HUNTING CAMP

I'm on the phone with Mystery Girl, going over plans for Cow Branding Bikini Car Wash Saturday. She and Hollie Witchey were having a meeting without me in the city, while I concentrated on trying to get famous fotog George Holz a turkey. I tell MG how we've been gorging ourselves on fresh watercress, chantrelle mushrooms, fingerling potatoes, venison, trout and ramps......when she cuts me off in that charming "stamp her foot" way she has. "If I hear that word "ramp" one more time, I'm gonna puke!" It shows just what a foodie culture the NY has become. Forget sex. It's all about the chow.  Fresh ramps go for $35 per pound in the city. Where I hunt the ground is literally covered in them. Then I tell MG my recent hunting camp experience guiding George Holz.
    The first night George showed up we cooked up some venison steaks, those little potatoes, a watercress salad and delicious, carmelized ramps. Topped off with a six pack of good beer, and apple pie and ice cream, it was a indulgent feast. We had to get up at 4:30 am, so after putting the pie away, we both hit the sack (without digesting). I woke myself up around 3:00 am with a fart so loud, and so enduring, I could've made coffee before it was finished. Once awake, George joined in the chorus. Mystery Girl interrupted again. "You both sleep in the same bed?" I shuddered. "Please get that image out of your head." I told her. No. These farts were so loud they blasted through walls. It was gonna be a stinky morning
    We hunted Diamond Dave's. Only one gobbled on the roost and he was a mile down river. We had no choice but to head for the curve and see if we could strike up this bird. Still sick with "ramp gas", we were now sitting in a river valley covered in the bright green onions. My stomach was churning. We got nothing going, so decided to head for WSS. After driving 30 miles we found a pick up in our spot. We now were forced to climb the mountain behind WSSP II. Farting our way up the hill, when we reached the top it started to rain. That was Day 1.

   After putting away a dinner of fresh trout (that GH caught), chantelle mushrooms (that Savage Lynch grew) and wine I bought, we eased off on the ramps and arose at 4:00 am to hunt Mupp's. "I hope we don't hit a deer or a bear." George said, climbing in Shirley in the dark. I didn't pay much attention. I'd run out of coffee and wasn't thinking too straight. Right before the Rock Hill firehouse a big deer slammed into Shirley's side and I slammed on the brakes, laying rubber for 50 ft. I thought it had shattered my window and caved in Shirley. To my amazement It had just hit the mirror. That was the shattered glass I saw. Except for a snot trail and a broken mirror, Shirley was unscathed. The deer disappeared in the dark. We got coffee. Could George predict a turkey kill?
   As soon as we parked the car one was gobbling across Mupp's road. Looked promising, but the only thing we called in on our side of the road was two other hunters, hugging the property line. We decided to come back up the mountain and were behind the cemetery by 10:00 am. It wasn't long before we got one gobbling and finally I was able to get one in. I watched as a jake putted and came within shotgun range for GH. I couldn't figure out why he didn't shoot. I keep calling. The bird kept putting and still no shot. Then I heard a gobble farther out, then another behind me. All of the sudden we we covered with them. But, as you all know by now, it can go silent fast. And it did. They moved off and I went over to GH. Unbeknownst to me Georgie had a big tom in view the whole time and was holding out for a shot. He made a good call. It just didn't pay off. But that's hunting. I ordered a new mirror. We'll see what the morning brings