Canon Fodder – Sports Blog

By Craig Dumas

In terms of firearms, the camp favorite is the Remington 30.06. David and I carry the automatic version and Dennis carries the much admired handmade bolt action. (This weapon was handmade for the snipers during the war. My grand father bought it from a dealer who when realizing the value offered up to $1000 to buy it back but Denny refused.) Even the scope is a throwback to older models which offered the yardage in the viewfinder.

Jeffrey carries a new purchase to which the name escapes me but is marked .308. We in camp like to refer to it as ‘the club’. He somehow jammed the bolt on it and I don’t think he even carried ammo when it did work. So his choices are 1) use as said club if the deer get close enough, 2) throw bullets at the deer, or 3) throw the rifle if he feels up to a javelin-like kill to impress us. Needless to say, in his five seasons with us he has already bypassed part of the hunt and graduated to sleeping in, reading, writing and, most importantly, cooking the late dinner for which three out of the four of us duly appreciate.

The meals portion is coming soon enough. This in itself is an article of mass proportions. I don’t want to get into detail just yet but let’s just say the feasts are fit for royalty.

Firearms have graduated in our camp starting long ago with my grandparents and great uncles starting with .22’s to .308’s to 30.30’s to .44’s and then the 30.06. This was determined to be the most effectively used rifle which happened to fit general hunting of the bigger game out there including elk, bear, and moose. I’m not saying we’ve killed these animals or even seen them but it’s reassuring to know you’re backed with a weapon powerful enough to handle the job. Plus, if you’re in a sadistic mood, this weapon can easily obliterate the occasional porcupine, squirrel or chipmunk if your aim is good enough.

And now, for the feast of all feasts. Ladies and gentlemen, let me sing the praises of the eldest uncle, Dennis, the resident head chef. Around June or July, we start a collection and generic list of dinners (or lunches for non-retirees that actually eat another meal in the evening) for the days we’ll be in camp. (I guess it’s safe to say this is yet another tradition taken from the days of my grandfather, his father. This started long ago and has continued through today. I would rank it as the second most important thing to arrange other than getting up there to hunt.) The list starts to become coveted as time goes on and if lost, not everything can be taken off the top of the head. The tradition is for one meal or feast every day roughly between 11:00 and 1:00 (depends on the time we all come in from the morning hunt and how long the meal takes to prepare). Every lunch will consist of a main course and a possible side if needed. Pork chops & mashed potatoes with stuffing, steaks & a potato dish, crab cakes & shrimp, fish & chips (typically with a healthy helping of shrimp as an additional side), linguini with a meat or shrimp, and stir fry. This is supposed to last the first few days depending on who’s in camp and who’s leaving early. There’s no threat of starvation in deer camp.

Editor’s note: Not a vegetable to be had with the exception of starchy potatoes. To quote a wizened, albeit forgotten, television character, “If it’s green, it’s trouble. If it’s fried, get double.” This seems to be the motto of previous camp cooks.

And the remainder of foods left for the quick easy meals consists of shrimp egg rolls, hamburgers, hot dogs either as coneys or just cut up with beans, kielbasa with eggs, alone, or fried with potato dish, chicken fried steaks with gravy, what I like to call egg pie (a flat omelet made with cheese, meats, and chives, hence the term ‘pie’), and lastly, any soups brought along to satisfy even the neediest of hungers (we never get that desperate).

Editor’s note: Chives count as an herb, not a vegetable so we’re still 0-fer there. Fruit? None to be had. It’s as if these guys have never heard of scurvy.

Opening Day is the only exception for meals. We usually have grilled cheese sandwiches with ham for lunch so we can get back out after the ‘big one’. After that, it’s whatever we decide from the previously mentioned list to have until we downgrade to the ‘secondary’ meals. These secondary meals usually act as a meal in itself due to the volume consumed. Leftovers also fill the role of nightly snack during a movie or over a couple of nightcaps. This, my friends, is what we deal with for meals. We eat and the eating is good! There’s no going to the closest bar to spend your hard-earned money on over-priced fried trash passed off as food. Don’t get me wrong, if for some reason we feel like frequenting the local watering hole to get a fix on some two-legged female animals, we will do so mostly inebriated from the ride in. Otherwise, a lack of food has never sent us crawling into town.

Then something changed this season. Our probie decided there is no better thing than to sleep in and do some much-needed writing. From this idea was born the night shift short order cook. Jeffrey decided a night feast – or at minimum, something to pad the already generously-padded ribs – was needed and planned to cook a variety of meals for at least the three of us (Dave, myself, and Jeffrey) since Denny doesn’t like to cook or eat after happy hour. “One meal is enough,” Denny says. So there’s Jeffrey, utilizing a crock pot powered by the great and almighty generator sitting so patiently outside waiting to be started harnessing enough power to light up a small town. I think it was an entire day in generator gas trying to slow cook pork chops and the sides. After conquering and exhausting electric cooking, he tried his hand at utilizing the propane for gas cooking. This takes a little longer as propane cooks differently than power and the exorbitant supply of propane was taunting him to be used. He used it. The food was good. And we appreciated it.

With all this in mind, Probie must wonder if this newly acquired task alleviates him for the endless taunting and ribbing about his past hunting techniques or lack thereof. Plus, the usefulness or, un-usefulness, if you will, of a weapon purchased that’s not little more than a paper weight. But I think somehow, somewhere we will eventually forego this oversight and appreciate even more the thought put into each meal filling our bellies and warming our hearts. Then again, maybe not! He’s still the camp newbie, wet behind the ears and fresh to the field.

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.