DEC-C-2
THE FESTIVE HOLIDAY
AMONG FRIENDS—
IN MAYVILLE, NEW YORK IN CHAUTAUQUA COUNTY
FOR CHRISTMAS EVE, CHRISTMAS DAY WITH ELWELLS,
JOINED BY THE REDDINGTONS FOR THE
TRADITIONAL BOXING DAY FEASTS AND FESTIVITIES.
Dec. 24—28. 2001
It has been a most remarkable, festive, familiar, and feast-filled Christmas in upstate New York, surrounded by good friends, fabulous feasting, and even a few hunts in the cold northern woods of Chautauqua County.
I had flown from GRR to ORD, and had received a call while I was deplaning in O’Hare to transfer to the flight to Dulles. I heard Russ Elwell cheering me for the season and suggesting I come on up to join the entire family, who would be present and celebrating both Christmas and Boxing Day, the latter a tradition of long standing in which the Reddingtons joined the Elwells in all the full festivities of the Christmas season in feasting that achieved a climax on the day after Christmas. I said, “You know, I just might do that!”
When I had landed at Dulles, I took the Washington Flyer and the Metro to GW, where I put the bags in my car and dropped off the film for processing that I had shot in Chicago and Michigan, and cleared all of my recorded phone calls, emails and postal mail, and tried to clear the decks for the next several days. I got home late, and tried to button up Derwood for an absence, packing everything I might need from the top of the US contiguous 48 states to the bottom of the same East Coast. I would start by going to the “North Coast” along Lake Erie—the famed “snow-making machine” at this time of year, and wind up through stops in North Carolina, Atlanta, Gainesville and Cumberland Island, all along the way across the East Coast top to bottom, perhaps relying on all these solitary journeys in an aging Bronco in somewhat dubious weather conditions. But, why not?
I went into a flurry of activity—doing the laundry; emptying the refrigerator, packing the Bronco for all contingencies, and paying all bills that would be due before the end of the year. I put in orders that might be ready for me upon return from my travels, but were not needed as “Christmas gifts” before the return from Cumberland. I then checked the oil, pumped the tires, and got away by 9:00 AM after rising at 4:00 AM on Christmas Eve. It took the full day, but I drove into Mayville at around 5:00 PM which is still light there, unlike our daylight here in this meridian of the Eastern Standard time zone—especially on the shortest of the year’s days. I rolled along in bright cold sunshine, through the straight up the Susquehanna River bank drive on Route 15, then heading west on I-86, the “Southern Tier” highway, that goes through the Seneca Indian nation. I remember from my one previous road trip to Mayville, that I could get gas on the reservation much cheaper than it is elsewhere, so I had hoped to fill up there. I went around Hershey and Mount Joy, where Don King lives, but I could not raise him by the cell phone. I also went through Williamsport, and passing Liberty PA I went along the Pine Creek Canyon cabin that Don King had made and everyone else has used for deer hunting –this year, for the first time since his youth—that did not include Don himself. I called upon my return around the Shamokin Dam area to see if he still planned to go down to Cumberland Island hog hunting with me, something he would rather not miss even less than the PA deer season’s opening day—as he did this year. It was from his
Pine Creek Cabin three years ago that I had driven up to the Elwells. This time I passed the turnoff from 15 and kept on going. AS I reached I-86 and the Seneca nation, I crossed the maximum heights of 2010 feet before pulling off at a gas station. I was almost empty, but it was a good idea, since I bought a tank full of the premium as I had seen the regular gas go for from 1.29 to 1.15 to 1.07. On the reservation, gas was $0.95/ gal for regular, $1.23 for the Ultra brand. I filled up and headed into Mayville to begin the holiday festivities from Christmas Eve through Boxing Day and beyond, before the return trip to go home—even if ever so briefly.
CHRISTMAS EVE
TURKEY—WILD AND DOMESTIC—JOINING THE FEAST
AND REUNION AMONG FRINEDS AND HUNTER/GATHERERS
AND GUIDES
Fran performed her culinary magic in pulling out the stops for the Christmas Eve feast as we got together with my Alaska and Ithaca big game guide, Christian, and my former Tortola Island mates, Russell and Leah, with a plan to have Russell guide Russell senior and me in a Wyoming elk hunt next year. We had turkey, both wild and domestic, and talked about adding one more deer to the meat locker while we were here in Mayville—as long as I had my Cumberland Island hunting supplies in the Bronco anyway! I gathered up the details of each for the next year’s Cumberland Island hunt so that the whole Elwell clan plus Jason might go along on the next hog hunt, even if we may have to displace a few of the irregular regulars. This year, Gene Curletti will be joining us, and it seems as thought Don King may not be.
