Establishing Deer Camp
Time for our third annual deer camp had finally arrived. Plans had been in place since the drive home last year and our “camp” had been reserved since the summer. As a younger man I didn’t fully understand the hype surrounding such an event. I was more of a loaner, solely focused on having everything perfect and filling my tags. I would get hung up on minor details and stress when things weren’t exactly as I envisioned. This approach led to success and built confidence in my abilities, strategies, and greatly improved my overall knowledge when it came to deer hunting. What I didn’t realize was I was missing out of some additional aspects of the hunt that could bring just as much, if not more, satisfaction and life lessons.
It may not look like much but this is the loan shooting lane from a massive blind tucked way back in the swamp where my buck would eventually meet his demise.
It maybe that I have a growing awareness of getting older and realizing we only get so many tags issued in our name. It’s possible I’ve become proficient, or at least persistent and lucky, in ensuring there is ample wild game in my freezer to get me from one Fall to the next. My focus could be shifting to other facets of the hunt that bring fulfillment. Maybe I’m just becoming nostalgic. Whatever the trigger, it had been squeezed setting my dad and I into motion Northbound for the MI gun opener for the third consecutive year.
An excuse is never needed to hang out with your father but planning deer camp creates at least one yearly appointment that neither of us are willing to cancel. The time spent together during the drive up is easily worth the price of a tank of gas. Throw in the anticipation of several days spent in the deer woods and suddenly you have an unparalleled concoction of feelings and excitement brewing inside. Inadvertently a few traditions were born including a last-minute stop for him to get his license and tags along with a majority of the rest of the state it seems. A long wait in line and the usual “system” problems generally extend the stop into a marathon event when all I want to do is get to camp. We carefully plan a hearty but simple menu and grab groceries at the local super market. A few cans of beer always get purchased and tossed in the cooler to cap off each evening by talking over the day’s events and desperately trying to create a plan to outwit deer the following morning.
My dad was tucked away in this blind while I had a front row seat to everything unfolding in front of him.
A familiar, small town, downtown restaurant cooks our pre-hunt supper each year. Dad will consistently order the walleye since he can’t get it as far South as where I was raised and he still lives. Growing up not far from Lake Michigan, his younger years were filled with beautifully fried, flakey filets of the toothy fish. Ordering it each fall must bring back memories of his younger years. As for me, I don’t have a preferred entre.
I usually shoot from the hip and order whatever fits my fancy at the time. Regardless of my food selection it is paired with a local Michigan brew. This helped to accentuate the feeling of leaving behind the norm and stepping into a parallel universe full of deer, trees, manliness, and anything not associated with the daily grind. The bartender hadn’t changed in the last three years and although he may not have recognized us, we certainly hadn’t forgotten him. In true professional fashion he flattered our recollections and encouraged our return the following year. A busy waitress commented on how much she was enjoying my Dad and I’s playful banter. Not only rhetoric between one another, but with any of the waitstaff willing to pause and join in the conversation. It’s a fine example of simple Midwest hospitality, general friendliness, and acceptance of a time-honored tradition.
It was rewarding seeing deer taking advantage of all the mowing and planting I had done over the previous year. Just being able to observe them and know my property management was moving in the right direction was encouraging.
This being our third year hunting my property we were beginning to fine-tune our operation. I had some mowing and brush removal performed around the large field that houses several food plots. I did some of my own clearings deep in the woods with a walk-behind brush cutter and threw out a couple of different varieties of no-till food plot seeds. I cut down some trees to open up some overgrown shooting lanes around established blinds and purchased a popup blind this season to allow for some mobility and new options.
Arriving early in the afternoon before the opener we had some time to swing by the farm and see about setting up the portable blind. With a substantial section of overgrown willows removed, I had been consistently noticing deer crossing at one of my gated access points. This location would allow for an easy hike by my aging father in the early morning darkness and keep our intrusions to the food plots at a minimum when the deer were most likely actively feeding. It would however offer a good view of the plots for observation purposes and still put him at the intersection of two great travel corridors. Convincing him this was the spot he needed to be at opening morning was not hard and we worked collectively securing the blind and properly brushing it in.
Even with the prospect of opening morning looming on the dark horizon I slept well and was up before my dad. We were greeted by the world’s slowest coffee pot taking over 20 minutes to brew a pot of coffee. Even with this kind of adversity we managed to be on our way well before daylight. Dropping him near the newly placed popup, I wished him well and continued to the gate to access the North end of the property. Another tradition created through happenstance was an impromptu re-aquatinting with a neighboring property owner. They too had a strong tradition of a father and son opening day hunt and we shared a common parking area. Saying our hello’s, good lucks, and good bye’s I was off to the Taj Mahal. I really don’t know why I started calling it that other than the fact it’s a towering blind with plenty of room, carpet, shelves, a porch, and just all-around comfortable. It borders a transition from a large swamp to mature hardwoods. I don’t want to think of the effort that it took to construct the blind in this location. I also cringe at ever having to repair or replace it.
