There is something special about the way bacon smoke haze hangs in the air of a plywood or or particle board walled shack.
Propane heat.
No running water, so pans are always 'seasoned" vs Dawn degreased.
Building code defying floors.
Porches that forever feel they are held together with too light of monofilament and duct tape
"Pissers" row and outhouses.
Always a gun loaded by the door in season.
No one counting how many eggs you ate.
The only time a strong Cribbage game is a "flex"
Sad and sorry wildlife prints warped by humidity and blurred by bacon smoked glass
Sometimes, an ACTUAL county plat book
A drawer/cupboard full of Crown Royal bags
Glasses from the bar, coasters from the bar, maybe a "wooden nickel", and a "that one waitress/bartender' story (once, like 26 years ago, with the guy's brother in-law that came up the one-time...)
Chipping frost from a propane freezer for drink ice
Muddy boots, muddy paws, and b!thcing about cleaning up the floor at the end of a trip
Eating sh!t-you-shot game bag to grill
Campfire: always planned, rarely achieved
Bunk mates : somebody snores, someone is up 4 times, and holy pihucking hell if a C-Pap shows up
The "early riser" waking everyone up with a smile, a sadistic "I told you b!tch' smile
The "war" between factions: breakfast BEFORE or AFTER the morning hunt
Booze pool: bring to share, but don't blame others after YOU drank all your own whiskey. And if someone tosses you a $20;for their "appreciation " of your booze, take it.
The final tally... Who: doesn't take birds, or only selects the "best" birds, or only wants "a stick of sausage", or isn't at the cleaning table, or needs someone to gut/drag, or shooting time and "in stand time" are the same on their watch, or calling the spouse rather than losing at poker....
Shacks, man. Nothing better.