You exit with coon canines a dozen instances, or possibly 100 instances, and the outcomes are simply so-so. Positive, you’ve gotten enjoyable. You strike coons and also you chase them. You tree one 10 minutes after you place the canines down. Or possibly you shoot 5 out of a single tree. By midnight you’ve had sufficient, so that you give up and go dwelling. However none of that’s fairly what you’re in search of.
The coon chase you hanker for is a kind of old-time, tail-twisting, half-the-night affairs, when the canines get on the monitor of a buster with the brains of a fox, the grit of a badger, and the endurance of a wildcat. One which is aware of higher than to tree till he has to, and might consider loads of methods of placing it off till the final minute. Coon hunts like which might be few and much between.
The perfect chase I ever had lasted from midnight till an hour earlier than dawn. Three of us tramped endlessly behind good canines earlier than we struck a monitor, but it surely was price it. The coon was an outdated boar, sensible and difficult, and the hounds drove him throughout half a township, on and off rail fences, over grapevine tangles, down ditches, and out and in of drain tiles, whereas we clawed by way of brush, slogged in mud, and walked our legs right down to stumps. They treed him lastly, and we completed him, however we needed to take turns lugging that bjg, autumn-fat carcass 4 lengthy, weary miles again to the automotive.
That was a very long time in the past. I’ve had my share of some good chases since then, but it surely wasn’t till final fall, in Michigan, that I obtained the sort of hunt I’d been dreaming about for 5 or 6 years.
It had a commonplace starting. I bumped into my neighbor, Don Van Deusen, on the town on a moist November afternoon when the sky was the colour of outdated pewter and rain was falling in a chilly drizzle.
“Need to go coon searching tonight?” he requested.
That’s a inventory query in our a part of the nation at that season of yr, but it surely shocked me coming from Don, for he doesn’t personal coon canines. He lives in a effective outdated home his grandfather constructed proper after the Civil Conflict, retains a rabbit hound or two, and does a little bit fox searching. As far as I knew, coon searching wasn’t on his listing. However earlier than I may ask any questions he went on to clarify.
In case you’ve ever listened to a duet of that sort, ringing by way of the darkness of a foggy autumn night time, the spell it weaves. In case you haven’t I can’t inform you.
“Coons have been elevating hob in my corn all fall,” he mentioned. “I believed they’d give up after it was lower, however they’re worse. You’d suppose a drove of hogs was working it. I wish to skinny them out. John Sexton is coming over from Pontiac tonight. He’s obtained good canines, and I believed possibly you’d like to return. He’ll be alongside proper after supper.”
“I received’t preserve you ready,” I promised.
The rain stopped at nightfall and the wind died, and with the early darkish got here a skinny fog that lay in a ghostly blanket on the hills. As I drove over to Don’s place the moist roadside brush shone like diamonds within the automotive’s headlights, and within the woods there was the sluggish and damaged patter of water dripping from the oaks and beeches. I reminded myself that coons go away their dens early on such nights, I and prowl till daybreak. The damp grass and weeds maintain scent for hours, and the voices of the canines are a hole, lonesome sound — sufficient to relax a person’s blood.
I used to be at Don’s home forward of time. Sexton drove into the yard a couple of minutes later and Don launched us. Two canines bounded down when John opened the automotive door, a giant, rangy redbone and a black and tan that was solely a little bit smaller.
“Glad you introduced Pluto,” mentioned Don to John, indicating the redbone. Then he jerked his thumb on the smaller hound. “This one new? By no means noticed him earlier than.”
John nodded. “Yeah, that’s Wheeler, Pluto’s son. I’m simply beginning him this fall.”
“Appears to be like straight black and tan,” I advised.
“Takes after his ma,” Sexton defined. “If he seems nearly as good as she was he’ll be fairly a canine.”
“How’s he doing to date?” Don requested.
“He doesn’t rightly know what he’s after or the way to discover it but,” John admitted. “However he’ll study. He wants chase or two and a pair or coon fights to take skunks and possums and rabbits out of his head.”
“Possibly we will repair him up tonight,” Don mentioned. “One of many coons working down in my corn is as huge as a bear, judging from the harm.”
“A hoop-tailed peeler, eh?” Sexton mused. “I certain hope we hit his monitor. Pluto has simply the medication for th.at type, and it’d do the pup lots of good. Hope they’ll catch him on the bottom.”
