Girls At Deer Camp? (Part 3)

The Show Begins

Guides are too tough for ear plugs!

The next morning, we prepared a large breakfast to fuel the ladies through the various planned outdoor activities. Due to the limited time the girls had in their schedule, I had a difficult time deciding on exactly what to do. Ultimately, we decided on an early morning coyote hunt, followed by moose spotting, a healthy sprinkling of heatah hunting and finally an all out ammo dump at the sand pit.

Our coyote hunt was conducted out of a portable blind and ended up as successful as I anticipated . . . nada. All the scent eliminator in the world just can cover up stinky Maine guide and Old Spice. I think the girls however enjoyed the coyote hunt “experience” and from it developed an understanding of what it means to hunt out of a ground blind, how to operate a game call and the joy that is achieved by firing off an automatic rifle at a stump.

Moose spotting was again met with less than favorable results, again not an absolute surprise given the time we arrived at some of the “prime” spots. Given an hour closer to twilight, the results may have been better. However, we did manage to tour some beautiful locations and I think the ladies were appreciative of seeing woods and waters that many Mainer’s never chance to see.

Photographers make great shooters!

Heatah hunting thankfully was met with success! After introducing Sophie (the one with a hunting license) how to operate a 12 g shotgun and providing her with a general description of a partridge, I could see that killer glint in her eye! On the first sighting, it was Sophie who picked out THREE partridge running across the road. After collecting ourselves from the excitement, I asked if she wanted to take point. Declining, I shouldered the shotgun and proceeded down the road with both writer and photographer closely following. After a KABOOM followed by a CONSIDERABLE amount of effort (involving crawling on my hands and knees through a spruce thicket), I managed to bring a bird to hand.

To clean the bird, I proceeded with the classy, step on the wings and pull the feet. This was not an activity that the girls wanted to either watch or participate in but after the initial tearing and popping noises were complete, they were very interested in touching the feathers and inspecting the assorted remains of what had been only minutes before a living creature. I pointed out a few of the key organs, kidneys, heart, gizzard, etc. and was pleasantly surprised when Erin asked if she could preserve and take home the tail and wing feathers. After this unexpected display, I had to admit that now along with the rest of the boys, I too was seriously smitten.

As the final minutes of our hunt quickly ticked away, a single bird ran across the road and I could see by the look in her eye that this time Sophie was ready! Jumping out of the truck and loading the gun, I handed it off to Sophie and we began walking up the road to where the partridge had entered the woods. Creeping ever so carefully, I positioned myself behind her and whispered directions. Ok Sophie, right by that small stick is where he went into the woods, almost there, raise your gun, get ready to work that safety, finger off the trigger until your ready to shoot, keep that stock firmly planted in your shoulder. At that moment of course, as is typical, the bird flushed straight away from us in a speedy blur through the overgrown spruce trees. I had initially thought that perhaps Sophie would be upset at not having a chance to shoot but I could not have been more wrong. She was literally vibrating with excitement and practically overcome with varying levels of emotional response. Getting back in the truck, she jumped around in the seat like a highly caffeinated labrador puppy on its first duck hunt. The words that immediately came from her mouth were like english only much faster and beyond my comprehension. Once she calmed down a bit, I seem to remember her saying something like "that was awesome" but I am not entirely sure.

Say Cheeeese!

At the sandpit, I was very impressed with the shooting exhibition, put on by both Erin and Sophie. Neither having ever held yet alone fired a firearm, they both possessed a natural talent at acquiring the targets and sloooooowly pulling the trigger. Each pounded the heck out of the two targets they were assigned, using both the AR15 (at 150 yards!) and 9mm handgun (at 25 yards!). Despite repeated attempts, neither wanted to try shooting at the quickly moving skeet and so they both watched as the boys and I attempted to impress them with some hard to hit doubles. In the end, few clay pigeons were harmed in this particular shooting session.  At the end of the shoot, I presented both Erin and Sophie each with their targets to take home and I hope (along with the memories and over 800 pictures that were taken!!) they hold on to them as a reminder of their time with the boys at deer camp.