Settling in, thanking God for another opportunity to wake up, I waited for the woods (and gunshots) to come alive. Sorting out where the sound of a shot comes from can be very misleading. There was more than one occasion in which I thought the neighbor had shot but a quick text confirmed: “it was someone to the South”. I remained alert through the early morning hours and was eventually rewarded with spotting a doe and yearling at about 50 yards. I watched as they meandered around, popping in and out of sight for 15 minutes or so but I had my eyes set on a buck this year. It would be my first in MI after many years of trying. Eventually, they wandered off leaving me satisfied with at least having had an opportunity had I chosen to take it.
Interestingly enough, I've now had the pleasure of living with both extremes of squirrel colors. They had a population of white squirrels where I lived in Illinois and here you can clearly see they have black squirrels in Michigan.
The sound of my 30+-year-old 12 gauge was unmistakable though even at ½ mile. I say “my” 12 gauge because upon arrival at my house a few days prior, my dad informed me he couldn’t find his and wondered if he could borrow mine. Not sure what he would have done had I said no…I agreed. It was late in the morning so I waited for 20 minutes or so and made my way to him. Excited to find out what he had shot I listened as he recapped his hunt. Seeing a decent buck run across the field he had been encouraged early on. Then as I had scripted for him a doe appeared at the field entrance. At a range of 30 yards, he couldn’t shake the thought of the buck and contemplated on whether to shoot the doe or not. She was oblivious to our fresh setup and meandered out to about 40 yards or so before he decided one in the hand is better than a buck in the bush.
As he explained she had moved to a location between windows in the blind making it difficult for him to get solid on the shot. This led to a clean miss but with his first shot opportunity in three years, we were both happy with the results and headed home to warm up and grab lunch.
With the afternoon hunt upon us, we targeted the food plots. The deer would be in the heavy cover allowing us to enter the field and get to our blinds unannounced. It was a beautiful opening day afternoon and the gunshots had subsided allowing for a fairly peaceful sit. During the first hour or so of the hunt, there wasn’t much going on. Eventually, though a pair of does popped out from the North. I peered through my binoculars wishing desperately for them to sprout antlers to no avail. Another pair joined them giving me ample time to sit and watch as they fed on my hard work. They were all in range for me but completely hidden from the sight of my father. They continued feeding closer until darkness engulfed us all and it was time to head in. Dad and I were both ecstatic to have seen more deer in one day than we had the two previous years combined.
Sometimes we make poor decisions, even when we know better. Fully aware of the fact that passing through the heart of where the deer would be feeding at night to get to a stand would be nothing short of a blunder, I did it anyway. The fact that my dad had seen a nice buck pass through the food plots the previous morning led me to making the irrational choice of heading for a blind sitting on the edge of the feedlot. I could support my decision if I’d had the time/equipment to manicure a low-impact entryway from the backside of the blind, but I’m not that far into my property management plan yet.
Dropping Dad off at the same popup blind from the previous morning I went and parked the truck. I would then have about a ½ mile hike back and pass right by his blind on the way to mine. Shining my light at his blind just to make sure he knew it was me I heard exactly what I didn’t want to. Deer crashing in the opposite direction started my day. Even if I didn’t cost myself a deer that morning the ones that spooked were within 75 yards of where my dad had already been settled in waiting for daylight. They were sure to have offered him a glimpse and most likely shot. Needless to say, the rest of the morning hunt didn’t lead to seeing a single deer. Rookie mistake.
Unphased we returned again in the afternoon. Taking our posts on the North side and SE corner of the 14-acre overgrown field we had high hopes that the same, if not more of, the deer from the previous night would filter in. As if on cue, they did. Again the pair of does entered. I felt that my dad should be able to at least see them, although the shot would be too lengthy. After texting him to get him to peer in the right direction he was able to catch a few glimpses. A little later another lone doe entered the field and began working her way toward my dad’s blind. Watching intently another began walking the brushy transition from woods to field heading right toward his location.
Then of all things, it looked like yet another deer entered from almost directly under his blind. Wondering if he was catching all this, I sent a text. While I had a front-row seat to all the action, he was oblivious to their presence due to various obstructions impeding his sight path. By this time three deer were within 50 yards of him and he couldn’t locate them. Doing everything in my power to direct him to them, finally, I see the door to the blind fly open. He steps out and peers intently in every direction. I can only sit as the deer look up and stare. Amazingly none ran off. He shut the door and sat back down. Turns out the last deer to enter the field was a little spike buck that got one of the bigger does moving.
