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ECKERMAN III
The Last Weekend in September
In all of the various publications that I have read or wrote in, the gist of the story was often the same. A group of friends all gathered together in a beautiful location, either hunting or fishing or both. At times, the story would turn dramatic when an accident or worse, a death occurred. In the end, it would show how important one human being can be to another, and how great we all can be. This story has all of those things, but unfortunately, it has another.
 | Each fall, on the last weekend of September, a very good friend and co-worker, Don Zipp, invites his co-workers to the family cabin in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. During the three-day weekend, 15 men gather together for trout, woodcock, partridge, and this year bear hunting. Don had obtained a bear permit, and with the season opening on the day before this weekend was to begin, he came up early. Three of us from work came with him: Doug Frye, myself, and the next day Jamie Crandall. The four of us had learned long ago that three days wasn't nearly long enough to do all we wanted. As the three of us unpacked our fishing and hunting gear, Don released his two black and tans so they could relieve themselves and stretch their legs a bit. |
Maggie and Sally leaped from their boxes on the pickup, and it didn't take long to see which one was going to get to the bear first. Although they were sisters, Maggie outweighed Sally by 5 pounds, and in the end, it would be Sally's undoing. As the sun set that night, the three of us sat around the fire eating bear bait (bread, doughnuts, and cookies), and set up the logistics for the next couple of days. On our first day, Wednesday, Don was going to hunt in the morning and then we were going to spend the afternoon fishing. Jamie was going to come up about 10am with some more provisions and a load of firewood. Wednesday was the opening day of bear season and Don was going to his blind before daylight and we would stick around until he came out. Then we'd head over to one of the lakes near us and fish for some trout. If we should hear a shot, we were to leash up the dogs and bring them in to him. The dogs were still young, and it might be interesting to see how they handled it. As the fire burned down, Don locked up the pups and we headed to bed.
Wednesday morning I woke up about 5am with the spurge of all homo sapiens; I had to relieve my bladder. Ain't much better in this world as a good long relief event in the morning. Anyway, as I was relieving myself, I noticed that the light was on in the cabin. His grandparents built Don's cabin back in the forties when they wanted a place to get away from it all. I imagine that place was considered as "right smack dab in the middle of nowhere", and somewhere around there I'm sure they're going to find where Jesus lost his shoes. It's a three-room cabin with a wood stove, a good roof and electricity. It has running water, and you only have to run about 50 yards to get some. Don and his brother had leveled the footings and added some aluminum siding so it was looking pretty good. One half of the building is kitchen with two bedrooms taking up the other. The only adornment in the place was a picture of Jamie Crandall doing an impressive jump on a snowmobile. There was a time when I used to jump like that but I’m afraid those days is over.
Knowing damn well that Don would have a pot of coffee on, I headed over. As I walked by the pick-up, I noticed that the doors were off the kennels and the dogs were gone. I also noticed that the two doors were on the ground about 6' from the truck.
I opened the door and sure enough, there was a pot of coffee on. Don was instantly my "best friend for the day" and I headed for the source of that wondrous aroma. As I was pouring my first cup, Don asked me if I'd heard or seen anything last night, that the dogs were gone when he got up. He'd thought that the dogs had gotten their noses under the doors, flipped 'em up and headed out. I hadn't heard a thing, but I did ask him if he'd moved the doors when he went out. There was no way those dogs could've flung those doors that far. That's when I started thinking some bad things but Don was still optimistic. We went back outside to look around again when we could hear them baying way back in the cover. I use the word “cover” because stepping into those woods is like pulling a cover over your head.
We both felt a lot better when we heard the dogs and headed back into the cabin for another cup. We talked about the day before when he was putting the pups' first license on them. Don was anticipating a great weekend, running with the dogs and all the fifty or so different things we were going to do for the week. He asked me also if I would "keep the cabin journal". The book is kept on the kitchen table with a pen always next to it. The cabin is used by a lot of his family and whenever someone is using it, they make a comment or an observation in the book. Someday, when his son and the kids are there visiting, they'll be able to read their family’s history and what was occurring right there where they're reading it. So, I considered it an honor to be the keeper of the tome.
I read through it as he was getting all his equipment together to spend a morning in the woods. Most of what he carried out of the cabin with him was bear bait, and some of it was pretty ripe. He had a bucket of something that had been hanging from a tree for quite a while. After a good whiff of it I decided I didn't want to know what was in there but he seemed to appreciate its endearing qualities. The evening before, he'd carried a load of that back plus a lot of bread and doughnuts. That time though, he wasn't armed. He was heading back there with camo on his face, scent block poured all over him, and 50 pounds of "come eat me", in buckets and bags. In all the literature I've read about traveling through bear country, you’re supposed to make a LOT of noise so as not to get one of those things upset. It made sense to me but Don didn't feel that way and off he went. Forty-five minutes later he walked back out so I had to change my way of thinking a little.
About an hour before daylight he headed out and I went back to my coffee. I stepped out the front door heading for the campfire when I get whacked in the head with an apple! Don's Grandma must have really liked apples 'cause they have 6 or 7 trees and each one a different variety. In past years we were lucky to find a dozen or so from the whole group; this year there were bushels of them lying around. I'd made a point of going around the two trees near the door and kept them all up against the trunk. With 15 or so guys showing up in a couple of days, it was going to get slippery'er 'n snot. and there was no sense in adding to the eventual disarray.
