No squirrel!
Lifeless woods thwart hard-working dog
BETHESDA — On Dec. 17, my truck thermometer read 25 degrees across north Arkansas, with a dip to 21 during a stretch through a low spot.
Ponds were iced, and there was a blue tint in the sky that is distinctive to frigid winter mornings. Exhaust pipes pulsed white vapor from vehicles waiting at intersections for their chance to enter the highway.
I rose at 4:45 a.m. to meet Tim Weaver in Batesville for a morning squirrel hunt in the hills bordering the White River. I last hunted with Weaver in 2015. It was a superb outing in Izard County in the company of his two superb squirrel dogs highlighted by an instant bond over shared interests, particularly military history. That was a cold, cloudy day that threatened snow. Squirrels, though not exactly rife, were plentiful.
Weaver and I met at Hawg’s Exxon in Batesville for a hot cup of coffee and a breakfast biscuit. I chose bacon, egg and cheese. A lot of places give you two strips of crumbly grease held together by a smidgen of fat and lean on a biscuit that would be more useful as a shotgun skeet. Hawg’s piled immaculately fried bacon onto a flaky, tasty biscuit. It’s the best gas station biscuit I’ve ever had, and quite comparable to the best I’ve had anywhere.
Afterward, we loaded our gear into Weaver’s truck and drove the back roads into the hills near Bethesda. Weaver suggested this place or a return to the Izard County spot. I chose Bethesda because it is closer to Little Rock, which meant an extra half hour of sleep.
“People that hunt this place for deer said it’s been full of squirrels,” Weaver said. “The other place is just as good, but this place gives us a little more time to hunt because it’s closer.”
Arriving at our launch point, I donned a red flannel shirt with a thermal liner believing that it and the exertion from climbing steep hills would keep me warm. Three minutes is all it took to prove that a mistake. The cold pierced the flannel, so I traded it for my trusty Browning parka whose additional pockets also enabled me to carry more stuff.
Weaver activated his Garmin eTrex GPS and released Arlo from his kennel. Arlo is mixed mountain cur and treeing Walker hound. A big dog with a lot of drive, Arlo was in no mood for introductions or socializing. He was ready to hunt. He tore off into the woods while Weaver and I followed his general path waiting for him to “bark treed.”
He remained silent for a very long time. Weaver and I hoped it was because squirrels were sleeping in until it got warmer, but the woods felt dead. We saw very few woodland birds, not even nuthatches. There were no crows. It was silent except for a single whitetailed deer that showed his flag in a hasty retreat. Soon, Arlo returned. “That’s not a good sign, him checking in so early,” Weaver said.
Weaver greeted Arlo and ordered him to continue hunting. About 15 minutes later, Arlo barked. We hastened to a cluster of trees. Arlo danced around the biggest tree, barking and trying to climb. We circled the tree slowly looking for the telltale lump of a squirrel pressed against a branch, but there was none.
“He’s in a hole, Arlo! In a hole! Let’s go!”
Arlo grudgingly abandoned the tree and took off in search of a different scent. About 10 minutes later he sounded off again. This time we found Arlo barking and digging at a big hole in the ground. Weaver poked a long stick in the opening.
“That goes back in there a long way,” Weaver said. “I don’t think there’s any getting him out of there.”
Arlo thought otherwise. He dug furiously, pausing only to shoot us looks demanding help. Weaver and I tried to unearth a boulder to expose the hole. When it wouldn’t budge, we knew that quest was futile, as well.
Arlo thought differently, and Weaver finally had to clip a leash to his collar and drag him away. When Weaver released him, Arlo ran back to the hole and resumed his excavation.
“The hound in him doesn’t want to give up,” Weaver said. He had to leash Arlo again and drag him a farther distance for Arlo to finally concede the point.
On about the fifth tree, Arlo finally treed true. It was a big gray squirrel in a bare tree overlooking a railroad track in the valley. Arlo barked treed frequently after that, but that gray was the only squirrel we bagged.
While waiting for the next strike, Weaver and I discussed the role of seeming divine coincidence determining the course of history. The Battle of Midway in June 1942 is a prime example. One bad decision by the Imperial Japanese Navy commander and a momentary loss of discipline by his aircraft carrier group’s combat air patrol changed the course of the war in the Pacific in the span of about 15 minutes. The IJN was in retreat for the rest of the war.
“Yes, and another one was the Battle of Samar,” Weaver said. An IJN feint worked to perfection, leaving the American invasion force defenseless against a superior Japanese battle fleet composed of four battleships — including the Yamato — eight cruisers and 11 destroyers.
“There’s a great book about that, ‘The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors’ by James Horne-fischer. I strongly recommend it,” Weaver said. It recounts a handful of American destroyers and destroyer escorts performing what was essentially a suicide mission on the IJN battle fleet. Hideously outnumbered, outgunned and outclassed, the “tin cans” caused Japanese admiral Takeo Kurita to lose his nerve and abort his attack, enabling Gen. Douglas MacArthur to successfully invade the Philippines.
While we debated history, Arlo continued to work. After a few more fruitless assaults on trees, he appeared to have thrown in the towel. He continued hunting because that’s what he does, but his demeanor clearly conveyed that there was nothing to hunt.
The morning highlight was when Arlo spooked a button buck out of the woods. Weaver and I stood stock still while the buck trotted to within 40 yards of us.
“He can’t smell us or hear us,” I whispered as Weaver snickered.
Finally the buck made out our forms. Up went its ears and tail as its muscles tightened, and it was gone in three bounds.
Not every hunt works out, not even something as seemingly easy as a squirrel hunt. On the other hand, we walked 41/ strenuous miles
2 and enjoyed a great morning of fellowship and great conversation. I’ll travel for that anytime.