ACP230
Member
I should have paid more attention to the way Thanksgiving used to be
here. Being young, of course, I was too busy hunting, and eating
to think about things very well.
Thanksgiving in the U.P. is the last big event in gun deer season.
Dad, my brother, Jon, and I hunted together then. We'd get up early,
grab the lunch my mother had packed, and drive 20 miles to where
dad had permission for us to hunt.
The farm had fields, planted pines, and a network of logging roads.
A bush road just beyond it had a sign in a tree, "Welcome Hunters."
We worked that area too. Dad used to get his back up against
the trees on the edge of an old field and watch it. Jon and I didn't
have dad's patience. We'd go up to the hardwoods and wander around.
We got good enough at it, after a while, to call it still hunting.
Jon used to like to get on a fresh track and trail a deer. He almost
caught up to a seven point, one season, but slipped on a little hill and
made enough noise sliding down it that it spooked. He found out it
was a seven point because the guy he spooked it into shot it.
I had a similar experience involving a gully no one took any notice of
a bedded buck and a beaver pond between us. I stepped wrong,
broke through the edge ice and spooked the buck. Also got to the old Rambler wagon we had then with a wet right foot.
We got the wagon stuck a few times, after snow piled in around it all
day while we hunted. Jon and I would shovel around the wheels, and push while dad drove. Once, after a particularly rough day, Jon and I had to push the Dodge Coronet, we were using then, a long way up a steep,
snow-choked hill, before dad got traction and left us there.
The walk to the flat spot where dad stopped and waited for us
was the longest of the whole day. (And we used to cover a lot of
ground then.)
At home, we'd warm up in the sauna, and then have a big Thanksgiving
Dinner. Sometimes we'd clean up quickly and go over to my
great uncle and aunt's house. Mom would bring some food and
my aunt would make cabbage rolls. I have never had better ones.
The next morning we'd get up and do it all over again. Unless dad
slept in. Then we'd go out and hunt the afternoon. There weren't a
lot of deer but we always saw some. None of us ever got one there
but the hunts were still some of the best I was ever on, because of who
I hunted with.
Now, dad is gone and my brother lives thousands of miles away.
I am pretty marginal as a deer hunter these days. In fact, I'm taking this
year off due to the amount of snow that got dumped on us this November.
Should have paid more attention back in the day.
here. Being young, of course, I was too busy hunting, and eating
to think about things very well.
Thanksgiving in the U.P. is the last big event in gun deer season.
Dad, my brother, Jon, and I hunted together then. We'd get up early,
grab the lunch my mother had packed, and drive 20 miles to where
dad had permission for us to hunt.
The farm had fields, planted pines, and a network of logging roads.
A bush road just beyond it had a sign in a tree, "Welcome Hunters."
We worked that area too. Dad used to get his back up against
the trees on the edge of an old field and watch it. Jon and I didn't
have dad's patience. We'd go up to the hardwoods and wander around.
We got good enough at it, after a while, to call it still hunting.
Jon used to like to get on a fresh track and trail a deer. He almost
caught up to a seven point, one season, but slipped on a little hill and
made enough noise sliding down it that it spooked. He found out it
was a seven point because the guy he spooked it into shot it.
I had a similar experience involving a gully no one took any notice of
a bedded buck and a beaver pond between us. I stepped wrong,
broke through the edge ice and spooked the buck. Also got to the old Rambler wagon we had then with a wet right foot.
We got the wagon stuck a few times, after snow piled in around it all
day while we hunted. Jon and I would shovel around the wheels, and push while dad drove. Once, after a particularly rough day, Jon and I had to push the Dodge Coronet, we were using then, a long way up a steep,
snow-choked hill, before dad got traction and left us there.
The walk to the flat spot where dad stopped and waited for us
was the longest of the whole day. (And we used to cover a lot of
ground then.)
At home, we'd warm up in the sauna, and then have a big Thanksgiving
Dinner. Sometimes we'd clean up quickly and go over to my
great uncle and aunt's house. Mom would bring some food and
my aunt would make cabbage rolls. I have never had better ones.
The next morning we'd get up and do it all over again. Unless dad
slept in. Then we'd go out and hunt the afternoon. There weren't a
lot of deer but we always saw some. None of us ever got one there
but the hunts were still some of the best I was ever on, because of who
I hunted with.
Now, dad is gone and my brother lives thousands of miles away.
I am pretty marginal as a deer hunter these days. In fact, I'm taking this
year off due to the amount of snow that got dumped on us this November.
Should have paid more attention back in the day.
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