Canon Fodder – Sports Blog

By Craig Dumas

Continuing from Part I and Part II…

In addition to the trucks we drive to fully and undeniably suit our need to reinforce our masculinity, we have our trailers to complete the picture. It can be said, when entering our camp, there is quite a change from the old days when one just parked out in the woods and sought shelter in moldy canvas tents. The softness factor goes through the roof when you pull into camp and see the difference not only in the trucks we drive, but even more so in the trailers in which we cozy up for the nights. I’m sure our forefathers would likely mistake us for vacationers rather than grizzled hunters.

Today, I have the palace of deer camp. Back when I first started hunting, I was loaned my parents trailer. It was a real junker; maybe 20 square feet of room at best. It was a Skylark, or so it was marked, measuring 15 feet long and 7 feet tall. I believe it was marketed as, “You can literally put this in the garage,” so you could avoid any grief from the neighbors. And it was that small too. Try to imagine this; I could stand in the middle of this tuna can and reach all ends of the trailer acting as if I were multitasking in a circular cubicle; cooking, staying warm, and dressing all at the same time.

Don’t misunderstand me – I was gracious for the favor, but less than enthused about the trailer’s usefulness and worth. It was designed as a “summer-only” camper so the furnace (which was about the size of a percolator coffee maker) was woefully inadequate when trying to stay warm. I learned to make the bed in layers. I slept in full get-up with my feet propped on the furnace face to keep them warm. The windows were the old louvered crank style and did little to hold the cold at bay. If the frigid temps became too much, I would throw up the white flag of surrender and head over to the uncles’ trailer, pounding on the door at any hour of the night in search of warmth. During those cold nights, when temperatures drop to 10 below, that “summer-only” camper was useless. In the end, I actually had a 30-pound propane tank with a radiant-type heat unit on it to survive the worst conditions. It really did the trick except for the fact that the trailer was so drafty that a layer of cold air would sink to the floor level. As you transcended ceiling to floor, the temperature dropped radically to the point of seeing your own breath when putting on your boots. Carbon monoxide became the new problem to overcome. This was a constant worry for the uncles. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when I was leaning over the heater in my outfit and caught on fire. Not seriously mind you, but real enough for that trip to be the hand-me-down camper’s final deer camp. My decision was to find an updated camper for the next season come hell or high water.

The Hilton

All summer long I combed the papers and online ads looking for my next trailer with added amenities like plumbing, a decent furnace, warm floor, and comfort. I found a couple of snowbirds that had a 20 year old Terry they used for traveling down to Florida during the winter, but eventually graduated to a condominium. Having no need for their pristine trailer, they sold it for sixty cents on the dollar. I mean, they went through and waxed the cabinets, washed the carpeting (it had carpeting), and put new brakes and tires on every season. All for $5000! How could that deal be beaten! It was wonderful. Warm, cozy, and had running water. It was the envy of camp. Everyone wanted to be at my place just for the legroom. Once Jeffrey laid his eyes on it, he the trailer with the moniker, “The Hilton”. This lasted me a handful of years (five in all, I think) until I started running into problems with the plumbing freezing up and the furnace needing repair as it wasn’t made for really harsh winters. This prompted me to look for yet another new trailer.

Again, combing the papers and dealers, and after a trip to the local trailer and RV show, I found a deal on a 33-foot Dutchmen Classic, still on the lot, ripe for the taking. Again, it had all the amenities; heat, plumbing, full kitchen, a slide out for the extra room, and this time air conditioning for those summer trips when the heat becomes too much for the wife. (Okay, I’ll admit that I like having air too.) This is the current trailer and will be for many years to come. We christened it, “The Hilton II”.

The Hilton II

As we’ve alluded to in this space before, the uncles shared a poor excuse for a trailer that once was the pride and joy of the camp. The unholy trailer was purchased by my grandfather back in the late 60’s and was shared by the odd couple of Denny and Dave. What was once a cozy, warm retreat for us to congregate in had, over the years, dilapidated to a shell of a vehicle with a leaky roof, an interior threatening to cave inwards, worn tires and brakes that didn’t. To describe the trailer as “crappy” is to put it mildly. At the point in which I bought my Terry, and the envy it produced, Denny was forced to go out and purchase a new Coachman. Tired of dealing with the constant need for repair and David’s need for chaos, Denny traded up for the luxuries a grown man with a lifetime of work behind him should have the right to enjoy.

State of the art… in 1969!

