Camp Stout, Wednesday, November 18, 1998, just before sunup, after three inches of new snow in the night. That's Dad's fire in the stove and the lantern in the window. One set of tracks to the door: mine, from the outhouse.

I'm Gary Stout. I'm 45, I'm a millwright at an auto-parts plant in Saginaw, and I've been going to deer camp every November since I was eleven years old. This is the page about our camp, and about last November, when my boy Ben hunted his first opening day there. Three generations of Stouts in one little cabin, plus Wesley and my cousin Frederick, who might as well be Stouts by now.

THE CAMP

My grandpa, Joe Stout, bought forty acres of jack pine and cedar swamp near Grayling, up in the northern part of the Lower Peninsula, and in the summer of 1948 he and my dad built the cabin. Dad was 22. It's one room, rough-sawn pine boards and battens stained dark brown, with green rolled roofing on top. Inside: a cast-iron woodstove, two sets of bunks, a counter with a dishpan, a card table, and nails on the wall for coats. Outside: a hand pump, a woodpile, and an outhouse. No electricity, no phone, no running water. Light is gas lanterns, and news is the battery radio. It's about two hours north of Saginaw, and every one of those two hours, you can feel the plant coming off your shoulders.

Grandpa hunted from it every fall through 1974, his last season, at 74. Dad has opened every single season at the cabin since 1948. Last year was his 51st opening day there. He's 72 and he still walks to his stand in the dark faster than I do.

WHO WAS IN CAMP, 1998

• Robert Stout, 72. My dad. Opened every season since 1948.
• Wesley Kramer, 63. Dad's friend from the mill, in camp every year since 1965.
• Frederick Madigan, 29. My cousin. Best euchre player in camp. Worst at staying awake.
• Ben, 14. My son. Hunter safety class in September, first season in November.
• Me.

CAMP RULES

1. No TV. There's no electricity anyway, but the rule is older than the question.
2. Blaze orange any time you're outdoors. Not just in the woods. Going to the woodpile, going to the outhouse, orange cap on.
3. Euchre every night.
4. The newest hunter does the dishes. All week. No exceptions. (Ben, 1998. Before him, Frederick, twelve years running, because nobody newer came along.)
5. Whoever's up first lights the stove. That's always Dad.
6. Nobody leaves camp mad.

THE WEEK: NOVEMBER 14-21, 1998

Saturday, November 14, 1998. Left Saginaw at 6 in the morning, Dad and Wesley in Dad's truck, Ben, Frederick and me in mine. Opened up the cabin, primed the pump, lit the stove, split wood, and walked out to check the stands before dark. Ben's is a ladder stand we put up in October at the edge of the back clearing, about a quarter mile from the cabin. Chili for supper. Euchre. Ben did the dishes and asked how long the newest-hunter rule lasts. Frederick told him twelve years. In bed by 9.

Sunday, November 15, 1998. Opening Day. Up at 4:45. Coffee and eggs by lantern. I walked Ben out to his stand in the dark and saw him up the ladder, and then I backed off toward mine and waited. When it got light enough to see, I took one picture of him on the way, and I'll keep it the rest of my life.

Ben on his stand at first light on his first opening morning. He sat there till 11 without moving, which is more than I could do at 14.

At 7:40 a doe walked out into the clearing in front of him, his first deer from a stand. Two more that afternoon. Nobody in camp shot on opening day. Ben talked until almost midnight anyway.

Monday, November 16, 1998. At 8:10 in the morning we all heard one shot from the direction of the cedar swamp, where Dad has sat on the same stump since the 1960s. That was his six-point, on the second morning. Everybody came in to help him drag it out, and Ben got to take a turn on the rope. That night we played euchre until the lantern ran low. Dad and Wesley beat Frederick and me three games to one, same as most years.

Monday night euchre. Dad laying down the right bower with that look on his face, Wesley at left, Frederick laughing at right, me with my back to you. Ben took this one from the dishpan.

Tuesday, November 17, 1998. Dad had his buck, so he could have slept in. He was up at 4:30 anyway, lit the stove, made the coffee, got dressed in his orange and went out to his stump "to keep an eye on things." I got this one before he went.

Dad by the stove before daylight. Fifty-one openers and he still can't wait to get out there.

Wednesday, November 18, 1998. Three inches of new snow overnight, the prettiest morning of the week (see the picture at the top). Tracking snow. Ben saw four does together in the clearing that morning and came in white as a sheet and grinning.

Thursday, November 19, 1998. Cold rain all day, the kind that goes right through you. Wesley went out at dawn anyway and let a little forkhorn walk ("next year"). Everybody else came in by ten, and we played euchre all afternoon with the stove going and the coats steaming on the nails.

Friday, November 20, 1998. Frederick fell asleep on his stand and woke up to a doe looking at him from twenty feet away. They looked at each other, and she won. Ben's count reached eleven.

Saturday, November 21, 1998. Closed up camp. Ashes out, pump drained, windows shuttered, floor swept, door locked. Home by 2. Ben slept the whole way.

THE TALLY

One buck in camp: Dad's six-point, Monday morning. That's all, and that's fine. Most years it's one or none.

Eleven does. No buck. On the drive home, somewhere around West Branch, he said it was the best week of his life. That's the whole tally, as far as I'm concerned.

CAMP VENISON CHILI

Made Saturday afternoon on the back of the woodstove, every year, from last year's deer out of the freezer.

• 2 lb ground venison
• 2 tablespoons bacon grease
• 2 onions, chopped
• 1 green pepper, chopped
• 3 cloves garlic, chopped
• 3 tablespoons chili powder
• 1 tablespoon ground cumin
• 2 big cans (28 oz) crushed tomatoes
• 2 cans kidney beans, drained
• Salt and pepper

Brown the venison in the bacon grease in the big cast-iron Dutch oven. Venison is lean, so don't skip the grease. Add the onions, pepper and garlic and cook till soft. Stir in the chili powder and cumin, then the tomatoes and beans. Set it on the back of the stove where it just barely bubbles and leave it there all afternoon, stirring when you walk by. Serve with crackers and shredded cheese. Feeds five hunters one night, or four hunters and a 14-year-old.

SAFETY, THE WAY I TAUGHT BEN

1. Take hunter safety. Ben took his class in September, a weekend in a church hall, and passed the test. It's the law, and it's good sense.
2. Wear blaze orange. Cap and coat. The law says orange in the woods, and our camp rule says anywhere outside.
3. Know your target and what's beyond it. Every time. If you can't see what's behind it, you don't shoot.
4. Unload before you climb. Climb into your stand with empty hands and pull your gun up on a rope, unloaded. Same coming down.
5. Tell somebody where your stand is. At our camp, it's on the map on the cabin wall.
6. Nothing to drink until the guns are cased for the night.

My wife Joanna has never once come up to camp, and she likes it that way. She says deer camp week is the best week of her year, too.

See you November 15, boys. Dad's already got the chili meat thawing in his head.

Hunters through the door:

Write to camp: [email protected]
Last updated September 26, 1999