Hunting the Snowshoe Hare It’s hard to imagine a winter day spent more pleasantly than stalking through Alaska’s taiga hunting the snowshoe hare. There’s not a better reason to explore the reaches of our well-forested state, and there’s not an animal that’s better-suited to live there. Some days you find them, some days you don’t. To me this dichotomy represents the greatest draw of hunting hares: They’re routinely elusive but occasionally attainable, at once an animal that children’s hunting dreams are made of yet still wholly capable of making even the wisest feel like an idiot. I hunt hares exclusively with a rimfire rifle equipped with open sights. Yes, beagles and shotguns and loyal compatriots would probably be more effective, but I prefer to give the hare his refuges of invisibility and speed. If I can bag him in spite of those advantages, I like to think I’ve surmounted some pinnacle of woodsmanship and truly deserve the added weight in my vest. Or maybe I’m just full of it. In any case, my gear list includes a Rossi Model 62 SAC (my very first firearm, actually, with which I bagged my first cottontail with at the tender age of eight), a handful of .22 Long Rifle bullets, a game vest, a good pair of snowshoes, a layering of cold-weather clothing, a thermos of coffee, some snacks, a bottle of pet flea-and-tick spray, and a couple of eight-gallon trash bags. More on this list later. How you do it falls second to where you do it. We are blessed as Alaskans in that most of our state is prime hare territory—they prefer boreal forest and over half of the Last Frontier is composed of just that. I’ve found my best success in areas of mid-growth, white- and black spruce with an understory of willows, alders, and the occasional aspen and birch tree. It takes only a glance at hare life history to see why these areas are productive: Hares are nocturnal and favor the soft buds and stems of young deciduous species in their nighttime feasts, leaving their daytime haunts of the sheltered eaves beneath nearby conifers. Anywhere these trees coexist is a solid bet, and especially so if they are near swampy areas. In theory, finding these areas is simple; in practice, it requires a bit of gas and boot leather. One strategy I use for locating my larger hunting areas (what I call macrohabitats) happens incidentally during my fall fishing seasons. As I’m driving up and down Alaska’s highways in pursuit of trout and grayling, I take note of places I either see hares or where the habitat looks like it could support a decent number. Then I check out the place on Google Maps, determine who owns the land, obtain necessary permissions, and scout it with a rifle once the snow falls, usually after the first of November. Some places turn out to be duds; others become gems.