Here is the Grouse Hollow Journal for November 20, 2025
El and I first hunted opening day of the Wisconsin Gun Deer Season here in Proksch Coulee in 1977. Ellen killed a relatively big spike buck that morning, which we hung in a tree out front of our house. At close we packed up and drove south to hunt the rest of the three-day season with the family in Grant County. We hunted here at Grouse Hollow one other opener when Ellen had to work second shift at Gundersen’s lab on opening weekend. My sister Carolyn and her husband Jamie came up, and Carolyn watched our little boys while the rest of us hunted. I remember that a prairie tsunami rolled in from Minnesota that morning, dumping buckets on us for most of the day. I shot a nubbin buck that morning that died down a deep ditch, and my much younger and much stronger brother-in-law, Jamie, hoisted it over his shoulder and carried it up to the ridge road. Jamie found a shot red fox that morning too. I skinned it and put the hide on my homemade fur stretcher that evening. Later Ellen would spend hours fleshing the inside and brushing out the beautiful fur, as El’s dad was a trapper so she had a little practice. I remember we took it to one fur buyer and he said he only paid $10 for shot fox. Then we stopped at Holiday Sports on West Avenue where Dick Schultz handled it and looked it all over, remarking that this has had some real care. Anyway, Dick apologized though saying, “I could maybe go $75.”
For decades we would pack up our truck and eventually our kids and journey to Grant County to hunt with the Burton Deer Hunters on opening weekend. Since 2017 we have stayed home for the gun deer hunt. We miss hunting with the Burton bunch but we do get to sleep in our own beds, and we have half-a-dozen friends who will be here opening weekend too. The list is checked, twice, our gun deer season list that is, while my list to Santa comes next. The Ridgeline, Ranger UTV, and Eiger ATV are all charged and filled up. We plan to round up some sandwich fixins, and for sure we’ll have French Toast Casserole for opening morning. I plan on making a pot of venison chili. We still have to haul our clothes and gear downstairs, and our living room will glow orange with it soon. Anyone who has experienced and enjoyed the preparation, the time in the woods, the food, and the camaraderie, knows that the stories and lasting memories are the most important element of deer season, and I know I do at least. I thought I might share a memory from back in the day before we began calling these musings the Grouse Hollow Journal.
Flashback: The 1992 Column This is the “Outdoors” column from the first week of December in 1992 appearing in The Vernon County Broadcaster the week after gun season. My family, wife Ellen and sons Ben and Mark, loaded up our truck on Friday afternoon (in a cold and steady downpour) and headed south to Ellen’s family farm near Cassville. If you’ve seen the opening shots of the “Beverly Hillbillies” then you’ve got an idea how our little truck looked. Ellen’s parents and brothers farm along the Grant River about eight miles south of Cassville near Burton. Ellen’s family traditionally hunts deer together each year, and she has been going along deer hunting since she was about 10. I first hunted with the group in 1973, when I “married in”.
Our family hunting group this year consisted of my father-in-law, Walter Hauk, my brother-in-laws, Bill Hauk, Brian Hauk, Tom Hauk, Dave Fure, Dave Junk and Chuck Wright; sister-in-laws Barb Wright and Lori Fure; niece Shelby Hauk; nephews Jake and Nick Hauk, Jason Junk and Chris Wright, family friend Jim Fredericks, cousin Todd Reynolds, Ellen, Ben and myself. We also had some top-notch brush busting help from “the three beagles”, 11-year-old nephews Doug Fure, Jared Junk and my son Mark. Other support personnel included my mother-in-law Marge and sisters-in-law Joyce Hauk, Betty Hauk, Amy Hauk, Jodie Hauk and Kathy Junk. Without the support of these folks, this event wouldn’t come off with anywhere near the success. They “put up with…”, shopped, cooked, babysat, chored and on Sunday kept us posted on the Packer-Bear score, which for the record was 17-3 Pack. The group used to consist of just brothers- and sisters-in-law, but with the advent of time, quite a few youngsters have been added, and next year the hunter’s ranks will grow with the addition of “the three beagles”. You might imagine this is a large group to supply and organize, but somehow we manage it every year.
On Friday night, after we have unloaded our truck, we have a war council at the homeplace to discuss plans for the next day, such as who’s going to stand where, which drive should we do first, what should everyone do on the drive, where and what time should we meet, which truck will haul the lunch boxes and extra cases, who will pick up whom and where, etc.. It sounds complicated and can be, but it all usually works out. We talked over old times, hunts and holidays gone by, caught up with each other’s lives some, shared snacks and a libation or two and finally hit the sack around 10 p.m. after listening to two abysmal weather forecasts. I would never want to be the weatherman, because how would you like to have 700,000 armed and dangerous people angry with you? It turned out okay for us in southern Wisconsin, as the rain ended during the night leaving us with cold and wet conditions on the ground, but no showers in the air. Saturday morning dawned dark and dreary, luckily it was not raining or windy. After a huge hunting breakfast of French toast casserole with sorghum syrup, hot coffee and grapefruit, we loaded up the trucks again. The boys and I hauled the loaded lunch boxes, guns and extra boots, putting them in the back of our pickup. By 6 a.m. we were on our way over to Barb and Chuck’s farm overlooking the Grant River valley.
