Finding Manhood...The treacherous journey
By Dick Ellis
Like each of my nephews before him, this summer I would help Carter Cullaz find manhood by introducing him, at age eight, to the challenges of the wild. Manhood, I explained, is usually something women are not allowed in with the exception of maybe our gym teacher at Glen Park Junior High.
With the bonding of manhood, I explained to Carter, you will be able to do things like fall asleep on a date with your wife after spending the day in a treestand. Or, spend approximately $4,945 per pound on venison, taking into account license fees, camo clothes, game-calls, equipment, gas and the probability that you only actually “take” a deer about as frequently as the Brewers take the pennant.
I explained to Carter prior to beginning our first scouting journey last May in the wilderness of suburban Milwaukee that this journey to manhood has been engrained in different cultures since the dawn of time. The Oglala Sioux, for example, more than a century ago had given young boys from their tribes a swallow of water before sending them on a sweltering hot, five mile run. When they returned, if they could spit the water out in front of the elders, another test had been passed on the journey to manhood.
“We won’t dive into this manhood thing quite so drastically, considering the changes brought on by time, technology and soccer moms,” I said. “Your first test will be a 50 yard run with a HoHo and cold bottled water in your shirt pocket. If you don’t eat it or drink it and you’re back here within 25 minutes, taking into account the three rest periods, we’ll move on to test two. If you can’t make it… call me on your cell phone.”
Next, I explained to Carter that it is always good to be able to leave the woods you went in. Compasses, GPS, and the sun help us do this. I know this personally because I’m a professional outdoor expert. I also know this since I went into the Chequamegon National Forest near Medford for the September archery opener in 1976 and made it out just before Christmas. Since then I’ve also honed my skills in north, south, east and west and other lesser used directions given by my wife, Lori. North, for the reader’s information, is usually straight ahead in the woods or on top on the map.
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| Carter Cullaz, 7, Ellis’s nephew, shows his whitetail skeleton discovered during scouting. Although Carter rightfully tried to share his prize with his mother and aunts cooking for a family gathering, his appearance in the kitchen with was less than appreciated. | |
Carter and I began our scouting. We were focused on systematically heading west, south, east and finally north… or whatever… making a giant square on several hundred acres adjacent to Carter’s parent’s property in search of whitetail headgear. During our early hikes, we found one bleached out antler lying under brush where the buck had obviously bedded in spring. The real trophy though, was still ahead on the summer calendar.
Carter and I took full advantage of a family gathering at his parent’s home to ditch the masses and continue our scouting. We slipped away without incident, leaving Grandma, Carter’s Mom, and four of his aunts cooking in the kitchen for the feast that would come later. It only took an hour to stumble upon our treasure; the almost-complete skeleton of a whitetail deer. “It could be a werewolf,” Carter said. Regardless, it was cause for celebration, a true “find”. “I gotta take this home,” Carter said. “I can keep it in my bedroom.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I said. “What do you think your mom will say?”
She’s going to like it,” Carter assured.
All right then.
Sixty minutes later, after some very ingenious hauling by Carter with the animal’s one remaining leg secured over his shoulder, we made it home. The aroma of turkey and all the fixings drifted from the kitchen window to greet us. Carter walked up the back deck, his prize clanking on each step as he made his way toward the door that would take him to the kitchen. The hero returns.
“Wait, wait, wait, Carter,” I said, looking at the mud-caked remains with just a shred or two of fur still clinging to the ribs. A certain aroma added a bit of its own accent to our waiting meal. “Maybe you shouldn’t actually go inside right now.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“You know what?” I said, this rare opportunity suddenly taking light. “You’re right. I don’t know what I’m thinking. It’s a great idea. I’ll see you inside.” Then I stepped back to enjoy the entertainment.
Although I really doubt that I can give the story justice in print, let us try.
After a bit of trouble and bone clanking, the door closed behind Carter. “Listen, listen…” I whispered to my brother-in-laws who had come around the corner.
At first, for just a second, the women’s banter fell off suddenly to dead silence. This was followed by one scream, another, a rising chorus of panic, one broken plate, something like “get that thing away from the potatoes”, and finally, the voice of Kristen Cullaz, Carter’s mom, rising above all others. Let’s just say Carter was wrong. His mom didn’t like our find. And Carter came outside again much faster than he went in.
Later, I helped Carter put Boney to rest, far enough from the house to be “out of sight, out of mind”, but close enough for Carter to visit. “Mom and all the girls were going crazy,” Carter said, shaking his head. “I don’t get it.”
A tear came to my eye. My nephew had passed the test to manhood.
“Carter,” I said. “Don’t you get it? None of us across the pages of time get it.”
“Welcome to the Club.”
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| Austin Estrada, another nephew of the writer, is almost lost to the quick-sand like mud of Grant County during a turkey hunt and quest for manhood. | The writer’s nephew, Carter, and niece Julia Cullaz pose with Micah and the bleached out shed antler found while scouting last summer. |