
Some of my fondest memories growing up involve whitetail hunting with my old man and his old man, my grandfather. Both rough men from Boston, who would never hold back from giving you shit if you did something stupid. It was always entertaining, even if at my expense. One particular morning we were walking down an old logging road on my grandfather's farm, a method he called “cruising for deer” where we would walk these roads in between two oak ridges, in hopes of spotting deer searching for late season acorns. Not a method I would recommend, but it was fun, nevertheless.
Late winters here in the northern midwest can be especially brutal. With the mercury consistently in the negatives and heavy wind gusts well over 15mph, it’ll have a 10 year old boy wishing he was born into a golfing family that spent their winters in south Florida.
This was a time before proper insulation was even thought of. My fathers layering system for me consisted of three pairs of socks, the outer pair being wool. Two pairs of long johns underneath jeans. A thermal long sleeve underneath a worn out old Filson coat with an orange vest overtop.
As I shivered my body to create some sort of warmth, and likely bitched about the weather as if my father and grandfather weren’t experiencing the same thing, my grandfather looked back at me and asked in an irritated tone, “Are you cold?”
“Yes sir, it’s freezing. Can we head back to the truck?” I said.
“Just put a lip in. You’ll warm up.” My grandfather said, in a harsh New England accent that so oddly left out the letter “r” in warm.
Then followed an image that is pleasantly burned into my head of him reaching into his jacket pocket and removing a green and gray plastic can of Kodiak wintergreen long cut tobacco. I looked over at my dad, with a confused look, half wanting his approval, half scared that he would say yes.
“Don’t tell your mom.” He said with a laugh.
I reached my hand towards the can, grabbing a big pinch so as to not embarrass myself, and also to mimic Sheriff Teasle in Rambo First Blood, my favorite movie at the time.
While I wouldn’t say I felt an immediate increase in temperature, the spinning skies and my vibrated senses certainly took my mind off of the cold.
We never did kill a deer that day, but I credit that morning as one of the most memorable hunts I have been on.
To this day I still enjoy putting the occasional lip in. And you can bet that it’s always Kodiak wintergreen.