If you see clear skies and don’t take your rain gear to the stand, in twenty minutes it will start raining a gully-washer.
Camp cots are just wide enough to make you think you can roll over in your sleep…right up to the time you hit the floor.
You will always remember that critical piece of equipment—gun, ammo, binocular, knife, etc.—ten minutes before you arrive in camp after a six-hour drive.
After spending the summer painstakingly getting your shorthair bitch rock solid on birds and telling your buddies how great she is, you’ll open the kennel and discover she has come into a roaring heat—with your buddies’ male dogs already on the ground.
Flashlight batteries peter out only when you really need them.
You’ll discover that a tire on the horse trailer went flat and shredded to oblivion, ruining the fender only after a two-hour drive in a driving snowstorm five miles from the pavement.
The new guy in hunting camp always snores like a chainsaw and/or has a chronic, loud and odiferous lower intestinal problem.
Decoy anchor lines only come undone after setting up on a river with a swift current.
Waterproof boots begin leaking just when you get them broken in.
You’ll remember that you left your hunting license at home when the game warden shows up.
After an incredibly satisfying call to nature on the mountain you’ll realize you failed to get your suspenders clear of the drop zone.
The gorgeous 160-inch, 10-point buck you’ve been watching all summer and photographing with trail cams will show up to your stand as a 5×2, the front three tines on his left antler sacrificed to preserve his breeding status.
When the fog lifts three hours after first light on opening morning, you’ll see another hunter in a stand 30 yards from yours.