Equipment may change, but John Bennett says squirrel hunting tactics never go out of style.

During the long-ago days of my youth, there were no gray squirrels where I tromped the earth, trusty rifle in hand; only red squirrels and the colorful fox squirrel. My armament in those days was an old, single-shot, bolt-action .22 caliber rifle that belonged to my father, and/or a break-action, single-shot 410 shotgun. The 410 was woefully inadequate with its small payload of shot, requiring more stealth on my part to put me in range of my quarry. That was not always easy with my lanky frame and big farm boy feet. Even then, a killing shot was a matter of chance.

My hunting friends and I would sneak into the woods at just about daylight, take up positions in patches of high grass or brush near stands of towering oaks and hickories, and wait for the little nut cutters to appear. As the sun began to rise, the squirrels would emerge from their dens and begin to feed. A limb would bounce as a furry acrobat leaped from one tree to another, and we would listen for the telltale sounds of nut hulls dropping to the earth, or for the scrape of claws on bark as the critter descended to feed upon the forest mast.

Many were the days when we would lean back against a mature hickory and wait until the nut hulls began to drop right on our heads. Then it was a matter of twisting or scooting into position for a shot that was pretty much straight up. I have never had a squirrel drop right on me, but a few have come close.

But nothing tightened the grips of our hands on our firearms like the raspy kak-kak-kak-kakk call of an agitated fox squirrel that had spotted an interloper nearing his nut tree. We quickly learned that the odds were nearly 100 percent that the creator of all that chatter would be perched on a tree limb, staring at the cause of his consternation, switching his tail up and down.

My pals and I devised a few strategic moves for dealing with this situation. One went right and one went left until the noisy squirrel was spotted. Then, with low whistles and hand signals, one hunter would become the designated shooter, and the other, the backup. If the shooter missed, or heaven forbid, only wounded the squirrel, the second hunter fired and hopefully put an end to the affair.

It did not take us long to discover that with one lad carrying a rifle and the other toting a shotgun, the odds for success were greatly increased. We brought home the squirrels, our parents praised us, and we sat down to many a fine meal.

I have found that the same tactics work just as well as they did back in the ‘50s and ‘60s. The only difference is that our weapons and our gear are a little more sophisticated. My favorite squirrel hunting weapons now are repeating rifles and shotguns of either 16- or 12-gauge. To this gear, I have added a bellows-type squirrel call and a Mr. Squirrel whistle, both of which can be very effective for calling in squirrels, or at least putting them in position for a killing shot.

I would not think of leaving these calls behind when I go traipsing into the woods. The shrill whistle of the Mr. Squirrel whistle duplicates the distress call of a young squirrel that has been seized by the talons of a hawk or an owl or has ended up in the jaws of a fox. It enrages the mature squirrels, especially females, and causes them to scurry about looking for the helpless animal, often with fatal results.

Thank goodness the squirrels have not become more sophisticated! They still fall for the same tricks that they did in the carefree hunting days of my youth, and they still taste just as good on the plate.

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