January 29, 1995
Early Hunters Give Bear And Coons Plenty Of Respect
Last of two parts
Though the hunt and kill of a huge panther was exciting -- as related in last week's column -- George Rhode and John Bediford of Punta Gorda climaxed their winter-long expedition with greater adventure in an ordinary "cabbage hammock."
The sabal palm -- Florida's official state tree -- was known as the cabbage palm to early settlers. The growing tip of the palm tastes like delicate cabbage when cooked. A hammock is small rise of land -- generally one to five acres -- that dot wet-footed prairies bordering the Everglades. Such "islands" are favorite haunts of wild game.
Thus, it was with great expectation that Rhode and Bediford pitched camp in a rather large cabbage hammock.
They cut out a number of swamp cabbage buds for their supper of quail, rice, fried corn cakes and coffee. Rhode gives the recipe for palm cabbage in his memoir of their 1921 hunt -- one of the last before game limits were imposed:
"The best way to prepare and cook swamp cabbage is to cut the bud out of the palm, being careful to use only the softest, tender part -- the other is bitter. Cut it up fine, put it in a vessel, cover with water and boil thoroughly.
"Pour off the water and put in more cabbage. Stew thoroughly. Add a small piece of bacon and a little milk or butter to season. Then you have a vegetable dish as palatable as any you have ever tasted."
Alexander Kinsel, a Punta Gorda tanner and fur dealer, had offered to buy all the game pelts Rhode and Bediford could bring back. The main quarry was raccoons. The animals were numerous and dangerous when cornered, but their pelts brought good prices.
The frontier methods of catching coons were trapping, chasing with dogs and "still hunting." Following is Rhode's story in his own words.
* * *
One day while we were camped in a small hammock of pines and cabbage palms -- up at the head of a little stream -- I decided to go on a still hunt. That is, without any dogs who run down and tree coons for you. You go through the woods, looking into all the trees, especially the cabbages, and find coons lying on the limbs.
On this particular day, the dogs were all fagged out by virtue of having chased a wildcat and fox to the finish. The dogs' feet were worn out, and I wished to have them rest up for the next day. Accordingly, I tied them up to keep them from following.
I took my gun and strolled through the woods about a mile when I found the first coon.
I noticed the top of a cabbage that was standing off by itself. A dark, thick place did not shine light through as clearly as it ought.
When I got within 40 yards I spotted a coon, a big one, cuddled up in the bud of the cabbage as nice as you please, taking his morning nap.
I hated to interrupt his beauty rest but did not know any other way to get that fur coat he was wearing. So I leveled my old shotgun and blazed away.
At the crack of the gun the coon didn't fall out as you might think. The fans and stalks of the tree were so thick he couldn't fall through. He simply sank down into them and died, lodged in the top about 20 feet from the ground. I wondered how to get the coon down. At last I decided to climb the palm and throw him out. The tree was only about seven or eight inches through, and I saw that I could easily shinny up to the top.
Say, gentle reader, did you ever climb a cabbage? I did, that one. It was my first and also my last! I had heard that a bear would climb up and pull out the bud of these palms for food, then turn loose and fall out.
I never could understand, until my own experience, why a bear would risk a broken leg or neck rather than climb down.
I found out the secret the hard way.
Going up was simple. I got hold of the old fellow by the leg and threw him to the ground. However, when I undertook the descent I met with a very disagreeable surprise. I found out what I never knew before. The trunk of a cabbage palm is covered with tiny spikes, or beards. They are something like fish hooks -- all pointing upward. Climbing up easy, but coming down is almost impossible.
If these spikes, or beards, pierce one's flesh, they are not nearly so easy to get rid of as they are to acquire. They are like the poet's flea -- of which he said:
Larger fleas have smaller fleas
Upon their backs to bite them,
And smaller fleas have smaller fleas,
And so on infinitum.
Well, large cabbage palm beards have smaller beards. Their nature is to hold on and to work farther into the flesh. The more you try to remove it, the farther it is pushed in. It is necessary to cut the thing out bodily or let it stay in until you can poultice it out.
I soon found out that I could not hang there on the side of that tree indefinitely, for my strength would soon give out. Therefore, I struggled on up into the top foliage.
I settled down comfortably to try and figure out what to do next. Glancing over my shoulder, I discovered another old coon about four feet away among the fans. He was as ugly and vicious as you care to encounter. My intrusion did not seem to sooth his temper. He was already cocked and primed for a fight and was coming for me with all haste. I had only a second to decide what to do. I arose and grabbed about three or four fans and sailed out.
