Making My Way Back to Camp

Getting to hunting camp takes a little doing.

It was opening weekend of muzzleloading deer season in northern New York. Along with my gear, I brought my .50-caliber Lyman Trade Rifle—a rifle I’ve shot in offhand matches and know well.

It’s about an hour to the main logging road, another five miles to where we park, and then four more miles into camp, on foot or by ride. I left around 6:15 on a rainy, 40-degree evening and arrived about two hours later.

Inside were familiar faces, familiar stories, and the kind of ribbing that comes from knowing each other for years. Just three of us this weekend: Charlie, Dick, and me. We caught up, planned the next day’s hunt, and watched trail camera videos. Moose, bobcat, bear, coyotes, and deer. Plenty going on in those woods, whether we happened to see it or not.

There’s no electricity, running water, or cell service at camp. Oil lamps light our evening storytelling. Once you turn in, the bunk room is dark. Really dark. It didn’t take me long to fall asleep.

Morning began with camp coffee and a five-star breakfast: French toast, eggs, and maple pork sausage from my own pigs.

We eat well at camp.

The cook doesn’t do dishes, so I helped Charlie dry and put things away. Then we checked the weather and planned the day’s watch. Temperatures in the 30s. Windy. After the previous day’s rain and wind, we hoped the deer would be moving.

We dressed, packed our necessities, snacks, and water, and headed for our stands.

I rode with Dick, full of excitement and hope as the side-by-side lurched over the rocky road. We checked for animal sign before he dropped me at my blind. I arranged my things, settled into my chair, and began watching.

My sightings amounted to one chipmunk, five ravens, and one hunter from our camp who was up hunting just for the day.

He came across me after spending the day walking through wet woods. He’d seen just two deer: a doe and a fawn.

Toward evening, the sun settled toward the horizon, and it was as though someone shut the wind machine off.

The trees were still.

After watching branches sway all day, that sudden quiet was something to notice.

Back at camp, there was more good food and another evening of reminiscing. Stories we’d heard before were told again. Knowing how they end doesn’t seem to keep anyone from enjoying them.

During the night, I heard the snap of a mousetrap. The trappers in the club save those catches for bait when trapping season opens. Another little detail of camp life.

I could also hear Charlie tending the fire, keeping the chill off camp while the rest of us stayed tucked into our bunks.

By morning, he had the coffee going, and Dick was preparing breakfast. Buckwheat pancakes and Boyce bacon this time. I was so full I couldn’t finish my pancake.

By about ten, it was 39 degrees, breezy, and sunny. A beautiful day to sit watch.

A blue jay in the tree behind me had plenty to say.

I’d love to put some venison in the freezer alongside the pork we just replenished. That hope is part of what brings me out here. But sitting in those woods, with time to watch and listen, felt like a blessing all by itself.

That evening’s menu was macaroni and cheese, beaver loin, and cornbread. I planned to stay for supper before heading home. Work in the morning, and back to the usual routine.

I look forward to the simplicity of hunting camp. There are meals to help with, a fire to tend, weather to consider, and a day’s hunt to plan. Without cell service, there’s no checking one more thing on my phone. There’s time to finish a conversation.

When the kids were young, I rarely made it to camp except for an occasional work weekend. Our days were filled with their activities and the things that mattered to our family.

I wouldn’t change what I prioritized over those twenty years. I’m proud of the young woman and young man my children have become. I like to think being home with them and supporting their pursuits helped shape who they are.

Now they’re grown and pursuing lives of their own. I’m learning to make time for the things I love, too—the things I missed doing over the years.

This weekend, that meant a rainy drive into the woods, good friends, very good breakfasts, and a quiet chair in a hunting blind.

I’m glad I made my way back.

Bye for now.