#deer camp

[hillbillyhaberdashery]

The Northern Lights over the 2025 Rebel Deer Camp.

I have previously posted the details of this camp, don't be offended go back for the full story. The short story is Macomb to Menominee since 1964.

U.P. Michigan

11-12-2025 thru 11-22-2025

My 1959 Remington 760 in .308 Winchester

[rdgpcg]

Deer Camp

Deer Camp

[yourdads-feverdream]

The boys out on the town

[yourdads-feverdream]

[yourdads-feverdream]

About the pull off the best god damn bit

[yourdads-feverdream]

Gotta cowboy up and buy some gas station boner pills

[johnschneiderblog]

Off the grid

Notice how I drop out of sight around this time every year…?

It’s all about deer camp in northern Michigan, where I’ll be for the next few days, with my son and grandson, my cousins and nephews - in the bush and off the grid

Meanwhile, as always, I’ll leave you with the immortal words of John Madson, who nails deer camp pretty well:

PALACE IN THE POPPLE

It’s a smoky, raunchy boars’ nest

With an unswept, drafty floor

And pillow ticking curtains

And knife scars on the door.

The smell of pine-knot fire

From a stovepipe that’s come loose

Mingles sweetly with the boot grease

And the Copenhagen snoose.

There are work-worn .30-.30s

With battered, steel-shod stocks,

And drying lines of long johns

And of steaming, pungent socks.

There’s a table for the Bloody Four

And their games of two-card draw,

And there’s deep and dreamless sleeping

On bunk ticks stuffed with straw.

Jerry and Jake stand by the stove,

Their gun-talk loud and hot,

And Bogie has drawn a pair of kings,

And is raking in the pot.

Franks’ been drafted again as cook

And is peeling some spuds for stew

While Bruce wanders by in baggy drawers

Reciting “Dan McGrew”.

No where on Earth is fire so warm

Nor coffee so infernal,

Nor whiskers so stiff, jokes so rich,

Nor hope blooming so eternal.

A man can live for a solid week

In the same old under-britches

And walk like a man and spit when he wants

And scratch himself where he itches.

I tell you, boys, there’s no place else

Where I’d rather be, come fall,

Where I eat like a bear and sing like a wolf

And feel like I’m bull-pine tall.

In that raunchy cabin out in the bush

In the land of the raven and loon,

With a tracking snow lying new to the ground

At the end of the rutting moon.

(The photo shows my three brothers and me at deer camp a while back. Mark (far right) is no longer with us).

[samsdei]

Noah LaLonde