There are still a few more days left in deer season here in the UP, and being an “urban Yooper” heading out to camp has never been something I’ve done.
In fact, I may be kicked out of the UP after making the confession that I’m about to make: Everything I know about deer camp?– and it’s not much– I learned from Da Yoopers.
That’s right. I know “The Second Week of Deer Camp” is a parody song, yet it’s shaped my views of a UP tradition for decades now. Because of that tune, I’ve spent a big chunk of my life thinking that deer camp is a place with more empty beer bottles than clean dishes. A place that smells of men who haven’t showered in two weeks. A place with a couch that’s still broken following last year’s epic three night game of full contact cribbage. A place where burps are more prevalent than fully formed sentences.
That’s what Da Yoopers led me to believe deer camp would be like. But after talking to a couple of people this year, I’ve come to believe that maybe Da Yoopers weren’t telling me the whole story.
I’ve heard people tell me that they go to deer camp to join friends and family for a yearly tradition, and in some cases, a yearly reunion.
They go to deer camp for the camaraderie, the escape from the everyday grind, and for a chance to get back to nature.
And they go to deer camp because, if things work out and luck falls their way, they may even get a deer. But surprisingly, at least according to the people with whom I spoke, that’s one of the least important reasons to go to deer camp.
Oh, I’m sure there are still those who head out to camp with just rifles, four cases of beer, and maybe a change of underwear. But it seems like these days deer camp is so much more than that. The hunting is just a pretext for an annual escape into a time honored UP tradition.
So, perhaps Da Yoopers were… wrong. And for those of us who’ve never taken part in that time honored UP tradition, we should probably talk more to people who actually enjoy it and listen less to a song that makes fun of it. Hope your last few days of camp are a blast.
I’m Jim Koski, and that’s another slice of “Life in the 906.”
