Back Cast

This is not a fishing story.

To keep with the theme of this issue of North Dakota OUTDOORS, I’m guessing I could find some walleye fillets in the upright freezer pushed against the south wall of this three-stall garage I’m standing in. Knowing the garage’s owner, it wouldn’t take long either because the fillets would be neatly stacked, likely stored in a manner that makes sense to him. Alphabetical, maybe, beginning with deer on the top shelf and walleye on the bottom.

Considering our undertaking, turning nine big game animals into ring sausage, burger, breakfast sausage, bacon and whatever else, the garage, like the freezer, is the picture of order.

While I wandered around earlier looking for a second time where I put my wooden-handled knife, everything has its place. The two commercial model vacuum sealers are over there, within a step or two of the snacks, which is handy because I particularly like watching these machines do their thing; the meat slicer, which I hesitate to operate because I like the number of fingers I currently have, is on a white foldup table just steps away; and the grinder and stuffer, the workhorses of the operation, are near the backdoor of the garage.

It’s the first full week of March, which means we’re roughly four months removed from the opener of North Dakota’s deer gun season, but that’s not to say all the animals were taken then. If I’m keeping the stories correct, three of the whitetails were taken in January with bows and the lone pronghorn was shot in October.

Doesn’t matter, really. What does is that after finding a weekend that worked for all of us, we’re finally turning what bloodied our hands in the first place into what will help fill our freezers.

I say “finally” because we’ve gathered later than typical this year, which is an issue only because I look so forward to this reunion, and I was tired of waiting. While there will always be something special about the opening weekend of the deer gun season, putting this final stamp on the hunt in this garage ranks up there.

I know what we’re doing isn’t uncommon in many hunting circles in North Dakota. For all I know, the jalapeno-cheddar ring sausage aroma drifting from the outdoor smoker is reaching hunters in this rural Burleigh County neighborhood who do the same.

The beauty of our operation is that it’s so well organized and operates without a hitch. (I say “our” very loosely because I have little to do with, well, just about everything, other than showing up on time and lending a hand where a hand is needed.) For example, if there is any question about who is making what, how many pounds and the ratio of pork to venison, the answers are found on a spreadsheet taped to the freezer door. While I must bend at the waist and squint as if I’m reading a menu in a dark restaurant to get a good look, everything I need to know about the day’s lineup is all there in black and white.

The spreadsheet is a nice touch and I wonder if a new one is displayed every year, but this is the first time I’ve noticed it. The last thing I want to do is ask because I’ll certainly hear about it, get ribbed for the obvious, as these fellas are equally as talented at dishing it out as they are at processing hundreds of pounds of venison.

While it’s all in good fun, and certainly helps to make this gathering what it is, it’s best not to be the bull’s-eye.

In that spirit, they’re giving me static about finally getting their due out loud and in print if I happen to write about all of this. Their beef is that I typically only name my kids – Nathan, Lauren and Jack – in my columns and simply refer to them as friends, buddies, acquaintances.

I smile and tell them, not out loud but in my head, that the only bending I’ll be doing is when I need to read the spreadsheet.

They’re good guys. All three of them. They’ll understand.