Bear Grease - Ep. 149: THIS COUNTRY LIFE - World Champion Squirrel Cook Off

Episode Date: September 29, 2023

If there was ever an event that Brent Reaves was born to be associated with it would have to be the World Champion Squirrel Cook Off in his home state of Arkansas. It was an eye opening experience for him and eating squirrels was only a small part of the festivities. Lots of fun in this one including a story that takes a brotherly hunting competition to a whole new level of extreme. Take your hat off and scoot up to the table, the squirrels are ready and it's time to eat on Meateater's This Country Life podcast.  Connect with Joe Wilson to sponsor next year's World Champion Squirrel Cook Off [e-mail] Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube Shop Bear Grease Merch https://gootf.com/See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves. From Coon Hunting to Trotlining and just general country living, I want you to stay a while as I share my stories and country skills that will help you beat the system. This Country Life is proudly presented as part of Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcast the Airways have to offer. All right, friends, pull you up a chair or drop that tailgate. I think I got a thing or two to teach you.

The world champion squirrel cookoff. I was honored to be a judge at the 2023 world champion squirrel cookoff in Springdale, Arkansas. Folks gathered from all over the nation to share a day of family-oriented fun in the Ozark Mountains. Some were there to compete, some were there to eat, some were there out of simple curiosity and admittedly want to see the stereotypical barefooted hillbillies of the South cooking and eating squirrels. Now, what they witnessed was something quite different and surprising to some, including yours truly.

We're going to talk about all of that, but first, I'm going to tell you a story. Squirrel season many moons ago opened on the first day of October, and every year you'd find me, my brother, and various others that I'd, deer camp for the annual opening day. In early October, the hardwood trees that squirrels feed in normally still hold the majority of their leaves. This requires us to slip undetected as possible through the woods in an attempt to spot the squirrel and take a shot at him before he sees us. Most of the time you can hear a squirrel jumping from limb to limb or chewing on acorns as they feed. Remarkably, you can hear a squirrel cut in an acre or a hickering nut for quite a long ways that the wind ain't blowing too hard.

Dogs aren't a lot of help this time of year because the barking makes the squirrel set still and they're hard to find amongst all the leaves. My older brother Tim is a very accomplished outdoorsman. He taught me a lot about the outdoors and more than a few of my best memories are with him. This is one of them. The first person out of the woods with their limit of squirrels, always drew bragging rights. The contest was narrowed further between Tim and I

to see who the first person would be to kill the first squirrel on opening day. The first shot to break the stillness of a cool morning and to hear the echo roll through the hardwood bottoms was a badge of honor between he and I. For three or four years in a row, I had been the first to open squirrel season in our group. I didn't care if I got my limit before Tim

or even if I killed my limit. I just wanted to be first, and so did Tim. The day would start well before daylight. We would meet at Tim's house for breakfast of biscuits and gravy and coffee. Tim's brother-in-law, Joe Bryant, who was just like our brother, would be there. Tim's father-in-law, Mr. Billy Bryant, our turkey hunting mentor, and a few other close friends would sometimes get the invite, but it was basically the Bryant and Reeves' dear camp crew. We would have our breakfast then drive across the pasture to the edge of the creek bottoms.

From there, we'd separate like a covey of quail in the darkness, each go into his favorite hunting spot to wait for daylight and the squirrels to start stirring. It was the official kick-off to hunting season every year. It had been our tradition for a long time. Meet at Tim's, eat breakfast, go hunting. And my brother makes the best coffee in the world. I love coffee on a good, cool morning. I love coffee on every morning, but coffee, it hates me every day of the year.

On this particular morning, the moon was large and full and gave enough light to move through the woods without the aid of a flashlight, and we each made our way to our hunting spot, agreeing we would all meet back up at the truck before dinner. For those keeping score at home, dinner means noon. Now, I found my way to my spot, and I sat down under a large red oak tree to relax and wait for the sun to come up. There hadn't even been a hint of daylight back to the east, but you could see surprisingly well in the bright moonlight, especially after my eyes got completely acclimated to the dark. It was such a cool, clear morning, there was no haze, the stars were nearly invisible because

of how bright the moon was, and the moon was so clear that you could easily see the craters and all the definitions of the different shades of gray. I could see my breath when I exhaled against the moon. It was perfect. I was at peace and in one of my favorite places on earth and with the folks I wanted to be with. It just didn't get much better than this. What could mess this up?

