Words like licenses, bullets, vacation days, property lines and plat books are thrown around.

An image of a bearded, beer-drinking and card-playing tough guy comes to mind.

Today I’d like to expose you to “the other side” of deer hunters. There’s a whimsical side to hunters.

Cold, dark November days can transform wool-clad, buck-knife-wielding outdoors men into silly, giggling, 13-year-old boys!

Karen Rose Wils

Between harvesting, skinning and butchering deer, there is joking, prank-playing and general B.S.-ing that is a part of almost every hunting camp in the north woods.

At our family camp, deer hunting is taken very seriously. Honest, hard, out-in-the-woods hunting is what it’s about to our crew. There may be a beer or two on Saturday night with a game of cribbage. Other than that, it’s all business.

Important business, like splashing Tabasco sauce on someone’s sandwich when they’re not looking. Or hiding a fellow hunter’s hot, fresh pasty when he turns around to stoke the woodstove.

Yes, teasing, joking and having boyish fun is somehow a part of the deer camp camaraderie. Strange things happen at deer camp. Tropical pink flamingos can descend on a snow-covered deer blind. “Blasting zone” or “silent thunder” signs can magically appear in outhouses.

Last year, before deer season, a pair of bears was frequenting my son’s deer blind. The trail camera caught them stealing the apples. We began to tell my son that he’d better hurry and pray for colder weather so that his bears would go hibernate and leave his hunting area alone.

Come opening day of deer season, my son found a bear, a teddy bear, sitting at his deer blind. It was wearing a sign saying “This spot taken.” The hand writing looked suspiciously like Grandpa’s.

One of my brothers has a sensitive digestion problem. Let’s just say when he’s got to go, he’s got to go RIGHT NOW!

I was informed that a “wilderness commode” showed up in the woods halfway between camp and his deer blind. The thunder bucket was complete, even with a coffee cup holder on it!

Oh, the funny rituals of deer camp, they never cease to amaze me. I sometimes wish I could be a little mouse spying on the fellas at our camp. These big, burly men fending for themselves without the wife’s help or organizational skills is something in itself to laugh at.

I won’t mention any names here, but I know one deer hunter who has to have a certain “camp fork” with a special plain handle on it. Another fella tests the pillows to make sure he gets his favorite feather pillow.

Sometimes the mighty deer hunters might use the same coffee cup for days without washing it. And the “lucky flannel shirt” may start smelling a little ripe, but this is all part of the fun, I’m told.

The humor, the friendship and the traditions will likely outlast the venison that’s put in the freezer.

Good luck, hunters. Be safe and have fun. By the way, who hid all the toilet paper?