It is always a bit of thrill getting to deer camp the night before The Opener. The preparations have usually been going on since August. The tree stand skirts are hung in September. Sure, we hunted a little in September and October, but mostly that ends up being armed scouting. What we are all really dreaming about is the odd big rack that appears out of the bottoms and comes up on our ridge starting about Halloween. Everyone wants to save their tag for that.

Even with Dad passing away this year, the slow relentless march towards the Opener kept on. In between trips to the hospital I ran loads of laundry and packed gear and such just to keep my mind off what was happening. I went down this past weekend and did a lot fo the things that had been left undone. SuperCore came out and we did some scouting together. I talked about Dad a lot. SuperCore listened a lot.

We now have 10 years under our belts here at camp. Ten years ago, it was just after 9/11. I was still fighting with the Ex over visitation. Mooseboy and Junior were not present. KYHillChick had come down with pneumonia in October. She was doing a lot better, but still needed to stay home and rest with Angus, who was only 3. I made the trip down alone and stayed in the house that had just been re-plumbed and re-wired the week before. The outside water pipe was still not buried and it froze overnight. I had to run the woodstove constantly to keep the place bearable and I slept on the pile of plywood and sheetrock that had been delivered and left where the dining room table now sits, because it was in front of the stove and the dining room was the only place in the house where you didn’t see your breath.

I remember the morning of the 2001 Opener well. For archery season I had set up a stand at Heartbreak Ridge in October and it had produced a lot of opportunities, but nothing on the meatpole. I saw a small basketed 8-pointer near my stands 6 times. Sometimes he surprised me. Sometimes I just didn’t have a shot. For the Rifle Opener I did a bit of a change-up and took my climber and set up about 100 yards up the trail. Action was neglible until the 9 O’Clock Hour. Finally a young buck came up the trail. I got a bead on him with the ’06 and the primer was bad. Click!– only bad primer I’ve had in 12 years of loading all my hunting loads. At the time I blamed the Winchester M70 and put it in the case and went back to hunting with my Remington 742. The next morning I was back at Heartbreak Ridge and creamed a doe mid-morning. I was on top of the world.

This year, the poly surface on the dining table is starting to show its age. I built it from out of the pile I slept on the night of the Opener. If Dad hadn’t gotten sick, I probably would have put a couple of coats of spar varnish on it before this Weekend. We have electric heaters scattered around the house to keep the bedrooms warm. We only run the wood stove this time of year to get the chill out on Friday nights. The pipes no longer freeze up overnight. There’s insulation in the walls and siding on the outside to keep out the wind. There are bunk beds and high-speed Internet and the doors on the place all lock.

I still remember the first time Dad came down to the see the property I had picked out– 120 acres and a tobacco barn. I planned on building a deer shack up on top of the hill. Dad was skeptical. We met the owner, Orey. Orey had grown up working with mules. My dad had started out a muleskinner in the pack artillery. They went and talked mules for a while. Dad came back and announced he was buying the 80 acres across the road with the house– Orey’s grandparents’ place. It wasn’t much– had not been lived in twenty years, but he looked at it as having a roof over our head was better than starting from scratch. After he announced his decision, the two old muleskinners took off somewhere in the truck. Dad said they drove to some spot and my Dad asked if he owned to the next hill. Orey said we would own to that hill and the hill beyond and the hill beyond that. Dad came back stunned. 200 acres looked like 2000 to him.

Dad? Dad was never much of a hunter. Trap shooting was his game. He went deer hunting a total of twice and it was all years before I was born. The farm was investment property for him, and after 9/11 there was a chance. . . well, frankly we did not quite know what was going to happen and having some land seemed like a good idea. He loved to come down a couple times a year and eat the fried chicken at Roosters and I would drive him around the property.  He never spent the night. He got so he couldn’t make the trip anymore about 4 years ago. Rooster’s closed after that. He figured one day the place would pay off and we could sell it at a profit. Watching my three sons over the past ten years grow up spending weekends on this land is profit enough.

Supercore will be there. Moose says he can sneak down for the Opening Weekend, but having a job and a baby on the way is taking its toll. Angus is still looking for a shot at The Big One, but he’s still getting over a cold.  KYHillChick has volunteered to stay home and hang with Mom.

But wait!!! A lot can happen.   2008, my radiator blew and took out the head gasket.  The truck was in the shop three weeks until Opening Eve.   Several years the kids were held back at the last minute over visitation disputes.  I’ve shown up at deer camp in a rental car a couple of times.  I’ve shown up slugging down Ibuprofen and cough syrup.   I really never feel safe until all my clothes are laid out down to the socks, the rifles are on the rack, and I am pouring my scotch at the Thoughtful Spot.

Wish me luck.

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