"Death in the Tall Weeds" (NOT a Robert Ruark story)

The afternoon sun was setting low on the horizon, becoming more and more a direct light into my eyes, as I sat in my hide, facing westward. I sat facing a hill that started about 30 yards from my hide, and continued sloping upwards, away from me, to about 140 yards before peaking out on the horizon.

The hill is covered in weeds, waist high, weeds that give shelter and food to those creatures we try to thin out, the California ground squirrel. I sat in my hide, waiting. Waiting for one of those detestable little creatures, that wreck so much havoc on the ground, filling it full of three to five inch diameter holes, that often have mounds that span about three feet, and go upwards as much as a foot, virtually destroying lawnmower blades as they pass over them, in attempts to cut down the waist high weeds. It's a never ending circle, you mow to keep the weeds down, but the squirrels build the mounds that make it hard to mow.

My patience, begins to pay off, as I notice a dark form in the tall weeds, about sixty yards up tthe hill, that wasn't there a minute ago. As I life up the Savage 93GL, in 22 WMR, and peer through the Tasco 3x9 power scope, I can see clearly that it is a ground squirrel, stealthily working his way up the stalk of the tall weed, to munch on the tasty tops.

That would soon prove to be his undoing. I slipped off the safety, and settled the rifle on the opening in my hide, and settled my breathing, and calmed my pulse, as I settled the crosshairs on his shoulder.

I applied a light, but steady pressure, on the Savage Accutrigger, until when the trigger broke, the rifle bucked, sending the 30 grain "green", non lead bullet, down range, knocking the squirrel from his lofty perch. I saw the grass twitch for a few seconds until all was calm, once again. This was squirrel number three of eight taken that evening, in my solo effort clear my property of these ever breading, hole digging pests.

The 22 WMR, is a trusty friend, and is reliable, and powerful enough to easily and cleanly stop these beasts, out to the 140, self imposed limit.





There, just thought I give you guys a little "lighter" version of the same ol story. Hope you enjoyed it. :)

Well written, well played.

You left out the part about the Gin and Tonics.

uj

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Uncle Jack

You left out the part about the Gin and Tonics.

uj

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Agreed, you didnt even mention the "Sundowners" and Smoke to settle your nervs after the hunt. Is your gunbearer named Silent?


Good job, I enjoyed that.

Steve

Yea I guess I left ya hanging a bit 8), Gunbearer's name is Scott (me!) don't smoke, but did go inside and have a nice dinner and iced tea.

to continue;

Sitting in the main hunting lodge (the house), listening to a coyotes distant call, getting closer with each new howl, I take up the pen (or keyboard) once again to document the thrill of the hunt and share it with others of the same bent.

Hunting pressure is taking it's toll. The small, rat tailed beasts are getting wary, thus making the trips to the hide less frequent. That is a double edged sword, as it's good to have their numbers thinned to a controllable amount, but sad, because it reduces the frequency of those pleasurable trips to the hide where once again my skill with the rifle is challenged.

Hopefully, the next trip to the hide will be a fruitful one, and soon, as I very much long to test my skills against those aggressive, destructive little beasts.

I have a gunbearer named Tiny.