What? A Racoon, in a Cage, in a Tree

Interesting title, right? It looks like it’s drawn you in. Racoons, in cages, in trees. Kind of a strange childhood memory.  Not exactly Dr. Seuss. It’s only a small part of a larger memory of a place that played an important part of my Slatington childhood.

Drive out Chestnut Street until it crosses into Washington Township where it changes its name to Welshtown Road. Drive about a half mile and turn right onto a, then, dirt road. Drive about another half mile and it comes into view. The Slatington Skeet and Sporting Association clubhouse. The Skeet Club. I spent many hours at this place with my pool shark dad.  The Skeet Club still exists and there are many people, maybe including some of my readers, who know a lot more about the Skeet Club than I do. I am strictly writing about the early ’60s. Oh, what a wonderful time! The wonder years!

My dad and I used to go to the Skeet Club on most Saturdays. They had a, through the woods, archery course that was amazing.  It is where I learned to shoot a bow and arrow. There were twenty eight targets some a short distance and some far away.  I lost many arrows shooting at Target 6, the longest on the course. Perhaps some of them are still there in the woods?  Or maybe underwater. Part of the course was turned into a fishing lake many years later. One time I was at the course with a childhood friend, John Shirk. His mother brought us there and wandered behind us on the trail. We heard her screaming “Bear! It’s a bear!”. We ran to her aid only to find her yelling at the black tarped back of an archery  target. The three of us had a good laugh. Sadly, Mrs. Shirk and my friend John are no longer with us.

Okay, so I have mentioned fish and bears. Still no racoons. Patience. Just a couple more memories before the racoon in a cage in a tree.  I mentioned my dad was a pool shark, a pool hustler if you will. After archery, we ended up in the clubhouse where he taught me to shoot pool. I wish I could have been as good as he was. After he beat me, he would take on other challengers at the club. He rarely lost. Maybe he was good at geometry. I wasn’t. Maybe it was the Ballentine beer!

It was the Skeet Club, so there was skeet (clay pigeon) shooting. We never tried that but it was fun to watch. The Club held social nights around the first day of hunting and the first day of fishing, My dad and I would attend them occasionally. Sadly, my mom never came along. I remember the food was good and there were a lot of people who had way too much to drink. Not me. I was like twelve!

Racoons!! Every few weeks, especially during summer, the Skeet Club hosted Coon Trials. Animal lovers may want to stop reading here, but no animals were physically harmed. They would take a racoon, in a cage, on a trail through the woods eventually putting it in a tree near the clubhouse. I don’t know where said racoon came from, nor how they got it in a cage! Coonhound owners would take their dogs to the start of the trail and let them loose. The dogs would run, barking and baying, through the woods following the scent of the captive racoon. It was a sound I never will forget.  It took them probably a half hour. The winner of the event was the first dog to reach the tree that held the now very scared, and confused, racoon.  It was a lot of fun and good bonding for me and my dad.  I think back now and feel bad for the racoon. I assume he was let go and found his way back to his woodland home.  Unless he ended up “somewhere in the Black Mining Hills of Dakota”.  See what I did there!   I can fit the Beatles in anywhere.

Thanks for allowing me to share these memories of a special little place. I’m sure you also have a place from your childhood that you haven’t thought of in a long time. I hope this sparked some good memories for you!