The hunters at Blue Heaven often speculated that it would be a thrill to be snowed in at the hunting shack during deer season. We figured it would be great fun to be stranded deep in the woods with ample food and drink, riding out a major winter storm, with no place to go and nothing to do except deal the cards! As the old saying goes, “Be careful what you wish for.”
The autumn of 1991 had been beautiful. We spent several weekends preparing the hunting camp for the upcoming deer season scheduled to begin on November 23. On October 31, a major winter storm cranked up and swept through northwestern Wisconsin, depositing up to thirty inches of heavy, wet snow. Sixteen inches fell in the Hayward area, and there were many reports of old structures collapsing under the heavy weight of the snow. The event became known as “The Halloween Storm of 1991.” We were excited to see the early snowfall, as it assured good hunting conditions for the entire deer season.
We arrived at camp on Friday, November 22, to find the forest floor covered in wet snow. The woods were full of water, as it had rained for several days following the Halloween Storm. On the first Saturday of the season, we awoke to several inches of new snow. It was rough going in the woods, but we managed to get three deer on the opening weekend. Dennis shot a small buck on the following Tuesday, and the next day we received an additional six inches of snow. I found myself struggling to walk through the heavy snow in the woods, troubled by a hernia I had gotten by lifting up and draining a boat filled with rainwater that previous summer. I was delaying having surgery for the hernia repair until after deer season, as I didn’t want to be recovering from the surgery while at deer camp.
Several of us remained in camp for Thanksgiving Day and were joined by our other family members for a celebration. The following day, Friday, marked the start of the last weekend of deer season. No new snow had fallen, but there was already an ample amount on the ground and the weather was too cold for any of it to melt.
We had numerous either-sex permits that year, and Ollie shot three deer from his tree stand just as it began to snow very heavily about 3:30 p.m. on Friday. By 5 p.m., we knew we were in for some very nasty winter weather. As the evening progressed, Dennis grew increasingly concerned about our safety if we got snowed in. In particular, he was worried about the older Jolly Boys. What if they developed a medical condition? How would we get them out? Would the snow load collapse the roof of our thirty-five-year-old hunting shack? How would we get the Coot back out to the road? How would we be able to transport the seven deer hanging on the buck pole along with all of the gear everyone had? How would I be able to make it back out to the road with my hernia, walking in waist-deep snow? Dennis was a mess and on the verge of hyperventilating. He needed to take action. About 2 a.m. on Saturday, he left his bunk and woke up my son Rob to assist him in firing up the Coot. The two of them decided to try to bust a trail to the highway and keep the road open. About twelve inches of snow had already fallen, and the Coot didn’t operate well in the snow. Although the two of them made several trips back and forth between the shack and the highway where our cars were parked, they finally abandoned their efforts just as dawn broke. There was simply too much snow. Seventeen inches of new snow had fallen overnight to add to what was already on the ground.
Everyone woke up early that morning and we developed an escape plan while having our morning coffee. Rob and Ollie would walk out to the highway and dig out a vehicle. They would then go to town to get Ollie’s snowmobile for transportation and my dad’s snowblower to blow out a path to get our vehicles dug out. The rest of us would stay at camp and cut up the seven deer we had harvested that deer season. We would then play poker until they returned to rescue us.
We spent the day skinning out and cutting up the seven deer, and by midafternoon Rob and Ollie came ramming through the woods on Ollie’s snowmobile. There was jubilation—we had been rescued! They brought good news. Adder, who had been unable to join us for the final weekend of deer camp, knew we were snowbound and in trouble. He had sent my cousin up with his pickup and plow to clear a path through the snow so we could drive out onto the highway. We were feeling some relief. The cards were dealt, and we all enjoyed a final Saturday evening in the hunting camp surrounded by a winter wonderland.
On Sunday morning, the trek from the shack to the main highway began, and it was quite a project. Ollie had driven his snowmobile back and forth between the shack and the highway numerous times to create a trail and pack the snow down, but we still had to get the Coot out to the highway. We loaded it with our gear and the venison. We then hooked the snowmobile to the front of the Coot, and everyone assisted in shoving the Coot and the snowmobile down the trail as the snowmobile struggled and smoked, trying to pull the Coot to the highway.
