Pennsylvania Game News - July 2016 - 22

There are many islands in the Susquehanna, of various sizes and ownership.
When we were kids, friends and I
used to camp on them for weeks in the
summertime and ice skate on the river
when it froze.
The island we hunted was among the
larger ones in the river.
Owned by the Game Commission, it
had large, fairly level fields that often were
cultivated, and smaller patches of woods
and brushy areas.
In early winter, some guys would hunt
deer there. But I went for the summertime
woodchuck hunting, and it was the best
place I ever found to do it.
The island had been privately owned
and farmed for generations, but the farmhouse was long gone, only remnants of the
foundation remained.
There was a good-sized ramshackle
barn left, and Bill used it for storage.
A thick-trunked maple tree grew a
short distance from the barn, which made
a large patch of shade against the scorching summer sun. And a line of utility poles
paralleled one edge of the island.
I didn't realize it when I first saw them,
but those poles would prove a big help in
making shots on chucks.
I don't remember how many chucks
I came away with that first day on the
island, but they were plentiful, and the
shots rarely ranged at more than 300
yards.
I was using a .22-250, which has been
my favorite for chucks since I got my first
one many years ago.
The best day I ever had was on the
island. I was the only shooter that day. I
set my rifle rest up under the maple, laid
out five full boxes of handloads, and commenced squeezing the trigger.
22

Shots came at all normal ranges and
at critters in all positions - facing me,
angling away, sometimes sitting erect,
sometimes just half a head projecting
above the edge of a dirt hole.
They weren't easy to see - even with
my 7x35 Bushnells, or the 20x Super
Argus spotter I used in those days.
Those grizzled grayish-brown woodchucks so often are much the same color
as their backgrounds, and so often aren't
fully exposed.
But before long, I'd fired my first box
of ammo, then a second, then a third.
I finally quit shooting because I'd fired
all my ammo - five boxes, 100 rounds.
I'd never before had that many shots at
chucks in one day, and I can't remember
ever doing it again.
And believe me, I'd remember that!
I didn't make a hit with every shot, of
course.
Some guys might be that good, but I'm
not. Still, I hit most of them.
That spot under the maple also was
host to the strangest experience I've ever
had while chuck hunting.
Things were slow, and I was just
relaxing when I sensed movement off to
my right.
My head turned automatically, and I
found myself looking at a fully grown
chuck that had just come out of its hole
near the edge of the bank.
It was looking straight at me, apparently with as much interest as I was giving
it. It wasn't far away. Maybe 10 yards,
maybe 12. We just went on staring at each
other for what seemed a long time, but was
probably 15 or 20 seconds.
Then, suddenly, that potbellied critter
just collapsed and died.
I wasn't sure it was dead until I walked
over, knelt down and studied it awhile,
then rolled it over with my boot.
Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Pennsylvania Game News - July 2016
