I quit deer hunting a long long time ago, not because I didn’t enjoy the sport of killing, but because my wife refused to prepare or eat the venison. I remember traipsing through the Kalkaska swamps of Michigan, searching for that isolated place deemed too thick with obstacles for other hunters to venture. I would sit for hours listening to the slightest of noises stirred by the wind and trees, only to feel violated by the smell of cigarettes coming from pinpricks of orange eyeing me through the brush.
Back at camp we’d cook beans and franks and wash it down with Old Milwaukee or Pabst Blue Ribbon. As night approached, we’d sit around a campfire and kibitz, laying claim to our own areas of expertise. One such hunter, Ray, (the big fellow standing to the right), became an unwelcome regular years after my Uncle Ivan invited him along, the year prior to my uncle quitting the hunting group altogether.
Ray was an expert on everything—cards, firearms, automobiles, investments, you name it—the Cliff Claven before Cliff Claven existed on "Cheers" type of guy. I suspect Ray’s arrogance and bravado were ways for him to mask his own deficiencies. He was deathly afraid of getting lost in the woods; he never ventured too far from camp by himself. And who could blame him? A young man turned up missing in these very same Kalkaska swamps, and a couple of years later his decomposed body had been discovered by another hunter.
No one liked Ray, particularly my grandfather (seated in the middle). I distinctly remember both of them arguing, which led to Ray tossing another log into the smoldering ash and my grandfather snuffing out the remains. “It’s time to hit the sack,” he said, “big day ahead of us tomorrow.” Of course, I threw back the rest of my beer and checked in early, leaving Ray to smoke another cigarette before he called it a night. In the morning, it would be my turn to lose him in the woods.
10 comments:
My friend Jerry at work shot through a tree and killed a seven point buck. He sawed off a portion of the tree where the bullet passed through and showed it to me. Also showed me a picture of the dead deer. True story.
So, was it Ray watching you through the brush? Sounds like you couldn't lose him? If he turned up missing, would you have reported it?
My mom has pictures of me in my favorite pink furry coat next to a deer that was hanging upside down having been freshly gutted. How gross. What possessed my parents to take pictures of me with dead animals?
my grandfather used to deer hunt all the time. My best friends boyfriend thinks it's magical or some shit. I swear, everytime we go somewhere he talks about killing a deer. We went up north with them not too long ago (my boyfriend and I) and we are sleeping and all of a sudden I just felt like someone was by our window and I heard some twigs snap so we look out the window and there he is bright orange hat and his gun creepin around. I looke at the clock it was like 5 in the morning. what the hell. I could never hunt deer. Its way too early it's freezing outside and I don't wanna go. hehe :o)
Ahh, man, poor Ray. Good story, though and it reminds of home where venison is a way of life!
Reminds me of deer camp in Newberry. Good times. Nice pic and post. MW
Great picture. Love the whole mood of this, very Ray Carver.
Did you ever see "Deliverance"? You would never catch me in the woods. I used to live right in the woods, with the cougars and all. I trust the wild animals more than I do the humans. Humans with guns are just a little teeny bit frightening.
I don't care for venison either.
Jim, I remember the hunting times up at Kalkaska. Yeh, we always tried to lose good ole Ray, but he always seemed to be peeking through the woods and smoking a cigarette. Great pic! --Bro, Ron
i want more... it seems unfinished....but what do i know except that dogs are great dishwashers?
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