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A CENTURY OF DEER STORIES
Buck and I still correspond to this day. Here was a letter I sent earlier a couple of weeks ago: 11/15/24 Buck, I was reminiscing a few days ago while I was shoveling snow and got to thinking of some of the old deer stories I used to hear. These were a long time ago.
From before I started to hunt. I remember being a big-eyed kid and going with my dad to all the hunting camps around Balsam.
It was a special time of the year when old friendships that had been stored for a year were rekindled. Even though I wasn’t old enough to hunt I felt that I was becoming part of the culture that was so important in our neck of the woods.
Some camps were literally tarpaper shacks in the woods. Many were headquartered in someone’s house. All the resorts – including my grandpa’s - kept a couple of cabins open for use into November by hunters who had been coming up for decades.
There was Lloyd Lang and his sons Floyd, Lewellen and Roger who came to my grandpa’s resort from Paynesville.
“Old Man” Lindbergh and his boys Jack, Bruce and Gary who lived the rest of the year in Minneapolis would also stay at Snaptail Resort. The crew from Young America would stay at Big Balsam Lodge. Waisenen’s Resort on Lower Balsam had their own party that hunted with owner Johnny Waisenen. “Big Bill” Bergquist would get together with the Ahola boys and hunt behind the lake. Kluck’s had their camp on the shores of Rose Lake.
Cousin Tommy “Two Feathers” transformed the old homestead into their camp. Not to mention my uncles Jewell and Boone and Gene who held down the fort in the Bigfork area. Why, even my Grandma Alice hunted into her 80s! These camps started when the oldest of these people were young in the early 1930s.
Our own camp started with just my dad. Mom began to hunt in the late 50s so we could get an extra deer, and I became the third when I turned 12. My brother and some of my sisters hunted at times, with Kathy carrying on the tradition until recently. Some years my college roommates would venture north. Boyhood friend Kelly would spend time at our camp. Dad built “The Shack” in 1988 and we moved from being headquartered in the house to new digs on the back 40. Eventually my son started to hunt, and Beth and her family became part of the crew in the early 2000s.
And the stories they’d tell!
Some were old familiar ones that I’d hear every year, but each season brought new chapters.
Most tales involved either deer outsmarting hunters, or hunters FINALLY getting the drop on some old swamp buck. There was the 10-pointer that walked back on his own tracks and whose trail seemingly disappeared into thin air. Then there was the Blandin Plantation “monster” that eluded the Young America bunch for four years before one of the youngsters finally connected. Gary’s “old reliable” stand behind the long abandoned ball park that produced every year for decades. And one of my favorites,
dad’s first deer when he was 14. Downed with a single shot 12 gauge and buckshot behind the pasture. It was a beautiful 10-pointer that my grandpa had mounted and hung in our home for many years. Even the story of how that mount disappeared ended up being a deer story!
I was so proud when I turned 12 and actually started to hunt and even prouder when I shot my first deer and could tell my own deer story. In subsequent years I would always start with “When I shot my FIRST deer,” even for the years after until I shot my second. These experiences had many benefits – not the least of which was a camaraderie and culture that is unique to small areas of the country. As I was growing up it also taught me the geography of the surrounding land. The Cedar Swamp and Ravine. Newton’s Road and Moose Country. Bill’s Stand, Bobby’s Stand, the Pie Drive and the River Bottom had as much significance to me as drawings on a road map. Saying you were heading to the Plantation had as much context as letting someone know you were going to Duluth.
Learning how to hunt. Where to hunt. Deer habits, travel patterns and haunts. You can watch all the YouTube experts today for months and not learn as much as from the stories told ‘round deer camps over the years. I can walk into unfamiliar territory and “feel” where the deer should be. Experience like that can’t be learned from a book, magazine or video. It is learned from the real experts like I have known over my lifetime.
When I moved to Ely in the late 1970s, I would spend two weekends at our deer camp back home and one weekend at camps up here. I would eat peanuts and play cards at the Nor-Vee-Gen’s camp behind the airport and even shot a buck back there one time.
Vetzel’s camp off the Fernberg become a favorite to spend time at and tell old stories. Though I never hunted out of Today’s camp, I knew all the people who headquartered there. I would spend some time behind Bear Island Lake making drives for my friend Nancy.
And new traditions continue to be born. Leeson’s have established a new camp in the Ely area. I’ve watched my grandkids having the same wide eyes of wonder as I did as they’ve grown up and been introduced to hunting. From Sam getting his first deer, to Ben “touching” the unicorn, to Evan scoring his first. Graham was along when Tim shot a spike a few years ago and Eero shot his first grouse with me this fall. He can hardly wait to come to camp for deer season.
It got me to thinking. The early stories I heard were told firsthand by hunters traveling the woods in the early 1930s. Add my six decades of hunting to the newest generation and it won’t be long before there will be a full century of tales telling the stories and lore of hunting and hunting camps.
With any luck this latest generation will be able to pass some tales and wisdom to their kids and grandkids! Maybe the story of Grandpa Hoops getting the 10-pointer at Leeson’s Deer Camp will make the list!
Oh, and letting my mind wander to the memories makes snow shoveling go much faster!
Take care, Hoops
