The Register-Herald, Beckley, West Virginia

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  • With the need for back roads, gravel and a connection to the natural world, writer Chris Ellis embarked on a squirrel hunt that renewed his connection with nature. Chris Ellis

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January 29, 2012

Strains of career demands lead to renewal with nature

By Chris Ellis For The Register-Herald

Just in case you happened to wander past my office this past Thursday morning and were curious as to why the lights were off and the parking lot was empty, I had a prior engagement. Normally during new-product season, I am forced to keep regular, as well as evening hours, maintaining the demands of my career.

To be frank, that particular morning I played hooky.

The cause of my retreat? At home, my suitcases are still sitting in the hallway and my frequent-flier points have hit a new high. Airports, convention centers and taxis had taken their toll. I needed back roads, gravel and a connection to the natural world that only hunters truly understand.

The effect: I ditched civilization for a morning squirrel hunt on a hillside farm overlooking the rain-swollen Gauley River.

I rolled the truck windows down as I turned off the hard road. I am not sure why. Maybe it’s a way to signify the arrival at the farm or perhaps it’s simply a hunter’s instinct of preparing our senses for the hunt. Regardless, the open windows allowed the sounds of truck tires squishing the rain-soaked mud and the smell of wet to filter in. The recent rains and warm weather made the January morning seem odd, but I was more than happy to receive the gift.

With the clouds darkening and with winds starting to gust, I knew the forecasted front was nearing and my time afield might be short. I hurriedly entered the woods just inside the field edge. The matted leaves and wet ground made stalking effortless and stealthy under the canopy of hardwoods. The first few steps were fast until my senses began processing information as a hunter and not as a hiker.

I have found the quarry does not influence the heightened awareness. Whether I am hunting deer, plains game in Africa or young-of-the-year squirrels, the transition to hunter is real and only experienced by those of us who choose to participate in nature’s bounty.

A barking squirrel in a beech tree patch warned me there was another predator on the hunt besides me. The cadence and volume of the bark was a strong signal that danger was near for all those creatures tuned in. With curiosity piqued, I slipped through the underbrush for a better perspective. From my higher vantage point, I saw the dip of wings and flash of feathers as a hawk entered the scene. I did not see the results of the hawk’s efforts, but came to the conclusion, when the barking stopped, that the two incidents must have been related.

Leaving the hawk to his wood patch, I elected to choose another beech holler to continue my hunt. Several ridges over, deep in the folds of the hills, I rested alongside a mountain spring that ran gin-clear from the hillside with my .22 rifle leaning against a sapling and with the sounds of falling rain on the forest floor.

With my connection to nature renewed, I left the hillside farm, and though my game bag was empty, it was a good hunt — in fact, one of my favorites.

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