Bonnie and The Night Howls

When I first think of coon hunting, I think of Where The Red Fern Grows. I think of itchy red checkered wool jackets like I have seen on vintage hunting ads and I think of gas lanterns dimly creating an aura around the silhouette of a man in the woods. Yet, however hard I try, I struggle to romanticize coon hunting. Sure some people take it very seriously, but for most hunters, it is a pass time between other bigger game seasons.

Raccoon hunting today is not with a gas lantern and you can honestly wear anything you want. We use flashlights, headlamps, and even a gps on the dog. Though many things have changed, the sound of a blue tick hound howling through acres of dense woods is an experience shared for generations. 

Its 8:45 pm March, in Moncks Corner, SC. It’s getting closer to 9pm when we get to the property. Bonnie a thoroughbred female blue tick is already howling up a storm at the anticipation of her first hunt of the year. Bonnie has been trained since a pup to sniff out coons and nothing but coons. She knows exactly what is expected of her and she is letting every living animal for acres and probably miles, know she is about to be let loose. Trying to get a collar on her is almost always a two man job because as soon as you let her out of the gate, all of her dense 80lbs of muscle will try its best to be set free. ~

Once the collar is on and we are all ready to go, it begins. Bonnie is released and running through the woods in the pitch black darkness doing what she loves best. Myself and my father in law and our good friend Paul all patiently wait, listening to that blue tick work. The night is plain with the occasional owl hoot or coyote howl in the distance. We wait for sometimes an hour or more before calling her in. Patiently waiting to hear her voice in the distance go from her normal howl to a high pitched aggressive howl. When she changes pitch we all look at each other and listen. Someone will say “there it is” or “she’s on one” and sure enough, Bonnie has treed a coon.

Its go time. Your heart starts beating with anticipation and you pray it won't be far, but if it is we pray it won't be difficult to reach.  Running through the South Carolina woods headed to the swamp at night is not exactly enjoyable. There are no man made trails and often I found myself bent over avoiding limbs.  After tripping over roots, running through cobwebs, and getting slowed down by mud, we finally make it to Bonnie. Her back legs on the stumps of the oak tree and her front paws on the trunk, she is howling her lungs off. We all find different places around the tree and begin to point our lights into the limbs of Spanish moss hoping to see those two shiny eyes.

Often and this particular time, we use a high pitched call to get the agitated coon to look at us. Finally we see the eyes and align a shot. Using a .22 we aim for the head and watch as the coon thumps through the limbs and all 40lbs thuds the ground. Bonnie deservingly claims her prize. We pick the coon up before she rips it to shreds and all goes quiet.

The hunt is over, you are in a part of the swamp no man would volunteer to deer hunt, and you have to find your way out in the dark. Some nights you can kill multiple and some nights not a thing, but the thrill of running through the woods in hopes of a coon at the end of that blue ticks nose is something you have to experience.