The Ghosts of Deer Camp

[gophergunner]

Every deer camp has it's characters, and occurances that have grown to historic proportions over the years. From the huge buck that eluded everyone's best efforts, only to be hit by a car, to the epic poker game that all most cost one member his happy home. Tales of snipe hunts with the camp rookie, to the gargantuan meals prepared on the night before the opener. Those of us lucky enough to be part of a "crew" all have stories. Some are passed on from generation to generation, some are deeply personal, and kept held tight to the chest, and more than a few fall under the heading of what happens at deer camp, stays at deer camp.

I always used to hunt high on the mountain above our Pennsylvania deer camp. This had been my dad's stomping grounds, and i always went up there to be near him long after his hunting days had come to an end.  I have experienced things up there that led me to believe Dad was still on that hill. From the rogue breeze that suddenly blows across the back of my neck when the wind is dead in my face, to the sudden realization that I was being watched, to the snapping sticks and shuffling leaves on the forest floor, as someone walked past me that I never saw.

I was up there one year on the opener. It was a quiet day. I'd seen 5 does early, but no bucks were among them. A stiff nor'easter blew in and it started to snow. I was sitting about 100 yards down from the top of a hollow. Suddenly, I saw a hunter slowly working across the very top of the hollow. I was surprised to see another man up there, as there were no roads in from the top, and it was over a two hour walk up from the bottom. I watched as he methodically picked his way across the top. His Woolrich plaid coat fit in with the surroundings. Suddenly one shot came from his position. Shortly I saw him bent over gutting a buck that failed to elude him. I dropped into the hollow and made my way up to his position, Imagine my surprise to not find him. No tracks in the snow, no gutpile, nothing. It's like he vanished.  I walked right to where I saw him, and the only print in the wet, heavy snow was the imprint where someone had leaned a rifle against an old beech tree. There was one imprint in the snow where the butt of his rifle had set, and I could clearly make out the imprint of a Savage butt plate in the snow. I knew that imprint well. I was carrying my dad's old Savage Model 99, and had seen that imprint many times before. Funny-dad always wore the iconic red and black plaid Woolrich too.

This is  a fictional story, but I'm guessing many of us have experienced things we really couldn't account for at camp, or out in the woods. Those who went before us just may be letting us know they still keep an eye one things around camp. Here's to the hope we can all continue to do right by our dearly departed friends and family.  Bet luck to those headed out to camp this weekend. Make some great memories, and come back safe.

[Steve-o]

My dad's been gone a couple of years now, and he quit hunting quite a few before that. 

Every once in a while, when I'm still hunting thru the woods and stop to lean against a tree, I find myself adopting that same posture he used to take; lean the gun against the tree and kick a few leaves out of the way so as to have bear ground to stand on.  I smile.

My kids hunt some, but for all sorts of reasons their experience with me isn't the same as it was with me and my dad.

[deadeye]

My dad has also been gone for a number of years now. Although farming kept him from hunting, once the cows were gone he joined our party and shot his last deer at age 92. We still have a number of tree stands from back then that we keep in good condition and still use today.  We usually remove any permanent stand that isn't used or takes to much effort to keep it safe.  For some reason we never removed one of the stands he frequently hunted from. He was the last person to use this stand. It's not much of a stand just boards nailed between two trees for a ladder and a small platform with rails. It's very close to a trail we use frequently. I often stop to look at it and can see him standing in it looking down at me. We probably will never remove this stand.
 
Here's a picture of part of our group taken when my dad was a youngster of 90 years old.

[LPS]

That is very cool DE!

[snow1]

My dad still above ground at 93yrs old didn't deer hunt,rather imbedded duck/pheasant hunting in my brain since the 50's,he didn't care to eat wild game but we made many hunting trip's mostly local for my benifit,my pop's would fall asleep in our duck boat knowing full well I was alert and on point to wake him when 'incoming" birds approached.he had a uncanny ability to fall asleep within minutes of closing his eyes,as I grew most often I elected not to wake him when decoying ducks came in to visit our little spread,and shoot solo only to get an earful for not waking him,pretty sure he was a little gun/jumpy from his tour in korea which I didn't understand at the time but do now.