The Curtain Closes

In the end, it was refreshing to have girls participate in deer camp and I am deeply honored that the boys and I were chosen to represent hunters from all across the state of Maine.  Potentially circulating to 1,000s of readers, with mixed opinions about hunters and hunting, I will be curious to see how the magazine’s readership accepts the deer camp article. I feel the boys and I did a good job representing sportsmen and therefore, I anxiously await the release of the article.  However, due to publishing timelines, the article will not come out until November 2012, so the wait for the end product will be excruciating.

It is critical, as sportsmen, we always strive to represent our given pursuits in a positive and professional manner, as ultimately it will be the individual who will decide the fate of outdoor traditions such as hunting and fishing. When out in the wilds, remember to do your part and always represent outdoorsmen in a positive light and when provided the opportunity, invest your time in introducing someone new to our sport.

Just joining the conversation? Be sure to read Girls At Deer Camp? - Part 1 and Girls At Deer Camp? - Part 2

Girls At Deer Camp? (Part 2)

The Curtain Rises

Upon initially sharing my intentions, the boys were frantic. Considering all the potentially embarrassing prospects, of ladies at deer camp, they were deeply concerned about how they were going to act and behave. Obviously the farting, belching, swearing and late night walks to the outhouse in long underwear would have to be constrained. Then there was the traditional early morning breakfast . . . would the women expect to sleep in? How would everyone get ready in the morning in the camps small living room? Would the women panic if they happened to see Dad in his tighty whities? Then of course, there were the sleeping arrangements. How could we provide the ladies with comfortable and clean sleeping arrangements when neither exists at deer camp? Obviously, all of these concerns weighed heavily on the regular hunting crew and as the date approached, it seemed no degree of consolation could quell their ill founded fears.

Erin teaches Dad how to Play

Fast forward several weeks to the evening the girls invaded camp. A hundred miles into the deep, dark Maine woods, in the absolute middle of nowhere, these poor girls stumbled into an old camp filled with 6 anxious old timers all frantically attempting to clean, hide the nudie magazines and cook an elegant dinner of steak, potatoes and pickled products. I can only imagine what those poor ladies must have been thinking in their initial assessment.  Of course, in a testament to the constitutions of both ladies, they bravely managed to hold their ground, graciously accepting our offer to direct them to their shared bedroom.

As we continued to busy ourselves with our assigned chores, the girls settled down and began asking questions and snapping the occasional photograph. I could see some initial tension in a couple of the camps more “senior” resident troglodytes and I wondered how the evening would progress. Of course, one hour later we were all sitting together in the living room, toasting alcoholic beverages, Dad wailing away on the guitar and both ladies singing along to old country tunes, like they had been rehearing this very moment for years. I smirked, now knowing that my initial concerns were badly ill founded. Both Sophie and Erin were very quick witted, intelligent and charismatic. One of my Dad’s old army buddies even remarked that these were the type of girls he prayed that his boys might chance to someday bring home. Yes, it was genuinely apparent, the boys were seriously smitten.

Just joining the conversation? Then be sure to see: Girls At Deer Camp? (Part 1) and be sure to see the exciting conclusion Girls At Deer Camp? (Part 3).

Girls at Deer Camp? (Part 1)

Early last summer, I had the good fortune of striking up a friendship with some of the fine people at Maine Magazine in Portland. Through that meeting, I was asked to participate in an interview that was highlighted in the magazines October 2011 edition. At the same time, their editor inquired if I would be willing to have two of their staff members join me during our annual deer camp. With little thought as to what I was actually getting myself into, I excitedly agreed. What I failed to consider, was that the writer and/or the photographer could potentially be female. As the date approached and the final selections were made, it was determined that both writer and photographer would be women.

