The Last Hunt

The thread asking about camps made me think of a day back in the 80's on Buckhorn. The hunt would be the final one before the state took over.

Once Bill Carroll and Jimmy Guice emerged from the old wooden camp on the banks of Routh Bayou, they wasted little time. The Counsel of War conducted earlier around the large oak slab dining table during breakfast provided the opportunity to handout assignments to standers who would leave camp well before daylight.

I'm not sure if I procrastinated leaving camp that morning because of the weather, or the fact that I understood I was witnessing the end of an era.

With daylight came a gun metal gray sky, absent of of wind with fog lingering heavily in the low areas along the Clydesdale Road. And when the dogs were turned from the pens, they quickly fell into place behind the two horsemen. To this day, I can still see the moment, burned into my memory. Across the bridge before entering the woods on the west side of the dirt road and then disappearing into the tall palmetto as if they'd never been there. Within minutes the pack would strike, and the final hunt would be underway

I wish I could go back.

Made up of nothing more than a large sleeping room and a kitchen area, that old camp was the greatest place on earth for a young man learning to deer hunt. Some nights the large wood burning stove in the center of the sleeping room would begin to glow red, forcing the older men out of their beds and onto the front porch, standing there with the door open, waiting for the room to cool down.

It was a magical place that I wish more people would have had the opportunity to experience.