The Great Snipe Hunt

Not too long ago, I was walking on the trails at Heebner Green Space Park when an old memory came unbidden into my mind.

Many years ago, I was tenderfooted Boy Scout, and the troop I belonged to made a point to go camping once a month during the school year and while we were unable to camp at Valley Forge National Historic Park in later years, there were many other great places locally to pitch a tent, burn a s'more, get rained on and dig a latrine ditch.

I fondly recall one of the overnighters, as we called them, was to Mr. Goode's Amish farm in Lancaster County were we spent the night camped amongst the many farm animals. I can still hear the goats bleating, which they did all night long.

Other times, we camped in the Poconos or perhaps closer to home. The general idea was to have a good time but also to learn useful adult skills, such as menu planning, logistics, team-work, cooking, and cleaning up.

Other Scout skills like knot-tying, use of an axe, first aid (but hopefully not because of someone learning how to use the axe!), wilderness survival, map reading and proper compass use were also taught and sometimes, even learned.

It was also a "rite of passage" for a young boy becoming a man.

The memory that came to me while I walked through the woods at Heebner Park was of one of those rites of passages and it happened when I was attending one of my very first of many overnight camping trips.


"Snipe Hunting"
A camp out staple, the hunt started with one of the older boys saying something like, "Hey kid! You wanna go snipe hunting?" after the dinner time dishes had been washed and put away.

And, not wanting to look like an ignorant sissy, I replied, "Sure!"


The older boy would go on and on, bragging about his Snipe hunting (and bagging) prowess.

"You know, when there is a strong wind blowing, I could probably bag as many Snipe with a burlap sack as I could with a shotgun!"


"Take a burlap bag and go down to the marsh when it gets dark," the instructions began.

"Get in a place with some cover, hunker down and get that bag open. Be sure to really hold it wide open!"


Then start calling out 'Snipe, Snipe, Snipe!' as long as you can. We'll go down on the other side of the marsh and see if we can drive them to you. Got it?"


So off I went with a couple other young boys, a big burlap bag in hand to a marshy place we all thought looked "really good for Snipes".

Of course, none of us knew what a Snipe was or what one looked like. At any rate, we opened our bags wide and started our hopeful calling, "Snipe! Snipe! Here Snipes!"

After a while, the darkness fell, our voices grew hoarse, our arms ached and the mud sucked at our watersoaked boots. Slowly we began to think we had been forgotten - or perhaps all the "good" Snipes had been hunted and bagged by the older guys. One of the other young guys volunteered to go back to camp to find out what was going on.


Me and the remaining other guy, our arms completely weary from holding our big burlap bags open, and completely mud-streaked, were waiting for our young buddy to return, still gamely calling "Snipe, Snipe" when suddenly, a screaming shout from behind us made us leap into the air in fright, "There they go! Catch 'em! Catch 'em!"

The other guy yelled, "Hey! I think I got one!"

And I, well, I just stood back up after having fell over into the deep mud in shock. The laughter of the older guys when they shone their flashlights onto our weary, confused, strained faces echoes in my head even now, decades later.

As for the bagged Snipe? Well, it turned out to be a pair of white gym socks rolled into a tight ball.



Snipe are actually for real. I took me years and years to believe it though.

They are migratory birds. They breed from the shores of the Arctic Ocean to the Canadian plains down into the northern prairie states. Each fall Snipe migrate south, going as far as Brazil, before returning northward to nest.

Snipe are about the size of a Mourning Dove. Their distinguishing feature is a long, slender beak that it plunges into wet soil to probe for earthworms.

I never did bag one though.