Collecting Funny Hunting Stories–A Contest

October 12, 2006
Humor Hunting
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The folks over at High Mountain Seasonings is having a contest this fall. Nope, it’s not a big buck contest…although it would certainly make sense that a company catering to providing meat handling supplies would have such a themed contest. In fact, this contest is one that any hunter can win whether successful in the field or not. The company is asking hunters to provide their funniest moments during the hunt.

Not that I’m entering this novel contest, but it got me to thinking what stories would I possibly pick out to include in my contest entry, had I chosen to enter. I guess the first one that comes to mind is an incident that happened out in Montana back in 1993.

We were on a mid-October antelope hunt and the weather had turned unseasonably warm that year. So warm, in fact, that much of the hunting clothing we had brought with us was way too warm to wear. This presented a problem because some of the hunters didn’t have any blaze orange clothing to wear except for their heavy insulated coveralls, etc.

One of the hunters, Bill, was an older gent (who has since passed away) but a very avid hunter. He asked me in hunting camp that day if I had an extra orange vest he could wear to stay legal. Well, as luck would have it I did have a vest…so I gave it to him to use.

Now keep in mind that when you’re out on the Montana prairie and the temps get warm this time of the year things get active…especially rattlesnakes. During the previous day we had encountered several rattlers on our journey so the word in camp was to stay on the careful lookout for snakes so we don’t have any accidents. This was made even more important because it was at least a three hour drive over some terribly rough terrain just to get out of this country if we were in need to get to the closest doctor. That was even more of an incentive to do whatever it took to avoid getting bitten.

So with the thought of rattlesnakes weighing heavy on everyone’s mind…the group set off to hunting. Three hunters, Bill, Mitch and John had glassed some antelope and decided to watch them from atop a butte. They hunkered down in the prone position and glassed the antelope for nearly an hour while some other hunters from our group attempted a sneak attack by coming around the flank. The day was windier than hell…and I’m talking one of those Montana prairie winds that will just about rip the hair off your head.

As the hunters were laying there Bill suddenly heard what sounded like a rattlesnake close by. He whispered…”Mitch, I can’t move ‘cause I think there’s a rattlesnake right next to me.” Mitch looked over and observed nothing. He told Bill he was nuts. Of course, this didn’t completely ease Bill’s mind. Then Bill exclaims, “there, I heard it again. Mitch, where the hell is the rattlesnake! I know I just heard one right near me. I don’t dare move or it could bite me.” By this time Mitch could sense the growing anxiety showing on Bill’s face…but again Mitch witnessed no danger in the form of a venomous reptile.

Now this was one of those instances where you need to trust your hunting partners, but sometimes your mind will play tricks on you. Bill kept hearing the snake and he knew by now it was none of the guys playing a prank on him. After all, Bill was a seasoned outdoorsman and he knew damn well what a rattler sounded like when he heard one.

Finally, Bill told Mitch he heard it again and this time it was so close it sounded as though it was crawling on his back. By this time Mitch had figured out what good ol’ Bill’s problem was. He was getting all worked up because what he thought was a rattlesnake turned out to be the tag on the borrowed orange vest. It seems that Bill had been wearing the vest inside-out all day and when he would turn just right in the wind the tag would flop rapidly sounding just like an angry rattlesnake. To make matters even worse for Bill, he was hearing it so well because it was right behind his ears.

Now mind you, I’ve never bragged about how I’ve always hunted with the brightest minds in the outdoors. I mean…let’s face it, if you put your hunting vest on inside-out you’re only asking for trouble. Wouldn’t you say?

Funny thing is when I got my hunting vest back from Bill the now infamous back tag was mysteriously missing. Yes, indeed, he was determined to kill that pesky snake and he did so by using his pocket knife to remove that trouble-causing tag. As you probably can imagine, tales of this little incident were quite popular back in camp that evening, much to Bill’s chagrin.

Teaching The Hunting Camp Cook An Important Lesson

September 28, 2006
Humor Outdoor Potpourri
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It truly wouldn’t be hunting camp without one. I’m talking about that special person who proudly (or in some cases, not so proudly) wears the designation as camp cook. In many camps this person is worshiped for their unique culinary abilities…in other camps, well…let’s just say you know how the old joke goes. The hunters sitting around after a hard day’s hunt complaining about the cooking, but finishing their statement “but this is just how I like it” (so as not to totally piss off the guy responsible for the food preparation duties).

Just a few days ago my old camp cook stopped by for a visit with his wife. It was good to see ol’ Tom once again. When he left I started thinking about our relationship that started about 14 years or so ago. You see…Tom doesn’t hunt, but he likes to camp. So one day I asked him how he would like to be my hunting camp cook and accompany 8 of us antelope hunters out to Montana for the fall hunt. Foolishly, he jumped at the opportunity and I’m not quite sure his life was ever quite the same again.

You see, having a camp cook who is not a hunter is like the best of both worlds. First, the cook can stay in camp all day putzing and putting a little extra effort into the meal preparation. Yet, when the hunters are spending the day miles from camp it also serves nicely to have someone back in camp watching over things. Tom was great, for several years we coaxed him into this critical role. Quite honestly, when the cook is also a hunter it usually just doesn’t work out quite this ideal. But with Tom, he would have the food hot and ready as we arrived back in camp hungry and cold. Now that’s living.

