It’s time to be on the lookout for youth hunts

We called them Indian summers. Several mornings I’d wake to a chilly frost, where you’d hear the crunch of grass breaking with each step while J-walking across the lawn, headed to the bus stop. Something always made me look back at the house where invariably, I’d see my tracks.
The colors of the leaves on the Canadian maple, beech and bass trees had peaked by the time those hard frosts occurred. Then, suddenly, the weather would warm up with temperatures rising above normal. This was a special time of year for me as a young teenager of almost 15.
My best friend Frank and I would leave the confines of our little hamlet south of the Grand Trunk railroad tracks to go hunting. The only reason hamlet fit was because the town was divided by the tracks. Two thirds of it was on the north side of those tracks, and we were south.
Moreover, came the name “south-siders,” which those on the north side gave us that wasn’t supposed to be flattery.
The poorer kids lived south of the tracks, but it was here where some of the best hunting for squirrels, rabbit and pheasant occurred. The rolling farm hills would slope down to the tracks where we’d hunt the fencerows and any woodlot left by farmers. Along these rows were wide swaths of grass, with the occasional tangle of briers, stand of cattails and deadfalls that would hide the quarry we were after.
Frank was a couple years older than me and always had a part-time job somewhere. He also saved his money and hid it in the most unusual places.
Once, while hunting a woodlot in back of those farm fields, he raised his 12-gauge shotgun, firing a shot at a big red fox squirrel. Instantly, confetti started falling from the sky and Frank, in a sickening groan, began to say, “No-no-no,” and I began cracking up laughing to the point of tears. There is no repeating the names he called me or the threats of bodily harm he’d dish out if I didn’t quit.
We collected every piece of what amounted to $200 blown out of the barrel of his shotgun and took it to the home of the local banker. The nice part about small towns, especially back in the early ’70s, is everyone knows each other. The banker said if we could tape the bills together and read the serial numbers, he’d make good on the currency the next day.
The chances of a childhood story like this occurring today are highly unlikely for a few reasons. First, few parents today would allow their children to grab a shotgun from the gun cabinet and watch them tramp off to the woods unsupervised, which happens to be the law now.
Second, there isn’t access to land today like there was back in the day. Most of Louisiana’s land is private and behind locked gates with “No Trespassing” signs posted.
Nearly every time I’d walk those fencerows hunting, a farmer who I didn’t get permission from to be on his property would wave hello in approval. Maybe it was our age. I’ve often wondered would it have been the same had I been an adult.
A study conducted by Southwick Associates titled “Private and Public Land Access, Small Properties All Play Crucial Roles for America’s Hunters,” breaks out property use as follows: 39 percent hunted a friend or family member’s property; 30 percent hunted public property; 16 percent hunted their own property; 11 percent leased property; and 5 percent hunted other — such as out of country.
Thirdly, kids today have far more distractions than we had 40 to 50 years ago. Between cell phones, social media and video games, hunting is boring to youngsters. They’d rather shoot and kill all sorts of mythological demons on a 4-inch screen than stare out into the wilds.
There’s not much that can be done this day and age with cultural over protectiveness where children are concerned.
And speaking for myself, I admit I wouldn’t have allowed my children to walk out the door with a firearm knowing there was no adult supervision around, either.
Moreover, unlike video games where hundreds of promising targets are instantly available with instant gratification, hunting isn’t always easy. There’s not much anyone can do there, either.
However, where access is concerned, there are steps being taken by the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries to change this problem. August is usually the month where youth lottery hunt applications galore begin to become available.
While the stories between youngsters may not be as exciting as some of those my childhood friend Frank and I shared unsupervised, they still can be pretty good. Now’s the time to check out the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries website and sign your kid up for some fall excitement.
If you have an anecdote, recipe or story you wish to share, you can contact John K. Flores at 985-395-5586 or gowiththeflo@cox.net or www.gowiththeflooutdoors.com.