Firearms deer season opens Tuesday and hundreds of thousands of hopeful hunters will depart to all corners of Michigan in search of the elusive whitetail. Some will travel hundreds of miles, and some will remain close to home. But, all will be making memories that last long after the season ends. Looking back over four decades of deer hunting, here are some recollections of hunts past.
It was 1974 in Gladwin County on state land that my first encounter with a Michigan buck materialized. On a lunch break at our tent camp, a nearby shot rang out and rushing to the dirt road for a look-see, I caught a glimpse of the hind end of a deer rushing away into heavy cover. My brother in-law said it was a buck and that’s all I needed to know.
I took up a position with a narrow opening in the low ground just hoping dumb luck would bring the antlered trophy past me. It worked. After downing the prize, another hunter, who had taken the shot heard at camp, attempted to claim it as his own. The matter was settled with a coin flip. The stranger left disappointed, while I field dressed my first buck.
Then there were the trips to Iron County in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. I’ll always remember the record-book buck I took in 1986 in the snowy forest that season, but it is visions of harsh winter weather in 1990 that sticks with me, as well. Opening day began with heavy, wet snow clinging to the trees and temperatures in the 30s. But, the wintry setting turned bitter the following day with temperatures in single digits amid howling winds. When our pickup camper’s heater malfunctioned and had to be shut down, everything froze inside, including my hunting partner, Frank and I. The hunt went on, nonetheless.
On yet another hunt to the land of Yoopers, my friend, Doug and I reached our usual camp site in commercial forest land, only to find it was already occupied by other hunters. We searched the area for another location that would accommodate my pickup camper and settled on an area on the opposite side of the Net River, which was foreign to us. However, with a bit of ingenuity, we located a rather shallow stretch of the river that allowed us to tie a rope across the frigid, moving water. Our invention allowed us to cross the river safely and directly into an area of thick conifers that put us into some prime deer country. Doug and I were fortunate enough to take bucks home with us as a result.
Also, on the same trip we came across two other hunters who had a camp along the river and were invited back for dinner with the father and son duo. We enjoyed spaghetti, venison, and Italian red wine, but most of all the engaging tales of our new acquaintances from Iron Mountain.
So, here’s hoping your adventures will be safe this season and that they will become your personal “good ol’ days” to be retold for years to come.
