Our all time best deer camp story envolved my dad, and it happened before I was even born, but the legend lives on. Our guys always had a friendly rivalry with the guys in the camp next door. It was all over bragging rights for which camp would be first to get a deer hanging on the game poll on the first morning. Dad was hunting up above camp on the mountain, and shot a buck at about 7:30 the first morning. Just before he shot, he heard a shot from the next hollow over, and he knew who fired it-one of the guys from the camp next door. Dad did a quick gutting job and headed down the mountain, determined to get his buck up on the pole first. He looked off to his right and saw the guy from the camp next door, dragging hard, and headed for the game pole, and slightly ahead of Dad. Dad was determined to get there first at all costs, so he pointed the deer head first down the hill, sat on it's rib cage, lifted the head and rode it down the hill like a sled, somehow not hitting a single tree on the way down the hill. He had just tied off his rope on the game pole when the neighbor came chugging in with his deer. Ever after, the tale of Dad riding that buck down the hill has been legend around there. Guys still stop by camp and bring that story up to this day. Sadly, Dad, the rest of our orginal members, and the neighbors next door have all passed on, but we still hunt to honor their memories. Miss you Dad. We'll hunt together again soon.
