I just arrived back in Cambridge, New York, and beyond tired is the way I’m feeling at this point. It’s what I bargained for, though, with jet lag plus a 10-hour drive on top of everything else. Although, I’ve no right to complain. For I’d do it all again despite the wicked travel hangover that, for me, usually follows a UK sporting holiday.
The road trip north, however, wasn’t entirely something just to get through. In fact, two events made the day. The first was stopping to visit Mike L Stottlemyer and Michele Gouker Stottlemyer. The second was detouring over to Frederick to meet Flint Wolfes at the newly installed Lefty Kreh memorial. Longstanding friendships are truly one of life’s pleasures.
Yet, the task before me now is to articulate the capstone sentiment representing all that’s recently transpired. I think it’s this. I’ve been traveling to the UK for deerstalking, etc., since 2009. I’m clearly fond of ‘Blighty.’ I really like driving there and I don’t mind the instant coffee. Even so, I believe the following maxim is both true and trustworthy: Be it ever so homely, there’s no face like your own.
There’s no place like home, that is – even if chasing British deer, fish, and other creatures is a blast. Yet mark my word, I leave the ladies alone. Not that they’re lacking. It’s just that I’m ‘batchen’ it to the end, totally scorched earth unencumbered.
But getting back on track, certain very American things – like Thanksgiving, baseball, the 1971 Dodge Power Wagon I was driving at fourteen, a nicked-up Remington Model 7600 carbine chambered in .30-06 Springfield (a.k.a. the Benoit rifle) – tug at my heart. So while I enjoy British fieldsports, I’ll always favor the American sort. Take an Adirondack deer camp for example. Now, that’s the best of times!