The old coon hunter drove his pickup truck out to my place. Ever since I’d told him that Farmer Sims planted field corn in our meadow, he’d been excited about the possibilities of a coon hunt in my corn field. I’d picked up the phone earlier in the evening: “HELLO, BROTHER!” He practically yelled. “Do you wanna go coon huntin’ this evening, just after dark?!?”
I could tell he was excited, so I told him to come on, even though my leg was still sore and hurting. A ruptured ligament would have been a good excuse, but he was so thrilled, I knew I needed to tell him “Sure”. When he got there, we drove down the property to the field, parked his rig, and let his two dogs out. The older one was still young, a beautiful black and white spotted hound that looked like a Wisconsin Holstein dairy cow. The other one, just a pup, was a shiny tan-brown hound.
Heading Out For The Coon Hunt
He strapped his .22 rifle (“If they tree one, we’ll shoot it” he explained) across his back, adjusted his headlamp onto his Roll Tide ‘Bama billed hat, and started walking. The dogs walked with us for aways, but then quickly started running up the fence line and into the field.
“I don’t know why I still coon hunt,” he said, with a slight smile. “I’ve been doing it since I was about 12 years old, and I just don’t know how to stop!”
I nodded, shrugged, and told him “you don’t stop doin’ something you love. You just do it slower!”
Soon the oldest dog started baying, that clear, bell-like sound of a true hound. “Yaaaoooowwwwwwwoooo! Yaaaooooooowwwwwwoooo!” reverberated through the trees, back and forth across the field.
“Oh, she’s got one! That’s not a deer. She’s got the scent! She’s working the trail!” We listened, but kept our slow gait along the fenceline toward the West Chickamauga Creek. Halfway down, he pointed over toward Old McDonald’s cow pasture. “There’s a slough over there,” he explained. “When the wild cherries are on, you go over there and you will tree two or three coons every time.”
After awhile, the dog stopped baying. “That coon’s crossed the creek” he said. “She’s lost him. She won’t cross after it. She doesn’t know how. But this is good for her. She’s never worked around water before. This is a good lesson for her, even if we don’t get one.”
She circled back to us, stayed near us for a bit, then lit off the other direction. Pretty soon she started baying again. “She’s got another one!” he said. “She’s running him. This is so good for her!”
Why Do We Do Outdoors?
After awhile, as we were walking back up the fenceline, he asked me again. “Why do you think I can’t stop? Why do I keep doing this? I’d do it even if I was alone, and even if I didn’t get nuthin. But why?” I had my own idea, but I let him talk his out. “It helps me think. I just get out here, and look up at the stars and the sky, and listen to the dogs, and I can just relax. And I feel like I’m around God. I just like it. I enjoy it. I truly do!”
I thought, half to myself and half out loud, “Isn’t it good to have something that connects us to our roots, to nature, something that puts us out in a field where we can look at the stars and feel the moisture and listen to dogs and bugs and exercize without it feeling like a workout, and we can just find peace.”
“That’s it,” he said, quietly. “Finding peace. That’s the good stuff.”
Visual Coon Hunt Success
We trampled through some heavier underbrush, to the big oak tree on our property. On the way there, he tilted his head toward the tree. “There’s one! There he is!” he said. Following the headlamps beam, I could see two silver-orange eyes reflecting back towards us. Later, in the willow tree by the corner, we saw two more already up in the tree. Though the dogs never found them, we did. “We’ll just leave them be” he said. “We don’t need to shoot them, and the dogs didn’t find them. They will next time!”
“That’s a good coon hunt. Three for us, none for the dogs.”
As we got back to his truck, he put the dogs in, shut the tailgate, and we talked for a bit. He needed to go relieve himself, so I let him head back into the cornfield. When he came back, he said “Yup, I got my DNA spread all over this place!” I laughed.
He climbed into his truck, and I thanked him for my first real coon hunt. “Don’t you want a ride back to your house?” he asked. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll just walk back. Thanks.”
He was silent for a moment, then he said: “Yup, you’re just like me. I’d rather walk out in nature every time I can.”
“Have a good evening!”
“Let’s do it again, soon.”
“Oh, you can count on that!”
I smiled as I watched his truck bounce down the old dirt road that heads away from my house. A new experience with a lesson that never gets old.
It don’t matter much/
if you get what you hunt, ‘cuz/
you’re still gettin’ out.
Video of the coon dog howling — you won’t see much, but you can hear her!
