Unbased first published on 09/23/2015
September 12, 2015. First day of squirrel season. I didn’t know it until one of the ladies in the Examiner office told me midweek before.
There was almost always “ookie” in the bottom of my hunting bag. A denim bag, with shoulder strap Mom had made for me to carry my squirrels in. I’d dig it out of top shelf of kitchen coat closet at least a month before first day of season and ask Mom if she could wash it for me. She’d sort of turn up her nose, but she’d do it.
Savage 220A, 20 gauge shotgun. My first gun. A single shot hammerless, 2 3/4 inch chamber. Pap gave it to me for Christmas when I was ten or twelve years old. I’d go over it with oily rags and run patches through its bore until they came out clean. Squirrel season was a big deal, a red number calendar day in my life.
That old gun took many squirrels. In school a competition to see who could get most squirrels first morning of season. When I didn’t win, Warren Jenkins Jr. did. He had a .410 he bragged on.
A short snag of the great old Swamp White Oak from which I took my very first squirrel still stands. Shot him off the trunk about five feet above ground. Made instant mincemeat out of him because I was too close, but still, he was my first.
Shot seven that first morning. Pap was up on the ridge and heard me booming away. I was working up toward him slowly. When we met, he asked how many I had. He figured boy with new gun was wasting ammunition. I wasn’t. Too many thousand BBs had passed down the barrel of my old Daisy Red Ryder lever action to let me screw up the real thing. Pap got a little tight when I told him seven squirrels in my bag. Limit was six. He sent me home straight away. Lectured me a little later about law breaking, but I think he was a little proud of me too.
Not many jobs harder than skinning cold squirrels curled up from the bottom of a bag. Old method of cutting skin across the back, then hooking fingers under two edges and pulling opposing directions was Pap’s way. It was years after that till I learned better ways. First I learned to carry squirrels on a fish stringer strung through hind leg tendons. They hung straight, tails hanging down. Made pulling easier. Bloodied my pants legs adding to Mom’s hunting discontent.
Next I learned to cut skin under tails, lay tails on a solid block or stump, then stand on it with my heel. Pulling up on both hind legs will strip skin off front end first. Then loosen belly skin, pulling it up and off hind legs. A sharp knife cuts both front and hind legs at joints and severs head, all of which can be left with the skin. There’s less hair to pick or wash off later when skinning under the tail is done properly.
Last, I learned most import improvement to the whole process. A plastic zip lock bag in which place skinned/gutted squirrel soon after he hits the ground as possible. Don’t wait until he’s cold and stiff. Find some water from stream or spring. None available, carry a wet towel in one of your zip locks or packaged towels to clean hands enough to continue the hunt more comfortably.
Can’t remember last time I was excited about squirrel season. Several years ago I ran across my old denim bag, cleaned and ready for next use. I don’t remember what I did with it now, but then a zip lock will drop into most any coat pocket.
My squirrels are pretty safe now except from poachers. Last one I killed, two or three years ago, is in my freezer. On a whim, I was out one afternoon with a .22 pistol just to see if I still could. Got one, cleaned it, froze it, forgot it. I’m done. I’d rather just watch tails flip from my rocker on Doghouse deck.