Just as I got the fire kicked up, Doug comes over from the trailer, looking for coffee. He too had noticed, coming across that the dogs were gone and asked what was up. We talked about it awhile and then what I should have done was eat, what I did was throw on another log and grabbed another cup of coffee. As we sat there talking, we could still hear the dogs howling so we were pretty sure they were going to come back.
What we did next is probably something done in a lot of camps like this one. We got out the county map book and started planning our week. Map books are like that journal in the kitchen. I keep all the pertained information somewhere on the page or pages and each lake has a history and story of its own. We included first of all, if it was deep enough to maintain a population and what the population might be. If we found any particular spots that were better than others that would be included too. Many of the lakes we checked out this year were too shallow, but we had to do some exploring to find out. Fortunately for us, as we were setting down with the map book, Jamie pulls in and as he's getting out, reaches for his tube. He carries his map book around in a length of 4" PVC with caps on either end. As I've mentioned earlier, there were a lot of different reasons we came up here, and for Jamie, two-trackin' is number one. Last year, as we went out on a reconnoiter, we came across a set of moose tracks. We never saw the animal, but the tracks still had water seeping into them when we came upon it. It's things like that, that makes two-trackin' so much fun.
In past years he's taken his 4X4 back into the brush but this year he brought his four-runner. Thirty years ago when I was doing some serious two-trackin', I'd have given my left one for one of those things.
After an hour or so of reminiscing and going over future plans, Don walks out from the woods. "Have you seen my dog yet?" was the first thing he said.
"Nothing yet, but I'm sure they'll be along shortly," was what I said but not what I thought. From the behavior I've seen of bear hunters in stores and in a few bars, they seem to be a surly lot with a bad attitude. It's almost as if because they hunt a vicious and dangerous animal, they should act as though they're tougher than they are. I was thinking then that Don had two chances of seeing those dogs again, slim and none, and slim left town. Don isn't as cynical as I am because he was still sure those dogs would come trottin' in anytime. He pulled out the clothes he'd worn the day before, laid them next to an apple tree, and grabbed his fishing rod. We rolled up the map books and we were outta there.
 | This is where Doug starts his number one on the list: fishing. We were headed for a lake that we'd been to before but this time we had a boat and a fish finder. The lake receives a yearly planting of trout and with a little luck; we'd be adding those to the Saturday night feast. In previous years we had to fish from the shore, which works out ok, but to look at a lake full of fish, and no way to get out there at them drove Doug nuts. Personally, I'm about as lazy a fisherman as there ever was. My idea of a good time is to throw it out there and leave the bail open. I prop up the rod and place a piece of aluminum foil over the line at the tip. That way I can wander around the woods and the weeds and see what's on "Michigan Outdoors" this week, and still know when a fish starts taking line. |
This year I was able to borrow a 10' johnboat with an electric motor and a fish-finder. Doug was in his element. I can't scientifically prove it of course but I think Doug can hear them fart. In any case we were set. We slowly trolled about the lake, watching the fish finder and checking water temperatures when I got my first hit. He grabbed hold of that thing like there were a hundred more trying the same thing. Having one of those rainbow's hit your lure is like awaking during a slumbering dream and find you’re back on the ship and it just went to General Quarters. Ever leery of something heavier than 6lbs hitting my bait, I keep my drag light and then take it up from there. Good thing I did too, 'cause that bugger was on his way. I was using my 9' steelhead rod and an old Shakespeare 1810 that I've been using since 1966, so I knew I was in good hands. I tightened the drag ever so lightly and started to wear him down. What I remember most about the encounter though was its color when it arose the first time. It was a bright crimson red, his entire body was really pissed off and he wanted everyone to know about it. When he finally came to the surface for the last time, it had the normal markings of a rainbow trout. Naturally, Doug got twice as many fish and three times the hits I did but no matter; at least I was able to add something to the dinner and got to watch "Michigan Outdoors" again.
Back in July when Don started talking about this year's trip, a suggestion was made about the meals. Preceding this we all brought something to pass and it got way out of hand. We had enough food to feed twice as many people for twice as long. Had this crew been at the site where Jesus fed the multitude, it wouldn't have made the book. Anyway, we agreed to chip in thirty dollars and Don and Kent would do the shopping so we were set for eats for the long weekend. Unfortunately, we got there early so we were pretty much on our own. Back in the day when I was tromping around in the woods, we'd have a can of Spam and a loaf of bread. What we had with us instead was Ramen Noodles, of every flavor. I had brought a bunch of bags "just in case" and Don keeps a load of them in the cabin. He sliced up some potatoes and sausage then added some kind of magic to it and we were a bunch of happy campers.
The first couple of years we got together, Don would do all the dinners. That was one of the main reasons he enjoys himself so much on this yearly excursion. The first year we came up, he was standing in the middle of the highway with a pair of huge whitefish directing traffic. I knew right then that I was in the right place, and we never did get around to eating those fish! The first night that year, we had bear steaks, which I'd never had before, and the second night along with all the fish we caught and saints above, the woodcock and partridge, we had T-bone steaks. The second year, Kent offered to lend his had with the cooking which worked out pretty good for me. He used to do some catering where we working in Charlevoix so feeding 15 starving heathens was no big deal. What got my attention right away was, as we were sitting around the fire telling each other all kinds of lies, Kent walks out with hors devours on a tray. Here we are, right smack dab in the middle of nowhere and I'm eating breaded mushrooms stuffed with jalapeno peppers and cream cheese. As those were going around he was grilling some steak for dinner, and no sooner had we sat down to eat and he was going back and forth from his camper to the cabin. I watched him go by a couple times and I finally asked him what was up?