Tim's world famous coffee. That's what. It began to stir in my belly. The mixture of coffee, biscuits, and gravy was apparently at odds with each other. The feeling in my stomach was a sharp jolted pain that made me sit straight up

from my relaxed position against that big red oak. It quickly went away to nothing. It was close. Thought I was going to have an issue there for a minute. I went back to looking at the moon. A few moments later, the next pain felt like I'd been gut-shot,

and relief was only going to come by letting nature run its course. was no question it was about to happen. The only thing yet to be determined was if I was going to be able to get my overalls out of the way and time to keep from having to walk back to Tim's house naked. I assumed the position ingrained in man from his humble beginnings before the days of toilets and squatty potty and exercise Tim's coffee from my person. Now that operation pretty well runs on autopilot and I had nothing else to do during this time

so I found myself staring at the moon again. that was shining so brightly through the hardwood trees. Daylight was still minutes from breaking the pre-dawn darkness, and my belly was feeling a great sense of relief, and that's when I saw a squirrel run out on a limb, silhouated against that big old moon. He had an acorn in his paws, and he stopped and just sat there having his breakfast. It looked like Norman Rockwell painted him on that limb.

My excitement soared. What? I'm fixing the open squirrel season yet again, and this time I'm going to do it before daylight. Still resting in my baseball catcher's position, I reached for my shotgun that was leaning against the tree beside me. I loaded one shell, I took careful aim and deliberate aim, what Mr. Bryant always referred to as starvation aim. And I knocked that squirrel out of that tree. He hit the ground with a thud and the edge of the edge of the end. Echo of that shotgun rolled down through them bottoms like that first clap of a big thunderstorm,

fading slowly as it made its way across the landscape. With my overall still around my ankles, I was grinning from ear to rear, already the victor in the first squirrel-bagged competition. That shotgun had announced to the world, but mainly to Tim, that I was the winner. No sooner had the echo died. out when I heard his response. It was faint, but clearly distinct, just the same. He was nearly a quarter of a mile from him, still waiting on daylight in his usual opening day spot. Two words, one syllable each. Both of them yelled as loud as he could yell them. A colorful yet

unrefined description of what is left of grass after coursing through the digestive system of a male bovine. I'll spare you the rest. Was Tim's answer to my victory shot. I finished my coffee purge, collected my squirrel when it got light enough to find him, and walked through the woods until I met Tim to prove that I hadn't cheated. I had won again. And that's just how that happened. Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason Phelps at Phelps game calls in building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called prime cuts. Now, I'm going to tell you, I love mine because it's easy to use. I'm not going to go, I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest.

It's just not going to happen. But when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobblers are looking for. I have a great turkey hunting track record. If you go listen to real turkeys out in the woods, they're not going to win calling contests, right? that's who I listen to. I can make those sounds on my cut. I also hunt with Phelps's cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts.

Check out Prime Cuts at Phelpsgamecalls.com. I think you'll be glad you did, and you'll find out that the Steve Ronella cut is an easy-to-use cut for beginning callers who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting action. The world champion squirrel cookoff event was the brainchild of my friend Joe Wilson. I don't believe in reincarnation, but if I did, my money, all my money, would be on Joe Wilson being P.T. Barnum.

You folks that don't know who P.T. Barnum is? Remember, Google is your friend. Look it up. He has been considered the greatest showman and producer of entertainment in history. And that's where the similarity is in. Unlike Phineas Taylor Barnum, Joe Wilson doesn't do these things to line his pockets with cash. He does these things and has been doing them for what seems like forever with no other goal than to spread joy, friendship, and a shared appreciation for those that serve by serving them. He pays for it himself out of his own pockets. He's never asked for one bit of help, and that needs to change.

He does events for law enforcement and other first responders, and that's a whole other animal, and it's a whole other show that we'll talk about another day. But Joe Wilson started this thing off with a lie. We've talked about it before in detail more than once on the Bear Grease render. If there's someone listening and it doesn't know the story, I'll give you a brief history lesson. Joe was contacted by a production company from California through a series of handoffs that had had him on the phone with the ladies saying they were filming a show in the area and wanted to do something on folks eating bear meat and squirrels.

