Coon Hunting in Schuyler County, Illinois Volume 2

By Don Lerch

Don Lerch was born and raised in Schuyler County, Illinois. He began coon hunting as a young boy and continued until he was no longer able to go. As a young boy, coon hunting was a necessity for meals, as there were nine other siblings, and the hides were as important because they would provide money for cloths, shoes, groceries or whatever might be needed for the family. Don and his wife Char retired in 2005 to spend more time together. He lost her in 2006 shortly after retirement. Although she was not a coon hunter, she was a rock of support throughout their marriage. The have two children and seven grandchildren. Don published his first book in 2012 and the response was so great for another one, be began gathering stories and went to work again. These stories generate from six different counties, Adams, Brown, Cass, Fulton, McDonough and Schuyler and span from the 1930's till present day. You will read about heartbreaking losses, mule riding, trying to cross the river without a plug in the boat, forgetting the gun, getting lost and some hunts you wish you had been along for the ride. The thrill of the hunt is priceless. Although Don is no longer able to hunt, the "fever" is still there, and as long as their are coon hunters, there will be stories, and he will listen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491704776

Don Lerch

Don Lerch was born and raised in Schuyler County, Illinois. He has had many jobs throughout his life, from owning a gas station, fur buying, selling fishing supplies, an Ice business, owner of Don & Char’s Package Liquor store. In 2012 he published his first book, Coon Hunting in Schuyler County, Illinois. He remains in Schuyler County, Rushville, Illinois.

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Coon Hunting In

Schuyler County, Illinois

VOLUME 2

DON LERCH

iUniverse LLC

Bloomington

Coon Hunting in Schuyler County, Illinois

Volume 2

Copyright © 2013 by Don Lerch.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-0475-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0476-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-0477-6 (ebk)

iUniverse rev. date: 09/05/2013

Contents

Acknowledgement

What Is A Coon Dog?

Tribute To Don

Coon In The Bush

Coon Hunting With Grandpa

74 Years And Still Hunting

English Hounds

Wet Feet

New Gun

Lost Coon

The Cliff

They Came To Hunt On Our Farm

The Coon Hound That Saved Dad

Crack Shot John

Tribute To Slim

Fox Hunters

History Of Brown County Hunters

Of Past Times

Coon Hunting As A Child

Memories From Younger Years

A Variety Of Stories

My Own Story

Brown County Coon Hunters

Falls Hollow Hunt

Mad Dog

Walking In Circles

No More Coon Hunting Buddies

Changes In Coon Hunting

The Schuyler County Coon Hunters Club

Jim And His Lantern

The Night I Won’t Forget

Racoon Convention Night

Old Dutch And The Badger

The Cave

The Best Christmas I Ever Had

Fond Memories

I See Tracks

Last Chance

The Spin Cycle Coon

Remembering

Remembering Memories

Memories Of Past Times

Memories

Coonhunting In Wisconsin

The Trials Of Coon Hunting

Hunting With Dad

A Hunt With No Dogs

Two Of My Dogs

The Candy Snuff

Hunting With Junior Utter

Nellie On The River

A Dog Possessed

The Coonhound That Was Afraid Of The Dark

Four Sock Feet And A Pink Nose

Killer Hill

The Snowstorm

Sweet And Short

Had A Great Time

A Bad Night In November

A Good December Night

Coon Hunting With Grandpa

A Rescued Raccoon

Hunting With Friends

One Rainy Night

Training Some Pups

Coonhunting In The Illinois River Bottoms

Cold Tracking

First Competition Coon Hunt

Coon Hunting

Oakie

True Story

Dogs And Friends

The Midnight Hunt

Hunting The Bottoms

Coon Hunting

The Night Of The Foulcoon

Enjoyed The Memories

It Was Still Alive

Opening Night

Summer Hunt

My First And Only Coon Hunt

Me And My Brothers Hunt

All Night Hunt

The Coon Hunt

Many Colors

Miles And Miles

A Good Trip

The Disappearing Coon

Tree Two Times

Grumpy Old Man

Grandpa And The Carbide Light

The Coon Huntin’ Story

The Watch

We Got The Last Laugh

Reality Tv In Schuyler County?

Training My New Pup

The Good Old Days Of Coon Hunting

Letting The Air Out

As A Young Girl

Coons & Tears

Don’t Forget Your Gun

Hunting With Taylor

We Were Rednecks When Rednecks Wern’t Cool

Hunting Buddies

The Making Of A Dog

The Allen Hill Coon Hunt

The Pea Ridge-Ridge Runner

Change In The Weather Coon Hunt

Hound Struck

Night Of Light

Coon Hunting In Schuyler County

Amos The Famous, What A Tail

The Coon Dog Cemetery

January 2⁶Th, 1950

STORY WRITTEN BY

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

By Don Lerch

I started coon hunting as a kid and kept hunting until I wasn’t able to go any longer. I’m seventy years old at this time and still would like to go coon hunting. I had been married forty-two years when my wife Char passed away. When we were first married she didn’t like for me to go coon hunting, and later on when I couldn’t go she wished I was out of the house!! I hope you enjoy this book as much as I have putting it together. Thanks to everyone who wrote a story, I hope all the memories will keep the sport of coon hunting alive.