The fans swung me down about eight feet -- giving me a chance to swing myself clear of the tree and jump. Luckily I landed on my feet unhurt, though shaken up.
I looked up and saw that the coon had made such a fierce lunge at me that he followed me clear out on the stems to which I had lately occupied. He was swinging and holding on for dear life.
Quickly, I grabbed my gun and sent the usual remedy for such conditions up after him, viz, a load of number-four shot. I scored a fair hit, and he came tumbling to my feet.
Thus, I had two, big, nice coons whose pelts would add to my collection. To save the carcasses for the dogs, I swung the coons over one shoulder and my gun on the other.
On the way to camp, I came square upon a soft-shell turtle -- as fine a one as I ever saw. He had his head and neck run out about six inches. I threw my coons down and shot his head off. He was a dandy -- must have weighed 20 pounds.
I tied the coons to each end of my rifle so I could carry the lot -- Chinese style -- on one shoulder. This freed my right hand to grasp the turtle. I had some difficulty grabbing one of his legs because a turtle will jump and jerk several hours after his head is cut off.
Back at camp we dressed the turtle and carved off enough meat for supper. He made us four good meals.
Turtle meat is sweet and tender. The flesh of these turtles represents every imaginable kind of meat -- chicken, quail, fish, steak, etc. Out of the forest or stream there comes no finer meat for food, and no better material for soup -- especially with a mess of swamp cabbage.
The next day we took the dogs and guns and walked up the creek a couple miles in search of whatever we might be able to capture. A hundred yards from camp the dogs struck up a lively pace. Old Bull gave me the knowing howl which said "coon" just as plainly as words would have done.
As we went breaking through the scrub of palmetto and gallberries, as high or higher than our heads, we came upon a cow trail where the dogs were running at top speed. Some were yelping, some howling, some whining, some screeching. They were after an object of contention.
We heard a big animal crashing through the bushes long before it hove into sight. My, what a racket! It sounded like a bunch of cattle -- with the dogs in hot pursuit.
We stood with guns in hand, ready for any emergency we thought. All at once, there burst into view, about 20 feet from us in the trail, a big bear. He was a monster, the first that either of us had ever seen.
The bear was fleeing at full speed from the dogs and had his whole mind and attention fixed on them. He was following the trail in order to increase his speed. However, we imagined the animal was coming down to get us. We had no idea whatever of offering any resistance.
John, in the lead, saw the bear first. I could not imagine what had come over him when he, without previous ceremony, dashed back toward me in the greatest excitement.
He screamed, "Run, run! My Lord, Rhode, run!"
Looking up, I saw the brute coming. I jumped aside just in time for John to pass. I took out after him. About the second jump, I stepped into a stump hole, turned my ankle over and hit the ground on my stomach so hard I bounced.
As I went down, I saw something making a streak through the gallberries. This I judged to be John; so I yelled out to him, "Oh, John, ain't you going to stay with me?"
He yelled over his shoulder with out slowing, "Yes, if you're going my way." I hobbled on and soon found John scaling a tall, slim sapling. He was going up that sapling like a squirrel.
I had to laugh, for as he climbed up, the sapling gradually bent over 'til he was lying on the ground with his back in the grass. He was hugging the sapling tight in his arms and yelling for me to "Run! Run!"
I limped over and peered down at him. With all the power of emphasis at this command, John shouted at me, "Don't come up here, you darned fool! Get yourself another tree. Can't you see this one won't hold both of us?
I replied, "Well, John, the bear's gone now, and you can come down." He looked around very cautiously to see if I was right. Then, he turned loose and got on his feet. I don't think he ever realized the ridiculous position he had presented. One thing sure, we never did get the bear.
On the way back to camp, I said, "John, why were you running so from that bear?" He replied indignantly, "I wasn't running away. I was only getting around there as fast as I could to try and head off the dogs."
Soon after this incident we decided to turn our course toward home, hunting as we went. We arrived back at Punta Gorda with 672 coon skins, 73 possums, 23 otters, and 12 foxes. These netted us $1,186.45.
cutline l -- large -- bear
The bear was a monster, the first we had ever seen.
Cutline 2 - raccoon
I wondered how to get the coon down.
By Lindsey Williams, columnist for Sun Coast Media Group newspapers
