That is, if nothing too terrible happens between now and then. October in northern NH is a great month, one of my favorites. Nothing beats walks in the woods with the old shotgun. I used to do a lot of small game hunting during October, mostly grouse and rabbits. These last few years, hardly any.
October would come along, and I wouldn't like the size of my woodpile. Instead of hunting, I'd be in the National Forest with a dead and down firewood permit. After a couple good frosts, all the weeds of summer are dead and it's easier to find downed trees. It can be a bit of mad scramble, as I'm not the only one with a permit. First come, first serve.
Kept a shotgun in the truck and would occasionally bag a bird while in the pursuit of firewood. It fills the stewpot, but it ain't hunting.
This year my driveway is piled so high with firewood, I wouldn't know where to put another load. It's a good feeling, like money in the bank, except it's real. Now that I know we won't freeze this coming winter, I can afford the time to wander into the back country.
In an earlier blog post, Buried a Bloody Sock in the Woods, I mentioned how I'd gaffed myself in the leg with a pickaroon. Leg's on the mend. Started going for long brisk walks to get in shape for hunting season. I should be in good condition for opening day.
After small game season, my dad comes up from Florida and we go deer hunting with primitive firearms. It's enjoyable, because it's a way to spend time alone with dad. As far as the actual hunting goes, small game hunting might have an edge. I don't get up at 3 AM, like we do for deer.
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