The hunting club

It's like a place you might go on vacation if your taste runs to back-to-nature or outdoor sports such as hunting and fishing. Ostensibly a hunting club, they own a camp that could be in any number of states - that it would be in a southern state is likely - in a mountainous region. Most of the mountains are below two thousand feet and the camp is located in area where they are well below that. The area is heavily wooded and has many springs and some small lakes. A state highway runs within a half mile of the main entrance. The camp comprises several sections of land, over two thousand acres. It is owned by a group of seven moderately wealthy locals, all of whom live in the nearby communities. Some live in one or the other small towns nearby and others live in rural areas.

I couldn't find the place if my life depended on it, so I hope I don't get arrested and interrogated by the government. I know the location of the small airport I flew into before being driven - blindfolded - for about an hour. My hosts apologized for the inconvenience but it wasn't unexpected. They picked me up at an airport that serves a small city of something under ten thousand. It has a runway that can accomodate small corporate jets, however long that is, and about forty aircraft are based there, apparently mostly small private planes. I had flown from the nearest big airport in a six-seat twin-engine craft - I was the only passenger. At the airport we were met by a young man and woman who appeared to be in their twenties or early thirties. During the introductions I learned that they were twins. They were driving a late-model crew cab Ford F-250 and I found the ride to the camp quite comfortable even with the last half mile being a gravel road.

Their names were Chris and Tracy and their parents were one of the seven families that owned the camp. They had one younger and two older siblings - one thing I would learn was that almost all the families were large with four children being below average. As we approached two large wrought iron gates at the entrance Tracy used something like a garage door opener and they opened. About a half mile from the entrance was a large clearing with a group of buildings. Tracy described the setup.

A large complex in the center was a clubhouse - a large building with several smaller ones attached. It looked like what I would expect at a hunting club - built of timber with some fieldstone. A row of what looked like - and I later learned were - cabins was off to one side. Tracy told me there were twenty-eight and were designed to accomodate a couple with one or two children. Mostly they were occupied by members and guests on hunting trips.

"We have quite a few hunters here during deer season," she said. "The revenue offsets the cost of operation and they have no idea what the primary purpose of this place is. We don't have any customers at this time so everyone here is part of the group."

We went to lunch immediately upon arrival - the trip from Boston had been long and I was ready for it. In the clubhouse - what I thought of it as - a buffet was set in a large dining room. It was well after noon and only a few diners were present, Tracy and Chris greeted them casually and introduced me - I guessed they knew something about who I was but am not sure. The food was excellent, what you'd expect in a family restaurant in the southern US. The iced tea was strong and sweet. It seemed to be what everyone was drinking and I didn't ask for unsweetened and put Sweet'n'Low in it as I usually do, it was only for a couple of days.

After lunch they took me on a tour of the place. Two thousand acres is big, two thousand hilly wooded areas seems really big. The few roads are unpaved but in good condition, an off-road vehicle wasn't required. While most of the vehicles I saw were trucks - some fairly new and some quite old - but there were a few cars. Tracy told me that in wet weather some places were not easy to get to even using the truck but in June everything was pretty dry except for a couple of days after a heavy rain. They had advised me to wear something suitable for hiking so I was reasonably well prepared - jeans and a light cotton shirt and low-top hiking boots with knee socks and a pair of crew socks over them. Apparently ticks and worse - chiggers - were expected when out in the woods. I've never had either and from the description - especially chiggers - I hope not to. There were cans of Off! and something called Repel in the truck but neither of them bothered applying any - presumably we would not be getting out and into contact with the local flora. Or fauna. Suddenly I wondered about snakes.

Chris and Tracy were dressed alike - military style khaki shirts with flapped pockets and epaulets and jeans and hiking boots. Both wore baseball caps, navy blue with some sort of badge or medallion on the front. He had a conservative beard, neatly trimmed and Tracy had her ash blonde hair in a ponytail. She was not wearing much if any makeup and didn't really need it, and her fingernails were trimmed short and if she was using nail polish it was not colored. Both were wearing pistols in belt holsters and Chris had a long knife in a sheath on his left side. I had been told that armed people would be a common sight and in fact had expected it given the descriptions I had heard from other sources.

Chris drove and I rode in the front passenger seat. Tracy sat in the seat behind me and described the sights. The first stop was beside a lake a short distance from the populated area. I'm not good at judging sizes of things outdoors and asked how big it was.

"About forty acres," Chris said. "Somewhere close to a hundred feet at its deepest point. There's a dam across the valley at the far end." He drove along the road a few hundred yards until we were at the dam. The road ran across it into the woods on the other side. As he drove onto the dam I could see the outside of the dam and it was indeed a long way down. I was nervous until we reached the other side. I didn't feel much better as the road entered a forest of old tall trees that blocked the sun.

"Over half of the place is like this," Tracy told me. "During deer season there will be hunters here. The rest of the time we just patrol and watch for any signs of trespassers. The few we find are usually lost."

We emerged into a low-lying area that appeared to have been cleared of trees and had several fields in cultivation. Near the center was a long grassy area that she explained was a target range.

