At some point in our lives, we all come across the term “Black and White.” Usually this phrase is referring to certain laws or regulations, a prescribed course of action, specific directions, or even a dress code that some or all of us are dictated to follow. Despite many of life’s decisions and alternatives falling into a gray area, some choices are simply black and white. Growing up I ran into a lot of black and white “guidelines” from my parents, and now, just as back then, I find out most black and white situations to be fairly serious and joyless in nature. All except one, that is.

Les Smith ended up in my town at the bequest of the U.S. Air Force. After many years in the service of his country, several in one foreign land or another where people were shooting at him, Les was selected to be a recruiter. He bounced around from one spot in the U.S. to another until about 15 years ago when he ended up in central Aroostook County. We met by chance at a Ducks Unlimited auction of which I was chairman. We got acquainted and began hunting together and became close friends. Over the next six years Les and I, along with a wide array of other outdoor companions, shared cast- or-blast outings at every opportunity. When Master Sgt. Smith was transferred to his last duty station before retiring from the service, it was a sad day for all of us who had shared some great outdoor experiences and even learned a trick or two from Sarge.

Les is the one who introduced me to that exception to the Black and White axiom I mentioned earlier. March was actually going out like a lamb that year, with days in the mid- to high 40s and sunny afternoons that really helped shrink the snow cover. Several of us had kicked around the idea of a rabbit hunt on Saturday, but Sarge called midweek to announce a change of plans. We were going to enjoy a spring black and white hunt, he proclaimed. Professing I hadn’t a clue what that was, while chuckling Les stated he wasn’t surprised since it was a term more frequently heard in the Midwest. “When gunners from those states set out for a dual hunt after crow and rabbit, it’s called a black and white hunt,” he explained.

Since that explanation and our hunt that following Saturday, I’ve found that such opportunities are rare in central and northern Maine. While snowshoe hare season ends on March 31, the first portion of the state’s split crow season runs from Feb. 15 to April 15 in Wildlife Management Districts 1 through 6, and from Feb. 1-March 31 in WMDs 7 through 29. Depending on storms, daily temperatures, and snow depth, it’s often mid-March before huntable numbers of crows move back north from the warmer wintering grounds. Since they must forage to survive, a bit of bare ground here and there is a must. Therefore, when Mother Nature deals us nasty weather and a late, cold spring, the early crow season is wasted. Fortunately, recent spring thaws have led to excellent late March hunts for white furred and black feathered quarry.

Bouncing bunnies

Les picked me up at home about 7 a.m. and we headed for a nearby woodlot owned by a local potato farmer. Rich Harvey and Bob Boulier would join us around 9:30 along with a couple of Bob’s keen-nosed, eager beagles, but prior commitments kept them from an early start. Much to our delight, after testing snow depth and solidity along the brush line, it was evident we needn’t be encumbered by snowshoes. Spacing ourselves about 50 yards apart, yet able to glance at each others orange vests and hats in the moderately dense cover, Les and I began a type of step-and-stop stalk we jokingly nicknamed the “Bunny Hop.”

Take 10 slow, quiet steps, then stop and stare at all the surrounding cover for 60 seconds. Frequently a hiding hare will figure it has been spotted and make a break for safety. Just as often a rabbit will hear one of the approaching hunters and try to hop away unseen but end up escaping right into the shooting lane of another gunner. Less than 50 yards had been covered when Les bumped a bunny from under a fir tree and only got a fleeting glimpse as it tore off in my direction. Now that hare was in a hurry because just as Les yelled “Comin’ your way,” a white blur appeared among the saplings and tree trunks about 20 feet ahead. I shouldered my 20 gauge and touched off the top barrel as I swung to catch up, and guess what, that little guy had a faster gear still! My lower barrel thinned out some alders and nicely trimmed a small spruce, but not a hair of the hare was harmed.

As I broke my scattergun open to reload, waiting for the verbal harassment to begin, the boom of Sarge’s big 12 gauge gave me a bit of a start. “One shot, one snowshoe,” a formless voice announced. I worked my way closer to find Les holding a hefty hare. As I placed the rabbit in his vest’s game pocket, Les told me my shots spooked a second bunny that leisurely hopped into the open for an easy score. And did I need help putting my rabbit in my game vest, my buddy asked innocently. Sarcasm is so unbecoming a sportsman.

