Pennsylvania Game News - February 2015 - 18

Gradually, the camp became more
or less livable for humans. Porcupines,
snakes, chipmunks, weasels, bed bugs
and squirrels came to be banned from
the cabin.
Meanwhile, one unusual critter delighted camp members - the northern
flying squirrel. A biologist from what
then was known as Bloomsburg State
College identified northern flying
squirrels in stands of hemlock and black
spruce that were planted near the camp
to provide better roosting habitat for
grouse, and create winter wildlife cover.
Many of the spruce survived, but
northern flying squirrels have not been
sighted in many years.
Making repairs remained an ongoing process. Despite patching holes
and flushing most large wildlife out of
the shack, mice continued to invade
in waves.
One morning my dad was sleepily having breakfast when a mouse
was almost eaten with a spoonful of
cereal. The hapless mouse had gnawed
through the old-time paper lid on the
glass milk bottle, drowned and was
poured into the cereal.
Finally, major repairs such as the
roof were finished and all other work
was forgotten, because more important
things such as deer hunting were at
hand.
Deer hunting was considered good
by members of The Estate. However,
populations still were recovering from
a low point around the turn of the
century.
During the 1927 hunt, Dad, Ernie
and Al spent a grueling week hunting
and reported no shooting; they saw
only a few does and a bear. Of course,
Ernie was perched in a tree stand with
his long bow all week, so no one ex18

pected him to take a deer.
Back then, even seeing a bowhunter
was about as rare as seeing an albino
deer. Ernie just smiled and said his
week in the woods was almost perfect.
In many ways, he was far ahead of his
time.
On the last day, Ernie and Al had
decided to sleep in before packing and
taking the tortuous drive on the snowy
roads home. My dad, however, insisted
on spending a few more hours hunting
the swamp.
At dawn, Ernie and Al were still
snoring as my dad headed for the door.
But something caught his attention out
the front window. Rubbing his eyes in
disbelief, he saw a buck browsing at the
edge of the clearing - so close, he could
count points.
Slipping out the back door, he
thumbed a few ponderous .45-70
rounds into his 1886 Winchester carbine. Dad stalked the buck into the
adjacent swamp until he got a shooting
opportunity.
The crack from the big Winchester
was deafening, rattling the shack from
its stovepipe down to its windowpanes.
The buck collapsed. Dad peeked in
the window just in time to see Ernie
circling around the table gaining momentum, then he popped out the front
door running in place on the porch.
Dad pointed toward the downed deer
and Ernie threw up "rooster-tails" racing across the snow clad only in red
long johns with his "trapdoor" flapping
in the wind.
A small celebration was held around
the 6-point - the first of many deer to
be taken at The Estate.
Then came that bittersweet time to
close deer camp, and reopen life again
with family and jobs. But a long drive
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Pennsylvania Game News - February 2015

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