By Craig Dumas
Editor’s Note: Craig has decided to get off the sidelines and involved in Canon Fodder. He’s responsible for introducing yours truly to the hunting experience so it’s only fitting it’s in this venue that he’s given an opportunity to put forth his two cents-worth of commentary. With luck, he may even stick around and join the staff.
hunt, v. i. – to seek, to pursue for food or sport, the act of searching for something.
hunting, v. – to follow the chase; to go out in pursuit of game or wild animals.
camaraderie, n. – intimate, loyal, and good-spirited; good fellowship.
These are the best three words to describe what happens from November 15 until whenever camp closes out (usually around Thanksgiving). This is something anticipated to the point of planning the following year’s event in nine or ten months in advance. How can you not anticipate the stifling cold trek into the woods in the black of the predawn thinking that there are animals all around you which subsequently disappear come daylight? It may be frustrating at times putting in up to eight hours out in the woods, but the thrill of the kill is enough for any hunter to want it all the more, and just knowing that taste is right behind the next shrub can drive one crazy with buck fever.
It’s true, I did indeed moved my family out to Podunk, as Jeffrey so eloquently put it, but for those of you seeking a real locale, Metamora, Michigan is where we reside. It’s a short 40 miles out of the city and hosts many pleasantries such as peace and quiet, wildlife, and a complete lack of traffic lights for miles. And I get to see stars. There are bucket-loads of stars you don’t even know are there when you live in the city. And I have deer walking through my back ten acres, but what fun would that be to kill just for the sake of the term. This is where hunting, camp, and camaraderie come into play.
As mentioned previously in an article by Jeffrey, camp consists of the four characters; Dennis, David, Craig, and newcomer/probie, Jeff, in that order. I say that because rank plays a significant role in how we do business (i.e., jockeying for trailer spots, who does the cooking, who drags the carcasses, etc.) Most of the time we share these roles cycling through the days in each trailer everyday. This is how we spend our time for the days allotted by our wives for our ‘vacation’. Denny and Dave typically spend the most time up due to the fact they’ve been doing this since their early teen years. They really don’t know anything else. Four decades of Thanksgivings have been spent in the woods. Why give up three days of hunting for turkey, football, and family get-togethers? Even to the extent these two have informed everyone in their lives that planning anything during these coveted 15 days will mean excluding them from the event. No weddings, funerals, birthdays, and any other event will be attended. They won’t be there. Don’t bother asking. (I have to admit, I am included in this for the most part, but I’m sometimes torn between my yearning for tradition and guilt for the family. I mean, I haven’t seen my brother-in-law on his birthday for 14 years, and yes, I missed Jeffrey’s wedding too for which I’m sure his lovely wife still holds against me.)
Editor’s note: She does.
Since I began hunting back in ‘93, I’ve come to realize I’m destined back to the same spot for the remainder of my hunting career. I say this because I sat down before our trip and added up the years combined of Dennis, David, and myself to a total of 100 years. This doesn’t count the 35 or so years my grandfather hunted in the area same before we were around. And now with Jeffrey on board, it has topped 100 years in the same area, the same trek, the same woods. Maybe it’s something magical or just plain stubbornness we return to the same spot for that ever elusive and prized kill. I moved my blind around the first few years until I took over a fellow hunter’s spot and brought in six deer over the next decade. Now don’t get me wrong, more often than not, years have gone by without even seeing a deer much less shooting at one. So why do we return to the same spot year after year? Is it because we’re destined to repeat our mistakes, too stubborn to try new things, or too dumb and don’t know the difference? I think maybe it’s something bred into us by our elders and once taught to know the area, every tree, every leaf, it’s something not to be given up very easily. There’s much to be said about tradition and its personal meanings to each member of camp.
Tradition dictates there’s something that goes on in camp that usually starts with whoever irritates one first. It’s not to say it’s done intentionally or one member is favored over the others, but general pranks are divvied out to whoever deserves it most. I do recall someone’s door handles greased with fish oil, or ones generator may shut off unexplainably, or my personal favorite, everyday I would walk over and give the trailer jack a few cranks gently lowering over time and making one wonder why it seems to list to the front or back. A good indication of this is when one’s drink seems to be un-level to the point of spilling or setting a pencil down on a counter top and promptly retrieving it from the floor. Yet another favorite of mine would be to get a simple log or piece of wood, lodge it in front of one’s tire (specifically the passengers’ side, rear so it’s not easily noticed) to create the effect of having a hard time moving out of a spot to travel to the blind. I’ve gone to the extent of jacking up the rear axel with the tires just ever so slightly off the ground not to notice and roll with laughter when the victim finally pieces the puzzle together. Later, we all – jokester and target – laugh over a beer because that’s what you do when in deer camp.
Look for Part II coming soon.