The fire was a warm treat after spending most of the day in a cold tree stand. And I was sitting as close as possible without the major threat of spontaneous human combustion. It wasn’t long before the scent of beef stew could be detected through the cool night air. Our meals weren’t what you would call fine dining. But when you are cold and hungry, the food miraculously become mighty tasty.

I joined my brother and two nephews as we dug into to steaming hot stew. We had only just begun eating when my brother remembered that he had brought something extra to go along with what we were having for dinner. After rummaging through the large plastic bin, he sat back into his chair and began unwrapping the rather large aluminum package.

“My mother in law made these.” he explained as he unwrapped the whole grain muffins; each one shaped like a small loaf of bread. Without saying a word, each of grabbed a muffin and added it to our meal, taking a bite of stew followed by a bite of muffin.

I am not sure why it all tasted so good, but all I can say is that it hit the spot. It was so good in fact that before I was finished, I had eaten two bowls of stew and consumed three or four muffins.

After we had finished eating and cleaning the dishes the best we could, we all settled back, enjoying the fire and our warm full belly’s. We talked about past hunting trips and even spent some time ribbing my nephews about what ever we could think of. Those times always seem to start with my brother and I thinking that we would have the upper hand. We believed that with the years that we had acquired and everything that we had experienced through those years, that certainly we would be able to handle these teenage boys.

But to be honest, I don’t believe that was ever the case. They always had a way of turning the tables and joining forces, making my brother and I the weaker party. And before long, there wouldn’t be a one of us there that was not teary eyed from the excessive, gut wrenching laughter. Those were some really fun times. Times where men and boys crossed some invisible line, where age or status just didn’t matter. My brother and I were kids again while right before us, we were watching his boys turn into men.

After some time, the laughter turned to yawns. No one wanted the fun to stop, but everyone knew that it had to at some point. I don’t remember who it might have been, but someone made the comment about being tired and ready to turn in. That is all that it took. One by one we climbed into the tent and tried to get as warm as possible under sleeping bags and blankets.

As in other hunting trips and cold nights, I was blessed with the snoring orchestra once again. But this was an even more powerful display by the sleeping band. If I had a dime for every time that I tossed and turned that night, I’d be pulling my new boat behind my Hummer. You can see how that might be an improvement over the maroon mini-van.

Morning finally rolled around. Instead of the morning being filled with the sound of waking birds, singing their morning songs, all I could hear were the groans of those that still remained in the tent. Evidently complaining about the comfort of the bumpy cold bed and the affect that it had on their stiff and achy muscles. I know this because I felt the same way, just a few minutes earlier than the rest.

Once everyone was up and ready, we choked something down for breakfast and then made our way up to where we would be hunting. The trail was as difficult as it has ever been. Once I reached the top, I was soaking with sweat. I wanted to start peeling layers right then and there, But was smart enough to know that in just a few minutes of sitting still, I would cool off.

I made it to my tree stand and climbed it up the tree. I stopped about twenty-five feet up the trunk and settled in. Making sure that I had everything that I needed as I tried unsuccessfully to get my butt comfortable on the all to small seat. The seat was padded, but after about fifteen minutes I couldn’t tell. But that was all right, because in another fifteen minutes, my butt would be so numb that it wouldn’t matter.

The morning passed as slowly as any other hunting morning. I couldn’t help but be filled with anticipation as the sunlight started to light the forest. This hunting trip was not a muzzle loader hunt, so I had my trusty 30. 30. Winchester. When you trust your gun to fire when you squeeze the trigger, it gives you a lot more confidence in success.

Finally the sun was shining brightly and from my perch I could see most of the surrounding area. I carefully checked out each possible shooting lane. But as I leaned forward, my stomach growled. Not a quiet, meek little growl. It was a growl that was loud enough that I was afraid that it might scare away any game. I know that is highly unlikely, but with my hunting record, I am thinking that it is all right for me to be a little paranoid.

Then it growled again. I didn’t feel hungry, and I had eaten something about an hour or so earlier. For the next few minutes, my stomach quieted down and I returned my focus to the surrounding area, hoping to see that monster Buck magically appear. The silence didn’t last that long. Again my stomach growled, but this time the intensity was greater and a slight pain was felt in my lower abdomen. I tried once again to re-adjust my position to gain some comfort as I retrieved a packet of cheese crackers from my pack.

As I opened the pack, it hit me again, the pain rumbled through my stomach. It was at that very moment that I had a flash back of the night before. The image of me wolfing down the stew and the tasty muffins.

“Oh Crap ” I said aloud. I knew all to well what was going on now. And I had a decision to make. I could either tough it out and hope that the growing urge would disappear, or I could climb down the tree and hike all the way back to camp. But this was the best part of the hunting day, and I didn’t want to ruin it. We would be leaving later that day and the time left for hunting was now limited. So I decided that I would stay right there in the tree stand.

