Tight squeeze coon hunt

By Gregg Phipps, Huckleberry Expeditions

Submitted by CrazyCascadeBlueticks.com

After hunting with hounds for the past thirty years I have devised ways to minimize effort and maximize results. But what was about to happen was ridiculous!

Normally I like to leave for a coon hunt a couple hours after dark, as was the case the other night when a friend asked if he could go. Although I enjoy the solitude, company is sure a nice break sometimes on long nights with little action. So I picked up Bill around 8:00 p.m. He came out with a large flashlight and a headlamp shinning to match his smile. Bill has been coon hunting with me before and has learned that “lighting” is a mandatory part of this great sport.

As we headed out we discussed the plan for the night and woke ourselves up with some caffeine. After a half hour of driving we were getting close to where we intended to start our hunt. So I pulled off on the side of the road and let my Blue Tick “Hank” out to stretch before we got started. Before dropping the tailgate I zipped him up in a neoprene vest for warmth and protection. After letting him out, I headed back to the cab to get prepped for the night, clothing, lights, ammunition, etc.

Hank gets into a tough spot

As I loaded my Ruger Mark II .22 caliber clip I was startled by the bawl of my hound. I flashed my light toward where he continued to cry out. I could only see the white tip of his tail as it waved above the grass in the ditch he was in. We both hurried over to him in anticipation and curiosity. As I approached I realized that he had something bayed up in about a 12 inch culvert that ran under the road.

“Go to the other side!” I instructed Bill in effort to help get a visual of what he had chased into the tube. Suddenly I realized that Hank was forcing himself into the culvert head first. Frantically, I grabbed for his tail and was able to hold him momentarily. However pulling him back out wasn’t going to happen as his tail slipped through my hand my heart fell to my stomach. “He will never make it through!” I thought.

By this time Bill had gotten a look from the other end which had been partially filled with dirt over the years from the force of water. “It’s a coon!” he yelled as I headed toward him. “No wait, two, no three, A bunch!” he continued. From the inlet side of the culvert I could hear Hank’s voice echo out. I kneeled down next to Bill and gazed down the dark shaft. As soon as my light shined down the shaft the reflection of eyes filled the darkness.

I ran back to the side Hank had entered to see how far he had pushed himself in. He was now about half way through with his back legs sticking straight out behind him. “He’s stuck!” I yelled in vain. My mind raced, no longer worried about the coon but wondering how I was going to get my hound out of this tomb. About this time the bawls turned to screaming as we could hear the coons fighting with Hank for the limited occupancy.

Hank never quits

“Here they come!”  Bill yelled. I ran to the inlet side of the culvert just in time to watch them scamper out one after the other. One, two three, four, five coons! “Keep your light on them, watch which way they go!” I said to Bill as we watched them scatter in all directions.

Sill hearing Hank bawling inside the culvert I dropped back down to the opening. He had somehow wiggled and pushed himself within four or five feet from exiting but was lodged where the dirt had built up. Back to the truck I grabbed a small shovel I keep in the box. Frantically I shoveled the dirt out until I couldn’t get in any further. “Now what” I asked. At that, Bill began calling “Hank, come on boy, get that coon!”  After a few calls we stood in the silence and contemplated our options. Then in a shocked voice Bill says “Hank!” To my surprise I turned to see Hank’s head poking out. Again I jumped into the ditch and grabbed his collar. With one slow pull out he came. Without losing a beat he began snorting at the ground and like a shot was off after them.

“Go ahead I’ll catch up!”  I exclaimed as I ran to the truck and strapped on my pistol.

“Payback” for Hank

I only had to trot a hundred yards or so to get to the tree. A large oak on the side of the hill we spotted two of the masked bandits and were able to shoot them both out for a good “payback” fight for Hank. This is the best hound I have ever owned. For more information on this breed go to CrazyCascadeBlueticks.com.