Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, November 22, 1993 TAG: 9311230408
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: B-8 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BY BILL COCHRAN OUTDOOR EDITOR
DATELINE: WILLIAMSVILLE LENGTH: Long
When the road takes a turn toward high ground, you get the first glimpse of Wild Turkey Lodge, not exactly your average deer camp, no weathered boards, no peeling paint, no sagging roofline.
It is a posh building, with a deck out front, a screened-in porch at the rear, and a picture window on the side that gives you a framed view of the most important man in camp, John Flintom, the cook.
You park out back, near what appears to be a johnny house with a wood stove inside, until you realize there are no johnny houses in this camp. What your are seeing is a sauna. And if that isn't enough of a jolt, inside Flintom greets you while wearing a white chef's outfit that is accented by a bright red scarf.
The gang at the Wild Turkey Lodge is putting on the dog, having challenged a statement made in this newspaper a couple of deer seasons ago that another camp upriver had the best cook in the state.
``I'm just a meat and potatoes cook,'' Flintom says, giving a threatening look to one of the members about to remark on his uniform. ``I do have a few good cook books.''
Flintom, from Staunton, is preparing Beaufort stew, a South Carolina dish that includes corn on the cob, carrots, red potatoes, celery, two kinds of smoked sausage and shrimp. He and a cousin netted the large, plump shrimp from the Pocotailigo River in South Carolina. There will be a side dish of venison roast.
``For dessert we are having truffle, which is basically an English dish, made of sherry, ladyfingers,'' said Flintom. ``It is a good dessert. Last year we had Death by Chocolate. We don't cook fancy all of the time. You go out to deer hunt in the morning at 6 o'clock and stay out all day, you come in and you are pretty much ready to eat anything that is put in front of you.''
Wild Turkey Lodge, with its chef, its sauna, its truffle, does not reflect its humble origin. It began in 1969, with eight friends sleeping in tents on the other side of the river, and crossing on a swinging bridge to hunt where a landowner had given them permission.
In 1971, members leased the hunting rights on 900 acres and built a two-bedroom cabin that slept six to a room. When that grew too small, with the membership swelling to 20, a second cabin was built. Then in 1987, the club purchased 365 acres, constructed the current lodge and drafted bylaws that limit membership to 12. The lodge, according to member Walt Bean, was built ``by committee'' and wasn't intended to be anything so fancy, but one thing kept leading to another.
Photo albums record the history of the club, with pictures of young men growing into middle age, and bringing their sons to camp, and then showing up as older men with grandkids. The men in the pictures take on a fuller, more affluent look with age, but the deer they pose with change very little through the years.
``We have a feeling that a preserve of 300-some acres is going to be an important thing in the future,'' said Flintom. ``We realize that maybe all our children won't want to do what we want to do, but some children will.''
This deer camp, like many, is built around cooks and kitchens and long tables that accommodate a dozen or more hungry men, but the heart of it is companionship.
``Fellowship,'' said Flintom. ``That's what it all boils down to. We are a diverse group. Our common interest is hunting. Even more common than that is fellowship and good will toward our friends. We just enjoy being together.''
That takes on even more importance this season, a year when the meat pole out back of the lodge has not bowed under the weight of many deer. Vern Stephenson of Waynesboro figures the kill of 11 deer is down 20 percent from the previous year.
``It has been slow, agrees, Bean, who lives in Jamestown, N.C. ``There is such a mast crop that the deer are staying back in the woods and we actually have to hunt them.''
Lynn Hammett, a burly policeman from Powhatan - Stephenson's son-in-law - is a man who takes hunting seriously, leaving before daylight and returning after dark.
``I haven't seen anything,'' he reports at the close of the third day of the gun season. ``There is absolutely no pattern whatsoever. They aren't even leaving trails.''
Hammett said he'd seen more deer near his backyard than in the wilds of Bath and Highland counties.
But Rich Evans, an emergency room doctor, who lives on Afton Mountain, shows no distress over the scarcity of deer. He bagged a four-pointer during the bow season and is lounging around camp with that snug ``I got my buck feeling.''
``I am absolutely relaxed,'' said Evans, one of the newer members. ``I have been here for three days and it feels like I have been gone for three years. I got a deer during the bow season and I don't particularly care to kill any more animals.''
Evans, 41, recalls his bow kill, when his heart pounded to the point it was the loudest thing in the woods, when he found himself gulping air rather than breathing.
``If that ever changes, I will quit hunting,'' he said.
Members can remember when Evans wasn't king of camp, his first year when he ceremoniously was recognized for killing a ``suitcase'' deer.
``You understand what a suitcase deer is, one of those deer that are 30 to 40 pounds and you tie his legs together and carry him out like a suitcase,'' said Stephenson.
Wild Turkey Lodge manages its property for wildlife under three programs: the American Tree Farm System, the Forest Stewardship Program and the Deer Management Assistance Program.
During weekend work parties, members have planted 1,000 mast-bearing trees, protecting them from the deer with plastic tubes.
``When they are 25 feet tall, I won't be here, and maybe my children won't, but they can if they want to,'' said Flintom. ``For certain, the game will be here. That is part of our future.''
Just before Flintom serves dinner, a heavy rain briefly pounds on the roof and softens the forest floor, promising better hunting conditions the next day. The Beaufort stew comes to the table in heaping bowls, and the hunters radiate the feeling that these woods, these streams, these trees, these rocks, these fields, these skies, these deer belong to them. The deer obviously contest this concept, except those who are staring through glass eyes from the walls of the lodge.
Somewhere on the mountain behind the lodge, surely a mature buck with massive antlers freshens his scrapes following the rain, a ritual as old and strong as the one taking place in the cabin.
by CNB