The author with a Botetourt County fox squirrel that he killed the second Saturday in January last winter. Photo by Bruce Ingram.

When Virginia's big-game season ends the first Saturday in January every year, I always feel a mixture of sadness and joy -- the former because it will be many months before I can pursue whitetails again, the latter because it is now time to chase after squirrels, rabbits and grouse.

For example, last year on the second Saturday in January, I spent the morning doing various chores around the house, but by afternoon I was ready to revel in the outdoor experience. Bringing along a book I had wanted to read and my 20-gauge autoloader, I merely walked out the back door of my family's Botetourt County home and headed for the 29-acre wood lot that surrounds our house.

One of my favorite places to squirrel hunt on any Old Dominion parcel in January is where a hardwood cove abuts a pine or cedar grove. At this time of year, the acorns are typically gone, and both gray and fox squirrels tend to forage in edge habitat such as this. As I entered the cove, I spooked several squirrels despite my best attempt at still-hunting.

No matter, as I knew if I settled down against a tree, activity levels would soon return to normal. About 45 minutes after I nestled against a red cedar -- and after I had read some 20 pages (in between periodic scans of the woods) -- I observed a fox squirrel foraging in the forest duff some 60 yards away.

For nearly a half hour, I watched the reddish orange creature feeding randomly through the woods and finally it came to within about 30 yards of my position. Setting aside the book, I put on my hearing protection muffs and waited for the squirrel to come within that 20-yard mark that almost always guarantees an easy shot. The squirrel then took a notion to climb a red oak and when the animal moved over to the side of the tree, facing me, I dropped it. Sunday for lunch, after the critter had simmered for five hours in a crock-pot, squirrel with peas, carrots, and other vegetables was a satisfying entrée.

On the third Saturday in January, it was time to pursue cottontails. Friend Paul Hinlicky of Catawba and I drove to Craig County where we took pleasure in a morning of brush busting without dogs. We kicked red cedar piles, rambled through an unkempt field, braved a briar patch, and ended up checking out an overgrown fencerow. No bunnies were seen, but we had a grand time.

On the fourth Saturday of the initial month, some friends and I headed for the mountains of Botetourt to grouse hunt. Predictably, given my legendarily slow reflexes and tendency to be always out of position when a fool hen flies, I was never even able to mount the 20 gauge when the three birds that we did find flushed. This was true even though the dogs I was following did all they could to locate and point the trio.

Partway through our expedition through second-growth forest, upland creek coves, and rhododendron and laurel-infested finger ridges, my group came across a quartet of hunters from Franklin County. Among them was Jimmy Amos, a paramedic from Rocky Mount, who proudly showed us a ruff that he had shot earlier in the day. What was very impressive was that the Franklin four were hunting sans dogs, depending on their leg locomotion and knowledge of grouse habitat to find birds. Enviously, I took pictures of the successful Amos.