DOWN MEMORY LANE
No deer camp this year but recently I took a nostalgic day trip to enjoy what we used to call an Indian summer. According to Wikipedia, an Indian summer is a period of unseasonably warm, dry weather that sometimes occurs in autumn in temperate regions of the northern hemisphere during September to November.
It was a glorious day reminding me of the first week of the deer season a few years ago when camp members donned their shorts and T-shirts for cooling comfort. Then, during the second week, winter descended as if someone had turned the page and temperatures dipped to -20C.
I had made plans to meet with the camp’s head kahuna to spend the day afield while practicing safe social distancing. When I arrived Jim had a fire burning in the camp stove and the atmosphere was reminiscent of our camp – minus the players. But our mind’s eye has a way of reliving the good times and I could see the members moving about, planning their day and generally socializing. After many years the memories have been burned into my grey matter.
At 6 a.m. it had been a balmy 1C whereas the day before that same temperature had been biting and frigid. Driving to camp I watched the temperature increase on my dashboard thermometer as it ushered in a bluebird day with nary a cloud to dot the skies.
Jim and I spent the day far apart, he hunting towards the east, me towards the west. If required we could communicate by radio.
One can only speculate as to where the time went. The most either of us saw were little Dickie birds flitting throughout the fields, forests and meadows but that mattered not for we were basking in the quietude of the outdoors and its wonderful healing powers.
On the way into the bush I came upon an area that had been ravaged by some loose pigs that had escaped from a nearby farm. It’s incredible the damage just a few pigs can inflict on the land. Made me think that the next time I need to plow up a garden to rent a pig or two and forget the tiller experience. By the way, the pigs were recovered and are back at the farm.
It was strange to be travelling the backwoods, seeing flashbacks of friends long associated with the experience but then 2020 has been that kind of year. It was good to escape the insanity of the news world understandably focused south of the border and listening to the breeze as it wafted through the bush. I spent some time in Chef Jim’s tree stand, the one where a moose had wandered beneath him totally unaware of his presence. Of course, Jim had forgotten to take out his camera he was so absorbed. Who would be any different?
There was a respectable dump of bear scat at the base of the ladder to the stand which made me wonder what message was being left?
Before we knew it 5 p.m. had arrived and Jim pulled up to my blind for some end of the day conversation after which we headed back to the camp and I headed for home. We didn’t even share a coffee.
At farmer Layne’s hairpin corner, as I slowed, I came upon eight does grazing during the twilight in the adjoining fields watching me, non-plussed at my interruption. Then as I approached the L’Amable Lake causeway a handsome doe materialized out of the dark, jumped the guardrail and landed in the middle of my lane. Fortunately she kept on skidding, running and luckily no vehicle was in the oncoming lane so I was able to successfully maneuver around her.
By the end of the day I had seen ten does and to my knowledge none of us were the worse for wear.