"Chili."
I was sitting there stuffing myself way too much and he's working on the snack for later.
As we were sitting there eating our dinner we were talking about Don's dogs when a pickup pulled in off the highway. It was just then that I was reminded about drinking too much coffee without eating anything first. So, I asked Don to give me a rendition of what happened while I spent some time in the 'loo. He said that the man had found Sally laying alongside the road with her collar still attached. She was only a mile or so down the road and the guys immediately went to get her. She was busted up pretty bad and I'm glad I wasn't there for that part of it. Jamie told me that when they started digging the hole, all they had was a bent over square shovel and had to use a tire iron to break through the hard pan.
As for my visit to the commode, that didn't go to well either. Back in '95 I had a heart attack on opening day of deer season. The symptoms then and the symptoms I was having were almost identical and I got plumb scared. As I sat there in that two-hole outhouse, stripped naked and sweating gallons, I realized that the symptom I was missing was the elephant. During that time though, I kept my wits about me and I think that's what kept the elephant off. I'm sure there are a lot of people out there that have been through the same thing and I think we all think about the same things at that time. I added thanks for letting me be where I was and whom I was with.
I came out of the cabin just after they finished burying Sally. Don had buried her under a black spruce with her collar attached to the trunk. We still didn't know if Maggie was all right or how they got out, but at least we knew where one was. We sat there tending the fire and watching the traffic go by for quite a while when another pick-up jammed on his brakes as he went by. This one had a black and tan in with a bunch of walkers, and she stuck out like a soar thumb. A very happy sore thumb to be sure and it was a heckava relief to all of us to see her in that truck. I thought then that this story had movie written all over it. The hunter said that that morning he was driving up the highway when he came upon her standing over her sister in the middle of the road. As vehicles sped by she would hold her ground and bark at them. It was only after she came to trust him that she relinquished her sister. He said he'd put Maggie in with his dogs and Sally besides the road. He also told us about a hunter in that general location who don't like competition. What this guy does is drive around at night kidnapping hounds and dropping them off several miles away. If the dogs are wearing any tracking devices, he takes them off. Knowing that most of these hounds aren't used to vehicular traffic, he lets the roads' traffic do his killing.
Right about then I decided to write this article, but it wasn't going to be as civilized as this turned out to be. The way we figured it, this guy picked up the dogs sometime during the night and then took them ending up a couple miles east of us. As the dogs worked their way back, they ran across a bear trail that runs diagonally to a point north of us. We could hear them running up that trail early that morning and where that trail intersects the highway is where the dogs were found. I reckon Sally had a nose full of Bear scent and bolted across the highway a couple seconds in front of Maggie. Those couple of seconds put her right under the front tires of a semi. Don went into the cabin and made an entry in the journal and when he came out he had a different look about him. There was something about the look in his eyes that got my attention. What is it with bear hunters anyway? You don't hear about pheasant hunters snatching up other hunters' dogs so they can get more birds. It takes a person with a really low level of self-esteem to fall to such behavior. On the other side of the equation, you have gentlemen like the two that went out of their way to first let us know of the accident, and then to return a dog to someone he's never met. This guy had been looking all along that road for people just like us and that general area was full of them.
After all the commotion ended, Doug, Jamie and myself were grabbing a couple of those apples when we heard a chorus of peeping coming from the other side of the highway. We being experienced in the sight, sound and taste of woodcock, headed for our shotguns. When we loaded our guns on the other side of the highway, we had already seen a dozen fly over our heads. Doug and I carried side by each's, his was a 16ga Stevens, and I had my grandfather’s Winchester model 21 in 12ga, and we wished we had ones with three barrels. Jamie made out a little better; he was using a 12ga pump. Those little buggers were everywhere and getting there fast. It was like trying to hit fruit bats with baseball bats, but it was a hellava lot more fun. As fast as we could load two and shoot, we'd miss them. All three of us ended up with one bird so I'd finally broke that losing streak too.
By the fire that night, totally exhausted, we talked about how much had happened in a mere twenty-four hours. On the way up we followed a mobile home being pulled down the road with a flat tire on it. We could see the guy following the trailer, talk on his radio and kept looking back at the tie-up they were causing. For a couple miles the tire smoked and wobbled and finally blew out. I wouldn't have traded places with that guy for all the currency on the planet.
We talked about times past and slain dogs. We discussed why someone could become so loathsome, as others present qualities that makes God proud. We talked about my trip to the can and I caught hell for not telling the guys at the time. Everyone had caught fish that day, and I, for the first time had contributed something to the dinner. I've fished right along with the best and hunted with people even better but I couldn't for the life of me hit or catch something.
