[crowsnest2002]

Palace in The Popple

It's a smoky, raunchy boars' nest
With an unswept, drafty floor
And pillowticking curtains
And knife scars on the door.
The smell of a pine-knot fire
From a stovepipe that's come loose
Mingles sweetly with the bootgrease
And the Copenhagen snoose.
There are work-worn 30-30s
With battered, steel-shod stocks,
And drying lindes of longjohns
And of steaming, pungent socks.
There's a table for the Bloody Four
And their game of two-card draw,
And there's deep and dreamless sleeping
On bunk ticks stuffed with straw.
Jerry and Jake stand by the stove,
Their gun talk loud and hot.
Bogie has drawn a pair of kings
And is raking in the pot.
Frank's been drafted again as cook
And is peeling some spuds for stew
While Bruce wanders by in baggy drawers
Reciting "Dan McGrew."
No where on earth is fire so warm
Nor coffee so infernal
Nor whiskers so stiff, jokes so rich
Nor hope blooming so eternal.
A man can live for a solid week
In the same old underbritches
And walk like a man and spit when he wants
And scratch himself where he itches.
I tell you, boys, there's no place else
Where I'd rather be, come fall,
Where I eat likea bear and sing like a wolf
And feel like I'm bull-pine tall.
In that raunchy cabin out in the bush
In the land of the raven and loon,
With a tracking snow lying new to the ground
At the end of the Rutting Moon.

By John Madison
What do you guys think???

[BigG]

Superior! Did you write it yourself? If so, Bravo! It does justice to the work of Robert W. Service, one of the all time greats, imho.

[Art Eatman]

Yeah, for sure it captures the spirit of a good camp.

The problem with a really good camp, though, is that your soul can become so comfortable there that you halfway forget why you went for in the first place! :)

Art

[crowsnest2002]

This poem has made me think about why I didnt go up to our hunting cabin this year, instead I chose to do some farm hunting. Right now I wish I went up to our deer camp to have some good memories like I always get from that place. Usually everyone is always so nervous the night before, no one sleeps. We have this moderately large picture of a deer on our one wall in our cabin, of course the deer in the picture is huge with a large rack, every hunters dream. We always seem to tease or suggest somebody will see that monster the next day, but we all know how that one turns out. Its just seemed to turn into a tradition...

Just thought I'd tell you folks a little about my camp and memories...

Crow

[Andy G]

That was Fantastic!!!

It brought back fond memories for me.

Andy

[Ol' Badger]

memories of Steamy socks coming back. Never any card games thou. GOD and to think what future generations are missing! Theres more to live than Tofu and Video games.

[Newt]

Woo Hoo... I get excited reading that. Thanks

Newt

[Joe Demko]

Very evocative. Deer camp for me wasn't like that, though. I grew up in the boonies, so my family hunted out of our house. Or if you prefer, we lived at deer camp all year round. The stinky socks and dirty underwear were a no-no, too. My dad was ahead of the curve on the idea of going odorless into the woods. Showers w/ Ivory or other unscented soap were the order of the day, along with letting the hunting clothes hang (dry) on the clothesline for several days before the start of the season. Dinner was whatever mom cooked, same as always. (That means, btw, that it was always good)
Snce then, I've hunted out of deer camps like the one in the poem. I have kind of mixed feelings about them. If the hunting was good, the camp in retrospect takes on a certain glow. If the hunting wasn't so good, scratching myself and walking around in smelly socks had no allure of its own.
These days, I'm the one who runs deer camp on the old family spread. I use a mobile home for the purpose so as to not disrupt mom and dad's house too much. The gang I hunt with goes with the odor-free idea. We retire early to bed, are out well before first light, and hunt all day. I do the cooking, so stew isn't often on the menu. Cuisine at Camp-13 runs more towards Tex-Mex and Thai. No snuff or other tobacco, but after the guns are put away considerable beer can be consumed.

[C.R.Sam]

"The problem with a really good camp, though, is that your soul can become so comfortable there that you halfway forget why you went for in the first place!".....Art.

I see that as a big plus rather than a problem.:)

Forgetting the crap that one wants to cleanse themselves of is good. If the cleansing is so thorough that the reason for coming is lost...one has achieved perfection.

Sam

[crowsnest2002]

to me the poem means being around good friends and having a good time while being able to hunt at the same time, to me that is great.

crow

[grampster]

My deer camp for 30 years was with my father-in-law and all of his cronies. I heard the same stories so many times that after awhile I came to believe I had actually been there with them and could finish the story when their memories started to go. They are all gone now, and when November starts to get near, I become sad for what I have lost, and happy for what I had.

grampster

[Atticus]

Did that once. I don't get to hunt that often - so when I do, I take it seriously. The throbbing head, blurred vision, clothes (and body) that reek of cigar smoke, and friends puking out of a tree stands aren't all bad...but I prefer not to spend my hunting time like that.

Good poem though!