Like any hunt, deer camp memories last a lifetime

In New York it is not legal for kids younger than specific, designated ages to hunt, which I find unfortunate.

It doesn’t matter what the quarry might be, or whether its small game or big game, if the child is not old enough by state law, they can’t legally go hunting.

I was born and raised in Maryland, and there were no such age restrictions during my childhood. I began my small game hunting (mostly squirrels) before my 10^th birthday. But, while I still have memories of my first rabbit, squirrel and duck, it is my time spent in “deer camp” that brings back the best memories.

Mistaken identity takes a good turn

I believe it was on my very first deer hunt with a group of adult male friends when this story happened. And believe me, every word is true.

We were bow-hunting near Paw Paw, West Virginia. We arrived on Friday in the late afternoon, whipped up some dinner, and then all four of those guys went off to celebrate at the local watering hole, leaving me to mind the camp.

They arrived back sometime early the next morning, and managed to wake me in the process. Then, as they all went to sleep, each guy began his own version of how to snore the loudest. I could only lay there staring at the tent’s ceiling, much too excited to go back to sleep.

So I got up, grabbed my Bear magnum bow, and headed out to my stand.

I’m not exactly sure what time that was, but I do remember it was at least three hours before the eastern sky began to brighten. Full daylight found me 30 feet up in an apple tree, sitting on a bicycle seat “stand” the guys had rigged up the year before, swaying in the cool breeze and shivering my butt off.

Then that stupid six-point buck had to wander by, passing directly under where I was sitting. To say I was excited at that point would be an understatement. As I tried to nock an arrow on my string, I suddenly realized the bow in my hand was not mine. In the darkness I had grabbed Bobby Kurtz’s bow, another Bear Kodiak Magnum just like my own, by mistake.

Now Bobby was a big guy. Big and strong. His bow had a draw weight of 60 pounds, while mine was a mere 45 pounder.

Still, with my Dad’s wisdom of “any port in a storm” running through my brain, I nocked an arrow and waited for the buck to move out far enough from the tree so I would have a clear shot. When he did, I reared back on that bow and let that arrow rip.

Three hours later those lads began wandering out of the tent. They sure looked like a sorry pack of hunters to me, and the aspirin supply in that camp took a severe hit that morning.

Since I was on my third cup of really good coffee, I just sat there and smiled at their groaning and their blank-staring faces.

Then one of them happened to glance at the meat pole, and noticed a nice (and completely field-dressed) six-point buck hanging there. And the questions started coming rapid fire, too.

Well, it seems they never really meant for me to hunt from that stand. It was just meant to be a practical joke they put up for me or any other “rookie” they might bring along.

And when Bobby discovered one of his arrows was missing and all of mine were accounted for, he tried to con me into giving him half that buck plus the rack, but I drove a hard bargain and kept the antlers plus some of the meat, splitting the rest with all of them.

You see, that was the only deer any of us saw on that entire trip.

A cold, wet prank

I was fortunate enough to spend a number of days in deer camps with those four guys. And I also managed to get even with them for that joke stand. I remember one time when everyone was in his bedroll, snoring so loud there was no way I was ever going to get to sleep.

So I got up and did what any self-respecting young hunter would do. I unloaded all of their guns, and hid the shells.

Oh, you should have heard the yelling for that one. It seems every one of them saw a deer and heard a “click” when they wanted to hear a “bang.” Yeah, I ended up in a very cold creek for that stunt.

Hide and seek

And one time when we were deer hunting on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, I happened to come across Art Link, another of my companions. He was sound asleep under an oak tree. So I carefully lifted his bow and took it back to camp.

Hey, I didn’t want some local ne'er-do-well to take advantage of my hibernating friend and walk off with his bow, did I? So I hid it near camp and went back out hunting. Almost magically it turned up the next morning.

Have you ever come awake with a live and very slimy American eel in your sleeping bag? Bobby Walker did once, but only once. And Bobby Kurtz found himself sleeping with a smallmouth bass, but it was only a small one.

Earnie Boggs went to get into his sleeping bag one night when he felt something furry inside. To say he got out of that bag and out of that tent in record time would be an understatement, but it turned out to be a coonskin cap I had misplaced the previous day.

I found out Earnie didn’t have much of a sense of humor when it came to furry things inside sleeping bags. Yep, I ended up in that same dad-burned creek for that one, too.

Len Lisenbee is the Daily Messenger’s Outdoor Columnist. Contact him at lisenbee@frontiernet.net

This article originally appeared on MPNnow: Like any hunt, deer camp memories last a lifetime