We felt the loss of one dog and the celebration of the other. As we sat there by the fire, I kept looking at Don and he still had that look in his eyes. Brian and E.J. pulled in with all their fishing gear and they looked ready to go. Many people take as much comfort with them as possible when they're camping; Brian traded comfort for versatility. Within the confines of that little box he pulls behind his truck, you can find absolutely anything you'll ever need camping in the wilderness. As the evening went on and subjects where changed, he had something in there to cover the topic. I intentionally brought up the subject of young beautiful women but guys luck can only go so far. It started to rain then and I'd had enough for one day, so I went to bed.
| It was pouring Thursday morning when I walked over to the cabin and put a pot of coffee on. As I sat there in the pre-dawn light listening to the rain drip off of the roof, Maggie let loose with the mournful wail, and then just the sound of rain dripping off the roof. I entered that into the journal too. When Don woke up he decided to let the bears live one more |  |
day and go fishing with the rest of us. When the rest of the guys got up we decided to head to the southeast and see what the lakes looked like. Don was a little leery of leaving Maggie there at the cabin so we brought her along. A couple of the lakes were so shallow that fish probably didn't live the winters, but after a few more we found one. Don staked Maggie along the shoreline and as we'd catch something, we'd throw it over towards her. Watching her circle a flopping rainbow is worth the price of the ride. After a couple revolutions she'd bark at it until the thing quit moving. She finally got the nerve to give it a close sniff, when it jumped again. Straight in the air she jumped and upon landing she attacked. Then it was the fish's turn to take flight and somebody ate punctured fillets Saturday night.
Around noon we headed back to the cabin for lunch and Don got ready to go hunting. About 3:00, I was sitting by the fire doing what I enjoy most about attending this event when I noticed Don pacing back and forth. I think he had assembled everything he was going to need ten minutes before this but he couldn't stop. As he walked by I said, "Looks like you’re ready to go kill something.”
"Yah," he said, "I've got to get some more things together yet and then I'll be ready to go."
"No Don, I think your ready to go kill something right now." It had been thirty some years since I saw that look on a man, and this time I was happy to see it. It was the same look he'd had earlier but a lot more determined and pronounced. He told me later that at 3:15, he walked into the woods and was at his spot at 3:30. At 3:33.2 he was sound asleep and he slept for 20 minutes. Well, maybe I'm glad I didn't work with him 30 some years ago.
Anyway, after he woke up and did a once over of the area, he got up and slathered vanilla extract all over that pile of "come eat me" and had a seat. He made himself comfortable, and started watching the squirrels fight with the 'coon's over who was gonna get what. He said he was enjoying the fight when the combatants both left the pile.
During this time, I'm sitting alongside the fire with Doug and Jamie. Jamie had brought his own version of Ramen Noodles, venison tenderloins. He had sliced them about an inch thick and had 'em on Doug's tripod over the campfire coals. Every couple of minutes Jamie would turn those little buggers over and I'd get a whiff of lunch. This went on for a while when we hear a BOOM rumble out of the woods. We looked at each other and waited for another shot and when it didn't come we knew Don had connected. "I've got a bear down," came blaring out of the radio as we stood up. Jamie grabbed the radio and started asking him questions, but I couldn't understand the answers. Everything was getting yelled into the mouthpiece and the little speaker just couldn't handle it. It may have been better if Don had put down the radio and just yelled a little louder. We understood enough to know that the bear was real dead and we didn't need to bring in Maggie to help find it. Doug headed to get what equipment we may need and Jamie gathered up some rope and a shotgun. I thought about taking mine but Dan Cox had told me that two barrels was just enough to really piss one of those things off. The two of them were running around the camp gathering stuff we might need when I reminded them that the bear was dead and it was going to stay that way. No need to drive yourself crazy about it. That lasted about 30 seconds and all three of us were running around getting stuff. The last thing Jamie did was to raise the venison as far off the fire as possible. The last thing I did before leaving was to grab one of those steaks. The very thought of leaving those loins after smelling them cook was out of the question. Doug and Jamie had helped Don carry bait back so they knew the way, and I did everything in my power to keep them in sight.
When they got to the boundary tree they stopped and let me catch up. The tree is a huge White Pine about 40' tall and the three of us couldn't have reached around it. There is a brass plaque attached that gives the Latitude, Longitude and on which page it can be found in the plat book. From that point we followed an old narrow gauge railroad bed for another quarter mile and found Don sitting under the hemlock where he'd shot. The bear was laying about 10' from the bait pile and that was maybe 50' from him. We all congratulated him as he took us over to the bear, and he showed us the entrance and exit wounds. He hunts with a Marlin .30/30 with a scope and was using 170gr Nozler partition bullets. They advertise what that bullet can do, but to see it really makes you a believer. The bullet entered just behind the right shoulder and made an exit through the left one. He didn't hit any ribs and it still spun him around 180 degrees. My mother would have gone ballistic when she heard what he'd done to the heart, but the liver was delicious. Don flipped him over and Doug held his legs apart as they started field dressing him.
Meanwhile, I catch glimpses of Jamie moving through the woods picking up trees and trying to push over a couple dead ones. It's hard for me to tell what he's doing at times but he always seem to know, so I went back to watching them dress the bear. Don took great pains to let us know that he was removing the gallbladder and I even took a picture of it. Evidently, the Asians believe that there are some powers in it, and they could be sold for some serious money, but it’s illegal to do. Why any race would pay good money for something that makes bile is beyond me but I just tell the story, you can look it up if ya want.
They were just about ready to turn him over and drain the blood when Jamie walks up with what he was looking for. He'd found a pole 12' long and 6" through to carry the critter out with. I took a picture of Doug and Jamie with the pole on their shoulders and Don standing next to the bear. I could almost see the picture in sepia as I looked through the viewfinder.
Tied up and packed up, we headed back to the cabin. I could understand it when we were walking in why I couldn't keep up with these guys but this time they had a bear on their shoulders and I still couldn't keep up. As soon as the bear was registered and hung, they knew there was going to be a heckava party and they didn't want to be late.