Don’t get me wrong – the old trailer held many memories and stood the test of time. But in the end, it was dwindling to a mere rust bucket. Now it was David’s trailer entirely and his alone to wallow within. It was drafty, leaky, and creaky but of the most importance to him, it was home for those two special weeks each November. Raw lumber propped up cabinets inside due to rotting wall mounts. The little plumbing system it had had did not work and was converted to storage for beer and booze. As an added bonus, the liquor was always pretty cold since it was not well insulated. Burlap curtains were made long ago to not only contain the warmth, but to keep out the light. They gave the little trailer that barely could the feeling of a coffin. Yet it was pre-battery dated which meant it was self-contained and needed no other source of power other than propane tanks. Propane supplied the furnace, lights, and fridge. That’s the one selling point David held over our heads as our new trailers needed batteries to power all the electrical luxuries. (Powering our trailers became a huge obstacle to overcome. We quickly discovered the need for a generator to power up our units and supply power while the batteries were charging.)

Over the next few years Denny and I tried to convince Dave to buy a newer trailer. He had been reluctant not because he’s a skinflint (he is), but because it was the last remnants of his parents’ memory and a significant icon from his childhood. Eventually Dave gave up the ghost and was finally convinced to move on. I had found a newer trailer and towed it up for him. Now he loves the new digs and has embraced the updated amenities like us. However, ol’ Dave still holds on to a few things from the old one to decorate and to make us shake our heads at. Unfortunately some of his bad habits came with him to the new trailer like the haphazard wiring and all the miscellaneous junk he has sticking out of every nook and cranny. Dave has two TV’s with the appropriate wiring outside for the antenna, cable running back and forth for battery back-up to the truck, and various thermometers, lights, radio and propane lines littering the floor and ground outside. We make fun of him saying even though he has an updated trailer, it still looks like it’s on life support.

Our last character in camp is a good friend and grew up with David and Dennis. Matt, who only occasionally attends camp anymore, does have his own unit that is reminiscent of the old tuna can trailers. There’s a slight difference with his though. Although it is quite old, everything within is in excellent working condition. Matt brags that he does nothing to maintain its working parts. He even needs to prop the windows open to dissipate some of the heat that builds. When entering the dwelling, your first impression is how he maneuvers with the overpowering odor of years of tobacco wafting through the air. You get a nicotine high just visiting for an hour. (I imagine that after years of use, his bedding is like a giant nicotine patch.) Matt is an electronics freak and needs constant entertainment so he brings his electronic toys like a satellite dish for TV and movies. Needless to say, we frequent his place for mindless fun if you can tolerate the stench. How many 30-year-old trailers have a satellite dish? The concept is unheard of. Yet there he is, in the middle of nowhere with more electronics than the local Radio Shack.

Yup, there’s a dish up there.

These are our homes-on-wheels for those two glorious weeks during hunting season. It’s taken some time, but we’ve graduated to bigger and better things from rather humble beginnings. It’s all about convenience and efficiency making set-up nearly painless. I quickly learn from my elders so as to avoid the same mistakes they did, all the while bettering our experiences. And even if these luxurious behemoths have made us a bit soft in our old age, at least we’re warm.

If you are enjoying The Grizzly Woodsman, please check in regularly with Canon Fodder and sample some of our other writers. And remember to pass our humble website on to friends, family and coworkers.

By Craig Dumas

Continuing with my truck discussion…

Dennis and David, my two oft-mentioned uncles, also own trucks. Because of the diminutive size of their vehicles, I tend to say they’re either not done cooking or call them “baby trucks”. Dennis drives the Chevy 2500 extended cab 4×4 with the full bed. He hasn’t changed much other than a new one every three years and constantly turning in a spotless truck without a scratch for a brand new one. It’s as if Denny is picking up a new lease just so he can enjoy the new car smell. He doesn’t have family; just a wife and the dog, so it’s quite adequate for his needs and hauling his trailer.