Finally, Dad caught motion through the brush and eventually felt he had a shot. Much to my displeasure he was unable to connect and his target deer bounded off unscathed. Two days, two shot opportunities for my dad, and multiple passes for me. We were making great memories. With bellies full of deer chili we went to bed with high hopes for our last morning.
Sunrise from a deer blind...there is nothing better.
This trip had a different feeling than others. While you never like to see the end of a hunt, often times you’re tired and miss your family. When the hunt ends you simply look forward to getting back to the other things you love so much. While I was certainly excited to see my wife and kids, I really wasn’t ready for this deer hunt to be over. Waking up feeling strong and optimistic on this last day we started off just the same as we had the previous 2 mornings with oatmeal, the reluctant coffee pot, and a banana. Having recounted the deer movement and mistakes from the previous two mornings, my dad again opted for the pop-up blind and I would be going way to the North end back in the swamp.
Thinking I hadn’t been back there since opening morning and that all the hunted deer will be looking for the security the lowlands offered, it was my best chance. The hike was one of peace and satisfaction. It just felt good. No anxiety, no worries, just the quiet, familiar, dark hike through the woods. It was warmer than it had been in weeks and rain was set to roll in mid-morning. Our only real concern that AM revolved around the precipitation holding off long enough for us to complete the hunt. Any uneasiness got pushed to the back of my mind before shooting light. During that time when you can see enough to identify a deer, but not well enough to shoot (also it was before legal shooting light), I made a doe only 50 yards away. Strangely she followed the same path I took to the stand and continued closer. She was hesitant, I only assumed it was because she was picking up some faint essences of a man who had recently passed through.
Slowly but surely she moved North closer and closer. I watched intently as she came within 10 yards. It was difficult to not shoot. Wanting desperately to bring home some physical fruits to our labor, I resisted and merely observed. Cataloging her movements to be referenced at some unknown point in the future, I sat and made some new deposits into my deer hunting library. Moving completely past the blind I assumed she would continue to meander, nibble, and eventually disappear from sight. She had a different plan when suddenly she did a 180 and started heading back the way she came. No longer meandering she walked with purpose. Thinking she had gotten a big whiff of me I was prepared for her exit stage left.
At about the point I had first seen her that morning, she stopped. She wasn’t looking back at me though, she was staring forward. After a short time, she bolted. Wondering if my hunt had more or less just ended, I sat back to hopefully hear gunshots in my dad’s direction. As quickly as she disappeared another deer reappeared near where I last saw her. The deer had its head down and appeared to be sniffing a tree intently. Throwing up the binos I confirmed antlers. He took a few steps forward and I had to quickly get my gun up. If he were to continue moving from West to East my shooting window was very limited. Aligning the crosshairs, and dialing the magnification up on the scope, I breathed and squeezed.
This rub cost my buck his life. Pausing to leave his mark gave me enough time to put him in the crosshairs.
The buck immediately disappeared leaving me to question what just happened. Shortly after the shot I could hear the doe from earlier blowing repeatedly. The text arrived from my dad saying it sounded like I had shot. I acknowledged he was correct and sat back to reflect. Waiting only 15 minutes I wanted to look for blood ahead of any rain. Walking to where the deer stood when I shot, I found what had stopped him momentarily, allowing me to identify him as an antlered deer. A fresh rub caught his attention, lucky for me. I felt good when I took the shot but there was no blood or hair to be found. Panic set in and all I could think about was going 0 for 3. I entered the woods and began zig-zagging looking for signs. No sign of a hit was present.
Wondering how this could be I continued my efforts and began circling in hopes he had turned and went a different direction than I assumed. Then I saw the white belly. Relief. He had only gone 40 yards before he expired. Back trailing the buck, I was only able to find a few drops of blood. Interestingly, while recovering the heart, I had blown the top 1/3 of the heart to pieces. Either way, I had finally killed my Michigan buck. I text my dad to confirm the kill and proudly made my way to pick him up before the rain began to fall.
Some may omit this step from photos but I hunt to eat first and foremost. There is no reason to be ashamed of getting your kill from field to plate and all the steps in between.
Just in case you are wondering why my site is called Hunting Fit, try dragging a deer out of the woods without some level of fitness. It's a quick reminder of just how out of shape you are.
An inconveniently placed downed tree required some old fashioned sweat equity to get this buck out of the woods.
My dad didn't pull the trigger on this Michigan buck but I don't think his smile could have been any bigger. This was OUR buck!
What is a deer camp without traditions? Here is my dad enjoying his annual pre-hunt meal of fried walleye.
Again, on the way home, we solidified plans for year number 4.