“That’s so much to ask,” I put in.
“It’s,” John agreed, “however I’ve seen it occur.”
The canines streaked by way of the fence round Don’s cornfield and disappeared within the darkness. A giant tamarack swamp lay past the corn, and the shocks alongside its border seemed as if a twister had struck them. They’d been ripped aside, and half-eaten ears had been strewn an round. However the canines couldn’t discover a monitor.
“The coons should have adjourned their conference,” John mentioned whereas we waited on the fringe of the swamp.
The pup reported in lastly, however Pluto stayed out within the swamp. We moved on, crossed the street beneath Don’s home, and headed for a second cornfield. We had been not more than over the fence when the younger canine struck, shouting a pointy be aware of discovery. He talked in damaged syllables, as if not fairly certain of what he’d discovered, after which we heard Pluto pound throughout the street behind us and go barreling by way of the cornfield.
“We’ll know for certain now,” John mentioned quietly. On the heels of his phrases the older canine sang an extended, rolling bugle be aware, and we knew.
Pluto’s voice is a bass that begins again across the roots of his tail and comes out full-throated and deep. That coon monitor was as chilly and off as yesterday’s flapjacks, and it was a pleasure to listen to him convey it up throughout the sphere, affected person and certain, feeling his means, bawling every time he discovered one thing price mentioning. Wheeler sang baritone, whooping it out like a steam calliope. In case you’ve ever listened to a duet of that sort, ringing by way of the darkness of a foggy autumn night time, the spell it weaves. In case you haven’t I can’t inform you.
On the higher finish of the sphere they ran south and down within the bogs. Pluto lastly discovered what he was in search of, a ribbon of coon scent that smoked in his nostril. He went into overdrive instantly, and his track modified to an keen baying that rose and fell like a pulse beat. Wheeler pulled out a few stops and sailed in to maintain him firm, and so they actually stirred up the echoes.
“That’s extra prefer it,” John yelled exultantly. “That coon’s going locations now.”
“Extra probably heading for a den tree,” Don replied. “There’s huge timber over that means.”
However wherever the coon’s den was, he wasn’t able to make for it but. He’d in all probability realized from expertise {that a} tree is not any certain haven. It’s frequent apply amongst native hunters, coaching their canines earlier than the season opens, to tree a giant coon, maintain the canines, shake him down, give him a five-minute begin, and switch the canines free once more. When that has occurred a number of instances to a troublesome outdated boar it’s subsequent to inconceivable to tree him, and this fellow apparently had been by way of the mill.
For a minute the canines could be on high, flailing, clawing. Then they’d all go underneath. As usually as a canine broke free and got here up for air the coon could be onto him, snarling, raging, driving his head and neck, shoving him down.
The canines drove him east virtually a mile whereas we did a marathon over hills, down ravines, throughout fences, working, panting, and stumbling. It was all we may do to maintain them in listening to. They couldn’t have been greater than a few minutes behind when the coon turned again our means, working west on a large circle with the canines at his heels.
“He’ll go up now,” Sexton predicted once we halted for a minute at a fence. “He can’t stand that tempo for much longer.”
However the coon had different concepts. Off to the north the canines stopped barking as abruptly as if any person had flipped a swap, and for a minute the night time was as nonetheless as a grave. Then Pluto rapped out a gruff announcement in a brand new tempo, and we had been on the run once more. There was one thing fallacious, although. The outdated canine’s tree bark wasn’t pressing sufficient. He’d chop three or 4 instances after which there’d be an extended, puzzled wait.
We discovered the canines sloshing round in the course of a giant pond grown thick with button bush. They’d treed the coon, all proper, however he hadn’t stayed put. He’d gone up and traveled overhead, the best way a monkey goes by way of treetops, and the canines had fallen for it. By now the coon was working once more towards no matter place of security he had in thoughts. That’s probably the greatest methods within the e-book, and once you see it pulled your coon is not any newbie.
We didn’t should name the canines, for nearly the time we reached the pond Pluto determined he was barking up empty branches. He splashed out and went wheeling across the pond, and on the far aspect he hit the monitor once more and opened like a pipe organ. Wheeler caught on quick, and wasn’t greater than three jumps and two yelps behind.
