New Boots and a Thick, Juicy Steak
FNDH
3/20/07 9:59pm
Posted with permission from the author.
New Boots and a Thick, Juicy Steak
By Jim Slinsky
Outdoor Talk Network
http://www.outdoortalknetwork.com
It was 1977 and my dear friend Charlie Fedak built a beautiful cabin on his prime ten acres in Stevensville, Bradford County, PA. Charlie had owned the land for some years, but this year he finally had the cabin up. It was a rectangular design, but by deer season only the kitchen and bathroom was completed. Interior walls were yet to come.
Charlie invited another friend Pete Silvera and a fellow by the name of Greg, whose last name escapes me, for the maiden hunt, so to speak. Without walls or furniture we were all asked to bring sleeping bags and pads for our nightly comfort. Charlie had installed a wood stove as his first official act and I knew we would be toasty. This was living the “high life” for me. During previous deer seasons I stayed in some places that would keep a dog sleeping with one eye open all night. Yes, the smell of fresh timber, a dry, warm cabin and good camaraderie would be the lasting memory of this trip. At least I thought it would.
The plan was for all to arrive by 9 AM Sunday and set-up camp. In the afternoon we would finalize our spots and then at night drive to NY for a thick, juicy steak at a well-known restaurant. I had a problem. My boots were an embarrassment. They were worn out, leaky and cold. On my drive up I decided to detour and buy a brand new pair of Dunham’s. In those days Dunham boots were all the rage. By today’s hunting boot standards those old Dunham’s would be a perfect for doing yard work, not hunting the “Endless Mountains.”
I believe I pulled into camp around noon and the boys were not happy campers. After the swearing and complaining we all shook hands and I put up my gear. Without walls the cabin was a vast, empty cavern. Each man was assigned a corner for his bunk roll and from which to operate. Three corners were already taken and I bunked closest to Pete Silvera.
Within minutes the pressure was on to get into the woods and pick our spots. I knew the area and didn’t need a great deal of time. I decided to wear my new boots and start the break-in process. Long before it became popular with our kids, I didn’t lace my boots but the first four holes. I tucked the laces and my jeans into the boots for that “rapper” look. Off we went and soon the afternoon and daylight had vanished.
Back at the cabin we decided we would go for that thick, juicy steak without a change of clothes. We piled in someone’s truck and headed for NY. I was well on my way of giving my new boots that look of “character.” I kicked every rock and every stump that got in my way. I walked through every mud puddle. I jumped into every mud pile.
The restaurant parking lot wasn’t paved, but actually was a massive mud puddle. I was having fun dancing through the puddles and kicking stones when Silvera cried out, “What the hell are you doing?” “Pete, I’m breaking in my new boots. Do you think I want to look like a store window dummy on deer stand?” I fired back. Pete was quite the dude and totally anal about his appearance. Everything he brought for this trip was brand new and he liked that look.
The restaurant lived up to its reputation. As you walked in there were glass butcher store coolers right before you with 2”-3” steaks sitting on ice. The place was mobbed with hunters and the loud laughter of that “night before opening day” warm energy that only deer hunters ever experience. We teased each other, had a few brews and left with the smiles of a thick, juicy steak and opening day anticipation. We had bonded.
The ride back to the cabin was filled with friendly jabs and great old hunting stories. We wheeled in the driveway and I announced I would leave my brand new, now beat up, but with great character, boots on the porch. They were just too muddy to even consider wearing inside the new cabin. Pete announced walking up the stairs that he would show me his new boots that he bought especially for this trip.
Once inside we all made a beeline for our corners. I looked down at my gear and the strangest thing appeared. There, beside my sleeping bag, were my brand new Dunham boots sitting in their box.
At that precise moment I heard Pete Silvera shout, “Hey, where’s my new boots?”
New Boots and a Thick, Juicy Steak
By Jim Slinsky
Outdoor Talk Network
It was 1977 and my dear friend Charlie Fedak built a beautiful cabin on his prime ten acres in Stevensville, Bradford County, PA. Charlie had owned the land for some years, but this year he finally had the cabin up. It was a rectangular design, but by deer season only the kitchen and bathroom was completed. Interior walls were yet to come.
Charlie invited another friend Pete Silvera and a fellow by the name of Greg, whose last name escapes me, for the maiden hunt, so to speak. Without walls or furniture we were all asked to bring sleeping bags and pads for our nightly comfort. Charlie had installed a wood stove as his first official act and I knew we would be toasty. This was living the “high life” for me. During previous deer seasons I stayed in some places that would keep a dog sleeping with one eye open all night. Yes, the smell of fresh timber, a dry, warm cabin and good camaraderie would be the lasting memory of this trip. At least I thought it would.
The plan was for all to arrive by 9 AM Sunday and set-up camp. In the afternoon we would finalize our spots and then at night drive to NY for a thick, juicy steak at a well-known restaurant. I had a problem. My boots were an embarrassment. They were worn out, leaky and cold. On my drive up I decided to detour and buy a brand new pair of Dunham’s. In those days Dunham boots were all the rage. By today’s hunting boot standards those old Dunham’s would be a perfect for doing yard work, not hunting the “Endless Mountains.”
I believe I pulled into camp around noon and the boys were not happy campers. After the swearing and complaining we all shook hands and I put up my gear. Without walls the cabin was a vast, empty cavern. Each man was assigned a corner for his bunk roll and from which to operate. Three corners were already taken and I bunked closest to Pete Silvera.
Within minutes the pressure was on to get into the woods and pick our spots. I knew the area and didn’t need a great deal of time. I decided to wear my new boots and start the break-in process. Long before it became popular with our kids, I didn’t lace my boots but the first four holes. I tucked the laces and my jeans into the boots for that “rapper” look. Off we went and soon the afternoon and daylight had vanished.
Back at the cabin we decided we would go for that thick, juicy steak without a change of clothes. We piled in someone’s truck and headed for NY. I was well on my way of giving my new boots that look of “character.” I kicked every rock and every stump that got in my way. I walked through every mud puddle. I jumped into every mud pile.
The restaurant parking lot wasn’t paved, but actually was a massive mud puddle. I was having fun dancing through the puddles and kicking stones when Silvera cried out, “What the hell are you doing?” “Pete, I’m breaking in my new boots. Do you think I want to look like a store window dummy on deer stand?” I fired back. Pete was quite the dude and totally anal about his appearance. Everything he brought for this trip was brand new and he liked that look.
The restaurant lived up to its reputation. As you walked in there were glass butcher store coolers right before you with 2”-3” steaks sitting on ice. The place was mobbed with hunters and the loud laughter of that “night before opening day” warm energy that only deer hunters ever experience. We teased each other, had a few brews and left with the smiles of a thick, juicy steak and opening day anticipation. We had bonded.
The ride back to the cabin was filled with friendly jabs and great old hunting stories. We wheeled in the driveway and I announced I would leave my brand new, now beat up, but with great character, boots on the porch. They were just too muddy to even consider wearing inside the new cabin. Pete announced walking up the stairs that he would show me his new boots that he bought especially for this trip.
Once inside we all made a beeline for our corners. I looked down at my gear and the strangest thing appeared. There, beside my sleeping bag, were my brand new Dunham boots sitting in their box.
At that precise moment I heard Pete Silvera shout, “Hey, where’s my new boots?”
1,778