This is not the kind of adventure you share with the wife and youngsters. All they need to know is that you had some weather.
At daybreak, the sky was nearly clear and all was calm. The actual damage wasn’t as bad as it sounded, and the remainder of my weekend was uneventful.
Another time on a solo elk hunt, I had retired for the night when something that breathed heavily walked through my camp. You actually can feel hairs stand up on the back of your neck and there’s nothing quite as reassuring as a big bore magnum sixgun within easy reach when an uninvited guest strolls within a couple of feet of your bed.
Some years later, I was hunting the opening weekend with longtime pal Brian Lull. This was when we learned about thinking good thoughts at the campfire about people gone by. It helps to have a libation or two to refresh one’s memory. It got cold that night but we both slept soundly in a four-man tent; always bring more tent than you need.
It’s possible to have a comfortable campsite with some amenities. It just takes a little longer to set things up, such as suspending a tarp above the tent, with plenty of headroom.
The Best Camps — and lessons — are the Roughest
Dave’s small blue nylon tent has been part of some hairy adventures, not the least
of which was riding out a storm with gale-force winds on a ridge top in Washington State.
My young family never cared much for going camping, because I liked to rough it and still do.
There’s something clean about dirt and keeping things simple. Since I never much liked campgrounds because they attract too many stupid people with bratty kids or too many teenage morons who know everything and think it’s okay to get drunk in the outdoors, I’ve been quite content in makeshift campsites away from unruly heathens.
Some of my best adventures, and a couple that could have gone terminal, occurred in rough camps. During hunting season, I’ve slept in tents or in the back of my truck, usually solo or with one companion.
In my nylon tent, there’s room for me, my rifle, a small space heater, my bedding, backpack and gun belt, flashlight, lantern and a radio. If you’ve never lived in a small tent for a few days, you haven’t lived. I’ve never much cared for hunting out of a motel room or lodge, and some of the best sleep I’ve ever enjoyed was when bundled up in a double sleeping bag atop a thick foam pad on a small cot inside my truck canopy. It’s dry, comfy, off the floor and secure.
Once many years ago, at the top of Washington’s Teanaway Ridge, my first-ever solo hunt on that peak nearly got me killed. It was cloudy driving the gravel road up there and that night, after having secured everything, a storm rolled in. No, that’s not quite accurate. The storm came stomping in from the west with no mercy. My quarters were the blue tent pictured here and my only company was a .257 Roberts tucked carefully in a hand-built sheepskin case and a Ruger Blackhawk in .41 Magnum on a full cartridge belt. If the storm got me, I’d go out fighting!
I was happily dozing with the little transistor radio providing a musical background when the first blow hit. Somewhere out there in the dark, too close for comfort, the top section of a tree came crashing down. About every 30 seconds came a fresh gust of wind, there was thunder in the distance and I concluded early on there would be no morning campfire because my firewood was out there getting soaked.
Brian Lull and Dave shared a warm, roaring campfire on a long ago deer hunt.
Even if you don’t notch a tag, you come away with something special from a rough camp.
What You Need
If you know someone who can be a jerk when drinking, keep that person as far away from your hunting area as possible. I don’t like unpleasant drunks and I really don’t like drunks with guns.
You don’t need a big radio with loudspeakers. Not only does that bother other hunters, it tells the game to leave. And you don’t need to camp with guns where you just might encounter somebody who doesn’t approve.
Dave doesn’t care for campgrounds and he prefers the rough camp with
its few amenities because he gets some fine sleep. Keep it simple.
The Woman Who Disliked Hunters
Occasionally, the gods hand you an assignment to provide a teachable moment to someone who has it coming.
I was with another guy at a trailhead one opening morning, well into the last century. I was wearing a parka and orange vest, we both had sidearms and there was no mistaking what we were up to. Well, maybe not to anyone “from around here.”
Enter the two women and the guy. Hikers, they were and the mouthiest was from Massachusetts. She said so and immediately launched into a tirade about these other guys they’d encountered a bit earlier. “Boston” may have been on her first trip west of the Mississippi and all she could do was yammer on about those “damned hunters and their guns.”
She was as careless with her choices of places to sit as she was with her mouth, but neither my companion or myself felt compelled to say a thing as she took a position at the base of a stump to hold court. This went on for several minutes.
Finally, she asked us what we thought about it all. I had a rare fit of diplomacy at that precise moment, being unable to retreat inside a tent.
After a moment of careful consideration, I said, “Horse manure.”
The woman was puzzled, and I could tell. It was obviously part of the divine plan.
“You’re sitting in it.”
