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

That would be it. The camp I went to was off Cooks Run. A little past Sinnamahoning you made a left and went up Montour Rd, then ran the top and then dropped off and down onto Cooks Run.

Just happened to look over this thread.. Great reading.. Haven't had the chance to read all of it yet, but will do soon..
Ah! The Willows!! Was just in that placed in the last 10 mth.. Ask about an old fishing buddy there.. He is still alive, but doesn't spend much time in the Endless Mountains any more.. I suppose the first time I was in the Willows was considerably more than 50 years ago.. Also the old Keating Hotel.. Long gone now due to fire..
My Grandfather took the train to beyond Karthus with his hunting crew.. They were dropped off at Yost Run and picked up by a mountaineer and taken across the river for 2 weeks bear and deer hunting.. Later they had a mobile camp, and drove down the ridge on Yost Run and hunted there..
Many memories... Enjoyable reading..

Battue-I went to a friend's camp up above Sinnemahoning. Do you know that area? It was a long time ago, and I can't remember the name of his camp, but there was one by them called The Flying Dutchmen. They went up a road that climbed the mountain they were on and were near one of the many gas lines through that area. 'Wish I could remember exactly where up there. I turkey hunted and ML hunted once with 'em up there. A good bunch of guys.

Been awhile, but I think we passed the "Flying Dutchmen" on the way up on the flats where Montour runs kinda level. There is a gas line on the left side of Montour up on top that eventually shoots diagonally away from the road. Back then calling it a road was being generous.

Deer are down up there, but the Turkey hunting is good and the Grouse supposedly are rebounding. Mean to check it out this fall and will findout from a couple of the members if they are familiar with that camp.

Of course the "Flying Dutchmen" is a common camp name in Pa. Much like "Twin Pines".

That sounds exactly like the area his camp was in. If memory serves me right, there was a little cluster of camps up in a "flats" area on top of the mountain. Sure sounds like the spot. Once again, if I remember right, we took a road that climbed out out of the bottom along a stream to the top of the hill where those cabins sat, and the pipeline was off to the left.

Gonna head up to the old ranch this morning to spend an evening with my old friend. Mebbe even visit the spot where I killed my first deer. If I can find it. Almost 45 years of cedar growth has really changed the lay of the land.

Stay in the old ranch house and swap stories of all the adventures of our youth. Might even rustle up a hog or two with the new model 64.

Back in the late 70s I received an old single shot 22 from a Potter Co. uncle, that my dad had given him in '41 when pop went in the Army. Knew that uncle had the rifle, but he never found it until he retired and they sold their house, moved to another place.

Thing looks like it led a hard life. Nothing but patina on the metal and the stock has several chunks gone from it, but with some repairs and TLC, it shoots just fine.

When I got it the rear sight was bent flat onto the barrel, so I asked unc HTH that had happened. Said that rifle was his "meat getter" during WWII (and I suspect, long after that). Recollected he had to throw it over a bank one night in the middle of nowhere, when a dep. game warden pulled in behind him.

IIRC, the old devil said it had taken him many weeks before he found the rifle in the brush. Long rumored in our clan that this particular uncle had been a dedicated deer poacher most of his life, but he never killed any more than they needed to eat, back in his younger days.

His son used to claim he'd never eaten beef until he'd graduated high school, left home and got married.

I got to hunt deer with that uncle many times after he retired and I went up to camp. He used to tell yarns about other family members and hunting companions from back in the old days and everyone but him did the "funny stuff" when it came to taking deer out of season, or doe in buck season.

Another uncle once told me that most of those deer camp yarns were autobiographical. I said yep, figured that part out long ago. ;o)

my dad and his dad and brothers built my place in early 60's. 16x24 shack that has slowly evolved into a snug little cabin. no one thought to do a journal in the early days. i started one in the early 90's with just my hunting exploits. about 8 years ago i started a detailed journal. food eaten, fish caught, game taken, weather, etc. i do it for my kids mostly. someday i hope they flip through it and remember all the good times we've had there. i do most of the entries after a few (many) brews so some of the writing is a little lopsided.

Another entry from the book:

December 9th, 1966

Arrived Friday evening of the 9th for last day of buck and doe season. Shot doe back at Finley Hollow at 11 a.m. on Tuesday the 13th with the 11th shot of the day. Tues. is the thirteenth and the doe was the thirteenth deer seen. Left camp in the afternoon. The fellow in the Dailey camp hit a deer with his car last night.

Bert

Bert, like my dad was a carpenter. Not one of the marksmen of our group, but he seemed to get his fair share of deer. Finley Hollow lies right behind our camp and is a very good hunting spot. I've taken a lot of deer back there, including my first. The Dailey camp sits down at the bottom of the hill near us. If our guys shot a deer down low on the hill, they'd drag it into their camp and walk up the road to ours to get a vehicle to go get the deer. It just was much easier than dragging the deer up half the mountain to get to our camp. Personally, I did most of my hunting above the camp, though many of our guys liked hunting the thick pines down along the bottom by Dailey's.

Card games with the neighbors were always a highlight of deer season. The Stitt boys in Camp Bozo always had a game going. Many a night was spent at the table, next to the fireplace playing nickle-dime-quarter games. The Steelers always seemed to be televised every year up there, and if they happened to be playing Cleveland that weekend,nobody missed the game.

Man, did we eat good back in those days too. Homemade venison sausages, steaks, you name it, we had it. There was always a case of Iron City or I.C. Light opened, and a bottle or two of whiskey making the rounds.

One constant, was always the camaraderie that comes from getting together once or twice a year with good friends. Sadly, Camp Bozo has been sold now, and our camp is down to just me and my brother, and fading fast. The Old Guard, as we like to call the original members of our camp, and the Bozo boys have all climbed the hill for the last time.