"It's over four hundred yards long for rifle practice," she said. "Those buildings at that end are for handguns and other close quarters weapons."

Chris stopped near the end with the buildings. There were some people, about two to three dozen, quite a few appeared to be teenagers. We got out and went over, Chris introduced us to a couple of the adults.

"These are some of you younger folks," Tracy said as a small squad - about half male and half female and about twelve to fifteen, I'm not good at guessing ages of teenagers - were carrying rifles. I know very little about guns, these looked like ordinary hunting rifles. Not black with long magazines. Chris picked up a similar one from a table.

"Ruger 10/22," he said. "About the smallest there is, below that are airguns. The young kids start out with those."

He ejected the magazine, a small box that was not visible when inserted.

"Ten rounds, ideal for target shooting."

The children had taken positions under a roofed area and - under the supervision of several adults - began firing at targets a short distance away. The shots were not very loud, nothing like I had heard when visiting a police range.

We watched them shoot for a while from several positions and they took a break.

"Want to try it?" Tracy asked.

"Sure," I replied. I had handled and fired rifles and handguns on a couple of occasions and took the little rifle she handed me.

"Turn it over and press the button there," she said, indicating the location. The little magazine popped out and she caught it and handed me another. I pressed it in until it clicked and stayed put.

Tracy showed me how to pull the bolt back to chamber a round.

"OK, there you go."

The targets were only about fifty yards away and I managed to hit one a couple of times. The recoil was negligible as was the sound.

"We all maintain proficiency with weapons," Tracy said, "just as we do with other skills we might need in emergencies. It's no different from growing food or maintaining our buildings and equipment. And of course we hunt - this is a hunting club."

Back at the clubhouse I met quite a few people of varying ages - there were a quite a few younger ones - twenty to forty I guessed - and a dozen or so clearly older ones. Quite a few appeared to be couples - whether married or not I didn't know except when they were introduced as such. There were no young children but quite a few teenagers. Only a handful were dressed like Tracy and Chris but the the military-style shirts were common, usually worn with denim jeans. I didn't see any camouflage.

I stayed in one of the cabins, what you would expect at a hunting camp. It was well built and clean and looked to be relatively new, I would say under ten years. It had two small suites - like an average motel rooms with a bath and small living area with a couch, chair and table and a door to a small outside patio. My hosts told me that occasionally the cabins were occupied for longer than the few days of a hunting trip but did not elaborate.

The next morning I noticed that at least one of the other cabins was occupied - a man and woman were sitting at the table on the patio. They were some distance away but appeared to be middle-aged or younger, drinking coffee, the man was smoking a cigar. Whether or not they noticed me I don't know. Tracy and Chris picked me up and we continued our tour.

Besides the lake we had passed earlier there was a slightly larger natural lake and several ponds which I was told were a few - three or four - acres in size. The agricultural area was small, I supposed being in hills there wasn't a lot of flat land. Most of it was in a valley, some corn already head high and what looked like and I was told were vegetables of various kinds, essentially gigantic gardens. A herd of cattle in a smaller neighboring valley grazed on what appeared to be plentiful grass but there were many large round bales of hay of the sort you see all over as you drive through farmland.

The farm equipment was old but appeared to be in good condition - an old combine harvester that probably was originally red, several equally old tractors.

"Old equipment is dirt cheap," Chris told me. "You can buy it at auctions anywhere and it's easy to fix when necessary. Finding parts is the only difficulty and with the common brands like John Deere they're easy to find. The few hundred acres we have don't require much in the way of equipment."

Here and there were small groups of houses, all with an outbuilding or two. Most had at least one of the large metal buildings common in rural areas. Chris and Tracy knew only that I was a journalist writing about preppers. They no doubt had checked me out as much as was possible but all they would have learned was that I was a free-lance writer with several published books and probably that I have a column published in a dozen or so newspapers. Whether they considered me potentially a government spy I have no idea - my interactions with most of these people suggest that they consider any outsider a potential spy and are careful not to divulge any 'trade secrets'. So why they took me on that trip the next day I don't know - possibly it was a way of letting me know that whatever I saw there might be - probably was - more to it that was readily apparent.

After breakfast the next day they took me on a long trip - outside their property then informed me - to an even more remote place. It was nearly an hour and if I wasn't in the middle of nowhere before I was certainly close now. The narrow road would barely accomodate one vehicle except at a few points where one two could pass if one stopped and the other was careful. We were in an old truck, a Dodge Power Wagon painted dark blue. It looked as if some sort of identification had been painted over on the doors.

"Old military," Chris told me. "They sell them in lots at government auctions. Cheap and you can get three or four or a half dozen or so all alike. Cannibalize parts if necessary to get a few complete trucks. This is a 70, not much to break and easy to fix if it does."

