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John's Journal... Entry 131, Day 4 THE COON-HUNTING INVESTIGATION Enjoying the Hunt EDITOR'S NOTE: Sportsmen have so much fun in the out-of-doors, and many enjoy no sport more than that of hunting coons. This report was filed by Mr. Wiggins with the federal government's Human Development Commission from his hospital room. Because of his condition, he had to dictate the report to his secretary, who promised to help him complete his work during his six months of convalescence. The night we hunted, I wore a pair of athletic shoes,
a corduroy pair of pants, a blue L.L. Bean sport shirt with a raccoon
embroidered on the left-hand breast pocket and a wool tweed hunting hat
with pheasant feathers perched in the left side of the white hat band.
However, I felt out of place since all the other hunters had on either
overalls or blue jeans with the knees worn out, shirts sporting holes
and shoes that were held together with duct tape. When I was introduced,
Big Red said, "Boys, this is Billy Bob. His mama's family was from
Alpharetta, Georgia. His family was captured by the Yankees. Once they
escaped, his family didn't have the money to get back to the South. So,
most of Billy Bob's family was raised in the North for several generations.
But Billy Bob is smarter than the average Yankee. He's come back home
to rediscover his roots. Although he talks funny, we need to cub him in.
I've checked his bloodline, and he may be one of Thomas' third or fourth
cousins, twice removed." The tailgate on the Ram-Tough Dodge truck dropped, and the dogs went airborne. In less than 10 minutes, Chopper began to spit out barks in rapid succession. "That's ole Chopper," Big Red said. "He's got one going. We'd better go to him." Before the words "go to him" had cleared Big Red's mouth, all the other hounds started barking. Some of the dogs had what the men described as bawl mouths. As they sang out through the night, they wailed in such lonesome, long howls, that all who listened wondered if they ever would breathe. The chop-mouth hounds like Chopper seemed to bark every time one of their four feet hit the ground. The sounds the dogs made in pursuit of the raccoon were exciting. However, instead of walking toward the dogs, the men ran at a fast gait. "I'll take care of the Yankee boy," Big Red told the others as they sprinted through the woods. "Come on, Billy Bob, let's go." I couldn't believe the speed at which those rednecks covered ground. They never seemed to trip over logs, stumps, or roots. They never demonstrated any caution at all when we went through swampy, snaky terrain, and they never seemed to deliberately try to avoid water. Rather than looking for a shallow crossing, the men would run headlong into a stream and come up on the other bank before I even could determine where the edge of the water was. Each time I began to stumble and almost fell, I felt the powerful hand of Big Red grabbing me by the nape of the neck and lifting me two to three feet off the ground. "Come on, Billy Bob," Big Red told me. "You've got to keep up with the hunt." When we reached the first tree where all the dogs gathered
and barked at the coon, I was breathing so hard I hardly could hear. My
legs were weak from over-exertion. Thomas said, "Big Red, we're not
going to catch many coons tonight if Billy Bob can't keep up. He needs
a little inspiration." When the hunters pulled the dogs off the tree and led them away to start running another coon, I experienced a burst of energy and a new sense of well being. When the dogs began to bark as they chased another coon, I felt like the Greek god Mercury with wings on his feet. I ran with speed I never knew existed. Big Red couldn't keep up with me. As the race continued, I gained ground on all the other members of the Pork Chop Knob Hunting Club. Just before we reached a small creek, I passed Bubba, who was 10 yards ahead of everyone else. When my light showed the hounds barking and jumping up on the tree, I tried to run up the tree and did succeed in getting two body lengths higher than the hounds before I fell back with a resounding thud. By then, Big Red had arrived at the tree and observed, "Billy Bob, you'd better slow down, or you'll strip a gear. You're not accustomed to running this hard at night. I'm afraid you'll hurt yourself." Junior caught up with the rest of the hunters. Because of his years of hunting experience, he suggested I hold the dogs and catch my breath before we started after the next coon. I slipped my right hand through the leather loop on a leash attached to Chopper. Around my left hand, Thomas put another leather handle to a leash that held Charlie, the fastest hound in the pack. Then Thomas looked at me and smiled as he observed, "We're gonna have a good time tonight." With my arm fully extended and my heels dug in to the ground to keep the dogs from pulling me down, I looked up in the tree and saw the eyes of the coon. "That great, big, boar coon has got a lot of run left in him," Thomas, the town clown, yelled over the barking and the baying of the hounds. "I'll climb that tree and throw him out. Then we'll have another race, and we won't have to go find another coon." All the hunters agreed with Thomas' plan. Like a squirrel scurrying up a water oak, Thomas went up the tree. He crawled out onto the limb with the coon right above my head. Laughing, Thomas said, "We'll have some fun tonight." Thomas grabbed the coon by its right hind leg. Before the coon could turn and bite him, Thomas threw it right in front of Chopper and Charlie. When the coon hit the ground, it sprinted. Although I was well-planted into the ground holding both Chopper and Charlie, the sight of that coon 18 inches in front of their noses sent a charge of adrenaline through the hounds that no man could hold. The dogs pulled me off my feet. They ran at such a high rate of speed, they pulled me through the air for 10 yards. When I finally reached land, a rotted cypress stump stopped my face. I could feel my arms coming out of their sockets. However, because of the Pork Chop Knob Courage I'd drunk earlier, I felt no pain and quickly rebounded to my feet. While in an all-out run to stay up with the dogs chasing the coon, I came to an abrupt stop when both hounds went to opposite sides of one young oak tree and broke my arms. The leather leashes on my wrists strained and fractured them. Luckily the dogs had chewed on the two leashes earlier, and they broke before my hands were pulled from my arms. The next thing I remembered, Big Red said, "He looks alright, but he's a little skinned-up. We can duct-tape his jaw together until we get him back to the doc's. Give him another shot of Courage. He probably won't wake up until all the operations are over." Then I vaguely remember the homemade liquor entering my mouth and warming my stomach before I passed out. TOMORROW: RECOMMENDATIONS
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Check back each day this week for more about The Super Gene ... Day 1 - Researching What
Southerners Enjoy Doing
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