Well there's a "name" I hadn't heard in years: Iron City beer.

Maybe 30 years ago a tenant gave me two cases of IC left over from a "moving in" party. IIRC, took me six months to finally give the last of it away?



Great stories, enjoying the hell out of reading them.

I've drank a bunch of Iron City always thought it was pretty good back inthe 60's trhen it just kind of disappeared locally. I have seen IC Light but never tried it. I can remember dad drinking Burger too. It was pretty good til the middle 70's and seemed to kind of go down in quality. Heck in the 60's we named our out of the way party spot Burger Rock. Thanks for the memories
Bill

Carling's Black Label, Genesee Cream Ale, Duquense, a few more choice beverages from day's of yore.

How many bars sold a Bucket of Rocks? Small pail of crushed ice with Rolling Rock pony bottles.

When I guzzled beer, it was usually Schlitz, Miller HL, or some PBRs. Then I started drinkin' Miller Lite and everything went straight to hail.

Back from my trip to the old hunting field. The place has really changed a bunch in the past 40 years. Found the location of the old log/ board and bat cabin we built when we were in hi-school, 1973. This is all that's left.



Went down on the creek and was thankful these old giant cypress trees have survived 3 years of drought. Actually the whole creek bottom was green. Jumped 3 pigs down there. Tried to shoot thru the thick cedars but just. Odnt get then 30-30 bullets to connect.




Was a good visit! Last evening was nice and the whippoorwills sang us to sleep

Few more;





Pics don't do these old trees justice! They are gorgeous.

DubePA,

Rolling Rock Pony bottles. 7 ounces if I remember correctly.

My first taste of beer was a RR pony on my great-uncle's houseboat when I was about 10 years old. I talked him into taking me fishing with him that day. In my haste to get my rods and tackle box from my Grandpa's nearby house I didn't grab any snacks or soda. After a couple hours I was hungry and thirsty. I asked Uncle John if he had any soda or snacks. In his gruff, Camel cigarette-gravelly voice he told me there was a sack of peaches in the cooler and some Rolling Rock beer in there also. If that didn't suit me I out of luck.

Well, I was hungry and the peaches were as juicy and sweet as only fresh-picked peaches can be. I tried to subsist on ice cubes for a while but finally gave in and tried a pony bottle of Rolling Rock. It was cold, although I remember not as sweet as Moxie, my favorite soda back then. Anyway, evidently I drank more than one because I ended up falling asleep in the cabin of the houseboat and not waking up until later that evening at Grandpa's house. Come to find out, according to Grandpa, Uncle John said I drank 4 pony bottles of Rolling Rock before "hitting the sack" as it were. He carried me up the bank from the Susquehanna River and into the house and I never awoke or came to, whichever best explains my condition. Years later Uncle John told me I made it deeper into his stash of RR than his 3 sons had on their first dips into the cooler on his boat. Evidently I had passed some strange "rite of passage" in Uncle John's world.

Still order a Rolling Rock on occasion just for remembrance of a gruff, no nonsense, suck it up old man who always seemed to have room in his boat for a kid who always wanted to go fishing. Without ever explaining it to me, he taught me the responsibility of sharing the outdoors with the youngsters who thirst for that experience. There will always be room in my boat or camp for a youngster.

Sorry for the long story. I had just wanted to mention the intro to Rolling Rock but the story just seemed to unfold in my mind as I typed. I think I'm officially an "Old Fart" now.

Ron

Good story. Even if they'd have thrown the book at gramps these days. ;O)

My dad and grandpap used to let me have a little jigger of beer when I was a kid, but got my first buzz when I was around 12 or 13.

Friends of my parents invited us down for supper. The ol' boy had come here from Italy prior to WWI as a kid, served in the US Army during that war, fetched him back a French war bride afterwards. Those two always argued over who was the better cook, but either could put together a first class meal.

He quit hunting in his 60s, but always liked some venison or other game, if we coughed any up in his direction. He could make a tasty meal out of anything.

That night it was Italian cuisine and Tony insisted I have a small glass of wine. Dad thought the glass was too big, Tony insisted I was a big boy and could handle it.

Whoo whee! Got most of it down and the room began to move a bit, but I held my own and survived it. Thought I was pretty cool. Mom said I fell asleep in the back of the car about 15 minutes after we left and they had a helluva time waking me up when we got home.

Great story!!!! Uncle George did much the same with me in his little camp up in forest county.

12 years old and wrapped up the season with uncle Herman and Dad. Back at Uncs house he asked how many Rabbits I shot that year and I replied none. He said let's go, that won't do. He had a Cadillac with a set of steer horns on the hood. It was dark and out threw his field we went. Me straddling the horns with the shotgun unloaded and two shells in my hands. Him driving and Dad working the spotlight. Eventually a Rabbit was seen and the deed was done.

Battue,

I never heard of jack lighting rabbits before your story. That beats it all.

My Grandpa was born in 1900. He lived thru the depression, but even before that there was little money available. He told me stories of making carbide "depth charges" to stun suckers in Middle Creek during the spawning runs. He and his brothers would bring home baskets of suckers, clean them and then their mother would poach and debone the meat, can it and use it to make fish cakes throughout the year.

He never bought into the season/bag limits for fish or game because he was raised to seize the opportunity and take advantage of whatever was available. Bass in May, walleyes in March while fishing for bullheads, extra rabbits or pheasants when available, he took advantage of the situation. Wasn't right but I understand because he would remind me, when I complained about a meal, that when he was a kid he was often glad to have anything to eat, much less a favorite meal. I don't think those were "2 miles to school, uphill both ways" stories either. I believe he lived them.

Ron