I usually stand on the Boice Creek bottom side of their farm on opening day, but this year the mud and slop made the mile-and-a-half trip to the creek bottom seem too far, and I chose to walk into the woods on top to stand. I dropped Ben off in a clear woods overlooking a hollow and walked on to where I thought I had planned to stand, but as it turned out, I put Ben on stand too soon, and I was far off the mark myself. The first shots were fired around 6:25 according to my watch. Every year I wish I could be the first shot on opening morning, and once I was, I think, in 1987 maybe. I did get a shot at a running deer around quarter of seven; I believe it was headed for me and caught my scent, but anyway I missed it. After standing for awhile, I went back for Ben, and we walked down the hill into the hollow to where we usually stand. Ben walked up a farm road to the top of a woods, and I strolled down the creek bottom. A short time later, I heard a shot from Ben’s direction. I had high hopes for a first deer for him, and when he didn’t start hollering right away, a little chill ran down my spine making me think maybe he slipped. He was fine, but had missed a deer after kicking out two. He was fired up though, so we split up to search for the critters, but they seemed to have escaped. At the top of the hill, I jumped a buck that was lying in some thick brush next to a fence. All I saw was a white “flag” and antlers. It took two bounds and disappeared into some nearby cedars before I could even get my rifle up. I followed it for a ways, but realized the futility of trying to get a shot without spending the whole day, and I had people waiting on me, plus I figured we might drive the place later that day.
At the farm I learned that my nephews Chris, Nick and Jason had killed deer, which were Nick and Jason’s first deer. We planned our first drive at the family’s home farm. I stood on a creek bottom between Hwy. 133 and Irish Ridge where there were orange coats all over the area and rifle and shotgun reports echoed up and down the hollow. Jim shot a doe. This is his first hunt with us, and he worked pretty hard. He wounded the deer with his first shot and Ellen helped him track it. They pushed it out to Bill who delivered the coup de grace. I was lucky enough to be far down the bottom, and I missed out on the drag up the hill – darn. After breaking for coffee and a bit of lunch, we drove a large Grant River bottom bowl we call “the bench”. Sister Lori wounded a doe and David collected it for her. The “beagles” were in on the kill and were pretty impressed. They got on the fresh tracks of one deer, and Doug remarked that “they (the tracks) were so fresh they were still steaming”. Mark was almost run down by one deer and had the one Lori shot go by him 10 yards away, and it was all he talked about that night. By the end of the day, we had four deer hanging all bald. Less than expected, but we hadn’t seen many at all. Deer usually blend into the woods, but they blend into the woods even more when the woods are wet. They are hard to hear under the best of conditions, and they are near impossible to hear when it’s wet. I’m not making excuses (well maybe I am), but either the deer got harder to see or I am getting worse at seeing.
We had a supper of homemade vegetable soup and chili with pumpkin pie compliments of mother-in-law Marge. Sometimes I think just the eats would make this trip worthwhile. Lots of conversation about last year and “didn’t wees?”, “what ifs”, “if onlys” and “should-a-beens”. The weatherman had no more good news for us. Sunday presented us with much the same type of day. We had eggs and sausages and lots of steaming coffee for breakfast. It was a clear but damp morning. After loading the truck, I met Chuck at the top of a ridge overlooking Burton around 6 a.m.. He was on crutches, so I opened the gate for his truck and headed down to the river bottom to stand for a drive. It turned out to be a four-hour wait, as Tom had killed a nice buck and had to have help dragging it out. I did have one deer walk near me, but I saw it too late and never got a shot. Later in the day it started to sleet and snow and rain and get cold. We drove the Bench again, and Bill shot a nice nine-pointer. When all was said and done, we had nine deer. The opening weekend hunt ended with a group of butchers going to work on the game. We skin and cut up our own deer. With the meat packed, we headed north to home, tired and foot sore, but feeling good about the get together, with good memories and much venison. We still had Thanksgiving weekend to hunt.
Recent Sightings and Warnings Until next time, get out… on Monday morning I was trying to keep from falling asleep in Tower 1 when I swiveled my head to look around. Without warning, I froze. There was a deer! No. Not a deer. It was a bobcat. I think it might have been stalking my doe decoy. It walked past less than ten yards away. I was so surprised, I forgot to grab my camera. Speaking of warnings, I got an email from Amazon Wednesday. It was a warning that the item I purchased on October 25 had a dangerous flaw and I should not use it and should contact Amazon for directions. Of course it wanted my email and phone number. I checked my Amazon history and there was nothing bought on October 25. The closest purchase to Oct. 25 was a Butt Out tool I had sent to my brother; I suppose that could be dangerous, but the email was a total fraud.
Recent fraud warnings in Wisconsin include scams threatening utility disconnections, imposter scams mimicking government agencies or banks, and phishing and malware scams involving malicious links in emails or texts, especially those from fake Wisconsin DMV communications. Other scams involve fake job offers, gift cards, and online shopping, especially for holiday items. Consumers should be wary of high-pressure tactics, demands for payment via cryptocurrency or gift cards, and any unsolicited contact asking for personal information. Be warned not to trust anything you don’t recognize out there. Anyway, I have always considered The Big One the first holiday of “The Holidays”. The Big One is upon us so happy holidays!
Good luck and be safe hunters of whitetails and hunters of bargains too.
Peace.
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