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CYPRESS CREEK COON-HUNT I have been Coon-Hunting several times in my life, The places were in Old Pompano, North Central Florida and in North Georgia. Hunting Coons in each locale is pretty much the same, meaning there are men, (and boys) camp fires, coons, coon-dogs, woods, swamps, rivers, canals, mosquitos, snakes, very dark, spooky and cold nights. The hunt I will relate contains some, but not all of the above and begins with a Saturday spent with the late Bill Cheshire and Joe Boris on the Cheshire farm many years ago in Pompano. Bill Cheshire owned a cut-down model "A" truck with "balloon tires" that doubled as a beach and hunting buggy. Bill picked me up about 6am on a cold Saturday morning for a day of dove hunting and just roaming around on the farm having a good time. Joe Boris was along and we were all looking forward to a good time. Arriving at the farm a few miles west of town we set about doing some of the things we had been looking forward to, driving across the plowed and unplowed fields, shooting our shotguns, and just having a merry old time. Lunch time arrived only too quickly and we went to the "barn" to eat the lunch we had packed. After finishing we were getting ready to go to the dove fields when Joe Boris put in to drive the Buggy, Bill asked if he knew how to drive and he replied that he did, it had just been a while since he had driven. Bill said OK, pulled the truck out into the open yard and told Joe to get in the drivers seat and take us for a spin, (literally, that is just what he did.) Before we had arrived at the barn for lunch, one of the farm workers had driven-up in his car, one not quite as old as Bills "A" model and parked it off to the side and had gone into one of the buildings. Joe got into the drivers seat and Bill told him to make a circle and head out of the barn-yard and down the sand road leading to the fields. Joe depressed the clutch and put the truck in 1st gear. He stepped on the gas pedal let out the clutch and away we went, that buggy jumped like a scared rabbit, Joe turned the steering wheel and we started a wide sweeping turn throwing up dirt and dust as those big wheels were spinning and it was quickly obvious that Joe Boris DID NOT KNOW the first thing about driving and with us hanging on for dear life. He had made a part circle and smashed into the fender of the parked car of the farm worker,. bang, short ride. We jumped out and pushed the buggy away from the car and were standing there looking at the damage when out of the building came the owner of the car and he was mad. Bill explained to him what had happened and he kind of settled down and we noted the damage to the fender was not as bad as it seemed. Bill looked it over and very confidently explained to him that by getting a "rubber hammer" he could very easily beat-out the dent and it would hardly be noticeable and look almost as good as before. This satisfied him somewhat and our conversation turned to other things, mainly that we were there to do some hunting and have fun. Talk turned to hunting in general and the Farm hand whose name was, as I recall Sam said he was a coon-hunter and had some fine coon-dogs. This led us to asking him questions about hunting coons and he said he would take us with him some night if we wanted to go, if we wanted to go! that was the understatement of the year, you bet we wanted to go. Bill told him it would have to be on a Friday night because of school. Sam was quick to say that Friday night coon-hunting was out, that on Friday nights the "haints" (ghosts) came out and walked about and there was no way he would go into the swamps cause his dogs would just chase them around all night and the coons would be spookie and besides, he was afraid of them. After Sam told us this we agreed with him that Friday nights would be the wrong time to go but we could go on Saturday nights if that night was ok. Sam agreed to take us the following Saturday night, he would meet us at Bills house about 9 PM and we could follow him in Bills' truck. We thought Saturday night would never get here but it did and sure enough, at the time agreed upon Sam arrived in his car (the dent still in the fender) with his dogs barking and told us to get in the truck and follow him, but we had to leave the shotguns behind that we were carrying. Sam made it clear that only he would be carrying a gun and if there was any shooting to be done, he would do it. This didn't set to well with we three but we put our guns in the garage and climbed in the truck, and away we went, on our first coon-hunt and going hunting without a gun was also a first with us. Sam had told us we would be hunting at Cypress creek and we followed him down what is now Cypress road, back then it was just a narrow single lane road