A few minutes later my footsteps spooked a rabbit from beneath an uprooted stump. It made a mad dash for about 20 feet then stopped to look back at me, and a few seconds later I had some weight in my game pocket. A bit later a partridge exploded from the snow right next to Les, then it buzzed right over my head on its escape route giving both of us quite a start, and then left us chuckling at being so jumpy. Over the next half-hour we pushed out four snowshoe hares, got three chances, connected on two, and not a sitting shot among them. Since we had more than an hour before meeting our friends with the beagles, and having heard crows sounding off somewhere near our copse of woods, both of us agreed a bit of wing shooting might be in order.

Wild wing shooting

A shortcut to a parallel field road with a packed snowmobile trail made our hike back to the truck quicker and easier than retracing our tracks through the woods. Shedding my orange duds, I shimmied into insulated camo overalls and jacket, stowing my facemask, gloves, and crow calls into one pocket and shells into another. Having played this game before, Les was outfitted with hooded snow-camo coveralls and a white facemask so he could lay right out in the open and blend into the nearest snowdrift. Grabbing a white pillowcase stuffed with a large owl and three crow decoys, we skirted the woodline searching for a shooting site well away from the pickup.

Snow was notably deeper on the lee side of the woodlot and 15 minutes after leaving the truck we were huffing and puffing and cursing ourselves for not wearing our bearpaws. A clump of firs came out to a point offering excellent overhead cover for me so I hunkered under some bows and leaned against a broad trunk. Les placed the owl decoy on a tree limb, put one crow on a nearby spruce bow, and two more on the snow a few yards away. Then he lay on his back near a small snowdrift about 25 yards from my hidey-hole and we both began to call.

Crows hate owls and they make an awful fuss if any species of hooter trespasses into their territory. Sarge and I imitated just such a fuss, and loud enough for any black varmint within a mile to hear. Within two minutes we got our first response as a single crow winged into view to check out all the commotion. From past experience I’d learned that often a forward observer is sent to investigate and if you refrain from shooting the solitary crow, more often than not he will retreat to retrieve backup. Sure enough, once that rook got an eyeful of the owl, it went sprinting away making an awful racket and it wasn’t long before we herd the reinforcements arriving.

More than a dozen crows began dive-bombing the owl, squeaking, squawking, cawing, crowing, and carrying on so loudly we didn’t need to call anymore at all. We let the black birds fret and get more worked up for about a minute and when they were spread out overhead so we each had targets, I gave a whoop. My over/under and Les’ semi-auto accounted for four birds when the smoke cleared. Once in a while, the crows get so worked up they actually keep attacking the decoy and you can reload and get a second chance, but not this crew. Usually gunners get one chance per location, then they have to move on and reset to attract new birds.

We picked up and waded back to the truck, then stowed our rigging and poured a cup of hot tea from the thermos. After relaxing and rehashing the morning’s events we headed out to meet our hunting buddies at a predetermined location. When they arrived we had the snow white rabbits and the coal black crows laid out on the tailgate, just a bit of “the early sport gets the shooting” needling. All that razzing got Les and I demoted to backup shooters since we had already done so well. It didn’t go like I’d planned at all!

We ran the brace of beagles for a half-hour in two covers and ended up with seven more rabbits, which was all we needed for the frying pan and stewpot, so we called it quits and switched from white to black again. Les and I handled the calling at the first site and let our buddies handle the shooting, which accounted for three rooks from the five that showed up. Our second setup was a bust. A couple of crows answered our calls and even circled high overhead but wouldn’t wing within shotgun range. Crows are a very wary quarry and get educated quickly.

Our final crow-calling location was within sight of a regional river. With one guy hooting an owl call and three of us blowing our crow calls, the reaction was almost instantaneous. A steady stream of black birds winged from the trees along the nearby waterway and swooped and soared above the decoys. More than 20 rooks were overhead when we opened fire and our volley dropped seven. Besides our tasty white rabbits, the jet-black plumage of our crows provided three of us with a pile of fly-tying feathers.

As March fades away, it promises to be a warm week, perfect for a black and white outing. March is mating season for snowshoe hares and they are much more active throughout the day, and I am spotting more crows around the rural farmland each and every day. Time is growing short for the chance to enjoy some fast and furious ground gunning and a bit of challenging wing shooting during the same outing; the opportunity is right there in black and white.

Outdoor feature writer Bill Graves can be reached via e-mail at bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com