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My dad took me on my first deer hunt at the age of 10, and I've been enjoying it ever since. Lord knows I spent a whole lot of days perched atop a log or setting next to a big ole oak, dad next to me, waiting for a buck to walk our direction. Until I reached that magical age of 14, I was forced to be an assistant of sorts. Michigan didn't let you start gun deer hunting till you reached that 14-year-old birthday. So, for the first 4 years I followed my dad around the woods, toting a pair of binoculars, ever watchful for a pair of antlers. Heck, I wasn't complaining by any means, it got me out of school for a whole week, and I got to hang around the "men". Those 4 years were also a time of learning for me. Some of the more important things I learned were, being quiet, sitting still, picking up my feet when walking, and when following dad thru the woods, don't get too close. It took me way too many branches to the face to get that lesson learned. Oh, and the most important, patience and gravity. The patience of a young man with a small "Old Man" pocket knife given enough time, can indeed whittle his way thru a 6" poplar tree. The gravity part is what caused the tree to come crashing down in the quiet early morning woods. I never knew my dad could jump that fast. I also learned a few new vocabulary words for later.

That all having been said, the real deal happened when I reached 14. Now it was time to get down to business and I could not wait for deer season to begin. Dad outfitted me with my very own 30 – 30 deer rifle and we spent a few hours at the range getting me used to shooting my new gun. I was also the new owner of one of those black and red plaid insulated hunting outfits, a shiny new compass, a bright orange knit hat. And some oversized mittens.

Now we need to set the stage here. Finally opening morning came and there I was riding out into the inky blackness in the backseat of my uncle's station wagon. As I remember it there were at least 35 of us crammed into that car, it had a sort of eerie glow from the 34 cigarettes being smoked and smelled something like an old musty outhouse. Oh, the weather, at least a balmy 10 degrees and blowing snow, great hunting weather according to all the older folks. As we bounced along in the rolling outhouse my uncle would stop at regular intervals and folks would hop out into the darkness. To me it appeared these folks just vanished into the swirling snow never to be seen again. Then finally it happened, my turn to hop out. Not wanting to seem as scared as I really was, I bounded right out the door and found myself absolutely unable to see past the end of my nose. It was sooooo dark I swear the Lord himself had extinguished all forms of light. What I remember most is watching the quickly fading taillights from the rolling outhouse as it disappeared into the snow squall. My first reaction was to grab my trusty flashlight. Clicking on the light I quickly found out I was indeed in the middle of nowhere and was certain all the local monsters would soon descend upon my location and life was to end. I just knew they were waiting right outside my flashlight beam. After a few moments I calmed down and decided it best for me to find some sort of cover to break the howling wind. I'm guessing the wind chill that morning to be around minus 98 and thought I swear I was wearing nearly every piece of clothes I owned it still felt cold.

Searching sweeps of my flashlight beam located some timber and I soon found a big oak, just like the ones I sat by with dad. I kicked myself a hole in the snow down to the ground and sat down on the cold hard ground. I had packed a stool, to set on, but I'd apparently dropped it when exiting the madness of the rolling outhouse. If you've ever been in the dark woods alone waiting for daylight you are aware time does indeed stand still. I'm pretty sure I hopped out of the warm car at about 6;30 AM, with daylight to come at 7AM. However, in the mix of dark woods, and surrounding monsters, that 30-minute time span I'm quite sure stretched into at least 7 hours. Slowly daylight slithered its way thru the baren treetops. The dark shapes I kept seeing earlier turned into trees and bushes, though I still believe the "dark shape" west of my spot growled at least twice. As daylight grew into full blown morning, I actually felt a bit more comfortable. The wind slowed to a mere gale, the snow stopped entirely, but my fingers and toes were now so cold I couldn't feel them. I couldn't seem to get my fingers pried off the flashlight. Its batteries long gone dead from the constant light beam searching the edges of the darkness for movements.

Then a brilliant idea flashed through my frozen mind. I remembered the large sack of goodies I had packed the night before. Somewhere in the dark recesses of that bag sat a thermos full of hot chocolate!! To this day it always amazes me how much food I packed into that bag for my couple hour set in the woods. There had to be at least a dozen sandwiches, a box of cookies, 3 or 4 pudding cups, and of course, an apple. You always had to have something "good for you" in there in case mom checked out your stash prior to heading out the door. Whether you actually ever ate the apple, you always made sure it did not make it back home in the bag.