After a morning of hard work, we were successful, and everyone was able to get his vehicle out onto the highway. Everyone except for Bobby, that is, whose old beat-up Buick was still stuck in the snow. He lovingly referred to that old wreck as his “deer-hunting car.” I attached a tow strap to his rear bumper, and we tried to pull it free with a four-wheel-drive Jeep, but the bumper of that old rusty Buick ripped off and went flying through the snow. Bobby was upset over the damage to his car but took it in stride. We shoveled his vehicle out by hand and loaded his bumper into his backseat. He left all of us standing there chuckling as he left for Superior.
A few weeks later I had my planned hernia surgery. While I was recovering at home, I became inspired to write a poem to send to everyone to record the event of getting snowed in.
’Twas the last Friday, season’s end was drawing near;
Snowflakes started falling, we were running low on beer.
Ollie had just killed three, the time was almost four;
Getting dark and nasty, snow on forest floor.
Seven deer had been taken, one was quite small;
No problem there, ’twas better than none at all.
Dennis looked worried, concerned about the weather;
Pacing back and forth, working up such a tether.
“John’s got a hernia! Marvin’s getting old,
How the heck we getting back out to the road?”
“The Coot won’t make it, the snow’s really thick!
Anyone in the outhouse? I think I have to ****!”
John said, “Chill out, Dennis, we’ve got plenty to eat,
Somehow we’ll make it, let’s take care of the meat.
Haul ’em in the shack, hang them by upper bunk;
Stoke up the fires, we’ll drink and get drunk.
Forget about the weather, we’ll cut them up at dawn;
All the big deer, and Russ’ buck fawn.”
The cards were dealt, but Dennis really got nervous;
He threw on his boots, “Let’s put the Coot into service!”
Snow kept on falling, as the Coot left the shack;
Dennis at the wheel, and Rob shovin’ in the back.
One hour later, two snowmen did appear;
Dennis totally white, and Rob still pushing in the rear.
All through the night, Dennis laid in his bed;
With visions of tragedy dancing through his head.
Up every two hours, to bust a trail to the road;
Almost a useless effort, wasted in the cold.
Dawn finally came, seventeen inches had fallen;
The old army commo phone bell dinged twice, who could be callin’?
It was Peter with Adder, wondering of our plight;
Were we stranded and okay? Had we made it through the night?
Adder wanted to come in, but there was no place to park;
We told him to forget it, he couldn’t disembark.
Rob and Ollie left for town, marching waist deep in snow;
Rob’s Jeep wouldn’t start, and he had to locate a tow.
The boys were on a mission, Ollie’s snowmobile we would need;
The Coot no longer would make it, to this we would concede.
Several hours later, came a-crashing down the trail;
Two smiling Hanson kids, their mission did not fail.
We had been rescued, the meat was finally cut;
On with the game, forget about the “rut!”
The phone dinged again, ’twas Craig Hanson on the line;
Adder had sent him, and he plowed us out in time.
The crisis almost over, Dennis began to feel great;
Took paper sack off his head, no longer would he hyperventilate.
The hunters were at peace now, and enjoyed their Saturday night;
Sunday would be a breeze, after experiencing such a fright.
The exodus went smoothly, as we trailered out our gear;
Sunday at ten, we finally ran out of beer.
The last task before us was to pull out the Coot;
Dennis said, “Leave it till summer, I really don’t give a hoot.”
We tied Ollie’s snowmobile with a strap to the Coot’s front;
Several started pushing, did they ever groan and grunt.
It was quite an ordeal, but somehow we got out;
It wasn’t very easy, but accomplished with muscle and clout.
The last task at hand, pull Bobby’s car from the snow;
Just hook up the tow strap, and away he would go.
The tow strap was connected, between the two cars;
It was stretched and tied, between rear face-bars.
Russ’ Jeep pulled and tightened, the long nylon strap;
The next thing we heard, was a soft breaking crack.
There lay Bobby’s bumper, away it did go;
Flying from his Buick, and sliding through the snow.
All we could hear, was a voice from afar;
What the **** have you guys done, to my deer hunting car?!?!
Soon after the deer season of 1991, Ollie showed up sporting a new customized license plate on the back of his four-wheel-drive pickup truck that stated, “SNOWDIN.”