This breach of deer hunting etiquette was of course of great concern to the rest of the deer camp rabble and the cause of much angst. Many conversations were had concerning the ramifications of having women at deer camp and the potential consequences of these actions. In the end, however, we all had little to fear as the professionalism and flexibility of the Maine Magazine staffers was inspiring. Their abilities to hang with the guys and freely participate in our various camp activities, made everyone feel comfortable and at ease.

This little adventure, however, made me begin to consider the ultimate question, should women be invited to deer camp?

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The Stage is Set

Without a doubt, many of you are confused by the content of this post. I mean isn’t the very reason we go to deer camp in the first place, to escape from those of the female species who would force us to cook, clean and partake in other household chores that we despise? In fact, don’t we as men relish our time afield without worry of a woman nagging us about some trivial detail like drinking to much beer or watching Sunday football? Isn’t deer camp a time for us men to reconnect with our primitive selves by over eating food stuffs filled with saturated fat, openly releasing bodily gasses and doing all of the things that are generally frowned upon by our significant others? Honestly, the very notion of women at deer camp quite frankly scares the hell out of me!

Despite all of these fears, perhaps slightly exaggerated for the sake of an interesting story, deer camp 2011 had me in the strange position of hosting not ONE but TWO women at deer camp! I know that many of you are without a doubt shaking your heads, at my apparent loss of sanity.  I mean what guy in his right mind would actually invite women to participate in such a revered male right of passage and ultimately violate the cardinal rule of deer camp . . . NO GIRLS ALLOWED!

Thinking back to the Little Rascals and their “He-man Woman Haters” club and Al Bundy of “Married with Children” and his anti-woman organization called “No MA AM”, are we as men actually conditioned from infancy to create boundaries between what activities and events are approved for men and those approved for women to participate? Considering this revelation, it comes as no surprise that men possess a natural disposition toward organizing events that exclude women. In all honesty our late night poker games, super bowl parties, gentlemen clubs, fishing trips and even deer camp are all the fault of our society . . . quite honestly ladies we are innocent!

For More See: 
Girls of Deer Camp - Part 2
Girls of Deer Camp - Part 3

Deer Camp Dissected

As a young boy, deer camp was always a mysterious and sacred rite of passage, a self-fulfilling prophecy perpetuated by the addition of the adolescent males of the clan upon reaching the ripe age of 14. For many of us, this would be the first time we would be fully separated from all female influence and subjected to the intricacies of male bonding. Though forming these bonds would prove primitive and ritualistic in nature, we would all grow to learn that they were a necessary step in the development of the male mind. Lost on our innocence, were the ramifications of this extraordinary life event. With neither care nor appreciation, we the youth, would recklessly accept our first invitation, not knowing that our actions or inactions were about to be scrutinized and evaluated by the family elders. Alas our very futures moving from “gathers” to “hunters” were about to be determined.

Unaware were we that the seasoned adult males of the family would begin to get a rabid look in their eye around mid September, knowing that deer camp preparations were already underway. The importance and organization of said event, was part of an unspoken centuries old code, that’s complete understanding was reserved for the leadership. At our tender age, it was not apparent the level of planning that was necessary to insure an event of this magnitude was successful. A full appreciation of the experience, would be something not realized until many, many more years had past.

To the anointed leader, the obvious logistics associated with this most noble of endeavors are mind-boggling. Hundreds of minute details must be organized in military like precision for a deer camp to be successful. Often an almost overwhelming laundry list of critical tasks rest squarely on the shoulders of the individual offering up facilities or simply inviting everyone "upta camp”. Beyond human comprehension, the most dedicated (foolish) sportsmen among us will accept this leadership role year after year. These poor lost souls most likely enjoy punishing themselves and sinking into the depths of martyrdom.
While certainly not for the faint of heart and usually an utterly thankless job, the leader profits from the fruits of his labors in the form of small gifts or tokens bestowed by the camp rabble. These are most likely but not limited to left behind camp beahs, cans of sardines, salted meats and mason jars filled with pickled products. Also not to be undervalued is the camp's leaders first pick of place to sleep. While this may seem a trivial point, a week of sleeping under the camp's kitchen table, so you aren't stepped on (or much worse) in the middle of the night, may change your mind.

