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Hunting was always a very special part of my family. From little on up, Tamarack was my "home away from home". Deer season was something we all looked forward to. Everyone talked about it all year long, but come fall, you knew tradition was just around the corner. You couldn't escape the excitement of heading north!
Every year, family would fill their camps. My uncle Eddie and little Eddie, my uncle Dune and Bobby, my cousin Dave, Davey and Jamie, Harry and Mark, my dad and me. Early on, we didn't have our own place. We stayed with my uncle Eddie at Camp Little Horn. Dave and his boys at his dad Johns up on the hill. Eventually we'd have our own places on "the hill".
Friday night everyone would come flooding in. Get unloaded, stoke up the stoves and get settled in. After the last sleeping bag was unloaded, it was time to visit. We'd walk from one camp to the next. Though we were all close down home, it was like we haven't seen each other all year! The joking, laughing... the stories. Those old stories. They were the greatest part. Some hard to believe, and others never to be repeated, but they always made ya laugh. Saturdays and Sundays would pretty much be the same, with some spotting and scouting mixed in.
The weekend before the season starts has always been great. I wish I could get those old days back. Today isn't much different. The tradition still remains. Just a few less folks, a few less stories.
One thing that hasn't changed, too much, is the Patch Man. Each year, usually on Sunday, the Patch Man would come around. He was a member of the Kettle Creek-Tamarack Sportsmen's Association. When I was little, the old fella would go camp to camp, usually wearing a Woolrich coat, to sell memberships to the association. You could tell he enjoyed what he did. But there were times you could see he was hesitant to leave a warm camp to venture on to another. Some years, the weather was just brutal. But he still made his rounds. I cant remember the price, but you filled out the card and he'd give you a patch to proudly hang about the walls of your camp, or sew on your coat. I can remember looking around uncle Eddies camp at all the patches, trying to count them all and figure out just how many years his camp was here. Honestly, I can't remember. But there was a lot. If I can remember right, they wrapped around the top of the wall from the clock with a rainbow trout on, to the doorway. And maybe on the other side of the partition wall. I've never displayed mine, id decided long ago to keep them nice and neat tucked away so they wouldn't fade or show wear.
Today, new members go from camp to camp. Im not sure what had happened to the original Patch Man. He was gray haired when I was younger, so id imagine, like many, he had passed on. He was always nice, courteous, and had local stories to share. I didn't know his name, but he was always a big part of the tradition I look forward to. And thankfully, others have taken his place and soldiered on. With all the changes through the years with hunting in general, its nice to have the Patch Man come around and complete the little bit of tradition we have left in our neck of the big woods.
Hope I didn't ramble too much. I was just sitting here looking through a few things and found a lone patch at the bottom of a box. Why it wasn't with my others, I can't say. Does any of you all have a "patch man" or simliar come around during season?
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Every year, family would fill their camps. My uncle Eddie and little Eddie, my uncle Dune and Bobby, my cousin Dave, Davey and Jamie, Harry and Mark, my dad and me. Early on, we didn't have our own place. We stayed with my uncle Eddie at Camp Little Horn. Dave and his boys at his dad Johns up on the hill. Eventually we'd have our own places on "the hill".
Friday night everyone would come flooding in. Get unloaded, stoke up the stoves and get settled in. After the last sleeping bag was unloaded, it was time to visit. We'd walk from one camp to the next. Though we were all close down home, it was like we haven't seen each other all year! The joking, laughing... the stories. Those old stories. They were the greatest part. Some hard to believe, and others never to be repeated, but they always made ya laugh. Saturdays and Sundays would pretty much be the same, with some spotting and scouting mixed in.
The weekend before the season starts has always been great. I wish I could get those old days back. Today isn't much different. The tradition still remains. Just a few less folks, a few less stories.
One thing that hasn't changed, too much, is the Patch Man. Each year, usually on Sunday, the Patch Man would come around. He was a member of the Kettle Creek-Tamarack Sportsmen's Association. When I was little, the old fella would go camp to camp, usually wearing a Woolrich coat, to sell memberships to the association. You could tell he enjoyed what he did. But there were times you could see he was hesitant to leave a warm camp to venture on to another. Some years, the weather was just brutal. But he still made his rounds. I cant remember the price, but you filled out the card and he'd give you a patch to proudly hang about the walls of your camp, or sew on your coat. I can remember looking around uncle Eddies camp at all the patches, trying to count them all and figure out just how many years his camp was here. Honestly, I can't remember. But there was a lot. If I can remember right, they wrapped around the top of the wall from the clock with a rainbow trout on, to the doorway. And maybe on the other side of the partition wall. I've never displayed mine, id decided long ago to keep them nice and neat tucked away so they wouldn't fade or show wear.
Today, new members go from camp to camp. Im not sure what had happened to the original Patch Man. He was gray haired when I was younger, so id imagine, like many, he had passed on. He was always nice, courteous, and had local stories to share. I didn't know his name, but he was always a big part of the tradition I look forward to. And thankfully, others have taken his place and soldiered on. With all the changes through the years with hunting in general, its nice to have the Patch Man come around and complete the little bit of tradition we have left in our neck of the big woods.
Hope I didn't ramble too much. I was just sitting here looking through a few things and found a lone patch at the bottom of a box. Why it wasn't with my others, I can't say. Does any of you all have a "patch man" or simliar come around during season?
