Into the Outdoors: An Old Coonhunter Looks Back

Have you ever had this experience? All of a sudden, something triggers a flood of old outdoor memories, and you find yourself drifting off down Memory Lane. That happened to me recently. I got to looking at an art print that hangs in our home. The title is “Carbide Time,” by an unknown artist named Paul Cupp. It depicts two coonhunters filling the tanks of their carbide lights from a small stream.

As I looked at the picture, in my mind I could picture myself, along with Bub Bowser, Dan Harmon, Paul Lucas, Bill Coradi, and Gerald Wetzel, heading up over the hill into the woods surrounding Brady’s Bend, as darkness descended on the landscape. Back then, carbide lights were still in wide use among the coonhunting crowd. There were two brands, Autolite and Justrite. Both were made of brass. The design was actually simplicity itself. You unscrewed the bottom and filled it about half full of carbide, which you could buy at most hardware stores. Then, you filled the upper part with water. A lever on the top of the light regulated the rate at which water dripped onto the carbide, producing a gas. The gas then passed through a tiny orifice. When lit, it produced a flame. The light’s reflector then amplified the light from the flame. They produced a remarkably good light.

Often, rather than carrying extra water for our lights, we would rely on small streams and ponds for our supply. We spent so much time in the woods that we knew where all of these were located.

While they were good, the lights were not without their drawbacks. For one thing, a strong wind could blow them out, suddenly plunging you into darkness. Branches and brush could do the same thing. The orifice tended to clog, and you had to carry a wire cleaner to unclog it. That was a fun job in the dark. Also, the light would eventually wear to the point where you couldn’t regulate the drip rate of the water. Finally, the lights did, I suppose, pose somewhat of a fire hazard, but we were always careful with them.

Once, at a flea market, I saw several old carbide lights, both Autolite and Justrite. I couldn’t believe how much they cost, compared to what a brand new one cost back in the 1960s.

As kids, not all of us had our own dogs. Actually, we didn’t need them. One of the guys, Gerald Wetzel, had a bluetick named Lady. She was the closest thing to a perfect coonhound I’ve ever seen. Once she started barking on a coon track, one of two things would happen. The coon was either treed or escaped into a den. On all of the countless outings we had with her, Lady never once chased a deer or a fox. Once in a long while, she’d tree a possum, and, once, a porcupine, but that was about it.

Coonhunting is unique among all other forms of the sport. It’s really not a lot like any other kind of hunting. For one thing, you do it at night, and a dog is a must. You often find yourself covering terrain that would be difficult even in the daytime. You get bruised and scratched, and sometimes you end up standing in the woods at 2 AM, waiting for the dog to return. Even with the advent of such conveniences as rechargeable headlights that last all night and other modern conveniences, it’s still a pretty rough sport. So why would anybody do this? It’s hard to explain. When that dog first opens up on a trail, it sort of sends a pleasant chill through you. There’s something wild and primitive about it.

I haven’t done any coonhunting since the 1980s. Now and then, though, when I get to looking at that picture, or sit outside on an autumn night, I get sort of an urge to go again. Sometimes, I can almost hear old Lady barking in the dense woods along the Allegheny.

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