One of the rules for having a remote hunting camp was to have your name on your camp and register it at the check station. This is so that the wildlife officers could identify you and your camp. I would go up to my camp around the first part of August and stay a week setting up my camp for the next 8 months. August was when archery season opened and March was Spring Gobbler (turkey) season. So you could occupy your camp that entire time. I would set up the trailer on concrete blocks and put sheets of plywood on top of it and set my tent on top of it. I would take a lawnmower and mow the grass areas around and in the camp area. I went out with the buggy and dragged in a couple of dead trees for firewood. Those generally lasted the entire season. During the dry season, you could drive your family car to my camp. My Dad drove his mustang and went to work in Palm Beach and would drive back that evening in time to hunt. But when that white sugar sand gets soft, it gets a bit dicey for the old family wagon. We had had to pull Dad and ole Uncle Martin out a couple of times. I probably used that hunting camp more for the pleasure of getting out of dodge for some peace and quiet for the weekends. I could really care less if I ever killed anything or not. It just made no never mind.
Now, this was basically a hunting camp from the time I first set it up in 1965 until 1975, and we did hunt a lot there. We went almost every weekend and on occasion would spend a week there or at least some extended long weekends. It was over an hour's drive from my house in Miami to the main gate. I would leave my buggy parked at the gate and when I arrived I would unload supplies from the car and load the into the buggy then drive back to the camp on Friday nights. The main gate was opened until 9 pm so there was a bit of a rush to make it after work. So back then I was not into photography... that came along around 1977. In 1975 or thereabouts was about the same time the Florida Game and Fish Commission decided to centralize all camping and so I lost my hunting camp. I did not like having to camp with 25 feet of another group of hunters and dogs barking all night long...just too much commotion. For me, my old hunting camp was an escape to the wilderness. It took nearly an hour to drive back to my camp from the main gate and there were no other camps in my area. It was peace and quiet for the entire weekend, that was unless I had some hunters staying with me. After arriving Friday night I would set up a pot of coffee right away and then start a campfire, which burned the entire weekend as did the coffee. When I mentioned that my camp was semi-permanent, by that I meant that the coffee pot was always on the stove on low. I would make coffee before heading out to hunt and remake that same pot just adding water additional coffee grounds to what was already there. The wildlife officers knew I had coffee going all the time and they were told anytime you want a cup of coffee just drop in. If I'm out hunting help yourselves. They appreciated that and did whatever they could to keep me happy at this camp.
So after the time that centralized camping was mandatory, I only hunted maybe a couple of weekends and had my wife along on both trips. On one weekend alone I had a bullet whiz past me much too close for comfort. That event was late in the afternoon and I had just got out of my jeep and had not walked 20 feet when I heard a rifle shot ring out and that distinctive sound of a very loud bumblebee go past my head. On the next hunting trip a couple of weeks later I was out early one morning walking along a game trail when I heard a shotgun go off... they have a very distinctive sound. I then heard buckshot bounce off the path in from and behind me. How I was not hit that morning was beyond me. I guess my Guardian Angel was working overtime. I hollered out, "what the Hell are you shooting at ?", as whoever fired that shotgun was very close by. I heard a couple of voices laughing and one of them said, "OH, he was just clearing his gun". Now I was carrying an old WW2 military 30 caliber semi-automatic M1 rifle with a 30 round magazine. It was all I could do to not raise my rifle up and fire off about 10 rounds just over the top of their heads, but I restrained myself that morning. I certainly had enough firepower with me with an extra 30 round mag for any firefight that these guys wished to engage in. Thankfully, they just walked off and I didn't kill anyone that morning.
One of the hunters that used to come out with me was my cousin Eugene. If you read the story about filling my uncle's boat with goliath grouper until he said "STOP"...this was one of his boys. A few times Eugene would bring one of his high school buddies with him. We called him Paul D. Now ole Paul was a good kid, always meaning well and I never had any problems with him ever. Very polite and did whatever I told him to do around the camp. Well, Ole Paul managed to buy this old WWII military jeep. He began to fix it up for hunting and it worked really well, as long as you stayed on the established trails. Sometimes in the middle of the day just for some fun, we used to play a county game of "follow the leader" with our jeeps and buggies. One morning, after we finished hunting, I was well ahead of everybody and so I decided to play a joke on Paul. There was this small shallow canal about 3 foot deep that bordered the main road heading towards my camp. There was a crossing that everyone used and it was beaten down pretty good and shallow...maybe 12 inches deep. So I backed up about 100 feet that shallow crossing and began to cross over the canal bank and stopped short of the deep water and then backed up and drove around to the normal shallow crossing and got on the other side. Then I drove to where my tire tracks were on the opposite bank and turned around and backed down to the water to make it appear that I made the crossing there and waited. Ole Paul came along about 5 minutes later. I'm still down in the water and I said common I made it so you should be able to cross as well, knowing full well that the water was deep in the center and well over the inside floor of his jeep and over his seat. He was reluctant at first but I kept goating him on. I pulled back up on top of the bank to give him room to come thru. Well, Ole Paul being the gaming guy he was started down the slope but didn't keep up his momentum when he got into the water and bogged down big time. Right there in the middle of the canal sat Paul and his yellow jeep with water up over his ass. The rest of the group came along and said what in the hell were you thinking Paul? We had a bigger buggy come up with a lot of horsepower and a 30-foot snatch rope. He backed up and got to the edge of the slope, hooked up to Paul's jeep. He left about 10 feet of slack and hit the gas and his buggy nearly jumped off the ground but snatched that bright yellow jeep right out of the water and dragged him back up the bank of the canal. I really thought that the jeep's rear axel and everything attached to it was going separate from that jeep and leave the jeeps' body and Ole Paul right there in that canal. I think Ole Paul had whip-lash from that one. I finally admitted to the hoax and Paul said I'll get you back. However, there was probably nowhere out there that my buggy would not make it through. My gearing was so low due in part to having 2 transmissions and a 1-ton truck differential with welded locked up gears. I have put that buggy's front steel pipe bumper up against a big pine tree and put both transmissions in low gear, let out the clutch, and get off the buggy. It would just sit there in idle with those big 4-foot tall x 20 inch wide rear tires and walk itself completely around that tree. On hard ground, I would do the same and get off and you could hear each of the four cylinders fire off and you could walk at a leisurely pace alongside and still be ahead of that buggy. To say it was geared low was an understatement.
