‘I long for my camp, my whiskey, and my chance to let the farting bird dogs out to take a dump.? ? P.J. O’Rourke
As I sit here and write this column, my mind is already somewhere else.
It’s sipping a Scotch and smoking a pipe while relaxing by a roaring fire in a rustic log cabin with no electricity and no running water.
It’s quietly sitting in a blind on a cold, clear morning, anxiously waiting for a big buck to come into view.
It’s talking, laughing and solving the world’s problems with friends that are typically only seen once a year.
It’s sleeping better and deeper than the rest of the year.
Once again, it’s time to head north for deer camp, a true Michigan tradition.
Though I already have some fresh venison in my freezer thanks to my crossbow, I’m still excited about the opening of firearm season. There’s something magical about the whole experience.
Deer camp is a chance to leave behind all the headaches, stress, worries and annoying people ? you know who you are ? that make up our everyday lives and play in the peaceful woods, far from city lights and prying eyes.
Deer camp makes old men feel like young men, young men feel like boys and boys feel like men.
It calms the mind, nourishes the soul and makes you feel human again.
It reconnects us with that primal side that modern man has tried so hard to bury with technology, convenience and monotony. It’s the side that kills when it’s hungry because man is, at heart, a predator that stands at the top of the food chain.
There’s nothing quite like the adrenaline rush when a deer comes into view.
Your breathing becomes heavier. Your heart pounds harder. Every sense is heightened and suddenly, you’re aware of everything.
Unlike all those other days when you’re simply going through the motions, you’re now totally in the moment. It’s all on you and you feel completely alive as you exhale and squeeze that trigger.
There’s nothing else like it.
Very soon, this issue of the paper will be done and I’ll be on my way.
Each year when I walk into the cabin for the first time, I expect to see myself already sitting by the fire because part of me, thankfully, never really leaves that wonderful place. Can you blame me?