It is the hour before midnight, on the harsh, gray flat asphalt road along the banks of one of the Great Lakes . A truck races by like a shadow, the moon glowing behind a small house. The car swiftly goes on by, the dim light from the fogy night: --moon penetrating through the fog onto the tuck and house, where a man is standing by the road; -- music is heard coming from the car, Rock & Roll, as this stranger standing by the road, a man in a red plaid shirt, he stands erect, as if he was Paul Bunion; standing in-between the road and the house as a truck races by. He seemed to bring back his memories in full color HD detail in my mind. A lot of those stories are fleeting at best, I am sure he added in his own little exaggerated touches but back then it didn't matter. That is what Deer Camp stories did for me in D&DH magazine in the off season too. My Dad used to call my grandfather a bullshitter and never fully understood that till after growing up and experiencing life for myself. I think this life needs bullshitters to carry on that tradition of deer hunting we have all come to love.

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