Finding my thermos, I quickly set to pour a steaming cup of the chocolaty bliss. However, what came out of the thermos was not hot chocolate, but appeared to be something akin to hot dirty water. I gave a short sniff of the rising vapors from the cup and realized I had somehow switched up my chocolate for my dad's Postum. I was never quite sure exactly what Postum was supposed to be. It came in a jar, a lot like instant coffee or tea, but had the aroma of, well,…..dirt. I had read the ingredients on the jar label once when I saw it on our kitchen table. My recollection was it said the stuff was made out of wheat, weeds, and some other items with names far too long for me to pronounce. What I did know for sure was that it was the absolute worst thing my mouth had ever tasted in all my 14 years. Only use I could see for the stuff was worm bedding. So much for my hot choc lately treat on this morning. I instead resorted to wrapping my frozen fingers around the steaming cup and at least enjoyed the warmth.

Taking stock of the area I chose to stumble into in the dark, I noticed I was setting in a small grove of 3 to 4 inch in diameter poplars with the oak tree I was leaning against being the center piece of the grove. Immediately surrounding my little grove was a 40-acre open field with the edges being made up of a wall of pine trees. It seemed to me I was setting on a pine covered island in the middle of a snow-covered sea. Suddenly, from the western wall of pine trees came some deer. There appeared to be 6 of them, walking in a single file procession and low and behold the deer bringing up the rear had horns!!! A buck!!! Here's where I'm supposed to tell you how I slowly picked up my rifle, took aim, and shot my first buck. Well, I was supposed to be doing those things. What really happened was I sat there completely mesmerized, body shaking uncontrollably, heart pounding like a drum, and watched the deer slowly make their way across the field and into the pines to the east. I never even thought of picking up my gun, let alone actually taking aim and shooting!! When the deer had vanished into the pines the realization set in that I had just blown my chance. I had sat through a blizzard, endured 7 hours of relentless attacks from unseen creatures in the dark, and for what??? To be able to tell my dad and the "men" that I had actually seen a buck and never fired my gun?? From what I had heard while listening to my dad and the others spinning their yarns of deer hunting a little stretching of the truth seemed to be OK. Ahhhhh yes, why the deer had bolted from the pines, running at a full gallop, why he was moving so fast through the branches I had just enough time to see the horns, but no shot presented itself. Now that story might hold water with the "men", and certainly sounded better than the truth.

Long about noon, off in the distance I see something coming. I could just make out the shape as it steadily got closer, plowing through the driving blizzard, which had again unleashed it's fury upon me. It appeared to be none other than the rolling outhouse!! Yes, warmth at last. The outhouse pulled up about 100 feet away on the two track and dad hollered to "get in" we had to head back for lunch. Lunch, I thought that was what this 40-pound bag of food I packed was supposed to be for. Turns out that on opening day, the 34 other folks who rode out with us this morning all meet up, and eat lunch together around a camp fire. When we arrived at the lunch location the "campfire" appeared to be just slightly smaller than a forest fire and there standing very near to the flickering flames were the other 32 hunters. It was a surreal scene, their heads obscured by a thick blanket of cigarette smoke, some with hands gesturing wildly. Others were grasping sticks which were stuck into the fire. Reminded me of a scene you might see in a National Geographic magazine, taken of a bunch of dancing warriors returning from a successful kill Strewn about the area were lots of grocery bags full of food, mostly hotdogs, buns, and pots of chili and stew. One thing that be said of hunters, you'll seldom see one that's left hungry after lunch.

Another thing that struck me as odd was all the rifles leaning against the bushes and trees surrounding the fire. Probably akin to something one might have seen during a lull in battle in the Ardennes Forest in WWII. In the middle of our lunch, I found out the reason for the rifles. Someone spotted a group of deer crossing the field where we were having lunch. The resulting melee of hunters grabbing rifles was not much different I suppose than what again would have happened during a fire fight in WWII. The number of bullets that suddenly tore through the air was amazing. I bet there were 30 rounds fired at those deer in a span of less than 20 seconds. Then everyone went running across the field to see if anyone's shots had connected. It was quite a scene really, 33 armed hunters dashing across the field, notice I said 33 hunters. I had decided it wise to remain right there next to that fire, not amongst a group of running armed lunatics. I surveyed the scene left by the fire. Overturned cups of coffee bowls of chili, half eaten hot dogs, with some dogs and their accompanying sticks still smoldering in the fire. Within a few minutes the crowd of red plaid hunters started returning to lunch. To my astonishment not one of them seemed to be bringing back any deer. A true testament to the marksmanship of our little group of hunters, all those bullets and not one single deer had been touched. The rest of the lunch was a running diatribe of excuses as to why those deer got away.

After lunch it back aboard the rolling outhouse and off we went to spend the afternoon looking for more deer. Well, at least that was the thought. If you've ever spent much time in the outdoors setting next to a tree in the sunshine after a big lunch you can attest to a quality of napping not reached at any other time.

- Rick Patridge