A few minutes later, I was relaxed and smiling. The rumbling in my stomach was gone and I was thankful that I made the right decision. Now lets do a little time traveling and move forward about fifteen to twenty minutes.

I now sat in the tree stand, clenched jaw, sweat pouring down my face even though the temperature was no more than thirty eight degrees. My hands clenched the side rails of the tree stand, now terribly regretful for the decision to tough it out. It was obvious that I had made a mistake.

I knew that I had to get out of that tree stand, and somehow make it back to camp. But I was worried that my movement would ruin the rest of the hunting party’s chances. But I knew what would happen if I stayed put. I have had that happen before in my life. And though that might be acceptable for a small child, I don’t think I would get the same understanding as an adult.

I took a deep breath, tried to relax and place my feet under the strap on the base of the tree stand. I would have to lift the base to unlock it from the tree, lower it a foot or so and then do the same with the upper half. I would have to repeat this process some thirty times in order to reach the bottom. Not that I would have taken all that time. I was completely prepared to jump from at least the ten foot mark. I was that desperate.

So I grabbed the side rails and started to stand so that I could begin the downward climb. I found out very quickly that was no longer an option. My insides twisted and turned just a second before my limbs followed suit. I am guessing that I must have looked mighty funny up there in that tree, doing some slow motion dance to a silent song.

I only had one choice left. I grabbed the zipper of my coat and jerked on it hard. And of course, the zipper hung up about a third of the way down. Now the silent music had stepped it up a notch as I fought with the zipper. I am not sure if I managed to free it physically or by sure will. I jerk my arms free of the sleeves and slung it onto a branch above me. I paused for a moment, wondering if I was fighting a lost cause, so many layers, so little time.

Then it felt like a heavy weight fighter gave me his best shot, right to the gut. With new enthusiasm, I went to work. It was probably less than a minute later, but it felt like an eternity to me, the tree limbs now resembled a make shift clothes line and the sounds of groaning could have been heard for miles. With my butt hanging over the edge, I believe that it was the first time in history that there was a full moon over those mountains, at mid morning.

It seemed like four hours later, I was hiking back to camp with my tree stand strapped to my back. To say that I was disappointed would be correct. But I believe that it went a little deeper than that. As I hiked down the trail I kept saying, “Those damn muffins Those damn Muffins ”

While hiking back to camp, worried that I had ruined the day for everyone else, I tried to think of a story that I could tell that would explain why I was out of the woods so early. I thought of a bear attack, Alien abduction, maybe even the second coming. But every excuse that came to mind, seemed to wither against the truth.

As I turned the last corner and looked below, toward the camp, I was surprised to see movement. My brother and nephews were all hanging out at the campsite. My first thought was of relief, knowing that since they were all ready out of the woods that I couldn’t be blamed for ruining their hunting experience. But the next thought wasn’t quite as nice. Thankfully, I do not remember the exact thoughts that went through my mind at that point. Which is a good thing I believe as now I can not repeat them. In general, I was now aware that a very large part of the pain and anguish that I had just experienced was for not. If I had known that they had all ready left the woods, I wouldn’t have waited so long.

I arrived at camp a few minutes later and asked them why they weren’t hunting. My brother explained that they hadn’t seen any activity at all and his boys were growing restless. Then I guess he saw the look on my face. Now I didn’t have a mirror so I am just guessing here, but I must have looked like I had just seen my life flash before my eyes. So he repeated the same question that I had just asked him. For maybe a few seconds, I wracked my brain, hoping that a more realistic story had somehow formed in my thoughts. Since I could think of nothing better , I explained what happened. Starting with the emphasis on the previous nights dinner and my battle to retain some dignity while still in the tree stand.

I think that it was then that one of my nephews looked at their dad and asked. “Weren’t those bran muffins?”
For the next several, very long minutes I had the privilege of standing there on my still shakey legs, watching each of them lose all self control as they erupted with laughter. Several times, they tried to stop laughing and act like they were truly concerned. Of course, they had to follow that procedure many times before they were able to control their hysteria.

The longer that I thought about it, I couldn’t help but think of the old saying, “Truth is stranger than fiction.” At that point in my life, it had never been so true. So I shrugged my shoulders and joined in the laughter.

Its amazing just how good others memories are when it concerns a subject that you wished that they would forget. It seems that each time we went hunting following that year, and while we are sitting around the fire, someone starts to laugh as they blurt out, “Hey you remember that one trip...” But I have to admit, if it had happened to someone else, I can’t say that I would do any thing different. And each time I hear the story, and I realize just how funny that it was, I can’t help but chuckle a little myself.