By Adam Lucey
Not unlike most of my fellow Floridian brethren and sistren, I am a transplant from the land of the Yankee. I am not ashamed of this lineage, though it has shaped my adult life in unexpected ways. I have called the Sunshine State home for over two decades and along the way, I even married a bonafide native, self-certifying myself as a pseudo local and most definitely an ex-Yankee.
Florida may be the land of anthropomorphic mice and geriatric brumal Chordata Aves, but for me it became the birthplace of the unexpected—a love of firearms. Guns were not part of my youth, nor was I exposed to them as an adolescent. This interest developed spontaneously about 10 years ago. I bought a gun and taught myself how to shoot, albeit not very well at first. Then I bought more guns and shot them, too.
I enjoy tools, and according to my wife, I have too many. To me, guns are tools and I needed something to do with these newfound tools. Every man knows you purchase a tool first and then find a use for it. So, I set my proverbial sights on the elusive Florida eastern gray squirrel during small game season. One fine afternoon I grabbed my rifle and headed to the nearest wildlife management area. How hard could it be?
To call myself a novice is a disservice to other novices. I wandered around aimlessly, like an idiot. The only thing I shot that first season were several unfortunate pinecones that I mistakenly thought were catatonic squirrels. Needless to say, I was humbled, but determined.
I needed to hone my skills if I ever hoped to move beyond coniferous culling. I hit the range, put hundreds and hundreds of rounds through my rifle, and scoured the internet for the squirrel hunting secrets of my forefathers. I taught myself basic flora and fauna identification, which hardwood trees produce nuts, and analyzed available aerial images to discern where I might focus my efforts.
Going into season two, I felt prepared. I knew where to go, what to look for and how to better listen. Unfortunately, it was the listening part that proved to be my downfall. It took nearly all of this second season to realize that I had been stalking red-bellied woodpeckers. Unbeknownst to me, these stupid birds sound a lot like squirrels barking. Season two left me even humbler.
Season three…let’s just say it was a squirrel massacre. I now have an original recipe for squirrel and dumplings that is absolutely amazing.
Looking back, hunting ain’t easy, even for rodents. I have a sense of pride and accomplishment few other successes in my life have provided. Everything I now know, I had to learn myself. I am still a novice, but far from that initial imbecile strolling haphazardly through the woods murdering pinecones.
For a Northern-born ex-Yankee, Florida has become so much more to me than a place to live. It is my home, my passion, and part of my career. I do not seek to change Florida. I need to preserve it. I feel connected to this landscape and the creatures that inhabit it. I may have been born up North, but I will die down South, and that feels just about right to me.