The coon had gained a little bit time, but it surely didn’t do him a lot good. The canines drove him full tilt again by way of Don’s cornfield, and simply past it John obtained what he had wished for. The rolling duet of the lengthy chase broke all of a sudden and became an offended uproar. Then the unmistakable sounds of a battle floated again to us.
“They’ve caught him within the creek,” Don shouted. “He’ll drown one among ’em for certain.”
“That’s robust,” John shot again. “If two canines can’t deal with one coon they oughta drown.” However he was working for the creek like loopy when he mentioned it.
Illustration by John Gould / Out of doors Life
We sprinted throughout the muddy discipline and down by way of a slender tongue of swamp and marsh, the fretting of the canines goading us each step. The final 50 yards we may hear the tough, grating snarls of the coon mingled with the chopping and growling of, the canines. After we reached the scene it was laborious to say whether or not they had him within the creek or he had them. They had been over by the far financial institution, in quick water that may attain above a person’s knees, and so they had been a splashing, tearing pinwheel of canines and coon.
For a minute the canines could be on high, flailing, clawing. Then they’d all go underneath. As usually as a canine broke free and got here up for air the coon could be onto him, snarling, raging, driving his head and neck, shoving him down. Every time that occurred the opposite canine would seize the coon by the rear and drag him off, and the three of them would go spherical and spherical once more.
“Higher get in there with a membership and bust that up,” Don warned John. “You’re gonna lose a canine.”
John refused to get excited. “Allow them to rassle awhile,” he mentioned. “That is simply what Wheeler wants. Nothing makes a coonhound out of younger canine faster than mix-up.”
Three or 4 minutes later, nonetheless, it was evident the coon was standing the brawl higher than the canines.
”They’ll get the worst of it,” Don warned once more.
John handed me the .22 he was carrying, pulled up his rubber boots, and slid into the creek. Midway throughout he stepped right into a gap and went right down to his hip pockets within the chilly water. He pulled himself out, puffing and blowing, and wallowed again to shore on our aspect.
“Hand me that rifle,” he grunted. “I count on we’ve had about sufficient of this.”
Proper then the noise of battle died away, and once we flashed our lights on the far financial institution the coon was nowhere to be seen. He’d all of a sudden damaged away, scrambled up an overhanging tangle of brush and grapevines, and vamoosed.
Wheeler had had all of the coon he craved for some time. He swam throughout to us and crawled out, half drowned and worn to a frazzle. Pluto clambered up the other financial institution and started sniffing round for coon scent that wasn’t there. We knew what had occurred. As soon as away from the canines, the coon had slipped again into the water and vanished down the creek. A mink couldn’t have made a slicker get-away.
It appeared just like the end to probably the greatest chases I had ever had, and Don and I had been fairly glum about it. However not John.
“There goes about 4 bucks’ price of coon — pelt, meat, and all,” he introduced cheerfully. “So what? We’ll simply cost it off to Wheeler’s baptism.”
He sat down on the financial institution to dump the water from his boots and wring out his socks, after which we heard Pluto slip again into the creek.
“Effectively, the darned idiot,” John exclaimed. “He doesn’t know sufficient to surrender. He may make it repay too.”
He did. A couple of minutes later he bawled phrase of a discover about 200 yards downstream. He’d discovered the spot the place the coon had left the water and had picked up its tracks. Wheeler instantly determined he wasn’t too drained, in spite of everything, and tore off within the course of Pluto’s howling. We waited on the fringe of the cornfield. They headed our means. Abruptly Don cupped a hand to his ear.
“Hear that?” he requested. John and I heard nothing however the canines.
“One thing climbed that tree down by the creek,” Don insisted. “I heard it scratch bark because it went up.”
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The canines got here on, straight to a giant oak. Pluto tapped it, acknowledged his discover with a hoarse bark, and went on to verify. He circled out by way of the corn, checking as a coon canine ought to, and got here again to the tree satisfied. He sniffed the trunk once more, upreared towards it, and virtually shook the bottom along with his chesty baying.
“That’s it,” mentioned John. “That outdated potlicker doesn’t know the way to lie at a tree.”
We weren’t fairly by way of but, although. The oak was hung with lifeless leaves and glowing with huge drops of water, and we couldn’t discover the coon. So John lastly strapped the rifle on his again, shinned up the tree, and noticed him in a leafy fork on the very high. One shot introduced him down.
This story, “Wheeler’s Baptism,” appeared within the October 1954 challenge of Out of doors Life.
