By: Alan Weihausen “Co’mere deer! Co’mere deer! Daddy’s gonna SHOOT ya’!” I took my little girl on a weekend hunt near Comanche, and as we were sitting in the deer stand, her enthusiasm hit rock bottom. For two weeks leading up to the trip with my Mom, Dad, and two brothers, all I heard was how we were going to shoot big deer, daddy deer, big horn deer, red deer, green deer…100 mile an hour talk from a 100 mile an hour girl. “Pumped” is an understatement. Then, twenty minutes into the Friday evening hunt, and tired of waiting for what must have been a “3 year old’s eternity”, my daughter cuts loose with her homemade deer call that opened this story. Mass chaos at high volume. This might shock you—we never saw a deer.
I have hunted deer my entire life-from womb to now. I guess I was lucky in that I grew up in a family that lived for deer hunting, and the deer lease was our second home. There are always people that ask questions like: Why do you hunt? Why do you kill those poor innocent creatures? We’ve all heard the responses…If we don’t “harvest” the deer, then they will starve…I don’t hunt over a feeder, only fair chase…I need the meat. Okay, these are fair questions from people that don’t hunt and fair answers from those who do. It’s kind of like trying to explain what it is to be an Aggie fan to those who aren’t Aggie fans…you either get it or you don’t. Why do I hunt? Here is my answer—feel free to use it because I know many of you feel the same way I do. I hunt because it is my passion. I hunt because there are very few things in this world that make my heart pound like the sight of a buck creeping through the woods trailing a doe. I hunt because the night before opening day makes me giddy like a little boy on Christmas Eve. I hunt because “buck fever” is not an excuse…it is an adrenaline rush I pray I never lose. As Nat King Cole put it, “it’s almost like being in love.”
A friend once told me, “Sometimes, you just got to center the bubble.” He was referring to a level, and how, in today’s world, we just get out of whack. The center of my level is family, friends, and the outdoors. There is nothing more centered in my bubble than the campfire at deer camp. A campfire on a chilly night after the evening hunt is about as close to heaven as I can get. From marshmallows to hot dogs to pork chops, steak, and ranch style beans, to copper wire to meteor showers in November, and to Dad’s ghost stories, the campfire is the focal point for family hunting traditions. We used to throw copper electrical wire in the fire to make a “redneck disco.” Dad always told the best ghost stories around that fire. I remember what it felt like to be held in Grammy’s lap by a campfire, and now I also know how good it feels to hold my own children by the fire.
In my opinion, tradition is the glue that holds a family together. Traditions are extremely important-no matter how small they may be. When we were little, we always stopped on the way to the deer lease at a mom-n-pop store to get “slurpees” and football-shaped chocolate candy. It was tradition. We always had a huge breakfast after the Saturday morning hunt. It was tradition. We only got slurpees on the way to the deer lease. That little store in Evant, Texas is the only place I’ve ever seen the chocolate footballs. Homemade biscuits always take me back to deer season. Why? Because traditions don’t mean as much if you do them everyday. There is a huge difference between tradition and routine.
Do you know the difference in a friend and a hunting buddy? A friend starts a hunting story with, “Man, you ain’t never gonna believe this!” While a hunting buddy starts a hunting story with, “Hey, remember that time when we…?” I am proud to say that in my life, I have had some great hunting buddies. My Dad held the rifle when I squeezed the trigger on my first doe. He was there when I shot my first buck. My grandfather took me with him on his last two hunts in this world. Jim Marsh sat in the deer stand with me when I got to shoot my first wall-hanger. And, finally, my father-in-law and I have grown a lot closer thanks to deer hunting. For me to actually receive a key to “his camp” took a lot of heart on his part. I’m sure he was skeptical about giving me free reign to his sanctuary–the same way I will be when my daughter finds some skillet head that sees her as a woman and not as my little girl. I’ve heard it said that you should choose your hunting partners almost as carefully as you would choose your wife.
I do feel like I ought to apologize to those of you expecting me to write a story on a particular destination. The idea of “deer camp and traditions” hit home for me because last season was a rough one. I spent a lot of time in the woods, and not enough at home. My children are at that age where they realize when you are not around, but not quite big enough to tag along. I remember hunting the weekend before Thanksgiving ’06 and praying-shameless isn’t it?-praying to let me shoot a buck, finish this season, and spend the rest of the year at home. How’s that for messed up priorities? Somewhere along the way last year, I forgot that hunting was not about the kill, but making memories with your family. That is changing this season. So here it is…Murphy Slaw Rides Again—Destination: Anywhere, USA (Just make sure to include your family!) When this magazine comes out, we should be 6 weeks or so into Deer Season ’07, so I hope that I have held myself accountable for what I have written. I’ll let you know.
It doesn’t matter if you hunt on a high fenced, low fenced, no fenced, 5,000 acre, 5 acre, 8 hour drive, 2 hour drive, or in your own backyard piece of land called deer camp. What’s important is how you treat it. Deer Camp is sacred ground. Treat it like the one place in this world you can go to get away from the world. My daughter is now seven years old with my son following right behind her at four. It’s time. It’s time for us to pass down a few traditions and make some of our own.
Deer season…the deer lease…deer camp…deer hunting. When my time on earth is done, and I am standing right outside the Pearly Gates, I hope I am greeted by a chilly north wind. I hope the music is cranked up real loud, and the crowd is going nuts. Most importantly, I hope that my heart is racing the same way it does when that ol’ buck comes slinking through the woods after a doe. Knocking on Heaven’s door with buck fever…wouldn’t that be something?
Deer camp…a great place for a family getaway, but let’s be realistic. You ARE off the hook during the rut.
See ya’ around the fire,
Alan Weihausenalan_oso@yahoo.com
