The reality of work and the ensuing depression of this hunt slipping into the realm of memories has taken it's toll. Sorry for the delay guys...not intentionally delaying the stories and pics.
I'll start my tale chronologically so you guys can get the same feel of the hunt I had as it happened:
6/21/07: Bob and Bobby arrived late Thursday afternoon, a bit road weary and nervous with anticipation of the upcoming events. Good to see may old Comrade, flet as if we'd left Texas just a few days before...guess it's always like that between good friends. We spent some great time with the family, had a great meal and I finished a few last minute packing chores. Everything ready to go, we said our goodnights for the last time for 10 days. I slept fitfully, dreaming of large bruins just out of bow range.
6/22/07: Up and out early, Bob and I beat traffic to the airport; or at least I told Bob that but he wouldn't believe me. Atlanta traffic, even on it's best day, is still traffic. An hour and a half through security etc. we sat at our gate. A half hour before take-off I noticed there still were very few people at the gate. I checked with the flight attendent and low and behold, the gate had been changed from the time we got our tickets to security...we hussled to the appropriate demarcation point just in time to board. Only real pros should start a trip off that close to disaster
Arriving at Boston, much smaller airport than I expected, Tippit met us curbside just as we exited with our bags. Sure was good to see him, life is simply too short to not have your hunting brothers with you at all times. Only problem was, he was there in a convertible! Now, Bobbo & Tippit have about 13 feet of legs between the both of them...coupled with all our hunting gear, we had an interesting time on our ride. Course, Tippit's main transpo was down and Molly had the truck...as any good horsewoman's husband about to be off for 10 days will tell you, when she asks for the truck, she gets the truck!
A short while later we arrived at Tippit's, followed closely by Barry Wensel and Steve (curveman). With our lunch, we feasted on constant stories flowing from Barry...to say I was a bit starry-eyed was putting it mildly. Just a down to earth, puts-his-pants-on-one-leg-at-a-time feller, Barry acted as if he had no idea I considered him a living legend in the tradtional bowhunting community. He continually impressed me throughout the trip with not only a constant stream of interesting and entertaining stories but his unassuming nature and an ever-present desire to teach those willing to learn. Many thanks "Uncle" Barry
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We killed a bit of time fondling the arsenal of knives we were to test...
this was going to be a good trip
I promised Tippit I wouldn't post pics of his man cave (for fear that Molly would get thousands of angry calls from housewives complaining that their husbands had converted their basements into a den full of bows). Guys, you've not seen the likes of fine bows, collector bows, antler stacks, big horned mounts, dozens and dozens of arrows, fly rods, boots etc. in all your days. It was everything Tippit could do to run me out of there. Did I mention I knew already this was going to be a good trip?
We loaded...or overloaded as it were, our gear into Steve's truck, crammed 5 guys into the cab and proceeded to the meeting point 3 hours North. Barry's stories and the rest of the truck's laughter made it a short trip. Meeting up with Tom, Doc, Lloyd, Alan, Eric, Brian, and my brother Ray at Lloyd's shop; we loaded some more gear and headed out for the 10 hour drive to the camp.
Most of the rest of that evening was a blur...mainly a blur through the windshield as we drove through the night, swapping coffee filled drivers as each grew tired during his shift.
6/23/07: It gets light EARLY this time of the year that far North...we saw dawn somewhere around 4:30am, of course through the windshield. Our trip through the French/Canadian province reminded me how much French I had forgotten from my Cajun uncle.
more to come...