Report from Bird Camp 2014
“Looks like another skunker this year,” says my good friend Mike Fitzgerald, who was DD for the only full day we’d have in the woods. “Can’t understand how the gang has seen so many birds and we haven’t seen so much as a feather,” as we topped a rise rounding a shallow curve.
“Stop stop!!” I say, Mike ending his lament, “Bird, your side!!” Mike already setting the brakes. I had the doorlatch in hand slowly opening as Mike quickly brought the borrowed Jeep “Cherokee” to a halt. Easing out the door, I slid shell into the chamber wondering as always why the noise of slamming mechanism never fazes a partridge standing such a few yards away. Between open door and windshield pulled 20ga. sight down on a head showing just above the shoulder grass and pulled the trigger.
This year was the first abbreviated season at bird camp in the Fish River Lake region. Time had begun to overtake the bird-hunting group numbering as many as twenty-seven “Woods Chicken” crazed devotees in prior years. Weekends had become a problem with many of us retirees. Though one day should be same as another. Time away from the “good woman” and other responsibilities of retirement had put a crimp into the camp week many of us had previously enjoyed. As well, we were now beginning to count those who’d passed on during moments of silent memorial each year. We’d had a full complement at Bearce and Nick Carter’s Cross Lake pre-hunt dinner (part owners of Fish River Lake camp) before driving in the next day. Drive in followed usual routine of topping the gas tanks in Portage, buying last-minute beer and snacks, breakfast at Dean’s Lodge then a watchful drive to camp and opening up. For the majority of us, a pleasant gift awaited at the Great North Maine Woods gate. Over 70 is free passage. No more $8/day.
There’s a routine for camp, always to be followed. First vehicle in cleans (sweeps) main camp and gets the water pump primed. Fire started in the cookstove, of course. They’re free to go hunting. Second and third vehicle, with cookstove gaining in temperature, prep the 5-star ham from Sleeper’s market in Caribou with ginger ale, rubbed with brown sugar/yellow mustard and put it in the oven. Those who choose to sleep in the adjacent bunkhouse, now scheduled for a major overhaul (floor has sagged and difficult to find flat/level area to hold a cot), sweep the small critter droppings and dead flies, throw out any ruined mattresses, collapsed chairs and the lot, start a fire in the tenuous (polite term) wood stove and they’re free to go hunting as well. This year, rain had been forecast and forecast rang true.
Mike and I were anxious to try our luck, having missed bird camp the last few years. In our time away, Irving Corp. had been expanding their road system in Fish River/Portage area to handle their double bottom or tandem log hauling rigs. Instead of the tree-shaded, narrow logging roads of the past, the new roads resembled superhighway turnpikes. Twenty-two foot wide, gully filled, constructed from shale and gravel, these roads were built to stand the test of time and wear. Young engineer we talked with said Irving (now Maine’s largest landowner) planned to open a huge tract of land to the west.
Roads we used to hunt had been totally cut up. We’d have to explore out from camp, remember the new intersections to not get “turned around” and lost. Secondly, many of the old roads were cut off completely which in turn made for excellent “walking” roads, great alternatives to “heater hunting.”
Dark was coming on as we swung into the camp road not having seen a bird. Drove the mile or so in, still looking for birds, parked in the dooryard, and stepped into the main camp. Aroma of the cooked ham had found its way to the front door as we quickly unsheathed hunting knives to slice pieces from the absolute best-tasting ham ever imagined. We’ll often enjoy “nibbling” half pound upwards to a pound apiece during “brown water hour.” Sightings of partridge were related up in the teens and twenties by Albert, Byrnes, and Felch and others who had started early. Ten or more were piled in the woodshed.
Next morning, forecast rain had continued as we gathered in main camp for breakfast. Bunkhouse crew a bit slower than usual. For the few of us who were light sleepers was difficult to pass out but for a few hours. Whether it was not remembering how loud the snorers were or they had perfected pitch in retirement years there’s no way of knowing. Of eight relaxed gunners, six could be described as singularly discernibly pitched chain saws. For the remaining two of us, coffee came none too soon.
Major food sustenance of eggs, bacon, ham, toast, coffee, etc. put away, agreement was to meet back at camp for “lunch” what with rain forecast for better part of day. Mike and I decided to explore all the side roads we came to, either on foot, or vehicle in a given area around the lake. Turned out to be productive only in seeing new territory and the opportunity for virtually uninterrupted conversation of which we’d not had the pleasure in some time. Be difficult to convince this child, chasing game is the only reason for hunting camps.
Lunch, another major food experience, was followed by rain of epic proportions. Wind in the high 40s and 50s blew leaves horizontally and solid rain at 45 deg. angle for a good 20 minutes. Ended abruptly with sun behind it followed by a double rainbow, clarity and brilliance of which I’d never before experienced. Hung in the atmosphere till cameras had taken about all the angles available and then we were back on the trails again.
With one bird in the jeep, “skunker” was put to rest. Mike got two more shots, nailing one, as we finally began to see birds, though most were at a distance and flew before we could shoot. Sun had settled into the trees and darkness overtaken as we navigated the camp road into last evening of too much food, wisecracks, jokes and the realization would be next year before we’d gather up again.
• R E C I P E •
The latest issue of Field and Stream magazine (Nov. 2014) has an interesting article “Redneck Sous Vide” how to cook venison—could be any meat—in a zip sealed or vacuum bag in hot water in a beer cooler. Comes out medium rare all the way through and can be browned afterward. Take the room temperature meat, place it in a vacuum bag (“ZIPLOC” sells an inexpensive Vacuum Freezer System that removes air from their bags). Using a digital thermometer—purchase at a supermarket with cord attached—and fill the beer cooler with about 2 gallons of 140 degree water. Hot tap water is about 120deg. Add boiling water to bring to temperature and the meat bag. Close lid with thermometer inside. And wait. Should be cooked in approx. hour and half. More hot water may be added and the meat can sit for up to 4 hours in the “cooler/cooker.” Am anxious to try this as can be done with a multitude of various dishes. Fish, fowl, various cuts, etc. “Sous Vide” is French for vacuum cooking. Let me know how you make out.
Fair Winds and Good Roads
– Lee Wilbur