Last Hunting
Camp of This Century
by Bucky Lewis
I just this last week got back from hunting camp deep in the
wilds of northern Maine.
No electricity, cable, phones, indoor plumbing, etc..
Like a woman on vacation to a tropical isle, we tend to do some
things away from home we normally wouldn't do otherwise. The
following is a rough account of just the first 24 hours at camp.
Diary:
CAMP: FIRST NIGHT
8:30 p.m.: Arrive at camp after
driving, it seems like forever. (Had to put it in four wheel
drive in a couple of places). Good to see my hunting buddies
whom I have not seen all year, although we're minus one guy because
of some sort of a felony conviction. Speculation abounds.
8:45 p.m.: Unpack gear from
the truck. Clothing, guns, ammo, booze, groceries, booze, boots,
camp slippers, booze, cribbage board, cards, booze, radio, lots
o' TP, hunting paraphernalia, more booze. For obvious reasons,
leave the blow-up doll in the truck 'til necessary.
9:00 p.m.: Have ceremonial
good luck toast for a good week of hunting.
9:01 p.m.: Take off coat and
get comfortable.
9:02 p.m.: Have a ceremonial
toast to old friends and some homemade five-alarm chili Pukey
has heated up.
9:03 p.m.: Check the bait-err-apples
underneath the maple-err- apple tree not far from the west side
window, to see if any deer were coming to eat the salt lick-err-apples.
Of course, we would never ever think about shooting these magnificent
animals from inside the cabin, -out the window, -where you could
rest the gun nice and steady on the sill, -at night, -when their
eyes shine up nice and bright in the light, - when they don't
expect it,-especially the little ones which are the best eating.
Never...ever...
9:15 p.m.: Cribbage game is
going hot & heavy and so is the J.B., J.D.,J.W.B.,
J.W.R., as well as other various spirits that are getting harder
to pronounce, let alone spell. No problem with libation however.
Jose can you see, well, not really.
10:00 p.m.: Havin' somemoah
toastaammoniaals to, ah, I can't remember. Any excuse for another
tip o' the elbow tho.
10:02 p.m.: Pukey staggers
outside to relieve himself and promptly stumbles back into camp
and declares in a slurred whisper that he sees a deer: "It's
under the apple tree!" he exclaims. He picks up his gun
- good idea to let a totally inebriated person have a loaded
firearm, isn't it? - and moves over to the window. THERE'S A
BIG LOUD BANG AS PUKEY SHOOTS! ANOTHER LOUD BANG AS HE SHOOTS
AGAIN! This time after the second shot he yells out: "EYESSINCKEYEGUTTEM!!"
(It is curious to see how one's speech turns into a different
language when aided by lahge amounts of alcohol).. Confident
in the fact that Pukey killed what he was shooting at, we all
toast to his good luck again with another shot of anything we
want to have goddammit!
We all retire to our bedding and pass out with smiles on our
faces, dreaming about finding a big, huge, very still buck under
the tree when we come out of our coma in the morning...
CAMP: FIRST FULL DAY
8:00 a.m.: I wake up to the sound of a truck backing up,
and when did the lumberyard move in next door? Obviously they're
getting way too early of a start on the day. Got to make a mental
(ouch!) note to complain to the management.
8:01 a.m.: Someone is hitting
me in the head with a hammer, and a spider has built a nest in
my mouth. Maybe the person hitting me in the head is looking
for the spider. The guy in the truck is still backing up. Why
doesn't he stop! And it's just my luck that they're cutting knotty
hardwood in the lumberyard.
8:10 a.m.: Decide all this
is a bad dream, including the ever more conspicuous four-hour-old
scotch/beer/vodka/Vinny's homemade wine/anything wet, that seems
to be pickin' up speed through the cavities of my head. That
damn saw has got to go! At least change that dull blade. Drift
off back to sleep, (or pass back out, if you're a stickler for
details).
10:35 a.m.: Wake up to the
call of nature. The truck is gone, thank God!! Last seen it was
headed out of town in the same direction as the airborne boot
I let fly toward the alarm clock. They musta left together. As
I hoist up and look around the room, I notice something else.
Someone has put saran wrap over my eyes! Can't see a damn thing.
I try and focus on the thermometer. O.K., at least something's
going right. The temperature is a nice 40 degrees, while the
wind speed is calm at zero. I go outside to pee.
10:36 a.m.: Decide it's a good
idea to come back in out of the snow and put something on my
feet. It seems that I had the temperature and wind mixed up.
The temp is 0 and the wind is 40! My cabin associates don't know
it, but they're cutting about twenty cord of wood an hour. At
least we'll have plenty of fuel for the stove.
10:38 a.m.: After experimenting
outside with how body fluids can freeze to a leg, I decide to
see if there is a cold spot inside of my sleeping bag that I
could have missed, coincidentally seeing if I can get some more
shuteye. This decision has nothing to do with the fact that the
first one up here at camp has got to start the fire, go for water,
and make breakfast. Of course I will sleep with one eye open
to see if anyone else wakes up to conduct the same experiments
outside that I did.
11:10 a.m.: We all collectively
wake up (for good) to a heavy fog hanging in the cabin, and the
smell of low tide. Since we are nowhere near the ocean, I determine
this effect comes from all of us individually interpreting the
effects of last night's chili. It seems strange why a bunch of
heterosexual men, alone at camp together, would feel a need to
be wearing crotchless underwear. Funny, I don't remember them
being crotchless last night...
It was awfully good chili......
Anyway, as the thought processes came roiling back, we remember
that when we last functioned the night before, Pukey had shot
at some eyes and had extinguished them with two shots.
11:15 a.m.: The whole camp
spills out to go look at the trophy that Pukey nailed the night
before. As we walk up to the object that Pukey 'kilt' Mickey
Clark remarks: "I want to see how Pukey's gonna manage to
gut out that thing".
It seems that Pukey had seen the reflectors on the front of his
4-wheel drive pick-up truck shining in the light he shone and
mistook them for deer eyes.
Pretty good shots really. Had to order a new radiator and air
cleaner before he could get it running again. I think he's still
up there waiting. Thanksgiving in camp, dining on parking lights.
I sure hope his wife is understanding.
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