116 3rd St SE
Cedar Rapids, Iowa 52401
A hunting victory
The Nature Call: It was only 1 rabbit on a recent outing, but was good enough
The Gazette offers audio versions of articles using Instaread. Some words may be mispronounced.
If February is for rabbit hunting, then that means some snow on the ground and at least one hound to give chase.
Neither of those conditions greeted us on a recent Sunday morning. The bitter cold was a poor substitute for snow. Since we’re still working men, we take the opportunities as they come on the weekends.
The eastern cottontail rabbit blends in perfectly with the tired brown of a winter field in drought. I predicted any shot would require snap reflexes.
The rabbits could have their choice of charges from an assortment of shotguns. I toted my grandfather’s 16 gauge Wingmaster, my buddy leveled a 20 gauge, his son’s instrument was in .410 bore. Next outing I’ll make sure to get a fourth member in 12 gauge, just to complete the cycle.
Our first push, mercifully with the wind, started off with a bang. My buddy had the middle position in our three-gun skirmishers line. He shouted, I looked, we all heard the boom.
The rabbit had waited with nerves of steel for him to walk past and then bolted. It was the sound of escape that betrayed the rabbit’s position. One rabbit for the pot. That jolt of excitement warmed my ungloved trigger hand, I hoped it augured a bountiful morning.
The end of the small field meant time for a turnabout of sorts and then back up the other length. The light wind leveraged the cold temperature with a vengeance. My dad eschewed gloves. Try as I might, I’m not my dad.
We walked with purpose. I scanned desperately with my eyes, my ears were mostly taken with the sounds of the wind. Ahead I saw where the tall grass ended in a point.
“That” I announced in my mind, was the place. My experienced subconscious was preparing my eyes and hands to execute a coordinated movement. Vain hope.
The rabbit tore out of the cover at the predicted spot. I already was squared up enough that the next move should have been automatic. But cold air and cold steel froze the clutch to my finger. The extra moment it took to get on the trigger made the shot lag.
My buddy offered a following shot, more for sympathy than for effect. He’d waited out of courtesy to let me shoot first. Shucks.
We repeated the process at a much bigger field close to the Cedar River. The owner had many brush piles along the edges. Hope again.
Upon inspection, the piles turned out to be bunkers, too big to flush anything from them. We refocused our efforts on the prairie.
A couple skeletal deer were the most interesting animals we saw. We didn’t observe a single rabbit — not near, not far. Surprisingly we did not spring any pheasants either.
We sought out the owner after the march. During our debrief he said he sees lots of hawks perched on the prairie’s perimeter. I accept that competition, the circle continues.
Looking up, looking ahead, and keeping my pencil sharp.
John Lawrence Hanson, Ed.D. teaches at Linn-Mar High School. He sits on the Marion Tree Board, and is a member of the Outdoor Writers Association of America
Daily Newsletters