My first snipe hunt is to this day one of my fondest childhood memories. I was a pre-teen rising through the ranks of Boy Scouts and found myself on my first extended weekend away at camp with the entire troop.
“Take this brown paper bag and sit quietly under this tree,” the older Scout whispered as I carefully crawled into a comfortable position and prepared myself for a long wait. “Shine your flashlight on the ground and click it on and off to lure in a snipe,” he added.
After a few practice sets, I was ready for a wily snipe to run in for me to bag. The older Scout must have felt the same because he soon slinked off to “flush a snipe my way.” I hunted intently for the next 10 minutes or so until my concentration was disrupted by hoots and hollers coming from the direction of the campfire. I abandoned my post and bolted back toward the others, expecting to see my first wild snipe being plucked and roasted over the open fire. The jig was finally up, and I was left holding the bag. I can still hear their gut-busting laughter echoing through the camp.
A few years ago, I
