Winter Patrol

I sat still and looked over a heavily wooded creek bottom from atop a hill. Across from me, the hillside rose high up into a dense thicket of cedars that choked off any chance of light from the gray skies above. My gut told me, what I was after was hiding somewhere up there, and I was going to have to coax him out if I was going to get my shot. The stillness of the frozen air amplified the slightest of sounds, and I was about to shatter any silence that was left.

I placed the cold reed from my call against my cracked lips, took a breath and screamed a long interrogation howl into the dense woods. I waited several seconds and followed up with cries from a distressed cotton tail. Silence fell again. I strained to see across the creek valley, but nothing moved. The cedars stood like a dense wall keeping all it contained well hidden from any danger.

I reached down and grabbed another call, a pup call, and let out another long howl that tried to pierce the dense cedar wall. Then I reached for my vintage jack-rabbit distress call and let loose a series of whines and screams that crashed into the cedars ahead.

Silence settled in.

I peered across the creek, rifle ready in hand, searching and scanning ahead. Seconds later, a flash broke from the shadows and streaked across the hillside. It stopped and perched atop an ashen boulder buried in the hill side. 100 yards away he stood silent, sentinel like; unmoving and alert, scanning the woods for the source of the disturbance.

I raised my rifle and stared intently through my scope. A single cedar limb hung down over his body obstructing any vitals. A shot was not possible. I waited, but he did not budge, did not blink. He stood frozen, fixated on his curiosity and hunger. I had one last trick to break the stalemate.

With a pucker, I tightened my lips together and sucked in the icy winter air. A shriek, a squeal, emanated across the creek bottom and the stalemate was instantly broken. I struggled to get my crosshairs on him as he raced down the hill through scattered trees and brush. He’ll stop, I thought; wait, and he’ll stop. But no, he was now rapidly crossing the creek, moving up the hill to my right, racing to find a meal, 40 yards…30 yards…20 yards, swiftly closing in.

He was now 10 yard to my right and racing past me now. I quickly found an opening between some trees. Jumping across a log, he fell into my cross hairs. With a sharp blast, it ended.

The report from my rifle lifted. Silence returned; the air still; except for the pounding of my heart. I gazed, head above my scope, amazed at how fast everything has just transpired. The hunt had ended, the sentinel had fallen.