October, I miss hunting: good memories.

Here is a new story about my hunting years. Just like riding, i no longer hunt but the memories remain.

Try it on for size.

Paths

To some, talking about paths can be a deep subject. Paths that we take in life, path to a better job, path to better relationships, path to a different outlook on life; paths can be a complex subject.

However ,there is a simpler way to think about paths. Actual paths can host good memories.

Years back, on the first week in October, I always drove to Michigan to enjoy hunting during the Fall season. Truth be told, it wasn't the thought of bowhunting for deer that activated me, it was the crisp Fall outdoors with nature's many variations of reds, the smell of pine trees, wet oak leaves, and the relaxing moments while listening to the light breeze as it ghosts through the forest.

During this changing time in October I camped at a small campgrounds and had the place to myself. Gone was the overcrowding and ghettolike camping that occurred during the summer months. The Little Wolf Lake campgrounds was on the shore of..............You guessed it, Little Wolf Lake. The lake made it a magnet for people to enjoy.

October. The magnet has lost its attraction and the crowd is gone. The 50 picnic tables are empty, the firepits are cold and so is the lake. The lake, in the early morning light is streaming with fog over its calm surface, nary a boat or swimmers to mar it's surface., Too cold.! In a moment of thinking clean and refreshing I decided to skinny dip after dark and get a fresh start, so to speak. In I went. It did take a little longer to wash because of the added area that goose pimples produce but it sure felt great when I came out and dried off. Kinda reminded me of cold showers in Korea where we had to be careful to not slip on the ice when we took showers. Anyway, I had the whole campground to myself.

As a result I get to enjoy a pristine and resting example of Nature. Gone was the evidence of human nature.trash. The big hand pump with the iron handle, located in the center of the sandy grounds, is readily available to me to work and harvest a rushing supply of cold pure spring water..........Wow!

Back then, I had a cap on my truck where I slept. I brought a full array of camping supplies which were placed in a small wall tent that I put up, not even a thought of anyone stealing, it wasn't done back then. Some nights it was cooking on a Coleman stove and some nights (much better) it was coming back to a muted campfire and digging out the covered cast iron dutch oven from the embers with a delicious stew in it. Ah, The Best.

Did I mention? The drive going back to this temporary home for me, was a convoluted sand path winding through a grove of maple aspen, and oak trees. That combined with areas covered with pine needles made for a delicous (and quiet) olfactory mix.

The very changing of the seasons brought a relaxing sense of satisfaction to me,back then. The absence of anything but natures sounds and smells was relaxing and invigorating at the same time.

A few years ago, I drove up again to this campgrounds, at the same time of year. The campground was still as I remember it. However, I did no camping as it's too much vigor for this ole bod now. I stayed at a motel instead.

Hunting in my earlier years produced memories just as good as the later years riding.