Any deer camp can be judged by its quality and quantity of food. Though some leaders will attempt to organize some degree of rough meal planning, ultimately there will end up being enough consumable food for double your anticipated stay. The discussion of food brings with it an important consideration. To technically classify any item on the deer camp menu, as "food" is likely to be a stretch of that definition. I suppose before it was pickled, smoked, wrapped in bacon, covered in cheese and then deep fat fried it may have at one time been a substance containing some nutritional value. To offer a glimpse into the depths we will sink in our attempts to clog our arteries, I will share that it is a common accepted practice at deer camp to never throw out the morning congealed mass of bacon grease. It has been determined to be a great spread on toast and biscuits should you run low on butter. Contrary to what the doctors and health professionals tell you a week of eating nothing but cheese curls, pig’s feet and sausage links will do little to effect your overall health. In fact, it will lubricate your intestinal tract and speed weight loss!

To insure that you continue to be on the "short" list of invitees asked to return to next season’s deer camp, it pays to remember a few rules and regulations related to the provisions. First, double-check your donated grocery items. It is a sad family fact, that my uncle Ned once made the mistake of bringing broccoli to deer camp . . . well obviously he was never invited back. Second, camp coffee was meant to be drank black from a mug 1/2 washed and still lingering with the after taste of dish detergent. This "party starter" is almost guaranteed to insure you arrive to the outhouse well ahead of anyone foolish enough to not be a coffee drinker. Lastly, repeat after me . . . light beer has no place at deer camp. If the sunsets and you aren't drinking the regular stuff you may as well pack up your panties and go home.

It is an accepted camp practice, that anyone who actually manages to shoot a deer immediately becomes the camp "bitch". This term is of course meant in the most affectionate sense. An undervalued but most necessary of positions, it is bestowed on the individual "lucky" enough to shoot a deer. Immediately they become the anointed person responsible managing all camp cooking and cleaning functions. Categorized as a necessary evil, we always breath a sigh of relief when this person identifies them self and the position is filled.

Age does have its privileges, as typically the younger deer camp participants are the targets of practical jokes. Jokes can range from the funny belly chuckle to the outright hysterical, tears running down my face, please stop my abs hurt, full on I am glad not to be in your shoes experience. The camp classics include, hiding a box of tampons or maxi pads in the backpack of camp "newbies", lighting bodily functions and cheating at cards. Somehow these activities have always seems to provide days of off the cuff comments and entertainment. Why cannot be easily understood and I am sure could be studied by anthropologists for decades.

Overheard at deer camp . . . “If I stay one more night, I might as well stay the winter”. It never fails that every year some poor soul has to leave the festivities of camp early. For these unfortunates, God has apparently chosen to punish, my sympathies are certainly with them. The excuses run for work to kids and everything in between. No matter the excuse, these "quitters" are always sorely missed at camp.

Eventually even for the dedicated sportsman, life will force him to return to civilization an echo of reality that states that eventually all good things must come to an end. Knowing this inevitable circumstance, Sunday breakfast always seems to be a somber affair. The once bright electric spark of excitement now seems dimmer as everyone contemplates the fact that another year will need to elapse before next season’s deer camp. With a happy yet heavy hearted hugs, back slaps and hardy handshake good byes are administered to family and friends. As the hordes climb into their 4x4s and prepare for the long rides home we long to return to this place that houses a lifetime of memories.

Surviving the Deer Camp Hangover

A great philosopher once said that even the greatest journey must begin with a single step. Surviving the deer camp hangover is really no different. To succeed, you must concentrate on small achievable goals designed to eventually get you out of bed and into the woods chasing whitetails.