Well, Joe thought this was a great idea and a great way to introduce Arkansas to a bigger audience. And long story short, Joe reached out to everyone's favorite bear hunter, my buddy Claibode Nukham, and told the lady that the squirrel eating wouldn't be a problem either because Arkansas just happened to be home to the world. World Championship Squirrel Cookoff. The lady was excited and wanted to know where, when the event was. And Joe asked her, said, well, when are y'all planning to be in the area?

And when she told him, he said, well, that's a coincidence. Well, that's right when the event is. Joe had to scramble to make that thing happen. And for the full story on how that all came to be, check out episode 116 of Bear Greece to hear Joe tell it himself. It's quite good. It was on that episode that Joe invited me to be a judge, and I gladly accepted. Not knowing what to expect, but figuring it'd be a fun time.

I mean, folks are cooking and feeding me squirrels. How could that not be good? That'll explain how I got Springdale, but gave no hint about what would happen once I got there. Eating some of the best squirrel I ever eaten in my life was way down the list on what happened on that recent Saturday in September. I figured Joe was busy with final preparation, so on the way up there, I had Alexis text him on my phone Friday as we drove to the hotel. What time do I need to be there tomorrow? Immediate response from Joe. As early as possible.

As early as possible, what does that mean? I was like Alexis, tell that fool I can be there at daylight if I need to be, but just tell me a time. She texted him on my phone. This is Brent's wife. He's driving. What time would you like him to be there? Immediate response. As early as you can.

And ma'am, I could use your help with an iguana. She read it out loud and slowly looked at me and said, is he serious? I told her more than likely, and I just dropped it. Now, we looked up the schedule and saw that it started at nine, and I figured any time around nine would be good. I kept thinking in the back of my mind what Joe had said as early as possible. The next morning we had a light breakfast and headed out to the Arkansas Gaming Fish Commission, J.B. and John L. Hunt Family Ozark Highlands Nature Center.

The name is impressive, but the nature center is unreal. Holy cow. If you're a resident of Arkansas and anywhere within a day's drive of this place, you should load the young hungans up and head that way. It's really nice. Very educational and a great spot for any event, but one like this, man, it was tailor-made. As we drove closer to the Nature Center, I could see why Joe kept saying as early as possible. The crowd at 915, 15 minutes after it started, was already big and getting bigger by the minute. They had an organized parking system with buses coordinated bringing folks from parking areas and dropping them off at the front door.

I heard a few grumbles about parking from people after the fact on Sunday, but nothing, nothing but happy, smiling faces all day long on Saturday. Some folks told me that they skipped the bus ride altogether and just walk with their family, soaking in an Arkansas Saturday morning in the Ozarks. I'm all about appreciating where you are and taking advantage of an opportunity to be one with nature, even better when I can share it with my family. I'm also a flatlander, so if I hadn't found one of the two last parking spots close to the building, I'd have been on that bus, I'd appreciate a diesel motor and a padded bench seat. I met so many great people.

A lot of them there were from the bear grease in this country life circle of folks, and none of them were the same. It wasn't a copy and paste event. There were a few people there that I talked to that had never eaten a squirrel in their life and didn't plan on eating any during that event. Some of them had never eaten it before, and that day would be their first attempt. I didn't talk to one person that said they wish they hadn't came. Every one of them that I talked to that tried it told me that they had a better appreciation for how good it was, and that they'd eat it again. A few even told me that they were going to start hunting on their own and learning how

to cook them and they were going to include their kids and their grandkids good night nurse one more could you want now i don't know how many people i talked to but from the time we got there a little after nine until we left around four so it was one glorious conversation after another i loved it folks showed me their bare pictures their kids catfishing i looked at pictures of coon dogs and squirrel dogs some that were just getting started and others that had had passed on, but were kept alive by talking about them to someone that can see the value that these dogs, places, and events had in their lives, and the meaning that they held in their hearts. Man, it was good. There was one break that started at 12, and for nearly two hours, all the judges were sequestered in a big room.