MANY THANKS TO ALL

DON LERCH

49_a_cairo.jpg

Don & Char Lerch

I would like to dedicate this book to my friend Jackie Goddard

for helping do this book and also to everyone

who wrote a story.

001_a_cairo.jpg

Jackie & her husband John

WHAT IS A COON DOG?

A coon dog is a hunting hound specially trained to hunt raccoons. Coon hunting is an American sport dating back from Colonial days and is held at night.

The first mention we have of hounds in America appears in the diary of one of the men of the Spanish explorer Herando DeSota. He also mentions that the hounds were used for hunting Indians rather than fox, raccoon or rabbit.

In 1650, the Englishmen Robert Brooke brought his pack of hounds with him. Thomas Walker of Virginia imported hounds from England in 1742, and in 1770 George Washington, an avid fox hunter had hounds imported from England. These dogs were the foundation of the Virginia Hounds, from which our present day English Coonhounds developed.

The most popular breeds of Coon Dogs include the Black & Tan Coonhound, Bluetick Hound, English Coonhound, Plott Coonhound, Redbone Coonhound, and the Treeing Walker Coonhound.

All can be trace their heritage back to the English foxhound with the exception of the Plott Coonhound, whose ancestors were used for boar hunting in Germany. All six breeds are registered with the U.K.C.

TRIBUTE TO DON

By Larry Egbert

Coon hunting has been a passion for many hunters in Schuyler County and I want to thank Don for taking the time to publish these books. I know the hunters that have passed on would feel the same. I always liked to stop by that Sunoco station to change oil in my pick up, and get to visit with other hunters who were there selling their hides and talking about their hunt the night before. At least we got exercise, hunting and visiting in person, verses what we do today. The technology today has taken a lot of the inter-action from our society.

THANKS AGAIN DON!

COON IN THE BUSH

By Steve Ashcraft

The hunt I am writing about has always stood out in my memory, not because of the amount of coons treed but because how funny it turned out to be. This hunt took place behind my grandpa Bash’s old house off of Fairfield road and down Burnside lane. The hunters that night were my dad, Bob Ashcraft, George Kieslar, from Liberty, IL and myself.

We had turned the dogs loose after crossing the pasture. It was a cool, clear evening with no wind and the dew was just starting to fall. We had our dogs Blue and Sis, both were dogs from Dave Dean’s Northern Blue Hammer line. George also had blueticks, but I can’t recall their breeding. The dog struck a track not long after they’d been cut loose and the race was on.

The dogs ran the track up one side of the holler, around an old pond then back down the holler and you could tell they were really picking up steam. Finally after about a twenty minute run, Blue’s voice quivered and changed over to his familiar tree bark along with Sis, who had settled into her perfect and distinct chop, chop, chop on the tree.

George, dad and I made our way to the tree which was on a fairly steep hillside in behind where Butter Burnside lived. The dogs were all on a tree and it didn’t take long for us to see the coon’s eyes shining down on us. Dad and George was closer to the tree and I was down below on the backside of a multi floral rose bush that was taller than me.

After allowing the dogs to tree for awhile, dad busted the coon out of the tree. The coon wasn’t anywhere near being dead when it came out of the tree landing on top of that multi floral rose bush. George was able to reach the coon on top of that bush, he grabbed the coons tail and flung it out. The dogs were all worked up at seeing the coon fall out of the tree, running around looking and treeing at the bush it had fallen in. I was still standing on a downward slope in a little clear spot just below the bush where the coon had fallen in when George flung the coon out of the top of the bush and it hit me dead in the chest! When the coon hit me it caused me to lose my balance and I fell backwards down the hill. I must of let out a yell as me and the coon started rolling down the hill and no sooner did I come to a stop in the creek bed then all the dogs were piling on top of me trying to get the coon.

There I laid with a coon squalling, dogs slobbering and chomping trying to kill the coon on my chest along with me cussing and yelling trying to get up and knowing I was going to get tore up by either the coon or the dogs, or both. I’m not sure how long it lasted, probably less than a minute, but by the time Dad and George got down to me I was covered in dog and coon slobbers along with blood, but none of it was mine.

When they realized I was okay, both of them started laughing at me, but by that time I didn’t see anything funny about it. I am not sure how I didn’t get bitten by the coon or the dogs nor even get scratched by the multi floral rose bushes I fell through. I guess the Carharts were tougher than the coon or dogs.