Tracy watched her phone attentively as Chris drove, it displayed what looked like a map. Later she explained it showed the positions of vehicles on that stretch of road. If another vehicle was approaching from the other direction Chris could stop and wait for it to pass. The road ended in a small clearing on a slightly flattened hilltop. It wasn't cleared but it appeared that the trees had been thinned, a few stumps suggesting that trees were being cut occasionally. Chris parked some distance from a house just visible through the trees, a hundred or so feet away I guessed. We walked the remaining distance. Chris and Tracy were wearing the usual pistols but as we exited the truck they each took a long gun from a rack between the front seats. Tracy had a pump shotgun and Chris had a small rifle, a carbine I suppose, that resembled the ones I had fired earlier. As we neared the house, a large log structure, we saw someone standing in front of the entrance. He was holding a rifle, casually in one hand, muzzle pointed at the ground. He waited unil we were close before speaking.

"Avaldir and Duelia, I presume."

"Duelia couldn't make it," Chris replied. "I brought her sisters."

"Ah yes," the man replied. "Nekaris and Zedia. How is Duelia?"

"One of her pet snakes died, she's in mourning."

"Not the cobra I hope."

"Nah, the black mamba."

"Never did like that snake," the man said. "Come on in."

I would eventually learn that the some of these organizations employ complex systems of codes and passwords. I also suspect that some of it wasn't serious - some of that exchange may have been critical and some just banter - but an outsider like me would never be able to tell the difference, or know which part had to be right.

The house was large, like a modest suburban house in an upscale neighborhood. The large room we entered was paneled in wood, the ceiling was also wide wood panels. The floor was some sort of stone in various shades. An enormous oriental rug covered the central part of the floor, a variety of furniture was spread around the walls.

Ignoring me our host put his rifle on a rack and held out his hand, Tracy handed him her shotgun, he placed it on a rack and Chris handed him his carbine.

"Still prefer a twenty I see," he said to Tracy.

"Yeah," she replied. "Lighter and handles easy. If I need something bigger there's always something available."

"Nothing wrong with a twenty for most situations with your average miscreants," he said. "With that M1 you got a good combo. Who's your sister?"

"This is Sally Morton," Tracy replied. "She wants to know how us paranoid preppers live, write about us for a newspaper column. Sally, meet Russell Sullivan. Russell likes to be alone with nature out here. More or less alone."

As she was speaking a young woman emerged from a nearby hallway. She was much younger than Russell who looked to be in his fifties - she appeared to be in her late twenties at most.

"Russell, I don't believe we've met your guests," Chris said.

The use of the plural form was explained as a second woman appeared, about the same age as the first.

"Kamryn and Serena," he said, nodding toward each apparently to indicate the owner of the name, "this is Chris and Tracy from Silver Mountain. And Miss Morton is a journalist."

I didn't know if he took the absence of a ring as a indication that I'm not married or just referred to any young woman that way as some older men do. I'm not married but at thirty-one I'm not that young either. Not 'miss' young anyway. Just my opinion.

If I got the names assigned properly Kamryn had long black hair and a slightly dusky complexion with a hint of Asian ancestry. Serena had ash blonde hair like Tracy, a little longer. Both women were wearing headbands of some design I couldn't readily identify - there as a suggestion of southwest native American and something else. Both women smiled, somewhat shyly it seemed.

"You got time to stay for lunch?" Russell asked.

"Wouldn't miss it," Chris replied. "Want to show Miss Morton your place?"

"Might as well. Never can tell when we'll get another visitor. Come on."

There were several small outbuildings in the area, and a large barn that appeared to be made of local trees. The only sign that it was of newer construction was the metal roof, the same sort of metal used in construction of modern buildings.

A small area away from the house was used for agriculture - a large garden and a fenced area with about two dozen chickens. I knew that a lot of indivivual preppers or small groups of them kept chickens for eggs and meat. I was surprised to see another pen with about a dozen rabbits.

"I set traps," Russell explained, "and keep the rabbits here until I have a bunch to take to the processor. I take him rabbits and chickens and he dresses them, we each take half." The processor, I learned, was another prepper somewhere in the hills.

There were two large ponds within a short walk of the house. Fish were harvested as desired by poles set in the bank or with jugs.

"Just set the poles or toss in some jugs and come back and get the fish," Russell said.

If it seemed they lived an idyllic life in the deep woods I suspected there was more to it. Chris confirmed my suspicions.

"There are quite a few guys like Russell," Chris said. "Spread out around the area, they keep an eye on things. If outsiders are prowling around here they keep them under surveillance and report their activities. I'm authorized to tell you this, I suspect you can figure out why."

I suspect he was letting me know that there is more to at least some of the groups than meets the eye, and that attacking them would not be as simple as some might expect and they wanted the government to know it. Any assault on an enclave such as this would be subject to attack from the rear.

Lunch was ready shortly after we returned to the house. Like the meals at the compound it was excellent, no surprise as they had access to a bounty of fresh food. Along with the fried fish and roasted chicken there was a large bowl of venison chili. I didn't know it was venison until Tracy told me.

"Plenty of deer up here too," she said. "People can live up here with almost no outside contact if they wish."

It was near dark when we returned to the compound and I went to bed as soon as I had finished packing. The next morning Chris and Tracy drove me back to the airport. I would be taking a couple of weeks off to catch up on other work and prepare for my next trip.