There were 12 of us divided into two judging teams of six. The plan was to take the 35 entries into the contest and number of them. one through 35. One table would judge even-numbered dishes and the other table would handle the odd numbers. The other five at my table included a professional chef, a high-end kitchen knife maker, another podcaster, a marketing guy for an air rifle company, and an orthopedic surgeon. And I thought to myself this ought to be interesting. I don't know if you could have come up with a more random table of people. It was kind of like joining the service.

One day, everyone's doing their own thing and their own place, and the next you're sitting around in a mess hall with no hair, eating food you've never seen before and wondering how you got there. And yet here we all set across from one another, six complete strangers voluntarily waiting to share 17 dishes made from squirrels by 17 teams of people we didn't know. Some from right down the road and others all the way from Alaska. Now I've been to Alaska.

Those folks put in some effort just to get there. Promptly at 12 o'clock they started bringing in the groceries. I ain't never seen Squirrel fixed all the different ways they were making it. Lots of Mexican flavored dishes, some Asian influence, and other places from around the world, but none of what I was expected. I figured I'd be eating fried squirrel with big, biscuits and gravy about 19 times that day, which is my favorite, or squirrel and dumplings or squirrel mulligan, maybe a squirrel taco or two. I wasn't even close to what we had to eat. I can say this

most assuredly, though, but it was all good. I would eat every dish I sampled again. There wasn't a dud in a bunch, but just like most things, some were just better than others. The best thing about it was the dishes, they weren't judged against each other. Each dish was competing against themselves by presentation, use of the required ingredients, overall score, and of course the taste. But there was also a side dish that had to be scored down to a decimal point, which served as a tiebreaker in the unlikely event that that should happen. Unlakely event. That always makes me think about those flight attendants, demonstrating those oxygen masks that are supposed to fall from the overhead compartment if the airplane should suddenly lose cabin pressure.

Those things look like they were made by Fisher Price. Come on. Oxygen is flowing even if the bag ain't inflated. Whatever. With the tally finally in, some folks from the great state of Kentucky walked away with first place, but I tell you, everybody there was the real winter. On a random Saturday in September, literally thousands of people from all walks of life gathered in one spot to celebrate cooking a squirrel. I never heard a harsh word, an argument, or the first political statement. It was just people being adventurous, some being nostalgic, some being inquisitive, but all of us being respectful. I wish you'd been there.

For those of you that weren't, I hope you'll be able to. make plans to be there next year for those that were, I'm going to be watching for you. You better come on back. Now here's something else you probably don't know about old Joe Wilson. He started this thing by taking advantage of an opportunity that presented itself to showcase not only Arkansas, but his way of life. A way of life that represents people gathering together over a meal of any kind to fellowship and share stories about the things that are dear to them. Now that ain't just in Arkansas That's in every state of this nation

And it's time we all got together And supported one another Whether it's squirrels in the Ozarks Or the muskrat festival in Maryland Or the Walleye Festival in Ohio Invite someone to share that experience with you Preferably someone that most likely would not do it on their own We got room for them

And we need all the folks we can get on our side I get some great invitations to go hunt places all over this wonderful country. I get so many that I could never go to all of them in five hunting seasons, much less one. So that's your challenge this week. If you was going to ask me to go on a cool hunting or a fishing trip, ask someone to go in my place. It's never been. And send me the pictures of what I missed.

You're going to make a new friend, and we're going to get another person on our side. Except bow hunting elk. Don't ask the other guy. Ask me, I'm going on that one. Now, I'm doing all this on my own, and Joe's going to hear about it right when y'all do. But if there's a business that's interested in helping sponsor

next year's world champion squirrel cookoff, my faithful sidekick editor and sound engineer, Riva Hansen, is going to post Joe's email in the show description. I thank y'all so much for listening. My belly's full of squirrel. I got a big smile on my face. This is Brent Reeves, signing off. Y'all be careful.

Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason Phelps at Phelps game calls in building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called prime cuts. Now, I'm going to tell you, I love mine because it's easy to use. I'm not going to go, I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest. It's just not going to happen. But when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobblers are looking for. I have a great turkey hunting track record.

If you go listen to real turkeys out in the woods, they're not going to win calling contests, right? That's who I listen to. I can make those sounds on my cut. I also hunt with Phelps' cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts. Check out Prime Cuts at Phelpsgamecalls.com. I think you'll be glad you did,

and you'll find out that the Steve Rinella cut, is an easy to use cut for beginning callers who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting action.