The joys of deer camp are immense. I had not laughed with abandon, nor have I not planned and not carefully though about things for such a long time. In fact, it was likely a year ago, at the last deer camp that I had that wonderful release from responsibilities.... albeit for only a few, brief ephemeral hours.

My drinking was at an above average level at deer camp, yet it was wonderful and I did not awaken with even a little hangover. It was an odd mix of alcohols that were entered into my body. Glenlivets single malt scotch whiskey was plentiful as was the classic, though often maligned Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer in the stubby brown bottles. Additionally, one friend brought with him a fifth of peach schnapps which we passed around (it is rather sickeningly sweet). A few gentle sloshes of vodka, and a few more of vermouth, and a partial bottle of Wild Turkey whiskey were also sampled.

I wish I had poker buddies back at home like I do at deer camp. The only place I ever play poker is at camp, and it is a wonderful time. I did not do quite as well as last year, but I still came out in the black with roughly $10 more than when I started.

When I finally went out to hunt at 5:30am, I stumbled across the field (it was dark, with very little moon) and found a place to sit quietly staring into a fairly open field. It was cold.... roughly only 25 degrees (Farenheit.... for you International readers.... it was roughly -3 Celcius). As the sun started to peak out from under the horizon, I could see in the early light that frost had formed across my rifle, and over my shoulders on my hunter orange jacket. I filled another bowl of tobacco into my pipe and quietly sat watching the beauty as the illumination of a new day occurred.

I ended up seeing NO deer that morning, but it did not matter. After a brief snooze, I headed back to camp and started another wonderful day.

Perhaps I should talk about my hunting vehicle next. I will think about that.