David, on the other hand, has only recently delved into the world of trucks, mostly because of necessity and the fact he can no longer depend on Dennis to cart him around. You see, as brothers, they shared a trailer up until a few years ago. Since they have completely opposing living styles – Dave’s a slob, and Denny’s anal retentive with a borderline case of OCD – Dennis kicked David out, forcing David to buy a trailer and truck to continue his deer camp participation. Denny always had the truck so Denny always did the towing. David now drives a Chevy half-ton with the extended cab, 4×4 and a short bed. A cute little baby truck. It’s not done growing I say, but somewhat satisfying to him nonetheless. He’s grown to appreciate the dependability of a truck considering David has been driving cars up to camp all his life. There have been many stories that include him walking back to camp after having stuck the car on a hill, literallyl teetering back and forth on the precipice of a hill. Better yet, hot-dogging down a trail in a late model Camaro and losing his oil pan on a stump! The ridiculousness of seeing his poor car with the hood pointing a few degrees toward the sky because the trailer (and completely overburdened trunk!!!) weighed the rear bumper to mere inches above the ground. And Dave ventured on I-75 with this debacle in motion.

I guess he’s just tiring in his old age but still needs space to pack and bring along all of his stuff. And on the topic of packing stuff… David is notorious for loading his entire house into the trunk of his car for his two weeks in deer camp. “You never know what may be needed.” Boy scouts aren’t as prepared as my uncle. So as a result of his tendency to pack his vehicle to the gills, we try to limit him on the size of it because a larger one would just dictate more provisions. The lesser of two evils I suppose.

The man’s campsite – when fully unpacked – looks fresh off the set of Sanford and Son. (I’m still trying to get a copy of the theme song to play when he arrives.)

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1WqazleR3FE[/youtube]

Then there’s Jeffrey, our loveable newbie that comes up in his haggard gas-guzzler of a Chevy Astrovan that actually grinds when driven (I think it time to put the poor girl down), or the smooth-riding pimpmobile, the LeSabre (or as he lovingly calls it, “the Buick”). We continuously reminding him that it could snow anytime, day or night, and needs to have something dependable. I think in his tenure has not seen a lick of snow in deer camp. (I’m still working diligently on him to make the purchase of a truck in any size, shape, or form.) “Why believe in something you haven’t seen” he says.

Editor’s note: I haven’t seen a single deer while armed and in my blind. With the exception of the occasional one felled by a camp mate or when we’re driving down the road, I’m not sure deer actually exist north of Saginaw. This is the key reason I don’t even bother to bring my rifle with me to camp anymore.

I, myself, have only witnessed one major snowfall (we awoke to an impressive two feet of accumulation) in my 14-year term. The elders have told stories of infamous snowfalls up north that come on with little or no warning and that “We are in a special area” that could see something you wouldn’t otherwise as close as seven miles south of us. It’s always the “Seven Miles South of Us” story. There seems to be a proverbial weather curtain at the county line that separates us from them. (Do you think the years of alcohol in deer camp might have something to do with this?)

Regardless of the weather, we have vehicles that can be depended on for almost any scenario, good and bad. We have something to carry our equipment, pull our behemoth trailers and, most importantly of all, our (too few and far between) trophies. This is all part of deer camp and how we get there.

Be sure to check back in for the next installment when I touch on our trailers and some of the stories associated with them.

If you enjoy The Grizzly Woodsman, please check in regularly with Canon Fodder and sample some of our other writers. And remember to pass Canon Fodder on to friends, family and coworkers.

By Craig Dumas

Editor’s note: Craig submitted a truly stunning article with all sorts of pictures of the trucks he’s describing. Unfortunately, you need a computer engineering degree to navigate the complex publishing program used on this website. And I’m anything but a computer engineer. So, enjoy the verbiage sans pics.

Much like my Tonka-loving son, I just can’t give up trucks.

If you know anything about deer hunting you know it basically requires three things: a rifle, a truck and a trailer. Everything else is secondary and menial at that. It pretty much goes without saying that the essentials listed are for their necessity, dependability and comfort.

In my years of growing older – but never growing up, mind you – I’ve learned that you need the proper truck for the job. Whether it be moving a friend or relative (anyone with a truck knows that they can and will be called upon for work by all their non-truck owning friends and family), getting firewood for the home stove, or even towing your oversized trailer out to the woods, a too-big truck is logical and essential for getting it done right. I’m in truck number six over a 16-year span counting a Suburban, which qualified as a modified station wagon to the state, but a truck to any real man. Sadly, I’ve had to learn the hard way over the years about what size truck would accommodate my needs. I started with the Suburban, a two wheel drive, half-ton which was beefed up to a three-quarter-ton for ease of loads, but after nearly losing a small trailer to a ditch in about 8 inches of rising snow, I realized the need for four-wheel drive.

Next it was a half-ton Chevy Blazer 4×4. What a great toy.

