Michigan’s regular firearms deer season opened, as usual, in confusion.
The days before the Sunday opener were lovely. Still a bit of color in the trees. The wind was bearable and the temperatures moderate.
Friday it looked like every vehicle in the world was heading north. Cash registers were polished, oiled and ready for booming business.
One reason to visit deer camps is just to see old friends. We wandered over and chatted with Lunker Leroy and Happy Howard. We shook hands again with Deputy Joe and Bernie and others.
Friday night the mercury fell into the 20s, but Saturday came mild and sunny. I had spent lots of hours making sure I had all my flintlock hunting gear where I could find it.
At about three in the morning it started pouring. I mean really pouring. By first light it had dimmed to sprinkles and mist. Not exactly the best weather for flintlocks. You’d think the politicians were controlling the weather.
John the Riflemaker went out with a modern wonder, able to hit the buck with the best rack at a mile or two.
He didn’t have to show off. After about 30 minutes of hunting, four deer wandered into sight, and he dropped the biggest one.
With my bad hip and old age, we had to get help putting the fat doe in the back of his truck. Mike Parachute Adams used to say nothing louses up a deer camp like a dead deer. That was our situation until the Shafer brothers showed up.
The forecast is for a good weekend. I hope so. Like many other hunters, I’ll be going out again.