Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, January 24, 1993 TAG: 9301250283
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C13 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BILL COCHRAN OUTDOOR EDITOR
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
BEAGLES ARE MUSIC TO WINTER LANDSCAPE
A snow briefly turned Sinking Creek Valley into a pin and ink etching last week, covering the broad backs of Angus cows with a white blanket and accenting the Christmas tree farms with what looked like stately rows of boughs stuffed with baby's breath.Frank Sizemore and Jackie Tyree were wondering what impact it would have on their day of rabbit hunting. They were traveling the winding Craig County blacktop just after daybreak with 15 beagle hounds in the back of their Blazer, each dog trembling with anticipation.
The snow was light, and that could put the bunnies on the move, an activity that would be sensored by the sharp noses of the beagles, Sizemore said. If it got too heavy, it could cause the rabbits to hole up, which would be bad news for a couple of guys who had aborted a day's work to hunt.
The season had treated Sizemore and Tyree kindly, thus far. The count of rabbits killed over their hounds had reached 153.
"There are a lot more rabbits this year; a lot more," said Sizemore.
Wildlife biologists assigned to the Department of Game and Inland Fisheries agree that the cottontail population has been building for nearly a half-dozen years. It has been helped along by mild winters and by growing seasons with enough moisture to provide lush food and cover.
Sizemore and Tyree, who are from Catawba, pulled into a farmhouse lane surrounded by habitat that looked like a rabbit fortress - brush piles, briers, junk piles, unkept fence rows, rock piles, downed cedar trees - the kind of place they'd rather be than anywhere else in the world come January.
Soon their beagles were exploring it, their upright tails swishing like windshield wipers in a rain storm, their black noses to the ground, sucking up scent and blowing out the snow that came with it. The hunters and hounds were joined by Ron Martin, a Craig County resident, who added two more dogs to the pack, Bones and Whiskers.
Almost before the hunters had time to put shells in their guns, one of the beagles had poked its nose near a rabbit that came squirting out of the cover. The hounds gathered into a bawling mob, their musical voices growing and fading across the rolling landscape as they pursued their quarry.
"Let's kill that one and make it 154," said Sizemore.
But would-be 154 escaped into a den, and the hounds went silent, the final wail given by Bobtail.
"That's bad news," Sizemore said when he heard Bobtail. "She is the last to get there; the last to the hole."
The beagles quickly began scouring the brush and briers in search of another target. Calling their names, the hunters encouraged or chastised them according to the need, knowing what they were doing, even when out of view, by the pitch of their voice.
There is BB, a hard-headed youngster, who has a tendency to backtrack, throwing off the rest of the pack and causing a lot of vocal comment from Sizemore who threatened to go for the shocking collar.
There is Queeny - "she came over on the Mayflower," says Sizemore - old, but interested, hanging back until she is certain a rabbit has been unseated, and it isn't just BB heading in the wrong direction.
And Bones, a cast-off dog that once was so skinny "you could thread her through the eye of a needle," said Sizemore.
And Dan, a handsome male with the tenacity to stick to a tough track and the skill to solve its many intricate puzzles.
And Whiskers, the Airedale blood flowing through its veins giving it a cuddly, couch-dog look.
And Bobtail, who lost his tail in a bout with an automobile.
And Squirrel - "I used to whip him for chasing squirrels, but I finally gave up," said Tyree.
Tyree is from a family of rabbit hunters. His dad and grandad still pursue bunnies, but such heritages are dying. There was a time when youthful hunters started their careers on rabbits and squirrels, and old-timers rounded out their hunting that way. Now deer and turkey dominate the sport, which means the sounds of beagles barking and bawling across the hillsides aren't as prevalent.
Deer haven't just stolen the spotlight, they've also caused a hardship for rabbit hunters, challenging them to develop hounds that won't chase the bucks and does that are certain to inhabit the same cover as bunnies.
"You have to have some broke dogs or you don't accomplish much," said Sizemore.
He has been known to drive to Bristol and pick up 20 new beagles at a time, checking them to see which will run deer and which won't, shipping the trash dogs off to the East for deer hunts, keeping the two to three that pass the test.
Small in statue but stout of heart, beagles are ideal for exploring the nearly impenetrable cover rabbits call home. Wrapped in their tough, yet soft, hides is stamina that scorns fatigue every time a fresh track is discovered.
The day provided several classic chases for Sizemore, Tyree and Martin. The hunters would position themselves along ambush points to intercept rabbits that almost were certain to circle back toward their flush point.
The bunnies would break into a short burst of speed, their white tails bobbing like a snowball. Then they would slow - sometimes even stop - as the beagles solved the mystery of scent and put them on the run again, the voices of the hounds registering the intensity of the chase.
It is the music of the dogs that is most prized by the beagle hunters. To make certain the choir always has something to sing about, Sizemore, Tyree and Martin never hunt the same area more than twice during a single season. And there are days Martin will tramp the fields with an empty gun.
By early afternoon it became evident that the snow was putting the rabbits into dens. The hunters gathered up their dogs and headed for home, their modest bounty puffing out the game bags of their hunting jackets like a wad of tobacco in the cheek of a ball player.