When we usually see you all in the summer season, it’s because you wanted to go Up North to get away from it all, to avoid all the traffic and all those blasted stop lights, the throngs of people hurriedly going from store to store. Since I moved back up here five years ago, I've been wondering where the people who live here go to get away from it all. I'd heard some of the guys who were about to go on vacation talk about going Up North, and how much better it was "up there".

This past summer, Don Zipp put out the word that he was going Up North to his cabin for the closing of trout season and maybe a little bird hunting. Whoever wanted to go was more than welcome: all we had to bring was a fishing pole, a shotgun, somewhere to sleep and some food to pass. All of these past years for one reason or another, I hadn't been able to go. This year I circled the date on the calendar and stuck to it. Fortunately, a lot of the other guys did too and it turned into a real celebration. It was the main topic of conversation for two weeks before we went and all kinds of plans and tactics were hashed over. What was commonly said by all that what they wanted to do the most though, was to "sit by the fire and shoot the shit."

At noon and Doug and I were on our way. Except for the high winds, and traveling on the grates across the Mackinac Bridge, the ride was uneventful. The fall colors were in their splendor and I swear they even glow in the dark. There must be some extra elements in their soil to cause that effect in the fall colors. Don and Jamie Crandall had gone up Thursday night to open the cabin and get things ready for the rest of us. When we pulled up, Don was standing in the middle of Hwy 123, a little north of downtown Eckerman, waving us into the yard with a nine pound whitefish. I knew then that this was going to be a hellava weekend.

I think whitefish was why God had invented water for them to live in and fire to cook them with.

Normally, standing in the middle of a highway, even without the last weekend of September, just north of downtown Eckerman, it’s considered a very friendly thing to do. People were slowing down and waving to Don as they drove by. Before long, Ray Eckerman, Wes, Denis, Brian and Hunter (the Brittany Spaniel), Bubba, Jeremiah, Jamie Montieth, Dan and his German Shorthair Bo, had arrived. Trailers were set up, expanded and plugged in. Everyone was officially Up North and ready for some partying.

I had earlier thought that these guys, remembering when I was their age, would pile into a couple of the vehicles and head for the nearest pub. We formed up into two groups: fishing and hunting. Some of the guys went down to the river looking for brook trout and I went with the guys looking for partridge and woodcock. I wasn't able to connect my front bead with the departing birds but a couple woodcock ended up in the fridge when we returned.

When we got back, Crandall had started a campfire and Don had started cooking some steaks that he had brought along. Damn, I'd thought, no whitefish tonight! Well, if it ain't gonna be fish so be it, I can eat big juicy steaks right along with the best of 'em. The first evening was spent just sitting around the fire and shooting the shit. Previous hunting and fishing trips where reminisced and undoubtedly embellished and lies were told by all. Not a mention of a midnight soirée' to the local bar, in this instance the Bearbutt, and again I was impressed by these guys.

I awoke Saturday morning to Bubba, Denis, Jeremiah, and Wes target practicing with .22s. When you wake up to guy’s target practicing; you’re reminded immediately where you're at and what you’re doing. The bangs aren't loud enough to be .38's or 9mm so Detroit is out and I've never heard a shot fired in Charlevoix so that leaves a bunch of guys Up North the last weekend of September along M123 just north of downtown Eckerman.

Wes headed for the kitchen after he was done shooting and started creating breakfast. Fried potatoes, cheese omelets and sausage links. I could hear my cardiologist screaming in my ear as I ate but was soon drowned out as some of the guys started shooting skeet, warming up for the day's hunt. After breakfast we sat around the fire, shot the shit, and decided what do that day.

Let's see, brook trout in the creek that runs through Don's property, or go to the lake down the road that's stocked with Splake, or, another go at the crazy flying woodcock that live across M123 just north of downtown Eckerman. It being the last day of trout season, we all decided to give the woodcock the morning off. Some went north to Paradise to try up there, some went down to the creek and some of us went to the lake with the Splake. No Splake were caught in the lake but the guys in Paradise had some luck--after all it is called Paradise--and the guys who went to the creek ended up with some nice fish. Don's kitchen was raided for lunch and what seemed to be an unparalleled smorgasbord came out of that cabin. More firewood was thrown in the pit and Denis came out of the woods behind us with another red squirrel. He had gone after the little critter that kept scolding us for using Don's outhouse. I don't know what connection he'd had for that little building but he was all about keeping us out of there. Those two squirrels and yet another would end up for dinner that night.

Once again, we gathered around the fire and shot the shit. During that session, Don suggested we head up the highway a little ways to an area where partridge were sometimes found. He thought that the countryside was a little more open than across the street and I was all for that. Woodcock live in some unforgiving territory and I don't have the legs that haul these guys around. The area was owned by a paper manufacturing company and select cut the timber there. The sign said that it'd been cut fifteen years ago so I figured this would be a snap. Wrong; when they refer to timber as a renewable resource they aren't lying. It's amazing how well these lands rejuvenate.

As the old guy I got to use the trail and act as the left flank so the line could form on me. Sometimes it’s good to be the old guy.

One Partridge was taken and a couple more Woodcock too. More food for the fridge. We weren't ready to call it quits when we got back so we headed across the road back into the brush. About this time the sun was beginning to set and the birds started to fly into the mud puddles for a drink. I've seen film of game birds coming into water holes in Africa and how fast and furious the shooting can be. That's nothing compared to what we encountered that evening. We got to laughing at each other and ourselves at how many birds there were and how we had a real hard time hitting the darn things. Still, more birds ended up in the fridge.

We eventually got back to the cabin just after dark and there was a nice fire going in the pit. We had no idea who put the wood in there but we sure appreciated their effort. As we sat there lying to each other why we missed so many birds, a relative of Don's stopped by to wish him a happy birthday. The word got out quick that it was Don's birthday and a bottle of some very fine whiskey was brought out. Everyone poured himself a jigger and a toast was offered to our gracious host. As Don headed back into the kitchen to start cooking one of the best dinners I've ever eaten, we sat around the fire in a pit that's adjacent to M123 just North of downtown Eckerman the last weekend of September shooting the shit. Dinner started with hors devours of broiled potatoes. This along with the cornucopia of goodies that came out of the kitchen that evening will forever remain among my most fond memories. We sat by that fire until 2 the next morning talking about what a [need to finish here]

It was apparent that a party had been held they’re the night before. As I walked around picking up empty cans I noticed that a majority of them were soft drinks. Now I've heard a lot of stories in the time I've worked with these guys about what a bunch of party animals they were and they're right. I've never had as much fun over a weekend as I did with these guys, and I didn't have a hangover to prove it either. Good thing too; Denis was still asleep and we were ready to go hunting again so I touched off both barrels of my 16ga to wake him up. We gave the dogs one more run through the brush and as before some of the guys hit and I didn't. That’s all right though, what we did next is what I enjoyed most about the weekend, sitting by the fire the last weekend of September, along Hwy 123 just north of downtown Eckerman shooting the shit.