COON HUNTING WITH GRANDPA

By Aaron Bartlett

When I was a young boy both of my grandpa’s owned a coon hound. My grandpa, Bill Bartlett lived out northwest of town which wasn’t as handy because he lived farther from our house. Usually the only time I went coon hunting with him was when I happened to stay all night on the weekends. Grandpa Bartlett had an old dog by the name of Sam. I don’t remember to many stories about Sam because I was too young to hunt when Sam was in his prime, but I do remember that usually the coon hunts with him were fairly short. Sam would tree a coon but he was better known for his extreme desire to run a deer.

If he came across a coon track he would sure enough tree it but the minute he came across a deer track he would soon be out of hearing and we would be headed back to the house for the night. On nights that the weather was not the best those short nights were welcome.

My other grandpa, Donald Egbert just lived on top of the hill from our house. This made it a little easier to go hunting even for a short hunt during the week when I got older. I can remember early on that in addition to his own hounds grandpa also kept hounds for the Schuyler County Coyote Hunters Association. It always seemed that he had a hound for whatever you wanted to hunt. There was never a shortage of hounds at grandpas and this also meant a lot of mouths to feed. I can remember he always had a huge cooker that he would build a fire under and mix corn meal, water, meat and bone scraps he got from Surber & Genseal’s and cooked his own dog food. If cooked full it would feed the dogs for several weeks. During the warmer months he would cook smaller batches due to it not keeping as well. During the months that the hounds were being ran a lot or it was extra cold out he would also feed them cracklins, which the dogs loved and would almost fight over.

There was always something going on up at grandpa Egbert’s and always something to do. If is wasn’t time to cook dog food then it was probably time to get the hides out and get them ready for the fur buyer. Back in the day it was fun but as I look back on it now I think he may have been taking advantage of free child labor!!!. In those days between all the coyote hides from the club and the other fox, deer, coon, mink, weasel, beaver and any other animal we may have decided to skin there was a tremendous amount of work that grandpa insisted on doing to the hides before the buyer would show up to buy all the hides. After we skinned the animal we would wash them good in either an old sink or an old washing machine, run them through a hand crank set of rollers to get the majority of the water out of them and then hang them in the basement to dry. Once they were fairly dry we would freeze them. When the freezer was full he would make arrangements for the buyer to come over. Before the fur buyer showed up he would get the hides out of the freezer, let them thaw out & dry out and then comb them till they were in pristine condition. Most of the time you couldn’t find another place to hang a hide in his basement and sometimes even a few hides were piled on the floor when the fur buyer showed up. This process would usually happen a couple of times a year due to the amount he would accumulate between his own hunting and the club coyote hides. He always made the comment that this whole process was still easier then when he used to stretch all his own hides. That was before my time, so I always took his word for it. My reward came when the fur buyer came and grandma would fix up a big batch of her homemade coffee cake! Once the fur buyer would get done looking over all the hides and paying grandpa, everyone would gather around the table for some coffee cake and tell stories, which I’m sure were all true. In later years when the fur market took a nose dive the fur buyer quit coming to the house. I can’t remember if it was due to the price of fur or if he went out of business. Either way it sure wasn’t as handy loading them all up in the truck and taking them somewhere.

The first coon dog I remember grandpa Egbert having was a dog by the name of Old Hap. Old Hap was grandpas pride and joy. I can’t remember if Hap was grandpas dog or the clubs dog, but of course grandpa claimed him anytime he did something good. Old Hap was a one of a kind dog. He would only run a coyote during the day and then once it got dark he would only run and tree a coon. Grandpa always had a couple of beagles that he let run around on the farm and the beagles would always tag along on nights we went coon hunting close to the house. It didn’t take long for them to start running coons also. They really made the race sound good, but when the coon went up the tree they were done and it was up to Hap to tree till we got there. When I was in my early teens Old Hap died and all we had to coon hunt with was that pair of beagles. Gone were the days of sitting on the tailgate till Hap treed and then taking our time to get to him. With these little hounds you had to try to make them hunt with you, and when they hit a track you had to do your best to stay with them so when the coon went up the tree you were close enough to figure out which tree to shine. If you stayed close enough they would be milling around the tree the coon went up trying to figure out where the track went.

One night the beagles hit a hot track and didn’t waste any time driving the track down this little holler. I knew there were several big den trees down at the end of the holler and was sure I knew where the tracks would end. When the race got to the area where the den trees were the sound of the race changed and I thought they had learned to tree. I hurried as fast as I could but before I got there everything got quiet as usual. When I got to where I thought I heard them I was close to the den trees, the beagles were nowhere to be found. After some silence I could faintly hear the beagles baying but couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. I started checking the den trees thinking they found a hole at the base of one of the den trees and were inside the tree. As I walked away from the tree I stepped on a soft spot and my leg went in the ground. All of a sudden the sound of baying beagles got very loud and it became very clear they were