Schuckman: Start of squirrel season allows grandfather, grandson time to bond

QUINCY — Most mornings, Bill Stitchcomb wakes to his labrador retriever, Gus, pawing at the side of the bed or the smell of percolating coffee now that he has learned how to set the coffee maker to kick on automatically at 6:30 a.m.

“My grandkids bought me the new coffee pot for Christmas,” he said. “It took me six months before I felt like I could set it and it wouldn’t burn the house down.”

Last Friday night, he filled the coffee maker’s water reservoir like normal and set it to start at the usual time, although he expected to be awake well in advance of that.

His grandson was just too antsy to sleep any later than needed.

“He told me to wake him at 7 a.m. if he was still sleeping,” the 72-year-old Stitchcomb said of his 10-year-old grandson, Isaac. “I told him I would, but I guessed he’d be awake before me and before the coffee pot. He was just too excited.”

Hunting season had arrived, which meant sleepovers at Grandpa’s house and early morning trips to the woods to chase whatever is in season.

Sure enough, Stitchcomb heard a soft voice and opened his eyes to see Isaac staring at him at 5:38 a.m. and asking if it was time to get up. Stitchcomb told his grandson to lie back down until 6:30 a.m., but knew it was probably a lost cause.

At 6:11 a.m., Isaac again was tapping his grandpa on the shoulder. The idea of finding a squirrel or two to shoot had the 10-year-old ready to go even if the sun hadn’t actually risen. He knew shooting time was one half-hour prior to sunrise and Googled that the sunrise was supposed to be 6:08 a.m. last Saturday.

“I thought we needed to beat the squirrels out of their nests,” Isaac said.

Grandpa wasn’t quite as motivated.

“Coffee first,” Stitchcomb said. “Then we get to the hunting.”

The homemade donuts Stitchcomb whipped up in advance of his grandson’s arrival, along with some chocolate milk, kept Isaac busy long enough for Stitchcomb to enjoy a cup of coffee before they headed toward the woods on the back of his southern Adams County property.

In a patch of hardwood trees — mostly black walnut trees — they could see several nests had been built. Isaac asked if they could shoot the nests, but this day wasn’t about pulling the trigger. Teaching his grandson the hows and whys of hunting was paramount on Stichcomb’s mind.

They had practiced shooting a .410 over-under designed for a young hunter with a shorter barrel and shorter stock. Isaac had been a quick study and patterned his shots well on a paper target, but the adrenaline was going to be different when he was shooting at a live target.

Although Stichcomb allowed Isaac to carry the gun, the grandfather controlled all of the ammo.

“He’s been a great kid as far as listening to me and being safe and doing the things I tell him,” Stitchcomb said. “But he’s a little jumpy, so we don’t want him doing anything dangerous or foolish with a loaded gun. He’s too young for that.”

So they walked an open path through the trees that had very little brush covering it and began looking for signs squirrels were using the area. Cracked walnut shells were the first significant sign of activity, and it wasn’t long before they spotted a bushytail running up the side of a tree.

They found a log left from a fallen tree nearby and sat and waited. They heard some barking and saw a couple more squirrels jumping from limb to limb.

Stitchcomb helped his grandson load the gun as they waited for a shot. Shortly thereafter, a squirrel came halfway down a tree, stopped and looked straight at them. At his grandfather’s urging, Isaac lifted the gun, took aim and squeezed the trigger.

A moment later, the squirrel fell to the ground.

Isaac ran over to it and looked at it, not sure what to do.

“I told him to pick it up and put it in the pouch on the back of his vest,” Stitchcomb said. “He lifted the dead squirrel cautiously before the realization hit home. He had his first harvest. That’s when the smile light up the day.”

Isaac missed a few shots in the hour they spent hunting, and by the time they made it back to the house, there was only one squirrel in his pouch. That was enough.

“He felt like he was king for a day,” Stitchcomb said.

The best part, though, came later that evening.

“He asked me if we could go hunting every weekend,” Stitchcomb said, dabbing at the corner of his eye and wiping away a tear. “I figured I better stock up on donuts and chocolate milk because this is going to be fun.”