Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Deer Hunting Diary of a deer camp

Shirt tails were never "harvested" at our camp, but that's a tradition that's well known. The guys in the camp next to us had an old codger who couldn't get around in the woods any more, and he was the bull cook. If you knew what was good for you, you NEVER said a bad word about Bernie's cooking. You'd likely return that night to find all your clothes out in the mud. Bernie shot several deer right off the porch with an old 30-40 Krag that was the official camp gun. I know of at least 5 different guys that shot deer with that old gun when theirs was forgotten at home, broke, or the ammo had been forgotten. The stock was held together with duct tape, but it still could hit a deer out to about 75 yards with deadly regularity.

Another entry from our book: Dec. 7th-12th, 1982.


My self, Howard and Dennis McQ. up for remainder of gun season. I took a spike on Tues. 4:30 p.m. in Finley Hollow. (my 1st) Didn't get snow until Friday night. Not too many deer. Cut some firewood and roughed out a trail into back of lot to get out some more wood. Pulled out Sunday 10:00 a.m.
J. Grubb

Sadly, this was Dad's last trip to camp. He died the next spring. I was very lucky to get to share that last hunt with him. He was very proud of me for taking that 1st deer. 10 years of missed shots and missed opportunities led up to that moment, and it was by far the best single event we shared together. Every fall, as I get ready to hunt, I can't help but think back to how much this meant to Dad. He is still heavily missed. His spot up above camp where he spent so many hours on stand, and shot so many deer over the years is hallowed ground. I haven't been up there in well over 15 years. It just hurts too much to return. At one time, there were 27 hash marks on the old beech beech tree dad used to sit against up there. Two of those I had added after Dad passed, but I just can't go there any more. The old hillbilly that keeps an eye on our camp for us goes up there, and has added several hash marks of his own, as well as a few others from other hunters that know a good spot when they see it. When ever I hear a shot from over that way, about a quarter mile from where I often hunt, I know the old man must be up there smiling.

Thanks for sharing a great memory.
The days of slogging up to camp are long gone for our crew. Everyone scattered for careers, lives, or passed on. No electricity, Coleman lanterns, spring outside, and a privy were the norm. All of it more fun than we new at the time.

Made few outings to the Rauchtown Inn near Jersey Shore over the years, even had to take the wheel to drive a few members back to camp in my 'early' driving years after getting 'needed supplies' during the week.

Many great meals by my grandfather, uncles and dad. Many days walking the woods, shooting 22's at bottle caps on the backstop, walking with my dad, and fishing for Brooke's in the 'crick'.

Dirt roads, tram roads long since idle on the mountains, stories of past hunts, and time slowing down when you were there.

Great memories.

Our buddies in the camp next to us always brought up porn flicks. The old hillbilly that we all knew from up there would come over for an evening visit, park in front of the TV and just stare at the "training films." I'm certain this was as close to a women as old Bob ever got. We had a female game warden up there back then, and we always used to razz Bob about his girlfriend, the warden.