that ended at a wooden bridge at the Cypress creek canal. We went past Waterman Allens house, past the Driggers house and where the road made a left turn at Leonard Banks' farm to the bridge, we took a right down a white sugar-sand road past Gordon Greens farm and mule lot and keep going until the road just ended. We were nearly all the way to the Railroad tracks. Sam gathered us around and said he would turn the dogs loose and they would enter the swampy area among the cypress trees that made up a good portion of Cypress creek and we would wait and listen for the dogs to strike a coon-track then we would enter the swamp and join the chase. We could hear the dogs as they splashed through the water and mud, occasionally letting out a yelp or short bark, Sam said this was just their way of keeping in touch with each other. Finally after what seemed an eternity, one of the dogs let out a long bark like howl and in just a minute or two, all the dogs had joined in and Sam let out a whoop and said" they got one, lets go." As we started towards the swamp "Sam said," " anybody got a flashlight?" I didn't have one, I didn't even own a flashlight. Neither did Bill or Joe. Didn't matter," said Sam," I have one." We would just have to keep close behind him and watch the best we could for fallen trees, snakes and gator holes. Wait a minute, this could be dangerous, well no going back now, couldn't see to get back to the truck anyway it was so dark. We weren't making very good time through the mud and water and thick plants that surrounded us, not even a trail to walk, we wondered how the dogs with their short legs could travel through this. Sam kept moving steadily along, stopping ever so often and getting us quiet so he could get a track on the dogs and see in which direction the coon was taking them. I could have told him, the coon was taking us into the deepest part of Cypress creek and the stumps and roots were getting thicker and the water was getting deeper. Bill stumbled on a cypress knee and as he fell he grabbed me and we both went down into the mud and water, now we were really in a mess, it was already cold and now we were wet all over and cold. This was just the first of many falls we would take this night and it was all of us doing the falling, even Sam slipped and fell several times during the night and he didn't seem to mind in the least. After what seemed like hours that the dogs were on the trail of the coon, Sam suddenly stopped us and as he listened to the dogs he told us they had the coon treed and we had to hurry to them before he came down and ran some more. After finally getting to the dogs,Sam shined his light up into the tall cypress tree and sure enough, there sat a big old coon staring down at us, looking like a bandit , his eyes shining like red hot pokers. We were so tired from the sloshing through the swamp we just wanted Sam to shoot the coon and lets get back to the truck. " Not so, said Sam" he untied the bag he had strapped to his back, unrolled a "croaker sack" handed it to Bill and told him to be ready to open it and close it up when he gave the word. Sam then raised the .22 rifle to his shoulder, holding the flashlight up against the barrel of the gun, he shot the trunk of the tree next to where the coon was sitting and I suppose it startled the coon and he either fell or jumped from the tree to the ground and was immediately set-upon by the dogs. Before they had a chance to injure the coon or vice-versa Sam handed me the gun and jumped into the middle of the dogs, the coon, the mud and water. Grabbing the snarling coon by the tail, swung him up and away from the dogs and yelled for Bill to open the sack, dropped the coon in, closed the top, tied it, and there, he had "sacked the coon." All in one continuous motion. This came as a big surprise to me, Bill and Joe, we thought Sam would shoot the coon. Sam said this was the better way to handle them if you were hunting with others, The coon could be penned up and used whenever you wanted him. Sam sold most of the coons he caught or killed and some folks wanted theirs alive so they could feed-out any strong, wild taste that the coon might have. This one coon did not end our hunt on this Saturday night, we caught three more before the night was over and we called it quits. It was near daylight when we staggered out of the Cypress creek swamp and were we glad to see that truck in the beam of the flashlight. We hunted with Sam on several occasions after that, always at Cypress creek, sometimes east of the bridge some times west of the bridge but we never, ever hunted west of Dixie highway, Sam just would not have anything to do with that part of the creek. I wondered why and he wouldn't say. Sam never did get the dent "hammered out" of the fender of his car, wasn't a very big dent anyway. |