Outdoor Mysteries

MYSTERIES Even though the calendar says it’s winter, it’s never too early to plan a fishing or hunting trip. If you’re like me, getting a really good deal on a place to stay is a satisfying feeling. Sometimes that great feeling turns to regret when lodging isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Part of the regret is steeped in expectations; other times it’s false advertising or just plain local culture. What might seem “normal” in Canadian Lakes, may not be in remote places close to the hunting and fishing locales. Granted, those places aren’t popular vacation destinations unless you’re a sportsman, like me. We outdoor enthusiasts can put up with a lot of housekeeping issues, as long as the place to stay is within a few miles of where we want to pursue our outdoor passions. We sportsmen aren’t too needy. No need for continental breakfast, a swimming pool, WIFI, plush towels, or 200 movie channels. All we need is a place to clean our fish or game, and, at the end of the day, a comfy spot to rest our head. Seems simple enough, right? Instead of renting at a motel chain, I prefer to stay in a house, a rental unit or an Air BNB sprinkled throughout the country. Immersing yourself in small towns is part of the alure of getting away from home. But...there are pitfalls when dealing with small town motels and rental houses. Last fall, I rented a house in North Dakota that was just what the doctor ordered, except for the hundreds of dead ladybugs and flies on the window sills. The furniture was so old it could have come over on the Mayflower, but it really wasn’t that bad. Our dogs slept on the couches. We

cleaned our guns on the kitchen counter and our birds on the tailgate of the truck. The person I rented the house from even offered helpful housekeeping tips about not flushing Q-tips down the toilet. Apparently, Q-tips clog the plumbing. Another time in North Dakota, I struck a deal to rent a trailer for me and my buddies. If I’m not mistaken it was an older unit, with partially missing skirting, a roof that leaked, squishy wet carpeting, and several bunk beds lined in a row. The landlord wanted $65 a night, which wasn’t the cost per person, but rather, the entire trailer. We jammed eight guys and ten dogs inside, at a cost of $8.13 a night per person. After a long Tall tales 'round the day of tromping through the prairie, campfire are part of we cooked frozen pizza in the oven and hunting lore. laughed as an early winter storm had the trailer creaking and groaning with every blast of wind. Even though it’s been ten or fifteen years since we rented that unit, the guys in our little bird hunting group still

laugh about the experience. To this day, we remember the dogs and friends who have passed, and the vehicles we drove. (One of the fellas took the rear seat out of his tiny Aveo and drove all the way from the Upper Peninsula.)

Further south, in a small Iowa town, I rent a room every year at a mom-andpop style motel. The owners know my name and the place is teeming with other bird hunters from the Midwest. We swap stories from the day’s adventures and compare notes about which restaurant nearby has the best steaks. The rooms are scarcely larger than a queen bed, and the shower stall is the size of a phone booth. Sinks inside the bathroom are so tiny I don’t think you could rinse a skinned pheasant inside one. Just to be on the safe side, the motel owner leaves us a note taped to the mirror “Do not rinse dressed game birds in the sink.”

“Notes” from management seem to be a popular concept with motel owners and vacation homes alike. Every October, I stay at a cabin in the Upper Peninsula. It’s not especially fancy, but the setting is incredible. Outside the front door, the Escanaba River tumbles over boulders, rocks and assorted logs as it flows south to Lake Michigan. Depending on the height of the water, the roar of the passing river can be as subtle as a lullaby or louder than the cheers of a distant high school football game. Inside the cabin, next to the woodstove, is a handwritten sign: “No chopping firewood in the kitchen.”

Mind you, the ceiling in the kitchen is barely six feet tall. There is no way to swing a hatchet, let alone an ax in those tight quarters. Even if the ceiling was ten feet tall, I’d never think to chop wood indoors. Maybe it’s a Yooper thing.

Far, far, away, in Idaho, my family and I rented an Air BNB for summer vacation. The advertisement for the house said we had the “entire” place to ourselves, but after bringing in our luggage, we saw yet another sign taped to a door. “Downstairs is not included in the Airbnb.” Seemed odd. My mind wondered about the “entire” place claim on the ad, so I texted the owner. His reply, “Oh, my brother lives down there. He’s on house arrest.”

Needless to say, when I saw the text and looked at my family, white-knuckling the handles of their luggage, we couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Everyone loves a good deal, whether it’s for lodging, car insurance, a new vehicle, or groceries. As you prepare for an upcoming outdoor adventure keep in mind that a smokin’ hot deal doesn’t always mean a great value. You get what you pay for. If you’re renting your property with hopes of earning a little side money, don’t be timid about leaving notes for the tenants. It seems to be the thing to do.

Chris Zimmerman is a resident of Canadian Lakes, a small business owner, and the author of six Michigan-based novels.