Published: December 13, 2007 11:38 am            

The Outdoors: One lucky hunter comes away with bragging rights

Originally published in the December 14, 2007, print edition.

A measure of happiness reigns at Deer Camp, 2007.

Unlike the last several years when the meat pole was forlornly empty at the end of day one, this year by lunchtime Saturday, two bucks were hanging.

And had Ken Weisel not cleanly missed the fat doe he nearly had to shoot in self defense, the count could easily have stood at three.

So this year, for a change, there was the promise of fresh venison sizzling on the grill at opening day’s end.

But speaking of happiness, for the first time, there are newlyweds in camp this year. Mike and Holly Weisel very recently tied the knot. For the couple’s honeymoon, Mike brought his new bride, decked out in fresh blaze orange, new boots and her own deer license, back to the family’s Pope County Farm for the annual fall rite.

Lucky gal, that Holly.

Saturday morning, the couple shared a stand, shoulder-to-shoulder, along a fence line on the south 80 adjacent to a tangle of reed canary grass and cattails.

This ought to be said of Mike’s new wife: She is one game gal.

Over the years, several wives have come to embrace the tradition of coming to deer camp. But they are usually content to hang around the house, watch the youngsters, maybe run into town.

But Holly was up and ready to go with the rest of us at 5 a.m. Fortified by a breakfast of several hogs’ worth of bacon and a chicken flock’s worth of eggs, she and the rest of the guys trundled out the door into the Saturday morning darkness.

Now, in the dozen or so seasons Mike has chased whitetails, he had yet to bag one.

So a few of us were wondering just how successful the morning might be for the pair since Mike has been snake-bit on those rare occasions when lady luck offered even a flicker of opportunity at bringing home the venison.

I was set up on the edge of an abandoned farm site about a quarter-mile distant from the fence line where the couple posted on the edge of the slough.

I was grateful enough for the deadfall that offered me a bit of protection from the stiff, southeast wind and figured that Mike and his rookie partner were entirely miserable in their relatively exposed position from the sparse cover provided by an overgrown fence line.

Indeed, as it grew light, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see two blaze orange figures beating a hasty retreat to the truck.

The half-dawn gave way to overcast daylight when the first shots rang out.

One, two, three, four, five shots. Such strings usually don’t bode well.

But then, after a long pause, there was single shot. An encouraging sign.

After several minutes, I packed up my gear and headed back to my own truck.

As I reached the long field road, Mike motored up in his new SUV. “I need a knife and a truck,” he said, grinning.

The six-pointer he bagged had broke from cover after his new wife first spotted the deer sneaking along the edge of the slough.

Back at the farmyard as the deer was hoisted to the meat pole, I asked Holly what she thought of the whole affair.

“Kind of exciting,” she said. “But it really smelled bad when he started to field dress it. I actually touched the intestines — with my boot.”

The consensus in deer camp is that it ought to be a long, happy marriage.

        

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