You exit with coon canine a dozen instances, or perhaps 100 instances, and the outcomes are simply so-so. Certain, you have got enjoyable. You strike coons and also you chase them. You tree one 10 minutes after you place the canine down. Or perhaps you shoot 5 out of a single tree. By midnight you’ve had sufficient, so that you stop and go residence. 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 canine 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 may consider loads of methods of placing it off till the final minute. Coon hunts like which might be few and much between.
One of the best chase I ever had lasted from midnight till an hour earlier than dawn. Three of us tramped endlessly behind good canine earlier than we struck a monitor, but it surely was price it. The coon was an outdated boar, sensible and hard, and the hounds drove him throughout half a township, on and off rail fences, over grapevine tangles, down ditches, and out and in of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 means of brush, slogged in mud, and walked our legs all the way 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 acquired 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 I bumped into my neighbor, Don Van Deusen, on the town on a moist November afternoon when the sky was the colour of outdated pewter and rain was falling in a chilly drizzle.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 12 months, but it surely stunned me coming from Don, for he doesn’t personal coon canine. He lives in a wonderful outdated home his grandfather constructed proper after the Civil Conflict, retains a rabbit hound or two, and does a bit fox searching. As far as I knew, coon searching wasn’t on his checklist. However earlier than I might ask any questions he went on to clarify.
When you’ve ever listened to a duet of that sort, ringing by means of the darkness of a foggy autumn evening, you understand the spell it weaves. When you haven’t I can’t let you know.
“Coons have been elevating hob in my corn all fall,” he mentioned. “I believed they’d stop after it was minimize, however they’re worse. You’d assume a drove of hogs was working it. I wish to skinny them out. John Sexton is coming over from Pontiac tonight. He’s acquired good canine, and I believed perhaps you’d like to come back. He’ll be alongside proper after supper.”
“I gained’t hold 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 depart 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 canine are a hole, lonesome sound — sufficient to sit back 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 canine bounded down when John opened the automotive door, an enormous, rangy redbone and a black and tan that was solely a 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 straight black and tan,” I prompt.
“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 this point?” Don requested.
“He doesn’t rightly know what he’s after or how one can discover it but,” John admitted. “However he’ll study. He wants an excellent chase or two and a pair or coon fights to take skunks and possums and rabbits out of his head.”
“Possibly we are able to repair him up tonight,” Don mentioned. “One of many coons working down in my corn is as large as a bear, judging from the injury.”
“A hoop-tailed peeler, eh?” Sexton mused. “I positive hope we hit his monitor. Pluto has simply the drugs for th.at form, and it’d do the pup numerous good. Hope they’ll catch him on the bottom.”
“That’s loads to ask,” I put in.
“It’s,” John agreed, “however I’ve seen it occur.”
The canine streaked by means 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 regarded as if a twister had struck them. They’d been ripped aside, and half-eaten ears had been strewn an round. However the canine couldn’t discover a monitor.
“The coons will need to 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 highway 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 positive of what he’d discovered, after which we heard Pluto pound throughout the highway behind us and go barreling by means of the cornfield.
“We’ll know for positive now,” John mentioned quietly. On the heels of his phrases the older canine sang a protracted, 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 rancid as yesterday’s flapjacks, and it was a pleasure to listen to him carry it up throughout the sector, affected person and positive, feeling his manner, bawling every time he discovered one thing price mentioning. Wheeler sang baritone, whooping it out like a steam calliope. When you’ve ever listened to a duet of that sort, ringing by means of the darkness of a foggy autumn evening, you understand the spell it weaves. When you haven’t I can’t let you know.
On the higher finish of the sector 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 possible heading for a den tree,” Don replied. “There’s large timber over that manner.”
However wherever the coon’s den was, he wasn’t able to make for it but. He’d most likely discovered from expertise {that a} tree is not any positive haven. It’s widespread apply amongst native hunters, coaching their canine earlier than the season opens, to tree an enormous coon, maintain the canine, shake him down, give him a five-minute begin, and switch the canine unfastened once more. When that has occurred just a few instances to a tricky outdated boar it’s subsequent to inconceivable to tree him, and this fellow apparently had been by means of the mill.
For a minute the canine can be on prime, flailing, clawing. Then they’d all go beneath. As usually as a canine broke free and got here up for air the coon can be onto him, snarling, raging, driving his head and neck, shoving him down.
The canine 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 might do to maintain them in listening to. They couldn’t have been greater than a few minutes behind when the coon turned again our manner, working west on a large circle with the canine at his heels.
“He’ll go up now,” Sexton predicted after 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 canine stopped barking as abruptly as if any individual had flipped a change, and for a minute the evening 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 incorrect, although. The outdated canine’s tree bark wasn’t pressing sufficient. He’d chop three or 4 instances after which there’d be a protracted, puzzled wait.
We discovered the canine sloshing round in the course of an enormous 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 means of treetops, and the canine had fallen for it. By now the coon was working once more towards no matter place of security he had in thoughts. That’s among the finest tips within the guide, and once you see it pulled you understand your coon is not any newbie.
We didn’t should name the canine, 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 facet 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 bit time, but it surely didn’t do him a lot good. The canine drove him full tilt again by means of Don’s cornfield, and simply past it John acquired what he had wished for. The rolling duet of the lengthy chase broke all of the sudden and become an indignant uproar. Then the unmistakable sounds of a struggle floated again to us.
“They’ve caught him within the creek,” Don shouted. “He’ll drown one in all ’em for positive.”
“That’s powerful,” John shot again. “If two canine 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 / Outside Life
We sprinted throughout the muddy discipline and down by means of a slender tongue of swamp and marsh, the fretting of the canine goading us each step. The final 50 yards we might hear the cruel, grating snarls of the coon mingled with the chopping and growling of, the canine. Once we reached the scene it was exhausting 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 canine and coon.
For a minute the canine can be on prime, flailing, clawing. Then they’d all go beneath. As usually as a canine broke free and got here up for air the coon can 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 an excellent mix-up.”
Three or 4 minutes later, nevertheless, it was evident the coon was standing the brawl higher than the canine.
”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 all the way down to his hip pockets within the chilly water. He pulled himself out, puffing and blowing, and wallowed again to shore on our facet.
“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 after we flashed our lights on the far financial institution the coon was nowhere to be seen. He’d all of the 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 canine, 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 among the finest 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.
“Nicely, the darned idiot,” John exclaimed. “He doesn’t know sufficient to surrender. He would possibly 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 any case, and tore off within the route of Pluto’s howling. We waited on the fringe of the cornfield. They headed our manner. Out of the blue Don cupped a hand to his ear.
“Hear that?” he requested. John and I heard nothing however the canine.
“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 canine got here on, straight to an enormous oak. Pluto tapped it, acknowledged his discover with a hoarse bark, and went on to ensure. He circled out by means 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 in opposition to it, and virtually shook the bottom along with his chesty baying.
“That’s it,” mentioned John. “That outdated potlicker doesn’t know how one can lie at a tree.”
We weren’t fairly by means of but, although. The oak was hung with lifeless leaves and glowing with large 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 prime. One shot introduced him down.
This story, “Wheeler’s Baptism,” appeared within the October 1954 challenge of Outside Life.