Wascally Wabbits

At the baying of the hounds I was directed to stand in one spot and not move. Naturally after a few minutes I got bored and spied a tempting opening just a few yards away. While struggling through thigh-deep snow to get there, the hare ran past where I was, not where I was going. Such is snowshoe hare hunting for the neophyte.

The snowshoe hare, or varying hare, is most often referred to as a rabbit. It’s actually quite a bit different than the commonly known cottontail rabbit found in more southern climes and made famous in the Beatrix Potter book Peter Rabbit. Not to be completely overshadowed, you can find the “Mad March Hare” in Lewis Carroll’s book Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (and subsequent Disney animated film). The term “mad as a March hare” is derived from the rambunctious and bizarre behavior exhibited by the males (or bucks) as they compete for the females (or does) during the breeding season from March to midsummer. True to their amorous reputation, hares can have multiple births of a half dozen babies called leverets. Despite cyclical population ups and downs, their prolific nature ensures plenty of bunnies hopping around the Maine woods.

Some features that distinguish a hare from a rabbit are a lankier yet heavier body, longer ears, and virtual paddles for hind feet—thus the name snowshoe hare. These appendages keep a full-grown buck hare, which can top four pounds, afloat on the surface of the snow. What makes the hare truly fascinating is that it changes color, thus the other name, varying hare. Its summer pelage is a gray brown, but as fall arrives it starts to change to white. It’s a slow transition and I often jump them while bird hunting in October, when they look like speedy ragamuffins with shabby splotches of white. But as midwinter approaches they transition into a snowy white and become virtually invisible against the snow-blanketed landscape, with just a black eye or twitching ear to give them away. This adaptation helps them survive all sorts of avian and ground predators including this intrepid hare hunter and his beagles. (With no snow they stand out starkly and are easier pickings.) Ultimately, their lot in life is that of a prey species and they make delicious table fare.

There is a rather generous hunting season for snowshoe hare that runs from October through March. But most hare or “rabbit” hunting doesn’t start until January, after the deer rifles, muzzleloaders, and bows are put away. Serious hare hunters keep a kennel full of beagles. The relative small size of these animated little pooches contradicts their deep throaty bark when they scent a hare. The modus operandi for the hare hunter is to head to wooded swamps and spruce-strewn thickets, often on his own snowshoes, and release the hounds. Then they wait and listen for them to strike a hare. When the dog starts to “sing” the chase is on—not for the hunter but for the dog and hare. The hunter moves in the direction where the hare was first started, and stops where there is a good view and waits. This is where the very nature of the hare works against him. They inexplicably circle back to the spot where they were first jumped. If the hunter has guessed right and is patient (unlike me) he will spot a hint of movement and a hare will suddenly materialize through the brush, casually hopping along, loping fast, or sometimes stopping to ponder the noisy creature dogging him.

Back to the hunt: I was hunting with seasoned hare hunters this day and their bevy of beagles. One of their young sons, Brayden, joined us with his puppy-in-training named Belle. She stuck close to her master but ventured out to join the pack when a hare was on the run. When a hare was down she was urged to sniff and worry it so she knew what we were after. Through no fault of my guides, just my own ineptitude, I never dirtied a barrel—although I did have one opportunity as the dogs moved a hare past the young boy and me at a decent clip. No problem for this seasoned wing-shooting bird hunter, right? As I shouldered my fancy 20-gauge double barrel shotgun to swing on the running hare, a shot rang out. Brayden had beaten me to the punch and dropped the hare cleanly with his single shot .410. You gotta love the reflexes of youth.

So like Elmer Fudd, I didn’t get Bugs Bunny that day but listening to those beagles bawl and feeling the thrill and anticipation of the chase has me hooked. I’ll be back . . .

Brad Eden is an artist, writer, Registered Maine Master Guide, and owner/editor of the online magazine www.uplandjournal.com.