Written by Sierra Bullets Ballistic Technician Paul Box
Jack worked at a supermarket as a meat cutter in one of the local towns. This put him in contact with a lot of people on a daily basis. He wasn’t one bit bashful about asking people if they had groundhogs we could hunt. Sometimes just trimming the excess fat off a package of pork chops got us permission to hunt a farm. Jack had talent.
One day a man by the name of Jerry Wilson stopped at the meat case and ask Jack about cutting up a roast for him. Naturally Jack started asking him about groundhogs. As it turned out, Jerry was one of eight monks living at a monastery down by Ava. They farmed as well as made concrete blocks. Yes, they had groundhogs.
The next week when I arrived at Jack’s house on the day we always hunted, Jack was pretty worked up over what Jerry at told him. We decided to hunt some other areas that day and save the monastery for late in the day.
We made our way down the long driveway at the monastery and stopped right by the concrete block plant just as Jerry was walking out. He greeted us with a smile as he wiped sweat from his forehead with a red handkerchief.
Jerry pointed in the direction of several fields, but he mentioned that the best field with the most groundhogs was across the creek. He pointed at the tractor road along the field’s edge. You can drive down that tractor road, but you’ll have to wade the creek. Then follow the tractor road another forty to fifty yards to the edge of the field. That field is loaded with chucks.
We had our pockets bulging with ammo as we waded that creek. And just like Jerry mentioned, forty or fifty yards further was the edge of this field. Jack used his hand to shade his eyes from the sun and took a long gaze across the field. How do you want to work this?
Well, this field is a lot longer than it is wide. There’s also a small draw coming down the center straight across. There’s no way we can sit in one spot and cover all of it. I think we should split up. Both of us sitting on the north side, one on each end. That way you can see half of the field and I can see the other half. Plus there’s no way we will be shooting in each other’s direction was my answer.
You know, for somebody not quite right, you have some good ideas sometimes was Jack’s reply. You owe me a root beer!!
Within minutes after we got set up on each end, the groundhogs started coming back out. It must have sounded like the first day of deer season had opened in a national park. It seemed like either Jack’s rifle was connecting or my .243 at all times. Two hours later we met up back at the tractor road, just as the last light of day was fading. We took twenty-two chucks from that field in two short hours; our best total for one day and especially from one field. We didn’t mind one bit that we had to wade the creek.