Eric’s Snipe Hunting Adventures
There are two types of people in this world, victims and victors, givers and takers, people who accomplish things and people who claim to have accomplished things, people who build you up and those who will tear you down, people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing, morning people, and people who want to shoot morning people, and I could go on forever. So evidently there are more than two types of people in the world. Allow me to throw one more into the mix. Those who take people snipe hunting and those who are taken snipe hunting. I fall into the latter group, but I’d ask you to reserve judgement until the end when you find out if I caught one of those elusive little buggers.
In my previously published article, Ripples of Influence (link attached at the bottom), I told the story of a children’s camp (I was later reminded by my friend Mark, who I believe was a counselor, the camp’s name was Heart O’ Hills) I attended where I was introduced to the high dive. At this same camp where quality, well-supervised outdoor education was taking place I was also introduced to snipe hunting. Having never heard of a snipe before and being the inquisitive youngling that I was, an opportunity to see and possibly even catch this mysterious feathered fowl was too good to pass up. Did I find it curious that you could only hunt them in the middle of the night while all other campers, except those of us with the good fortune to have been selected for this auspicious hunt, were asleep? Hmmm, honestly, never gave it a second thought. Did any suspicion at all well up inside me when instructed by those leading this big game hunt told me to bring my pillowcase and a flashlight? Hmmm, no, I think not. At my age and brain development, details were of little consequence. On to the hunt!
The evening of the hunt had arrived and having been previously warned that at a set time in the middle of the night my cabin sponsor would give the signal and we would assemble quietly in front of the cabin. The next thing I remember was being awakened from my slumber by said cabin sponsor informing me it was time. What can I say is that I was a growing boy who falls asleep fast. Removing my pillowcase which, by this time had a fully saturated drool spot on it, and my flashlight I assembled with the rest of the suckers, I mean hunters, in front of the predetermined cabin. We were given a few simple instructions that included: find two rocks about the size of our hands, at the appointed time, hold your pillowcase open with the flashlight illuminating the opening, bang the rocks together and the snipes would run towards the noise and the light. The counselors heading up the hunt were going to scare up the snipes and herd them our way. We wouldn’t have to do anything else except be ready for them to run right into our traps, aka, pillowcases. I thought to myself, lambs to the slaughter! I just didn’t realize who was getting got here.
Our fearless leaders lead us about 50 yards into a nearby empty field. We were instructed to count to 100 than proceed to bang our rocks together like our lives depended on it. They scurried off to do the arduous work of rustling up our game while we began to count. My little heart began to beat faster and faster with every number, 75, 85, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, deep breathe, 100. We made such a racket banging those rocks together it must’ve sounded like a group of cloggers' doing a show out in that empty field. With eyes wide open darting to and fro trying to catch a glimpse of every real and imaginary movement in front of us and ears tuned to listen for the strides of these illusive little fowl streaking towards us, time seemed to have stood still. What seemed like two hours later a conversation similar to this could be heard: “Hey Eric, have you caught anything?”, bellowed one of my fellow hunting comrades. “Not yet, what about you Earl?”, I replied still naively optimistic (not real names, except mine). “Nope, nothing coming my way”, cried a bewildered Earl. “How about you Sebastian? Has anything gotten by you down there?”, Earl inquired inquisitively. “I don’t think so”, replied Sebastian.” Then something happened that we later wished would’ve happened way sooner. A logical thought fell on Sebastian like morning dew on an autumn field. “How long are we supposed to keep doing this?”, Sebastian exclaimed with a hint of annoyance in his voice. Right about then the clattering of rocks began to taper off like a herd of Clydesdales slowly coming to a halt. One by one you could hear the thud of hand size stones hit the ground and our little band of hunters began to ruefully make our way back to camp, heads hanging low, because it was then we realized, we had been duped. As we approached our initial rendezvous point, there sat our fearless leaders enjoying a hearty laugh at all of our expense. We were led back to our cabins, instructed to go back to bed, and shortly after I was fast asleep.
I honestly don’t remember much about the next few days. I’m sure we woke up slightly exhausted because of the previous night’s extracurricular activities, went about our day, and had a great time the rest of the week of camp. I’m also sure there were more laughs to be had because of our naivety, probably a few enjoyed by us. I have nothing but great memories of that camp. I enjoyed it so much I think I ended up going back for two more summers after that. Along with snipe hunting (the author dons a sheepish grin), I learned how to shoot a bow, throw an axe, and heard some amazing ghost stories. I also learned that I had a knack for long distance running, loved basketball, and really didn’t mind making my bed in the morning. I met some great friends and am sure thankful for my time at the camp Heart O’ Hills.
In conclusion I leave you with this: Snipe /snīp/ - any of about 20 species belonging to the shorebird family Scolopacidae. Snipes frequent wet meadows and marshes and occur in temperate and warm regions worldwide. They are short-legged, long-billed, chunky birds that are striped and barred in brown, black, and white. The wings are pointed and angular, the eyes rear-set. The bill is flexible and is used to probe mud for worms.
– Britannica
They ARE real! Who’s the sucker now?!