The registration station is also the gas/party/general/video (with a room in the back) store. It reminded me of Brian's trailer but this was retail, not historic and it also had a beautiful young lady behind the counter. I was wondering who was going to do the biologic check and remove the molar when she comes walking out. On the planet I came from, you don't see too many gorgeous women pulling teeth out of bears. I must say, things are better up here. With one more chore to do we headed back to the cabin and got the scale and pulley and hung it up. He weighed 130 pounds and we had just finished cinching off the knot when the rest of the party showed up. Actually, I think the party started when those guys left work that day. They weren't under any "influences" of any kind; they were just fired up about being there.
The discussions about this weekend begin on the trip home from the previous year and continue all year. Whenever two or more of this group get together, the "Eckerman Trip" is brought up, guaranteed. Ask any of the wives of us, they'll tell ya true. It's either about trips past, or more likely, the next one. Whenever we're with a co-worker who hasn't been there, we try and talk them into it. This year the show-ups had dropped off from the previous ones, so there was plenty of room to fall down drunk without hitting something. Kent Seymore pulled in with the "command vehicle", and found a nice level spot in the yard and set it up. Brian Darrah had rode up with Kent and Brian had Hunter, his Brittany, with him. As much as I like hunting with Brian, I enjoy hunting with his dog more. He hunts like I do, slow and thorough. Some of the crap that these guys hunt in, there ain't no way I can keep up with them, and Hunter slow's 'em down a little. In the process, he kicks up a lot of woodcock.
Behind Kent, Dan Cox pulls in with his German Shorthair, Bo. Bo is every bit as productive as Hunter is, but he went about it differently. That dog is WIRED. When Dan releases him off of his leash, he's hard at it, and fast. He would go from a dead run, jumping over logs and through brush, to a rock hard point. My nerves just couldn't handle him, so I always hunted with Brian. It wasn't long before Kent had dinner in the oven and Jalapeno poppers on the stove and I was standing right next to him. I paid my compliments to the chef for his previous years' work and he let me have the first of the poppers.
| "Life is good," I thought as I walked out of the cabin, between the apple trees, and into the party. I stepped into the yard and before me was my number one on the list. As the new guys unpacked their gear, they dropped off their lawn chairs around the fire pit. Now it looked like something was going to happen there. The four of us had already found the choice spots but there was a lot of room in-between them. Now there were chairs in all the vacant |
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places. The woodpile had been replenished and it looked like there was enough wood to last a week, but by Sunday at noon we'd be looking for sticks and paper to burn. Beyond the fire pit, a couple of the guys were admiring Don's handy-work and Don didn't have that look in his eyes anymore. That guy’s smile had "ripple on a slop jar" written all over it. Up until that moment he'd been worried and concerned about way too many things so as to not enjoy himself, and now all that was behind him. And, he got to do it with his friends.
Behind them, there were a couple guys at the trap range getting tuned in. Trap shooting is something that starts 20 minutes after they get there and it ends about a half-hour before we leave on Sunday. There are those who shoot to limber up for the birds across the street and some of us shoot 'cause that's the only birds we're gonna his this weekend. Some of the guys never go hunting; they use all of their ammo on the trap range and love every minute of it.
There were a couple guys in the kitchen with Kent so they were already there when Kent stuck his head out of the kitchen and yelled, "Chowzon!” You'd think these guys hadn't eaten in weeks the way they headed into the kitchen. My nice neat pile of apples got kicked in front of each other as they tried to gain position. Once I got into the kitchen, I got a snort of au gratin potatoes and I threw out all that my mamma taught me and I joined the fray. As we were setting around the fire enjoying dinner, a man and his son pulled out of the two track across the highway and pulled into the yard. They had been hunting over a bait pile a mile or so back from the road and stopped to congratulate Don. Don offered the bait he still had in the cabin but I don't think this guy had any idea of how much he was about to get. Don had figured on staying there the entire season and brought enough bait to keep him supplied. It was a shame to watch all of those doughnuts get loaded into his pickup. He let us know exactly where he was hunting on that two track so we knew where not to hunt, which was no problem 'cause there's probably 50 zillion acres with birds in them. It was in that conversation that Jamie and I told them what a time we'd had the afternoon before and we headed for the clearing.
There is a clearing not far from us; that turns into an absolute riot with a couple of dogs. Generally, the countryside there is relatively flat with second and third generation growth on it. The regeneration rate is so strong there that you may not recognize the same plot of land 10 years apart. So finding this "clearing" was quite the surprise for many and my only hope of hitting a woodcock. You could actually see things 100' away. We all lined up and got ourselves ready, and then Dan and Brian "let loose the dogs of war". We never moved, we didn't have to. We let the dogs just do their thing and tried to harvest their labor. Now I know how it feels to shoot at on one of those tomahawks cruise missiles. You can see the things coming at you and you know where there gonna be but they ain't there when you shoot. With three or four of them I forgot to take off the safety. Just too much going on to keep up. Eventually, I got back in the rhythm and started missing them the old fashioned way. Next to me was Brian and his 12ga. side by each, exposed hammers. What a beauty that thing is. E.J. was next to him and he was using a 12ga pump. I think E.J.'s all about killing things. That boy put some lead in the air and birds on the ground. Don, Kent, Brian, and Dan were further up the line and they were shooting, swearing and laughing as much as we were so it turned into one hellava way to end the day.
