THE COVID-19 DEER HUNT
Or, the hunt that was not to be.
The Corona virus Disease of 2019. Who could have foretold? Apparently many.
A recent Times question regarding how the virus would impact hunting generally was that ‘it wouldn’t’. Well, as a member of an old farts’ deer camp I am here to say otherwise for our deer camp has been cancelled. For some that represents an end to half a century of deer hunting. Prematurely for all.
Our camp members have a variety of medical ailments that would keep any hospital staff on its toes. Our eldest member, in his youth, was a stand in goal tender during the days when Dick Irvin coached the Montreal Canadians and they held their pre-season training camp at Copper Cliff. Although we may be older and slower by some standards we have taken the story of the tortoise and the hare to heart by outwitting the crafty deer from tree stands, ground blinds, by drives, sans dogs, or quietly stalking through the woodlands. With considerable success.
Three of the camp have already divested themselves of their four wheelers. Social distancing would be contrary to the camp experience which is much more than simply deer hunting and adding fresh venison to the freezer.
Once a year members gather from Sault St. Marie, Sudbury, Barrie, North Bay, Midland, Hamilton and Toronto to catch up on life’s experiences. The camp cook, better yet, chef, returns from his stand daily about three o’clock to carry out the finishing touches to a gourmet meal started the night before which varies to include pot roast, steak, a capon, fresh salads and topped off with homemade pies. Chef Jim’s eggs Benedict are a feature to start any day which is announced when the coffee perk starts up at 5:30 a.m.
We are admonished, before retiring, not to add another log to the airtight, our sole heat source, for fear of overheating the camp – even at -20C.
I’ll miss seeing where Gary from the Sault travelled on any given day as he downloads his GPS on his laptop. That’s how I found the ‘holes in the rock’ that came up to Gary’s hips as he descended into one. Mythology aside, it appears that flowing waters eddied in that area creating such holes; perhaps when the dinos walked this earth.
On November 11 I always have a short personal service at the poppy tree where annually I place a poppy in Remembrance of my grands for WW1, my father and uncles for WW2 and my sons for Afghanistan and the Middle East. I’m, as it turns out, the missing link for when I graduated university I went to sign up and all they wanted were bandsmen. My grade 9 music teacher could only laugh at that.
And so, for 2020, the deer will have a deserved break but the camp owner will continue to oversee them and keep us up-to-date as to their well being. My doe tag aside; I can look forward, optimistically, to 2021. In the meanwhile, we will be practicing our social distancing from both friends and fauna.