Six grouse hunters were sharing a cabin near a small stream located deep in a sparsely populated area of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula - the “UP” as it is universally called. Five of the men were from the U.P. (That accounts for their generic designation of “UP-ers” - a/k/a “Yoopers”). The sixth hunter was Major Nathaniel Peabody,
The men are friends of long standing. Each autumn, when the fallen leaves of maples and hardwoods turn the forest floor earth colored, they meet in the Upper Peninsula to hunt Ruffed Grouse and Woodcock. Their relationship is such that Peabody has been officially designated an Honorary Yooper, a title seldom granted to flatlanders.
There are infinitely more hunters and fishermen per square yard in the UP than anywhere else in the Republic. By and large, Yoopers have not been regimented by urban life style and the Major harbors a sincere affection for each of his Yooper hunting companions. They return the favor. When in their camp, Peabody has but once to rattle the ice cubes in an empty glass and it is immediately re-filled.
Long before the armed services popularized the rule: “Don’t ask - Don’t tell”, it has been in effect in the UP. If venison is served during a Yooper grouse camp - a week or so before the opening of deer season - it is considered to be a social faux pas for anyone to inquire into the date when the deer may have been killed. It is considered to be insanity for anyone to truthfully answer such a question. Major Peabody always enjoyed the venison dinners without showing interest in the age of the meat.
Is it impossible to over-estimate the importance of deer season in the UP. Killing a buck is a prerequisite to the right to vote. When the deer hunting season begins, it seems like everyone heads for the woods. Businesses hang out “Closed” signs. Factories lay empty, abandoned by their employees. Any boy able to carry a 30/30 skips school. Court calendars are clear because all the UP lawyers are hunting deer instead of clients. If an out-of-state attorney comes into a UP town, he will find no local attorneys to fight with. If two foreign lawyers come into a UP town to do legal battle, they must wait patiently until the judge returns from his deer camp and opens court.
The dinner at the Major’s UP grouse camp celebrated the fact that in only another nineteen days, the deer season would be officially open. The enthusiastic dinner table conversation was, therefore, limited to the plans for hunt preparations and tales of past deer season happenings. The same subject matter overwhelmed the conversations during the dish washing and continued well into the social hour(s) that followed.
Peabody was not his usual garrulous self. He is not a deer hunter. While he is not averse to the practice, his interest in the sport is modest. He listened politely to the stories and talk surrounding him, occasionally rattling his ice cubes and, even less occasionally, offering comments like: “That’s funny,” “You don’t say?” and “Amazing!”
(When the word, “Amazing” is often used in the UP. Every one knows it is the translation into printable English of a common Yooper two word expression that describes the by-product of a male cow. When the word ‘amazing’ is used by someone listening to a Yooper’s story, it is an acceptable way to emphatically signify utter and complete disbelief.)
The rare occurrence of a quiet Major Nathaniel Peabody attracted the attention of one of his Yooper friends. “Peabody, are you sick?” he asked. “Oh, no,” another Yooper answered before the Major could say a word. “The Major is only interested in birds. If deer flew, he’d be up here with us every November. He’s a shot gunner. You may not believe this. Major Peabody doesn’t own a deer rifle – not even one.”
A chorus of expressions of disbelief followed that last revelation.
“Amazing!”
“It can’t be true!”
“Peabody not owning a deer rifle? I don’t believe it!”
Peabody looked at the smirking faces of his companions and knew it was time for him to defend himself. “It isn’t necessary to carry one of your outsized canons to finish off a large quadruped,” he said.
“Amazing,” one of his fellow hunters emphatically exclaimed.
“No,” Peabody countered. “Not ‘amazing’ at all. It’s the truth.”
“Amazing,” another of his friends repeated.
Peabody slowly shook his head in feigned disbelief. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I fear you have neglected your studies of history. There was a time when gunpowder was unknown in the entire world. Later, it was known only in China where, incidentally, it was used exclusively to make fireworks. In those days, people did not have deer rifles and yet the meat of large wild animals formed a part of their regular diet.”
Peabody leaned back in his chair, rattled the ice in his empty glass and wondered what he as going to say next. While refreshing the Major’s libation, his host entered the argument. “Back in those days, doctors used leeches and bleeding to cure sickness. Nowadays the medics use more advanced methods. It’s the same with hunters. We have no need to use primitive, inefficient and ineffective hunting methods - hence the present-day, beautiful deer rifle. The process is called ‘the advancement of civilization’.”
Another of the Yoopers took up the cudgel. “You may not need a rifle to protect yourself from deer. They’ll run away. But suppose you’re picking berries and you run into a bear. Then what could you do without appropriate modern rifled weaponry?”
Peabody was ready. “Strange you should ask,” he said. “That very thing happened to me a few years ago right here in Iron County. I was grouse hunting and ran into a nice patch of raspberries. I began to fill my hat when a black bear the size of the Empire State Building reared up in front of me and let go with a snarl that would have frightened the living bejaysus out of Ivan the Terrible. I decided that shooting the beast with 7 1/2 chilled shot was not the prudent thing to do. It would have made him angrier and he was already quite mad at me for invading his berry patch.
“I’m sure you are all aware of the term ‘running down a deer’?” It was a question. Two of the Yoopers slowly nodded while the three younger men looked perplexed.
“The pre-gun-weapon-era Indians,” the Major explained, “would chase a deer on foot. They would stay on its trail exerting constant pressure until the animal dropped from exhaustion.” The young men looked to the older ones for confirmation and saw them give affirmative nods. Not one of them said ‘amazing’.
“I jumped up and down,” Peabody said. “I waved my arms and shouted the most blood curdling yells I could imagine. The bear began to run at full speed. I immediately dropped the shotgun as unnecessary baggage and joined in the race. A bear can sprint at high speed for short distances, but it isn’t able to maintain that pace for very long. My bear had the best of it for the first four or five rods. Then I began to gain on him.
“The bear apparently led a life even more dissolute than my own. After some ten minutes, it began to slow down. Of course, the bear had prepared for winter hibernation and had developed a thick layer of fat. That extra weight combined with the effects of the heat of the day and the bear’s thick fur coat took their toll.
“The race led us over a large fallen log and half way up a steep wooded hill. Not more than ten feet separated me from the beast when it faltered, sunk to the ground, gasped, and died on the spot. I had run that bear to death.
“Frankly, friends,” Peabody continued, “I’ll admit I, too, was approaching exhaustion. If that creature had been able to run for a few more minutes, I would have collapsed and the bear would have caught up with me and eaten me.”
In unison, the five Yoopers spoke. “Amazing,” they said.