I got up early the next morning 'cause I wanted to use the two seater before the other guys woke up. That little structure can only be tolerated in the morning, while its still cold. On my way out, Jamie, Don and Dan come rolling into the yard looking like they were rode hard and put away wet. I've heard various stories about what happened that night so I'm going to abide by the first rule of the trip; "What goes on across the bridge, stays across the bridge." I only mention this because they got up when the other guys did 2 hours later, and still put in a full day. By 9:00 everyone should be up, no matter how decadent their behavior was the night before. We'd already burned up 2 hours of good pure sunshine by then and it's time to get your head together and put on some breakfast! Therefore, at 9, I get out my side by each's and go to the abode of those foolish souls who think they've come up there to sleep. Sometimes it takes both barrels of two shotguns to awaken our sleeping brethren and our esteemed chef.
Last year after I shot, Denis came out with earplugs on and said Kent was in the shower and he'd be out in a little while. A SHOWER mind you, right smack dab in the middle of nowhere? While camping with a bunch of guys? Hmmm. I began to wonder if he was going to be the first to have his wife accompany him on one of the most treasured of times. This guy was lookin' good.
A handful of us, Don, Doug, B.B., E.J., and myself decided to forego breakfast and headed north looking for fish. Brian had heard from a friend of a friend who knew someone who owned a house on one of the lakes in that area. Word had it that their lake was full of perch and a few wall mounters were still there.
Once again, we had our map books with us or we'd have never found this lake, or if we did find it, we still wouldn't know where we were. Having the “Walkabout” radios helped too. There were times when we'd split up and take two different roads to see what was there. Just because there is a two track leading off of the main trail, that doesn’t mean its going to be in the book. All it takes up there to create a road is to have three trucks down it, so it's a good idea sometimes to have just one vehicle go see where it goes. They can radio back if it’s the right way or not and then the other truck can move down the next trail. While all this crap is going on, all the inhabitants of these trucks are fully occupied in seeing what's going on around them.
How many times have we seen a family, obviously on vacation, traveling along a road with their heads jammed way up their butts? Mom’s asleep in front, the kids in the back are playing their game boys, and Dad is up front looking for hazards and radar cops. Above and around them, God is giving them an edition of "Michigan-out-of-doors" and they ain't watching.
Up ahead of us we see a break in the tree line about the same time Brian's on the radio telling us which two track to take. Obviously we had taken the back way in because the lake was almost totally encircled with homes. The lake turned out to be totally private, and when Brian mentioned his friend's name, we were invited to use the lake. Some builders there told us that a group in boats, with nets, had been through the lake but there were still some nice fish in it. I didn't know that that was legal to net fish out of a private lake but the people didn't seem to be too upset with it. Brian and E.J. had put their boat in at one end of the lake and we put in on the other. Both boats had fish-finders and both were finding fish, as we worked back and forth towards each other.
What a great way to spend a morning, Doug was on one side of me, and Don on the other. I've fished with Doug since '96 and have enjoyed every minute of it. He views fishing the way most men do about women, if he ain't doin' it, he's talking about it. Maybe it's the smell, I don't know, but I've had a good time fishing with him.
I was raised on a steady diet of Trout, from both lakes and rivers, and the very idea of spending time fishing for panfish or bass was not even discussed in my family. Doug changed all that and I've become a better fisher for it. I was raised on Union Lake near Pontiac and that lake received a yearly planting of rainbows, and there was a native population of Largemouth Bass and an assortment of panfish. 50' beyond the end of my Grandfather's dock was a spring, which held a lot of trout. When I got tired of catching trout, I'd jump in the boat and row a half-mile down the lake and catch some bass. In between were the panfish but no one in the family knew how to fillet a fish! The bass tasted like rotting vegetation and the gills were all bones so I was a trout fisherman. When I'd get to come north on vacation, we'd fish the Jordan for its varieties of trout and troll for steelhead in Lake Charlevoix. Then I became a sinner and went fishing with Doug. Although Doug has had an anchor in every boat he's owned, I've only seen him use it once. We don't troll per se, but we're always moving parallel to the shore. He uses all varieties of baits, even live, but he's always moving. As we move along he'll cast way out in front and work the lure until it's back to the boat or perpendicular to it, and has had astronomical results. It took me a while to figure it out, but as the boat moved forward, the fish move to each side and then re-converge behind the boat. Since I don't have the rod or a shoulder capable or reaching them along the periphery, I began to fish farther behind the boat than he was in front. During this time of learning how to do it, Doug was always supportive in showing me different techniques and methods and in the end; it's made me a much better fisher of fish. We often go fishing for walleye but when that doesn't work out, we can always go back to fishing for bass. They still taste like crap, but damn it gets exciting when one clears the water with your plug in its mouth.
The other reason I like fishing with Doug is he talks even less than I do. I go on and on when I'm writing, but when there's a rod in my hands, things get pretty quiet. A typical morning goes like this: Doug; "Fish on" or "Howya doin' Gooch?" Me: "Waytago Doug" or "Nothin' yet". We can do this for hours and when I get home and my wife asks me what I caught or what did we talk about, I tell her nothin' and nothin' but nothin' don't sound too exciting to my wife, but I love it. If nothing else, I always get a boat ride and the possibility of seeing another edition of "Michigan Outdoors".
Don, who's sitting at the other end of the boat, is genetically, my kind of fisherman. Now, I ain't a Pincherry Renegade, but I grew up fishing the same kind of waters he does. My great grandfather fished for grayling before there was a town named that, and my grandfather used to troll for the Mackinac strain of lake trout in a rowboat, in the Straits of Mackinac. Every summer when I came north on vacation, I'd put on the hip boots and fish the ditches and creeks for brookies.