Then it was another Chevy half-ton 4×4, but this one was an extended cab pickup. The bed was too short and it wasn’t so good for hauling the big trailer that I acquired in the meantime. A trip to the Upper Peninsula nearly wrecked the engine as it was literally burning up all the oil in the motor due to the lack of an adequate towing package. The lesson of that trip wasn’t soon forgotten. I have to admit, that poor truck was probably the most beaten on of all my victims. The first time was coming home late from a ball game and a tree decided to cross the road at the last minute causing me some minor damage. Then there was the time I was in the backwoods joyriding with a friend (and a barley soda or two too many) and ended up ditching into 3 feet of water. A farmer on a tractor had to pull me out. I was rewarded for my stupidity with a terrible ride home because the alignment was out due to a bent tie rod. My last act of brilliance was the time when some yahoo got the forklift stuck in the mud at work and being macho, I thought, hey, my truck can pull it out. After taking the time to properly hook it up and make sure we were safe, the towing commenced. When the metal handlebars ripped, a jagged metal projectile was sent careening at my windshield. All I could do is lean over flat on the bench seat wait for the crashing of glass. The windshield was spared but the hood of the truck was scratched and dented. And that’s how I turned it in when the lease expired.

Editor’s note: I witnessed this firsthand. Craig’s big ol’ truck with a mangled mass of steel embedded on the hood. Stunned coworkers all around in stunned silence. The big vein in Craig’s reddening neck beating like a drum. He was biting his lip so hard, I was just waiting for a trickle of blood. I’m betting my cackling laughter didn’t help the situation very much. What an awesome sight to see.

Next was a trade-in purchase from my uncle Denny that worked out fairly well. (Here it must be said that I’ve learned to purchase vehicles from him when possible considering he doesn’t drive anywhere, and at the time he was working, the drive was a mere 6 miles roundtrip. Even with the occasional ventures up north, he turns his leases in with 20,000 miles or less on them. He was more a babysitter for it than anything so it was like buying a new truck. The smell of old man barely dented the new car smell.) It was a Chevy three-quarter-ton 4×4, extended cab, full bed and this one included the towing kit, so no more problems there.

But it was determined that when we moved out to Podunk and with a baby on the way, something bigger was needed to not only meet the needs of my growing family, but accommodate the loads I was moving and handle the larger trailer we had recently purchased. (Incidentally, this trailer was a 31-foot Terry nicknamed ‘The Hilton’ by Jeffrey – more on that in Part II next week.) Let it be said that I had been a Chevy man all my life and grew up in a Chevy family. My Dad put in 37 years for “The General” or “Generous Motors” as loyalists have come to know GM.

Then I made the jump to Ford. (I still get flack for it to this day, but they gave me good trade value and the price was right where we wanted to be.) The truck was an F-250, 4×4 (of course), three-quarter-ton with the big crew cab. Good size, ample room for family and towing was a breeze. Needless to say, during hunting, I was the one that drove to the bar on our deer camp fieldtrips. It’s also ideal for post-bar joyriding on the way back.

Unlike Denny’s situation and the resulting low mileage, living on the edge of humanity comes at the cost of miles quickly adding up (100,000 and counting). I was born with an irrational fear (which I always have with high mileage vehicles – I don’t know if it’s old school, superstitious, experience, logic, or common sense that makes me think this way, maybe a little of all – that problems are inevitably on the way and I’m living on borrowed time. So it was determined by my wife and me that a new truck was needed. Now, there were some things that I had to agree on like “This is the last one for quite a while,” since I am notorious for wanting the newest and the best and my wife “was the next in line for something new”. I had built this one online and ordered it new from the factory. The last and current truck to date is, what I like to call ‘Road Hog’, or ‘ Road King’, an F-350 4×4, crew cab, one-ton, full bed. Dennis likes to say I drive it like a big rig, wide turns and all. Uncle Dave likes to say it’s just a truck on steroids. All that said, it does what I need it to do and tows what I need it to tow.

Editor’s note: “Truck on steroids,” is fitting because I regularly insist Craig is compensating for something when he buys these oversized testosterone machines. Maybe it’s a chicken-or-the-egg discussion when comparing little men to their big trucks.

Check back in next week for Part II of the Grizzly Woodsman and his man-crush on trucks and trailers.

If you enjoy The Grizzly Woodsman, please check in regularly with Canon Fodder and sample some of our other writers. And remember to pass CF on to friends, family and coworkers.