Chuck
Just checking out the sight. I've hunted with airguns since I was a very young lad. First kill was gopher with a pump Benjamin when I was 6 years old. Been seriously hunting squirrels, rabbits, pesty birds, rats and a few "other" pests since the early '70s. Here's an article I wrote some years back. I have posted it elsewhere so if you've read it sorry for the bother. If not enjoy.
Larry Gibson
“THEY COME AT NIGHT….MOSTLY”
by Larry M. Gibson
That line struck me as odd considering it was noon. I had been watching the bait on the tree the last three mornings and nights. When there would be just enough light to see through the riflescope in the morning. Then again until there wasn’t enough light to see at night. I would give it a full 45 minutes at position in the hide overlooking the bait. I knew they were there. I had seen them, early one morning, and besides the bait kept getting eaten, at night….mostly.
The two I’d seen were young and very skittish. No matter. They were there and that was enough. The unfortunate circumstance was my rifle was down for repair. The parts had been ordered and were on the way. When they arrived the rifle would be repaired and, with the bluff nose bullet, rezeroed. Penetration is a must. The exact distance from the hide to the bait platform was known. Point of impact would match point of aim with certainty. However, this frustrating time of waiting left me with ample time to ponder the situation.
I had done this before, 24 times to be exact. There should be no surprises. Yet thoughts of the many leopard stories from classic books of Africa mingled with thoughts of those times. The sleek silent predator suddenly appearing at the bait. The long tense waits in the hide. Thoughts screaming through your brain so loud you’re sure it will hear. Has it come? Does it know? Can it smell me? Hell, can it sense me? Capstick’s aptly descriptive words written in “DEATH IN THE LONG GRASS” were ringing so true. Then, of course, there was the classic line of the little girl in the movie ALIENS; “They come at night … mostly”.
There should have been no surprises. But dammit, it’s noon! And it’s 80 degrees on a hot, humid, lazy summer day. I’m not even hunting. I just happen to glance at the tree. The movement catches my attention. IT is going up the tree and this one is not young. This one is huge, a trophy. The largest I’ve seen. Definitely the one you write home to Mama about! But I’m 5 yards from the hide and the rifle isn’t loaded, how stupid. All I can do is watch and not move. IT reaches the bait, glances around, so quickly the fangs snatch up a piece of bait! Then with all the described silent smoothness of the great predators IT is down the tree and into the dense undergrowth.
I move, picking up the rifle and with a quick practiced movement it is loaded. Climbing into the hide a solid shooting position is taken. Good rest with natural point of aim centered on the bait. Extra ammo’s at hand. Riflescope set at 9X. Focus perfect. Safety’s off. Easy on the trigger … remember it’s two-stage. Everything’s set. Well, except for one …. BREATHE stupid!!! Settle down.
Then the thoughts come with the questions you can’t answer. Will IT return? Was that IT’s first trip to the bait or the last? How hungry was IT? Does IT know?. Why now? Just doesn’t make sense. Seems like when you’ve got the answer to the question, they change the question. Try to stop thinking. Can’t. Where… is … IT?
There! Movement in the undergrowth. Yes, that’s IT and how wary IT is. IT does know. I’m still aimed at the bait. Can’t chance moving the rifle for a shot there, IT will see, must wait. Swiftly IT moves to the base of the tree, hesitates slightly, then with little effort bounds up the backside to the bait. Oh so cautious, IT slinks around between the bait and the feeder then stops on the platform. Crouching low IT stares right at me, no through me! I see the fangs. The twitch of the whiskers. And those eyes. Yes those cold black eyes. They seem to messmerize me. Magnified at 9X I know … IT knows!
But, too late, the crosshairs have settled quartering the right eye. The first stage is out of the trigger and, at a crisp two pounds of pull, so goes the second. The bluff nose strikes precisely at point of aim. IT is slamed down onto the platform, muscles quivering tensely, tail standing straight up in the air. Quick reload for the insurance shot. Wounded in that undergrowth things could prove difficult to sort out. I settle back for the insurance shot if necessary, it isn’t. IT sags, deflating like the last gasp of a fast leaking party balloon. The tail slowly falls to hang limp over the platform.
I turn, still standing in the bathtub and uncock the RWS M54 air rifle. My wife, from the bedroom, says; “Well, did you get it?” I answer rather nonchalantly; “Of course!” Closing the bathroom window, which makes for a rather convenient hide, I look once more down upon the squirrel feeder nailed to the tree 17 yards away. The large Norwegian Wharf Rat lying there is probably the biggest of the 25 killed yet.
As I approach the feeder to confirm the kill (i.e. throwing said rat over the back fence) I see the .22 cal Crossman Premier pellet hit the right eye precisely. Didn’t even cut fur. I lift it off the feeder, using gloves, and hold it up for my wife to see who has safely stayed upstairs in the house. She yells out the window; “Jeez, that sure is a big sucker!” I agree. It measured 14 inches from tip of nose to tip of tail. I then unceremoniously confirm the kill. There are larger rats for sure, but none in my hunting “concession”… so far.
“THEY COME AT NIGHT….MOSTLY” but then …. perhaps not!