A couple years ago, Don took me to a creek near him that wrote a whole new chapter in my trout fishing. I'd never fished in the marshes before and along with all the good fishing, you get to have the crap scared out you a dozen or so times. Water is all the same depth at the surface; it's the bottom part that gets ya wet. I'd be working my way along the bank in knee-deep water when you'd get a drink of creek water whilst still standing up. But during that trip Don taught me a lot about Salvelinus fontinalis, (Brook trout). Both how and why they live and a method to catch them. Anytime I'm spending time with Don either in the woods, or in the water, I'm learning something. It turns out he ain't much better’n me at catching perch though. Brian was the only one who contributed to the banquet Saturday night.
We all met back at the cabin for lunch and check to see who wants to do what and who wants to go. I'd been hoping to get hooked up with the bird hunters and they were eating when we got there. Don and D.J. were going to skin the bear and Doug was going fishing with Brian. We stuffed our faces with whatever we could find and we were headed for a spot I'd suggested earlier. I had seen a couple partridge on the way back and forth from one of the lakes I'd fished, and better yet, it was countryside I could get through. Since the two dogs hunt so differently, we broke into pairs and made a big square in the scrub growth. I've yet to drop a partridge, partly because I'm a lousy shot and partly because I pee a drop every time one of those birds explodes into my face. This day was no different, but Kent, Dan and Brian all got birds so you know that the dogs worked well.
After we had hunted the first area, we decided to move on down the two track we were on and see what was over the next hill. We'd decided to cruise along and if we saw a bird, that's where we'd stop and get the dogs out. After a short distance we started coming upon 'no trespassing' signs posted along the trail. Fortunately, Kent was driving and he didn't give a rip what those signs said. Just about when I figured we were being tracked by .50 calibers, there's a sign that says we're in the middle of a national forest. After we got back to the camp that night, I got out my book and took a look. That entire area was shaded in deep green with no white squares within it. Whether or not you get out is up to you, I'm just saying there are signs out there.
We got back just before Don and E.J. started quartering the bear. People had told me that a skinned bear looked very human, but it looked like a skinned bear to me. Dinner that night was grilled steak, homemade french-fries and leftover au gratin potatoes. We kept dinner light that night because we were all going to compete in the "National last weekend in September trout closing championship" trap shoot. Normally, when one shoots at a meet like this, they line up in a semi-circle and shoot at crossing shots and away shots. Never have I seen a meet where the targets are coming at you. Some of them you have a shot at, some of them have a shot at you. It's just like woodcock hunting and it's an absolute riot. I'm going to have to invoke the "What goes on across the bridge, stays across the bridge" rule here and skip the details.
What was going on across the street though can't be skipped. While all this was going on, Doug was coming out of his trailer. He hadn't been feeling well so he took a pass on the contest and slept for a while. When he came out, all that was there was a woman standing next to the campfire. One of the earliest conversations we'd all had during the first trip was the exclusion of all women from this event. Every year, the topic comes up and after an hour or so of laughing our butts off we'd vote to uphold the ruling. Therefore, Doug tentatively walked up to her to introduce himself and ask what the heck was she doing there. When she turns around he says, "Doreen, howya doin?"
"Where's Dave?" Dave Crandall, the first person to ever bring his wife to the weekend getaway. Let it be written, let it be known, that Dave was the first to bring his wife to the Eckerman Weekend. The poor guy will never live it down.
Saturday morning I woke up tired. If it hadn't been for the people I was with, what I was doing with them, and where I was doing it at, I'da gone home. Oh yeah, and the bonfire and banquet at the end of the day, let’s not forget about that. After a pot of coffee with some bacon and eggs on the side, I was ready to go. Everyone was going to do what they'd done the day before, and Jamie Montieth, who'd come up the night before, was hunting with Seymore and those guys. I'd seen those guys the night before going over the county map book and talking to Jamie Crandall. I figured Jamie had found those guys some prime territory while he was two-trackin'. We headed north to the Lake Superior shoreline to a lake that Don had heard about. Once we found this lake we were going to carry the boats and motors, three quarters of a mile down a path. At the end of this path lives a whole significant population of "Salvelinus fontinalis". For six months I'd been having dreams about this place, and sometimes I'd wake up embarrassed, but none-the less, we were finally getting there.
We eventually came to a lake that more-or-less fit the description from the directions and gave it a try. We'd decided not to carry the boats in there until we were sure that we were in the right place and it turned out to be a good move. We ran out of time by then and headed back to the camp. We weren't a quarter mile when we went by a trail that fit the description exactly to where we wanted to go. We were so close. The vision of that two-track intersection is burned into my memory and I know exactly where it is. That spot is where our first conversation was for what we were going to do next year.
We got back to the camp to find that another dog had been killed. I couldn't believe it! Just how much stuff can happen in one weekend? They were working an area not too far from a major road and when they walked out into the clearing; Bo was laying on the centerline. They had a shovel with them and decided to bury him where he enjoyed his life the most.
