A century ago I went to my first Hunters Feast.
Way back then the Hunters Feast was an annual event hosted by local kill dudes coming together to share their season’s deer and boar and bear, eating and drinking and partying and donating proceeds from the invitation-only ticket sales to charity.
It was something I had wanted to attend and was finally invited to. It was cool. It was fun. It was something I felt privileged to attend.
Yesterday I went again. Miss Carol wanted to go too but she lacks the necessary genitalia- yup, you guessed it- it’s a boys only, no girls allowed, event.
And it was, um, interesting?
Like so much in our world, the Feast has moved on and grown and it’s growth has outstripped the local hunters ability to provide the fare. Now it’s mostly catered. A century ago it was several hundred hunters and select invitees partying. Yesterday it was 4 or 5 thousand guys milling about, drinking beer, pissing in the woods, and eating duck, pig, rabbit, squirrel, lamb, goose, deer, bear, boar, brisket, and something called GUTS. Not to mention the chowders and the stews and the jambalayas. And let’s don’t never forget the Rocky Mountain Oysters and Hogs Nutz. It was all there in crispy goodness and it was all good.
A century ago I think it was the novelty coupling with the newness and wrapping itself up in the exclusivity that painted my memories of the Hunters Feast in such glittery happy shininess.
Yesterday? Not so much.
I’ve never been much of a hang out with the guys kinda guy. I don’t golf, I don’t do guys night out, I don’t wanna segregate myself from chicks to have a good time. In fact, just the opposite. I dig chicks and actually prefer female company. They’re just cooler and more fun.
So being around all those guys and what with all that testosterone muddying the air, it flat wore me down. Two hours after the bunch of us got there I was ready to split. Unfortunately that was only about halfway through the event and the guys I was traveling with were guy’s guys thriving on total immersion in a boys only world. They were more than happy to get away from wives and girlfriends.
So I drifted around, drinking beer after beer and sampling everything I could (except the creamy GUTS-nope, no way) until the raffle was done and I didn’t win the shotgun and it was finally time to head home.
Except that rounding up five other extremely intoxicated guy’s guys intent on STAYING in a boys only world can be kinda tough. Kinda like herding puppies- we’d get a couple together in one place and another one or two would drift away back to the beer truck and buddies they swore they hadn’t seen yet.
We finally got everybody corralled and moving in the right direction and our designated driver drove us home blasting waaaay over-bassed music.
And the whole way home I nursed a beer and itched to balance the stereo and swore.
Never again, baby. I’m full.
No danglies, no invite? And all boys club huh….man drink….man eat…creamy guts? Really? People ate creamy guts??
Yup, you gotta it. No danglies, no getting in.
It’s actually kinda weird- waaaaaay too many guys loitering around for my taste.
And yeah, I think there were guys eating creamy guts? But not me, no way. I’m drawing the line somewhere.