The Great Snipe Hunt 3.0

The best adventures never go according to plan. Some stories are worth falling for.

# The Great Snipe Hunt

"Why are you sitting here all alone?"

Sam looked up from his camping chair to find two boys staring at him with curious eyes. The family reunion buzzed around them—cousins catching up, aunts sharing gossip, uncles manning the grill—but here under the old oak tree, it was just him and these two eager faces.

The blond one had that telltale green tint in his hair from too many hours at the community pool. That had to be Nathaniel, though everyone called him Natedude. The other boy, bouncing slightly on his toes, must be Brian—his great-nephew, if Sam remembered the family tree correctly.

"Just resting," Sam said, then grinned. At sixty-eight, he'd perfected the art of spotting restless energy in need of direction. "How would you boys like to go on a snipe hunt?"

Brian's eyes went wide. "What's a snipe?"

Natedude crossed his arms, suspicious. Growing up with four older siblings had taught him to question everything.

"A very rare creature," Sam said, settling into his storytelling voice. "Playful little things, but they love to hide in tall grass. You'll need sticks to part the grass and bags to catch them."

"Let's ask my mom!" Brian grabbed Natedude's hand before the other boy could object.

Sam watched them race toward the cluster of adults, their sneakers kicking up dust. He'd been pulling this prank since his own kids were young—back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, as his daughter liked to say. The key was getting the parents on board.

Minutes later, Brian's mother approached with two plastic grocery bags, puffing them full of air. "Here you go, boys. Happy hunting." She winked at Sam over their heads.

Soon Brian's grandfather and Natedude's dad had joined the conspiracy, helping the boys find suitable sticks. Other adults began sharing their own snipe hunt memories, chuckling at the tradition.

"Alright, hunters!" Sam announced. "Remember the call: 'Here, snipe, snipe, snipe!' They respond to that."

"Here, snipe, snipe, snipe!" the boys shouted, racing toward the tree line.

Their calls echoed across the picnic area, drawing other children like a magnet. Soon a small army of kids brandished bags and sticks, crashing through the underbrush with the subtlety of freight trains.

"SNIPE! SNIPE! SNIPE!"

The woods erupted with shouts and laughter. Sam could hear them rustling through leaves, splashing across the creek, calling to each other when they thought they spotted something. A few adults wandered over to watch, grinning at the spectacle.

For twenty minutes, the chaos continued. Sam sipped his water and basked in the beautiful noise of childhood adventure. This was why he'd suggested it—not for the prank, but for this moment. Pure joy unleashed.

The sun was painting the sky orange when the hunting party finally returned, sweaty and breathless. Natedude clutched his bag triumphantly.

"We couldn't find a snipe," he panted, "but we found something better!"

"A grass snake!" Brian added proudly.

Before Sam could process those words, Natedude opened the bag directly in front of his face.

A two-foot snake uncoiled from the plastic depths, its tongue flicking inches from Sam's nose. Dark scales, yellow belly, very much alive and not particularly happy about its confinement.

Sam's brain short-circuited. His body launched backward, the camping chair folded beneath him, and he crashed to the ground in a tangle of aluminum and embarrassment.

The silence lasted exactly one second.

Then Brian's dad let loose a belly laugh that could've been heard in the next county. "Best snipe hunt I've ever seen!"

The laughter was infectious. Adults doubled over, kids giggled, and even Sam—sprawled on his back like an overturned turtle—couldn't help but chuckle.

Natedude carefully released the snake back into the grass, where it slithered away with what Sam imagined was considerable reptilian dignity.

As families began packing up their picnic supplies, the story was already growing. By next year's reunion, Sam figured, that grass snake would be a python and his backwards tumble would be an Olympic-worthy gymnastic routine.

He accepted helping hands to get back on his feet, brushing grass off his shirt. The boys were already planning next year's hunt, debating whether they might find a snipe with wings this time.

Sam smiled, watching them chatter. Sometimes the best adventures were the ones that didn't go according to plan. And sometimes getting pranked by a couple of kids was exactly what a weary storyteller needed to remember why stories were worth telling in the first place.