buried.  The boisterous autumn clamor of blue jays and distinctive churring of curious squirrels has been replaced by the brittle rustle of drying corn leaves.  But all is not lost.  Wherever scattered stands of mature oaks remain, squirrel populations thrive.

I must admit that I’m not much of a squirrel hunter anymore.  Every year I tell myself that I’m going to get after them.  Most of the time I don’t — too busy scanning the sky above a spread of duck decoys, sitting in a tree hoping to arrow the ‘big one’, chasing pheasants with my falcons, or messing with the dogs.  Same thing happened again this year until, glancing at the calendar, I realized that the season’s January 31^st squirrel closure was less than a week away.  Time to get it in gear.

Blowing the dust off my Ruger .22, I grabbed a handful of long rifle cartridges and headed for the woods.  Weather conditions were less than ideal.  Although the day was sunny – squirrels love sunshine – the wind was roaring – squirrels hate wind.  With gusts topping 30 mph, the timber was far from peaceful.  Branches were twisting and turning.  The noise was deafening.  Moving to the woodlot’s downwind side, I took a seat and hoped for the best.  Despite the wind, I soon spotted a big, orange-bellied fox squirrel moving in my direction.  Slowly taking careful aim, I squeezed the trigger.  The little .22 barked and the first bushytail was in the bag.  Squirrel number two hit the ground about ten minutes later.  I soon spotted two more squirrels chasing each other round and round the massive trunk of a nearby tree.  They eventually parted company with one going to the left and one going to the right.  The one that went to the right became squirrel number three. 

And so it went until before I knew it, I was in possession of a daily limit of six prime squirrels.  The bag was pleasingly hefty, and the outing had clearly surpassed my expectations.  Walking to the truck, I asked myself why I didn’t do this more often.  When I later removed an ample serving of meat from the fragrant confines of a sizzling skillet, I was instantly reminded of why fried squirrel was, and is, one of my favorite outdoor entrees.