So, on another one of our special 3-day hog hunts to Fisheating Creek Wildlife Management Area, that the state of Florida leased from the landowners, this time it was very wet, almost everywhere you went the roads were underwater. My cousin Eugene had this old Volkswagen bus that he cut out the wheel wells put larger tires on the back with chains to get thru the deep sand and the water in the wet season. Surprisingly it would go thru some pretty deep water as long as you didn't stop. You could hear that thing coming from quite a way off as those chains have a distinct noise all their own. Well, let me set the stage for a wild event. My cousin, Eugene and three of his surfer friends drove the Volkswagen/surfer buggy and met us later that first night. My group had already came in from hog hunting, and I was making fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy for dinner. The guys camping next to us came over to see if we got or saw anything. They began telling me about them getting a jeep out that was stuck in the middle of a large wet muddy area in the road. It was deep water and muddy on the bottom and didn't offer very much traction. He said just as they got that jeep pulled out, here comes these crazy kids in a Volkswagen bus with chains on the rear tires and they just plowed right through the middle of that road without missing a beat. He said if I hadn't see it with my own eyes, I would have never believed it. As soon as he finished his last words, I hear the sound of chains ringing in the night air. Here comes my surfer cousin and that Volkswagen bus and pulls right up to me and that guy telling me this story. This guy was totally amazed at what he saw, and just turned around and went back to his camp. OH! BTW we didn't see anything on that trip...maybe it was those loud chains ringing.
So most of the stories are setting the stage for the real story and the title above. It's just one of those you stories and experiences that you won't ever forget in your lifetime. We were on another special 3-day hog hunt at Fisheating Creek Wildlife Management Area, that the state of Florida leases the hunting rights from the farmer/landowner. It was after the regular hunting season closed in South Florida which was around the first of the year back then. So, on this trip, I went with a co-worker friend's son, Art. Doug drove himself, Paul D. and my cousin Eugene followed in another non-hunting vehicle. This was a centralized camp area that was quite small. There was maybe 20 feet between the tents. So on the afternoon hunt, of the first day, there was Art, Doug, Paul D., Eugene, and myself all piled up in Art's 4x4 Scout. We arrived at where we were going to still hunt, and we all scattered out in pairs of two but we knew where everyone was supposed to be and the direction that we all agreed on. It was a walk, stalk, and stop style hunt with shotguns only. Doug and I were together about 30 feet apart and about 40 yards from Art and Paul D. Eugene was by himself at the end of the line. The plan was, we would make a 1/4 mile sweep into the woods and then reverse back to the vehicle. It was getting really dark and Doug and I were slowly making our way back to the vehicle when a shot ran out. I knew it had to be someone in our group. So we got to the vehicle and everyone was there. I said who shot...and Paul D. broke out in tears sobbing, and I thought what the Hell?? Art initially never said a word, as we drove back to camp. Paul was still crying his eyes out and I asked OK, what the hell is going on. Art said Paul shot a calf. "WHAT" I blurted out. Art watched Paul D. from about 20 feet away as he kept raising his gun up and then back down and leaning forward eye-straining and then boom... he shot. They both walked over to what Paul thought was going to be a big black hog. However, that was not the case as it was a big black calf, and he was very dead. We were the only ones in this area, so we all decided it would be best just to not say anything to anyone about what had happened unless the game management people came in.
Paul D. didn't eat dinner that night... he just sat by himself around the campfire. Later, after dinner, we were all sitting around the campfire. It was about 9 pm... everything was very quiet. No one was saying a word and even the campers around us were quiet just looking into the flames of their campfires. It was about at that point in time when Doug very loudly made a mooing sound and Paul D. just erupted into tears and went to his tent. Everyone in our camp knew what was going and we were splitting a gut, laughing. I suspect even a couple of the other campers had an idea as well, as they were all laughing. About an hour later, everything is totally quiet again. Doug gets out of his chair, stands there for a few seconds, and with a very resounding voice said "OK...Who do I owe blow jobs to?? The entire camping area all around us erupted in heavy belly laughter. I felt sorry for the guy with the 2 teenage daughters next to us, as they were laughing as well. It was just one of those absolute rare precious moments in time that I will never forget. The timing of that was just perfect. Doug...may you rest in peace, my good friend.
So the remainder of that weekend we quietly walked around softly mooing whenever Paul was around. The next night I said to Paul... maybe you might want to sleep up in that tree tonight just in case momma cow comes looking for you... he broke down again. None of us shot anything on that hunt, other than Paul D. The next hunting season someone found a set of playing cards that had all of the farm animals on the backside. We used to tease Paul by showing him the cards and said maybe you need to keep these in your pocket for proper ID before you pull the trigger next time.
J. Michael
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