Later in life I started bow hunting,as my father and I shot archery almost daily,he was strickly a specialized target shooter,I branched off tending a trapline for extra spending cash using my bow to hunt rabbits,squrriels,pheasants etc along the way then eventually shot my first deer,Fred Bear was my idol growing up,the day I shot my deer I boiled the heart that night for a late supper,not telling my dad what was on the stove he came in the kitchen to look as something smelled good.

Old boy bout tossed his cookies once he uncovered my dinner,I'll never forget "are you going to eat that?" ... great memories.

[Steve-o]

DE, I would never have guessed your dad was 90 in that pic. 

I took a stroll still hunting thru a patch of public land we used to hunt last weekend.  I came across one of my old stands from back when you could build permanent on public land.  This was the second stand I built for myself as a young man and I can still remember my dad passing the boards and nails up to me like it was yesterday.  I'll bet that was around 30 years ago.

[deadeye]

Steve-o
You wouldn't believe how much that stand resembles the one I mentioned above. 

[snow1]

Gee steve looking pretty good for 30 yrs old,did climb up?

[Steve-o]

I did not try to climb up. 

With an archery stand, you want to get high up out of the deer's line of sight and make it harder for them to smell you at close range.  For gun hunting, you mostly have to get your feet off the ground to see over the thick brush.  So getting the platform 8 feet off the ground is what we generally did.  And we were always looking for those three-tree setups.

I stopped hunting that stand the year AFTER the porcupine chewed a hole thru the plywood platform.  (Back then I was less wise and more invincible.)  We figured those critters liked the taste of the plywood glue and started using 2x6 planks for our platforms thereafter.

We used to call it the Hockey Stick stand because one of the original (so-called) "safety" rails was just a hockey stick.

I'm sure y'all have similar stories about dang near every permanent stand you ever build and used. 

[gophergunner]

Great replies here guys. Thanks for contributing. By far, my best camp story was about Dad riding a buck down the mountain. This is no lie. We always had a friendly contest with our buddies from the camp next door, Camp Bozo. Everybody threw a dollar in the pot, and the first back to camp with a deer hanging on the game pole won the pot. Dad, and one of the guys from next door both hunted up above our camps on a  bench that ran across the face of the hill. Dad shot a buck first morning shortly after sunrise. As he was walking over to gut his deer he heard the neighbor shoot. Ben wasn't prone to missing what he shot at, so Dad hurried up and claimed his buck, gutted it, and headed down the hill to claim the pot and bragging rights for the next year. He looked off to the right and saw Ben coming down the mountainside, deer in tow, and he was ahead of Dad. Dad knew he had to do something drastic to get back to camp first, so he laid the deer  on it's back, and literally rode it down the mountain, careening off trees, stumps, and bushes as he went. Long story short-he got his buck hung up before Ben did. Ben said for years afterward he was laughing so hard watching Dad fly down the mountain with a death grip on that buck's head, there was no way he could get his hung up first. That's a true story and Dad's crazy ride is legendary among the guys who were around to live it. Dad's prize for darned near killing himself getting down the hill? $11.00!

[mike89]

great story!!!   

[deadeye]

Yes, great story gopher.

Steve-o
This morning I took this picture of the stand I mentioned in a previous post about my dad.  It does look a lot like your stand.
I was a little sad this morning just being next to this stand. I could feel my dads presence. It was nice and
I left happy. 

[Boar]

My step.grandfathers stand when they firat bought the land.

[snow1]

My step.grandfathers stand when they firat bought the land.

So explain "firat bought" Boar....curious minds need to know.

[mike89]

first bought

[Gunner55]

  Boaranese = fat thumbs using a cellphone keypad.

[Boar]

Mikie know boaranese

[snow1]

You guyz are funny,thanx for the laugh,boaranese....LMFAO....