I, of course, packed along a few photo albums, including the Kamchatka hunt, and the January Hog Hunt so that the3y would be ready for the experience this year, for which there was a fumbling when I had sent all the details in applications to Russ when he was out. So, we looked at previous hunts, and made plans for future ones, including the idea of hunting rabbits and deer on the homestead the following day. Which we did!
CHRISTMAS DAY
PRESENTS, PARTIES, CALLS TO VIRGINIA,
AND EVEN A BRIEF, SUCCESSFUL DEER HUNT!
We had a red-hatted Christmas present orgy, more fine dining, and then Christian and I set out for a brief stroll in the woods. It was cold, and we had arranged that we would sit in a tree stand or under some ground cover for a short time until one or the other of us heard a shot, and then the other would come to the aid of the one who shot. I had hardly enough time to get cold, having seen nothing. Christian, only three hundred yards away, saw a bunch of deer, and waited until what looked like a doe got out in front. His first shotgun slug went into a tree, but the deer stayed long enough to get the second shot in the chest. When I got there, Christian was carrying the deer, which—to his chagrin—was a button buck. After we had field dressed it, Christina picked it up and carried it on his back to the homestead, and we hung it in the garage, awaiting his friend Jason, who had served as his packer in Alaska this year, and had spent the day catching big steelhead in the deep holes of the rivers running into Lake Erie—a good life, even if a bit cold around the edges.
BOXING DAY SPECIAL CELEBRATION WITH THE REDDINGTONJS
JOINING THE ELWELL GATHERING OF THE CLANS
We all helped a little (I, the least, and Christian, elk, sheep and bear guide extraordinaire as well as gourmet camp cook, the most in the menu planning) as we prepared for the special traditional Boxing Day celebration with the Reddingtons coming over after the Sushi had been rolled, the Salmon Florentine and another dozen special dishes prepared, and the wine stocks layed in appropriately. The dining was superb, and the non-stop caroling and Christmas celebrations continued with verve—so that we had to pause and call a real opera singer half way through—the forager peasant poacher and princess—a combination in contrasts, who might be able to appreciate this cheerful farmhouse as an intersection of the blend!
RABBIT HUNTING AND DEER MEATPACKING
We went out in the old orchard with Jason armed with a long stick, and Christian and I carrying double barrel shotguns, Within a few minutes a rabbit rolled in front of Christian, and one bounced out between each of us, and is carrying number 7 ½ bird shot from each of us still. When we went into the basement to begin the dis-assembly line for the venison from the prior day, Jason confessed that he had never cleaned a rabbit—even though he started small with a series of caping and cleaning Dall rams and brown bears, I was his first rabbit cleaning instructor! I may be qualified only by having the cottontail as my first trophy!
We ate (mere “leftovers” according to Fran) and swapped more stories and plans, including a potential stop in South Dakota with shotguns to collect a bunch of pheasants on our way out to the Wyoming elk hunt with young Russell if we are able to get the permits for the September hunts later this year. I also told them about the Marco Polo and Ibex hunts possible, and about Craig Schaefer and me awaiting Christian’s new guiding business possibly to be set up with Zack, for moose and goats in Alaska.
While I have been looking out the window in the 6* cold and light white snow on the frozen ground, the nearby city of Buffalo has been closed. It started snowing as I drove on Christmas Eve through he Seneca Indian nation’s reservation, and it had not stopped. AT four to six inches per hour, the city which had gone a record 160 days without snow, got just a little—it was six and a half feet as I packed the car, while Russell and Leah packed up Russ’s big truck to go to her parents, and Janine packed up to go back to Ithaca to work. I got in my Bronco to go through the salt encrusted long roads toward Derwood—and it still continued in Buffalo—where the National Guard was called out as the snow came down to eight and a half feet, still falling. The airport and city were closed (it is a good thing I did not try the easier route of flying up to Buffalo) and the city was closed with no traffic allowed. Four-wheel drivers were requested to take nurses or doctors to hospitals. I somehow missed it as I drove the “southern Tier” on the way back---the only places that escaped the record snowfall were my route home and the ski slopes!