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Once upon a time

My 84 year old Father-n-law has been my hunting buddy for nye on 45 years. After a recent loss of my mother-n-law, I loaded Sid up, we headed south to Kiamichi country. My plan was to visit some of our old haunts. In the early days these places lured us there year after year. Areas we had slipped around in hopes of filling a tag with a mountain buck. Even though we knew mountains was a very relative word, these weren't the Rockies or the Smokies for sure , but they were indeed the Kiamichi mountains of Oklahoma of which we are most proud. Leflore, McCurtain and Push counties was our destination. Hamlets such as Honobia, Ludlow, Octavia, Smithville where we had spent many a morning waiting on a November sunrise. Locales known to us as Raymus Creek, Bogg, High Top and Little River, to name a few. Popular places like "The Narrows", Hee Mountain, Mt. Herman. In those old days of the 70's and 80's all that was needed was 5 good tires, a tank of gas, an Iron will, and a good sense of direction. If you had most on that list you could go almost anywhere. Ten's of miles from the blacktop, hardwoods upon hardwoods, gave way to clear-cuts galore. In a camp made away from the wind, often a raging fire could be seen dancing across the faces of wide eyed boys and young adult men alike, we were bewildered by the continuous stories of a by-gone era. We soon learned it was camp life for a long weekend that was the prize, not some notion of harvesting a giant buck or any buck for that matter. The lure was camp, and it's comradery, a yearly ritual, a present day Right of Passage if you will, a buck was only a back drop. A camp might have been 4 hunters in a tent or 36 in tents, trailers, and motorhomes, double digits was the norm, not the exception. I chuckle these days each time I watch some Fat Cat TV celeb pull up to a country club environment hunting operation with it's 72" TV, climate controlled bedroom, and a 5 star chef, only to have the nerve call it "camp"......... Life has a way of getting in the way of things. As the years passed by those clear-cuts grew into plantation type tall pines. We learned over time, those tall pine held the game, even though they brought new challenges. As the years passed by I watched as young boys grew into men with families of their own, Wise men grew even older and died away, and once young men grow into the leaders. So many names and faces over the years, I don't dare start naming them in fear of leaving someone out. Many who shaped me into the man I am today. The years also dwindled our camps to a scant few, health, other opportunities, other interests took its toll. Only the most committed remained to reap the rewards of an ever changing landscape............ Sid and I turned off hwy 259, after a mile or so, we were met with a locked gate. We feared it might be the case, but hoped for the best. Taking another route proved futile, for another gate blocked our path. We had other options where we thought something might make the area accessible, but no. Ultimately we settled on a trip to the Smithville cemetery to pay respects to long passed family members. What was once nearly a million acres of public accessible hunting opportunities, has been reduced to less than 100,000 acres, replaced with locked gates and pay to play operations. I/we don't begrudge any of these operations, I know what can happen with the advancement of feeders and attractants and the effects they can have down there. The sky is the limit. I just wish this old hunter could take another even older hunter back in time for just a few hours.

Great story.

Good story. I grew up hunting some of that same area. When I was a teenage/preteen I would always go camp up there with my granddad during season. You bring back some great memories.

Grew up hearing stories just like that from my dad and uncle. I turned 30 this year and as far back as I can remember the timber land has been leased the gates started coming in around the mid 2000s in my area.

Great story.I know several people that grew up hunting that area. The good ole days were stopped by the lease gates.

I’m sitting on Little River right now, Danny. Quite the flow with last weeks rains. Beautiful down here!

I missed my first deer outside Antlers when I finally got a cousin to take me 47 years ago.I still have relation there.

I was a kid in one of those musty ole campers up north of ringold off the billy bell trail east of little river. mid 80's was the time and how I long for the days when highway 3 was 3 & 7 and the lever guns and plastic orange vests lined the check stations and clearcuts of McCurtain county...my home then and now. Thank you for taking me back to great memories and long lost heroes of mine that have faded like the glow of those campfires of my long gone childhood. Thank you

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