“How can you tell? It’s impossible to see through the smoke,” I wheeze, following the lighted haze from the kitchen like a firefighter breaking into daylight. “For God’s sake, put some clothes on Chew,” protests one of the morning flock, “I’m loosing my appetite.”

“Give me a minute, I’m trying a new recipe. Who would have thought WD40 could slow the cooking time this much,” pronounces Chef Chew. “Maybe if I just put a little more wood in the firebox…” Clank, rumble, more smoke.

Now, everyone appreciates a good morning breakfast on opening day, but the Surgeon General has warnings about this kind of activity. Typically, most of the members of the Wasted Ammo Think Tank and Hunting Camp take a pass on the breakfast thing and go about pleasantly preparing for the morning hunt after rising. Some of the very shrewd have actually been known to prepare the evening before, although this is generally frowned upon as it can prove to be dangerous.

For example, last season the whole camp prepared for their hunt the night before opening day. Everybody was dressed and ready to go by 4:30 AM. This is where we made a mistake. Having nothing to do but consider eating Chef Chew’s pancakes, most of the members took large portions by mouth – not the generally recommended serving method. By the time the flour, egg, milk and unidentifiable ingredients settled into the stomach, unpredictable side effects appeared. Lines at the bathroom door caused a near panic state. Others simply passed out and missed the first twelve hours of opening day. Those who could walk spent most of the morning chasing Chef Chew around camp and threatening very specific acts of hostility towards him and his ancestry.

To the accomplished hunter, advanced preparation is unnecessary and may even cause one to think about things like where they are going to hunt on opening morning. This type of needless preparation is best left to chance – you know, like being in the right place at the right time and other such hunting stuff.

Grand Marais was a welcome sight that Friday night in early August after some six hours of driving and listening to Tracker’s endless feature-function-benefit diatribe. “Listen,” I said. “How about we just check into the motel, you buy me dinner and a few drinks and I’ll share my years of belly boating experience with you. In fact, I’ll throw in a few fly fishing tips too.”

I was in surgery around midnight that night to rebuild the shattered bones. To this day I have 5 pins in my ankle and I can feel the weather change about a day ahead of time.

I truly am lucky and I believe me, I NEVER go into the woods alone without telling someone where I’m going and when I’ll be back!!!!!
Anyway, I leaned the ladder/platform against a likely looking tree and tested it. There was a branch in the way which needed trimming, so I grabbed my machete and climbed the ladder. When my head was just above the platform (12′ off the ground) the whole thing shifted and began to fall. I tried to jump clear but my boot got caught in one of the ladder rungs. When I hit the ground I felt a dull sensation in my right ankle. I looked down to see my foot bent at a perfect 90 degree angle to the right. yep, a real bad break.

I was a mile from my truck, no cell phone, no one knew I was there and it was cold and a freezing rain was just beginning. I had no choice so I began to crawl out on my hands and knees keeping my right leg bent with the foot suspended. Every time I moved the leg forward, the boot bobbed up and down and the pain seared through me.

The crawl took 4 1/2 hours to get back to the truck, another 20 minutes drive out of the swamp on an old logging road and then about 30 minutes back to town (all driving with the left foot)

Needless to say by the time I got to the hospital I was hypothermic and shocky. I also had a foot-long cut on my back from the machete from when I fell.

By Fred Wahls

At first, everything went well; the coals started to flame slowly. Minutes later the flames were getting a little high out of the rim of the can I had placed on a log in my ground stand. I became concerned the flames may cause the log to start on fire. So with my heavy gloves I lowered the inferno to the ground. That was enough to really get things going and the flames shot out like a blow torch three feet into the air with sparks flying everywhere! I was now worried. I quickly got out of the stand in search of some snow but I could only find a handful or two. Each handful caused a steam cloud to belch into the air with a loud hissing sound. The flames kept growing …I needed some water but none around. I was desperate to find a way to dowse the flames when I realized the only way out was to use my own biological fire hose.

With a full load of back pressure, I positioned the hose with tender care; not to get too close to start a wiener roast but close enough to do the job. Acres away the steam could be seen rising in a mushroom cloud formation. Fire under control. I heard the hooves of frightened deer bound out of the swamp from the down-wind side of the meltdown. It took years before another deer came close to that spot. My friends at camp saw the mushroom cloud 40 acres away. Needless to say, I didn’t see any deer that morning and have never used the homemade warmer again. It wasn’t a good idea after all.

This really happened to me!
(Name withheld for obvious reasons.)