Traditions, Stories, and Deer Season

Still coming to deer camp even after the assault in the Green Palace – Jim McDaniels (right) with Ellis Floyd (left) and Jason Bass (center). Hunters in the Ozark Hills making stories and carrying on traditions.

Deer hunters have a different internal clock than most folks. Growing up most kids live from Christmas to Christmas, however, for outdoors types we keep time according to hunting, trapping, and fishing seasons. Case in point, as a grade school student I lived from deer season to deer season. Camping out at Ft. Leonard Wood and deer hunting on the post was the highlight of my year. It was a tradition that my grandfather, and then my father, and now I carry on. With chili, soup, and deer shoulder roast on the menu the fare is a little better now than 20 years ago. Today with many of the old-timers now gone the practical jokes have calmed down some…thank goodness. But all the stories of camp antics, hunting stories, and other outdoor related shenanigans of years gone by are still played over and over again each year around the campfire. The stories and fun on the night before Missouri deer season opening weekend has kept the past 30 years of hunting seasons alive and well for me and the whole clan. This year promises to be no different.

We’ll tell the story and laugh about Uncle Bob and his bird dog. When I was a kid during the 70’s we all gathered on Wednesday nights at Grandma Stephens’ house for family dinner. Apparently one evening Uncle Bob showed up for dinner and was bragging on how he had out-smarted Mother Nature. His bird dog was in heat and, according to Bob, all the communication between the neighborhood male dogs and a female in heat was done through smell. So, he had picked up some cheap perfume and dowsed the poor dog with it. There was no way a neighborhood dog would be able to smell anything through the offensively strong perfume.

Now, my Great Uncle and Aunt, Norman and Ola Grogan always came over for dinner and they had a male Chihuahua named Cookie. When Cookie came over to the table and jumped up in Ola’s lap she exclaimed, “Cookie, what in the world have you got into? You smell like you’ve been in a perfume factory!” I guess there was a pause and then all the adults (except Bob) burst out in uproarious laughter. They all k
new what Cookie had been into and I guess the look of disgusted and astonished disbelief on Bob’s face was one for the ages! I don’t remember much about those Irish Setter-Chihuahua hunting dogs but I’ll bet they had good nose for smelling out the birds if they took after their father, Cookie! Uncle Bob learned, as the old saying goes, “It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature!”

Then we’ll tell about the firecrackers in the Green Palace. One year when I was about 12 years old at deer camp the night before opening day I was astounded to watch grown men acting just like a bunch of kids! The Green Palace was a tent that Jim McDaniels brought to deer camp that was big enough to pull in a pickup. That evening Jim had turned in early. As all the other men in camp stood around the campfire I noticed Benny Bryson moving toward the Palace after giving Jim just enough time to get in his sleeping bag. Without saying a word and with a solemn and matter-of-fact expression on his face Benny pulled out a string of firecrackers from his coat. Now this wasn’t just any string of firecrackers, it was a string of Black Cats so long it reminded me of folded-over bandoliers of machine gun cartridges. Benny unzipped the Palace front door, lit the fuse, threw them in, and zipped the door back closed! He then just strolled back to the fire.

As I sat there waiting for the devil to come to breakfast I was completely dumbfounded. You see Jim is a big man at 6’4” and about 300 pounds and I figured Benny was going to die soon. I also figured that Dad and I were going to have a hard time explaining to mom why we were at the police station all night the night before deer season. Anyway, the firecrackers tore in with a defining machine gun cadence. From the outside of the tent with each loud report you could see a corresponding flash of light through the fabric. There were so many flashes it looked like Jim had a disco ball spinning inside the Palace! And the light show seemed like it went on forever!

After the onslaught was finally winding down, like popcorn, there were a few late poppers in the string. I was waiting for Jim to tear through the flap and come out with a look of rage on his face and blood on his mind! Instead, after about a 30 second lull, without a word, from inside the tent the zipper opened up about 12 inches and smoke boiled out from the inside, but no Jim. All the men at the campfire were laughing in amazement except Benny. He looked around and shrugged his shoulders with the same matter-of-fact look on his face. I think smoke poured out of the tent for hours. I don’t know how Jim kept from suffocating!

These are what makes up the treasure of hunting seasons past for young’uns from the Ozark Hills. It is who we are and what we do. I’m proud to say I’ve been a part of it. I hope that some day 30 years from now my children are able to remember back on many fond memories of hunting, trapping, and fishing season past and smile. It’s a heritage worth devoting a lifetime of effort. Take a kid deer hunting this fall. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.




Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.