Deer Camp Characters

 ANY HUNTER IS SURE TO RECOGNIZE SOMEONE THEY KNOW…

Marquette, MI – The guys at Carl’s deer camp are a motley assemblage of woodsmen, dedicated to avoiding their jobs and wives for two weeks while they wallow in decadence. This heavily armed contingent of big spenders frequents scores of wilderness taverns as they vigilantly scan for game along “Mahogany Ridge,” resplendent in their orange regalia and blowing money they don’t have.

Two hunters heading to their deer blinds. (photo by Steve Oehlenschlager – Fotolia)

Carl prefers to wear the camouflage outfits and regrets having to don blaze orange during November. When I think of my belching, bathless, chain-smoking cousin sneaking around in the woods in camouflage with his face muddied, I can’t help but imagine a moose dressing up as a sofa and trying to hide in Carl’s living room.

Meet Gordy the Gambler. Gordy bets on everything from who kills the first deer to who kills the last beer. He’s forever nagging the cook to clear the table so he can get some suck… some guys to play cards. He views deer season as a chance to fleece as many nimrods as possible while their wallets are fat with vacation pay.

Meet Clyde the Camp Queen. Clyde cooks, cleans and keeps the empties piled and ready for emergency runs to the store. He’s responsible for a bizarre repertoire of culinary classics such as: Kessler-marinated beaver stew, venison-beans-and-egg-a-muffins, Lipton noodle-nightmare and multi-can goulash featuring fuzzy mystery meat.

To complain about the cook’s competency or the quality of the cuisine at this camp is foolish, unless the complainer intends to assume the thankless job himself.

Meet Joker Joe. Joe thinks it’s hilarious to fill sleeping bags with corn flakes or to sprinkle the toilet paper with lighter fluid. For years, he’s brought the smutty magazines that comprise the camp’s pornographic library, buried beneath the stacks of Outdoor Life and Popular Mechanics. He’s still got some of last summer’s firecrackers and can’t wait to use them. He’s always got a whoopie cushion or plastic doggie doo-doo on him, eagerly waiting to go out and terrorize the local gin mills.

Meet Morty the Moocher. Guess who forgot his gun, hat, boots, knife, rope, compass, socks, bullets, matches, food, check book, cigarettes, beer and wallet? This guy will be constantly bumming things. You can bet (and Gordy always does) that he’ll always remember what he loans and forget what he borrows.

Meet Wally the Whiner. This guy is always blowing out the light to see how dark it is. He’ll bum a cigarette (not from Morty) and complain about the brand. This mountain-climber of mole hills will always manage to find something bad in the best of things. If you try to be nice and offer him your chair, he’ll whine about his hemorrhoids.

Meet Psycho Sam. Sam has an arsenal that could be used to conquer a Third World country. He’s always ready to shoot deer, bear, raccoons, targets, bottles, cans, squirrels, tweety-birds, bullfrogs, and outhouses. Sam socializes less than the others at camp, preferring to hunker in a corner, cleaning and fondling his weapons, his eyes glowing yellow in the dim light of the cabin as he mentally slaughters everything within miles. He’s the one who always keeps the camp in venison. He’d do it for all of China if they’d only keep him in guns, bullets and deer.

Carl fits in with these exaggerated personalities because of his love for the woods. Carl doesn’t really care if he shoots a deer or not. He told me that he figured in the cost of his rifle, license, camping gear, clothing, sundries and groceries for the eighty pounds of meat he got from his fabulous eight-pointer last year and the venison cost him $16.67 per pound. And it was a tough, bitter buck, like the man who shot it.

Carl enjoys the comraderie of the camp characters, for whatever their faults, and the pioneer feeling of being far from the weary bonds of civilization. Two short weeks away from the daily erosion of the soul caused by the winds and rains of job, family and society; a brief respite made even sweeter by its fleeting nature. November will soon end and the winter’s killing frost will begin its wear and tear on all of us for another season.

May you have a good time Carl, and the rest of you as well!

by David Aho

I am a retired corrections officer who has written extensively over the years for local papers and magazines. A father of three and grandfather of two, I devote my energies and inabilities to family, writing, golf, exercise and playing percussion. (This causes me to stay up late at night and drink beer, darn it.) My wife, Diane, and I live in Marquette with our German Shepherd, Gunther, who diligently pursues any manner of play that causes me to leave my La-Z-Boy. I am an alumnus of MTU and NMU and a Navy veteran of the Viet Nam era. I’ve been a small business owner, salesman, carpenter, auto body repairman, steeplejack, export company manager, cartoonist, corrections officer and I’ve written a crime-fiction novel called “Good Looking Out” which is based in Michigan and available through www.lulu.com under the pseudonym David Michaels.

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