After lunch we sat around the fire for a while, just shootin' the bull and lying to each other. (It's not exactly lying; it’s more Factual Embellishment that anything else. But when you’re fighting to get through that brush and still kill a bird, who's to say what your percentage is). It was decided pretty much by everyone to head over to the clearing one last time to take another try at the woodcock. We spaced ourselves out like the first time and with Montieth there, I was moved down a little closer to the creek that runs by there. In front of me, not 20 feet away is a huge pile of scat. It looked like the Incredible Hulk had taken a dump on that log. This pile t’wernt left there by the animal Don shot. This may have come from its grandfather, and I looked at the twin barrels in front of me. Nope, not even four barrels would be enough. The first volley and a flash of brown brought me out of my stupor and back to the game at hand.
"Next year," I thought, "I'm going to shoot a lot more clay pigeons before I come." Even with all those people shooting together, and the way in which the birds flushed, there was never a moment that I thought things were getting out of hand. For all of the times we hear or read about how unsafe or uncivilized hunting is, they should consider how many groups like us are out there and nothing disastrous comes of it. Nothing came of my attempts to double my tally of woodcock, but I didn't have to bring a box of shotgun shells back to the camp with me.
We all headed back to the camp, and I headed for the firewood. Some people in my personal history consider me a borderline pyromaniac. I am not.[Editor’s note: Yes he is.] I burn wood for its color, and house fires are orange and ugly. Everyone who's ever sat next to one of my fires though knows I like 'em hot. After I've started a fire on the first day, I didn't need to do much to get it going the next morning, for as long as I'm there, so is there a fire.
Don headed for the kitchen. Seein' how it's his party, and cooking is his number one priority for the weekend, he's reserved the right to do so. Don started pealing potatoes while we were across the street and he had those in the deep fryer. After those were done, there was going to be two chickens fried that Crandall brought. Brian and Dan started preparing the birds that were shot over the weekend. They wrapped them all, both woodcock and partridge, in strips of bacon and then wrapped in aluminum foil. They put them on the grill next to all the steaks that Don was cooking, and above those, on the next rack, were all the trout caught. I'm not a liberty to publish what the ingredients were that they used, but I don't think I've ever eaten anything that good in the civilized world. God bless his soul, Kent still had some more 'poppers' and he au gratin leftovers in the oven. While all this was going on, I was doing Don's dishes. Do they take pictures of me with my fish and my bird? No. They take a picture of me while I do the dishes.
When the aroma of it all got to be too much, I grabbed my Once-a-Dayâ beer and headed for the kitchen. I came in looking for munchies and I saw Don working at the stove. It was the first time I'd been alone with him since he shot his bear, so I took the opportunity to congratulate him. I asked him if he wouldn't mind if I represented his dad and give him a hug. Over the last several days he had been a prime example of how you would like your son to respond in any given circumstance. He never lost control nor did he loose sight of what he thought was right. Through the entire event, someone who hadn't been there would have never known from the way he acted. Anyway, I gave him a heartfelt hug but I passed on the cheek-kissing thing.
Finally, dinner was served. I had read that when our forefathers were celebrating the first Thanksgiving, the main course was turkey. Normally they ate lobster and crab and they got sick of the stuff, so they used turkey. It's easy to tell that there weren't many woodcock at that gathering, or you'd be able to get them at the grocery store. You have to eat a dozen of them to fill you up, but you only need to eat one or two to keep the faith. By this time the fire is going pretty good, as were the spirits. Everyone, well almost everyone, had been bringing out their bottles of embodiment during dinner each night and this night I brought along my spoon. I'm not allowed to drink the stuff but it doesn't take a lot to bring back memories of when I could. We toasted Don on his successful hunt and our successful weekend. A tablespoon of scotch was toasted to Sally and a tablespoon of bourbon to Bo.
We were all pretty well lit when the chair went on the fire. Whenever Don or his family comes upon a piece of furniture that is better than the one there, they bring it up. The discards are used to lighten up the party. For a while there, I'd bet that satellites saw that fire. If we have a significant amount of firewood, we have a huge fire, if we don't we cut down another tree and get that much. It was later, when the fire had died down did I see how dark it was, and yet the stars were enough to light the way as you walked. I was sitting next to the embers when I could make out the outline of some spruce trees growing in the yard. With the backdrop of the Milky Way the trees looked like spires upon a church. I don't think it "takes two or more of you to gather in his name": to have HIM there. For the time I spent staring at that, HE was there.
This time I was ready to go home when I woke up. My back hurt from spending so much time sitting in the boat, my legs hurt from all the hunting I'd been doing, my shoulder hurt from all the shooting, and my brain hurt from sensory overload. I went into the cabin and made a pot of coffee and then had a seat next to the fire. I gazed around me at all the carnage of the night before. Next to almost every empty chair lay the tally of that man's celebration. If all the wheat, barley, and hops growers had looked down upon all that, they would have been elated and proud. When my scan fell upon the barbecue grill, my eyes froze on the middle grill. There, lying next to a steak was a partridge breast wrapped in bacon. I couldn't believe my luck; it had been since never that I'd last had leftover partridge for breakfast. During that time of year up there, the normal low is 36 degrees, so all of the outdoors is a refrigerator and I'm always the first up in the morning.
Sitting there munching on bird and steak, I started thinking about the week that was and what I'd learned and how'd I'd learned it. In that week we'd had two dogs run over, and one of those was murdered. A man shot his first bear; many birds were harvested along with all the fish, and for the first time I got to contribute. My education about bears increased, as did that of its hunters, both good and bad. I was honored to be a contributor to a family journal, and I got to write here about what they all did. That's what my "first on the list of things to do" is, and I thank them all for letting me do it.
Copyright M. Kamradt 2006
All rights reserved
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