The Rhythm of Camp

Recently, a post popped up on Facebook about "getting a good one" up at camp. It was a timely reminder, having just returned from our own place, where a few aspiring octogenarians pushed the rest of us to scout new covers for the upcoming season. I want to thank everyone who made the trip to keep alive a legacy my father and his friends carved so deeply into our family's culture.

Some of the conversation was predictably repetitive, but much of it focused on the future. Physical restraints aside, the veteran hunters were visibly energized by the promise of a fresh autumn. There’s a quiet magic in sitting around the cabin table, listening to the chorus of voices, opinions, and ambitions for the months ahead. We even added a new face this year—a forester whose inclusion might have been for his shooting or his dog, though his good nature certainly didn't hurt. He brought along a twelve-week-old puppy, which conveniently kept my own twelve-week-old pup exhausted and out of trouble.

As afternoon gave way to early evening, the kitchen got busy, and the story-spinning began. By dessert, the talk shifted organically to current events and life in general. Later, for those inclined to stay up, cigars were cut and lit—a rare indulgence we justify to ourselves as the occasional exception our doctors don't need to know about.

The next morning, true to our late-night promises, we turned out early on a quest for new bird covers. A caravan of three trucks, a dozen strong opinions, and many miles of gravel roads later, we felt reasonably certain that six of the twelve spots we scouted were as promising as any coverts we’ve ever hunted. Of course, we’ll have to wait until fall to prove the theory.

We pulled over often in the heat so the dogs could stretch. Watching the veteran dogs and the puppies interact is half the fun; they wrestle in the tall grass, occasionally vanishing into the thickets, full of early-season excitement while somehow sensing that it isn't quite time yet. Camp has a strange, satisfying rhythm when there's work to be done—repairing duck blinds, hanging deer stands, and cutting trails through new upland covers. It’s during these quiet, working moments that I realize how blessed we are to share a tradition that demands physical effort, keeps the mind sharp, and grounds us in deep friendship.