I can’t help but think back to a funny story involving Tom and the aspect of meal planning. You see, I would usually ask him to plan out all the meals so I knew what grub to bring with on the trip. On one particular occasion Tom had down a meal calling for Tuna Helper. I SAID NO WAY!! My guys are not going to eat that crap. Tom was relentless…he said you guys just have never experienced the way I doctor it up and serve it.

I consulted with my friend Mitch and explained our predicament. Tom was bound and determined to serve Tuna Helper in camp no matter how we tried to dissuade him otherwise. That’s when the idea finally struck us. Mitch and I both said if he won’t listen…well, then let’s fix his butt. And fix his butt we did. To this day Tom does not realize this but we played a prank on him that year in camp. We’ll see if he reads this blog because if he does he will surely respond when he reads what I’m about to disclose.

Tunahelper No doubt about it Tuna Helper IS NOT HUNTING CAMP FOOD! To ensure that our camp cook understood this critical concept Mitch and I purchased two boxes of the stuff and carefully opened the packaging with a knife. Next, a small slit was made in the bag of ingredients found inside. We then carefully took a small funnel and poured several ounces of red-hot cayenne pepper inside the mix…shook the contents to disperse…and then hot-glued everything back shut just like it came from the store. Then during the trip, when the time was right, we snuck into our cook’s food chest and substituted the real boxes with, as Emeril Lagasse would say, the stuff that was “cranked up a few notches.”

Poor Tom…when the day finally arrived for serving Tuna Helper we all told him again not to expect many hunters coming back to camp for lunch if he was still hell bent on serving that shit. He was…and mixed up a big heaping of the pre-packaged (tainted) concoction. As I recall, many of us hunters decided to come back to camp that day not to actually eat the crap…but we wanted to see Tom swallow his own cooking. Cooking that we had heard him brag so much about.

Well, let me tell you…if memory serves me correctly Tom was flabbergasted by the awful taste of his special gourmet dish that we all pleaded with him not to make. He didn’t suspect it then…and I don’t believe he realizes it even to this day that his cooking on that day had just a little outside help unbeknownst to him. It was so worth it though…trying to watch him eat that god-awful concoction about which we had heard so many positive things.

In the future, when we went on subsequent hunting trips, I don’t remember Tom being quite so bold by insisting on preparing a food dish that did not pass majority approval. I guess this proves that sometimes in hunting camp you have to be downright mean to get your point across…and I believe it worked this time. I will contend until my dying day that hunting camp is no place for foods such as Tuna Helper, no matter how you doctor up the pathetic taste.

Over the years I’ve been curious to ask Tom if he’s ever prepared TH again for his family. My only fear is on that infamous hunting camp day we might have ruined what he considered to be one of his signature dishes. Still, sometimes to preserve the taste palate of the hard working hunters in camp, a person’s got to do what a person’s got to do. Sorry, Tom…with only this single minor deficiency in culinary meal planning you were without a doubt one of the best cooks I’ve ever experienced out on the middle of the Montana prairie.

You Know You’re From Rural Minnesota When…

April 9, 2006
Humor
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You know how to polka, but never tried it sober.
FFA was the most popular club in high school.
You know what “Knee-High by the Fourth of July” means.
You know it is traditional for the bride and groom to go bar hopping between the ceremony and the reception.
You were delighted to get a miniature snow shovel for your 3rd birthday.
You can recognize someone from Iowa by their driving.
You buy Christmas presents at Fleet Farm.
You spent more on beer than you did on food at your wedding.
You hear someone use the word “oof-dah” and you do not immediately break into uncontrollable laughter.
You think fast food is hitting a deer at 65 mph.
You or someone you know was a “Dairy Princess” at a county fair.
You know that “combine” is a noun.
You let your older siblings talk you into putting your tongue on a steel post in the middle of winter.
You think Lutheran and Catholic are THE major religions.
You know that creek rhymes with pick.
Football schedules are checked before wedding dates are set.
Saturday you go the local bowling alley.
There was at least one kid in your class who had to help milk cows in the morning… phew!
You have driven your car or truck on a lake.
You always believed that vacation meant “going up North.”
At every wedding you have been to, you have had to dance the hokeypoky and the chicken dance.
Your definition of a small town is one that only has one bar.
The local gas station sells live bait.
At least twice a year, the kitchen doubles as a meat processing plant.
Your mom asks, “Were you born in a barn?” and you know exactly what she means.
You think that the start of deer season is a national holiday.
Pop is not only what you call your dad, but is the ONLY name for soda.
You actually understand these jokes.

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A group of Minnesota friends went deer hunting and paired off in twos for the day. That night, one of the hunters returned alone, staggering under the weight of a big ten-point buck. “Where’s Henry?” the others asked. “Henry had a stroke of some kind. He’s a couple of miles back up the trail,” the successful hunter replied. “You left Henry laying out there and carried the deer back?” they inquired. “A tough call,” nodded the hunter. “But I figured no one is going to steal Henry if I left him out in the woods!”

Special thanks to the E-mailer who sent these gems my way.