Lying in bed with your head pounding like a bass drum and your mouth feeling like a sand box recently visited by a cat suffering from dysentary, this may at first seem like an impossible task. Despite the precarious predicament you have forced upon yourself, I assure you that it can be done. Mind over matter you might say.

In the predawn light, I first suggest flailing around and seeing if you can locate some means of hydration. If by experience you had the foresight to leave a full glass of water, three rolaids and two aspirin on the bed stand, stop reading now you are a hangover master and require no additional tutilidge. If, however, in your fumblings all you manage to find are dust bunnies and a warm 1/2 can of Budweiser filled with cigarette butts you may want to begin taking notes.

After locating some form of non-alcoholic liquid, getting out of bed should be your next primary focus. It is at this point that you will be most vulnerable to the siren song of the hangover and tempted to sleep "just a few more minutes". Don't listen! If you can manage to get your feet on the floor and head off the pillow you will be well on your way to the deer stand. This is of course assuming you didn't lose your mackinaw or rifle in last nights poker game!

Once vertical, don't waste your precious morning prep time listening to the camp rabble profess that there exists some magical hangover cure. They will be feeding you dilly beans and making you drink white vinegar or some other foul substance in an attempt to get you to "purge". Don't be fooled, there is only one sure cure for the modern day hangover and that is time. How much time depends on a variety of factors to extensive to catalog thus making it impossible to even begin to judge. You will be best served to believe that it will last forever and plan accordingly.

Once mobile, immediately locate the camp outhouse. It is critical that you be the first morning inhabitant as in your "weakend" state you may not make it into the woods if you are second and God have mercy on your soul if you are third. If last nights appetizers of jalepeno poppers, processed/dried meats, pickled eggs and assorted cheeses aren't sufficient to get the intestinal party started, I find a southern breakfast works wonders. This confederate concoction consists of a cup of strongly brewed black coffee immediately chased with a baseball sized cheek full of RedMan. If this fails to produce the desired outcome, secure two or three rolls of toilet paper in preparation for the impending mid-morning disaster. If these critical supplies have already been hijacked by a more experienced drunk, don't despair an old pair of cotton socks will work quite nicely.

Sitting in the stand with your head resting peacefully against the tree trunk you will be tempted to close your eyes. Each slow blink will feel better than sex, so make sure that your climbing harness is properly attached to you AND the tree. If you feel yourself bending to the will of Mr. Sandman it is perfectly acceptable to slap yourself squarely across the face. If you can do this in conjunction with some light grunting and rattling the deer will hardly notice.

As you gingerly nibble on a lunch consisting of soda crackers and diet cola a burp erupting from your stomach brings with it foggy recollections of a double tequila nitecap. Sickened by your apparent complete lack of self control, you silently plot your revenge and berate your family and friends for making you feel this way. Let me remind you, that no matter how bad you would like to blame your current condition on your uncle Johnny Walker or cousin Jack Daniels, ultimately it was you who drank it. Sure there may have been some arm twisting but in the end the evil liquid made it into your stomach. As the old saying goes, you can lead a horse to water . . . Taking responsibility for your state of being is a great step that will go a long way in improving your poor and sickened disposition.

What happens if you actually shoot something? Let's just hope for your sake that this doesn't happen. If, however, a mentally challenged whitetail is somehow drawn to the aroma of farts and stale beer don't panic. Should a miracle occur and you magically manage to shoot the beast, immediately start crying and pray this ploy convinces your hunting party to take pity on you. If you are very lucky they may just gut the animal and drag it out of the woods for you!

Eventually all days must end and as the sun sets you will undoubtedly breath a sigh of relief. Returning to camp you warm your tired old bones by the fire and daydream of delicious backstraps and copious hydration. As you rest your head on your arm and slowly scrape food from your dinner plate into your mouth your thoughts invariably begin to think of how good it will feel to have a restful nights sleep. It will be at this point that the poker chips will appear and that first can of ice cold beer will be opened. As your thoughts flip to your morning solemn vow to never drink again you think hmm maybe I could have just one.