Madness on Marsh Road

WEYAUWEGA — Marsh Road in Waupaca County, near White Lake, was a place I loved like no other — right up until the day it almost killed me. I grew up hunting along Marsh Road. We had a cabin nestled in the woods just east of the lake, about an eighth of a mile off the storied gravel road.

The road signs were rarely there; every time the township put a new one up, someone stole it. That tended to happen when people passed on the whisper that Marsh Road was haunted. It is mostly wet, low ground, which perhaps explains why the spooky rumors took root.

But to me, the land was defined by its random oak ridges. Vast marshlands, mixed poplar, birch, and tamarack stands stretched out between the ridges, accented by towering pines and manmade drainage ditches that pointed westerly toward memorable White Lake sunsets.

Spanning from White Lake Road all the way to State Highway 54, the undeveloped property teemed with waterfowl, upland birds, and big game—an outdoorsman’s dream.

Childhood paradise

As kids, we had hundreds of acres to roam. Armed with a Honda 200S and a Big Red three-wheeler, we carved out trails and explored ridge after ridge. Best of all, we had dads who loved to build, work, and share the woods with us.

Those days were pure fun.

Building the cabin, listening to Packer games on the radio or watching them on TV and warming up around an open fire made the property feel invincible.

There were no bad days out there. The cabin was only ever as good as the people inside it, but for the most part, those years were priceless.

Coming of age

That changed when college rolled around in the early 1990s. After graduating from New London High School in 1991, I packed up on a shoestring budget and headed to UW-Stevens Point, leaving home for the first time.

Like many incoming freshmen, I found myself exposed to unfamiliar ideas, different backgrounds, and people whose life experiences were the polar opposite of mine.

I didn’t make it back home often, aside from working a weekend or two at the bait shop for Kendal Jones. But come mid-November, I was bound and determined to make it back to Marsh Road for the gun deer season.

Dorm life, heavy exam schedules, and late nights created their own strain.

Swapping late-night stories in the dorms, I discovered several classmates had heard the spooky folklore surrounding Marsh Road.

At first, the ghost stories didn’t faze me. But living away from my comfort zone, navigating the wider world, and taking in everyone else’s anxieties had quietly eroded my sense of invulnerability.

I was a homeboy out of his element, beginning to look at the world with a bit more caution—and a bit more fear.

That unease followed me home, setting up the perfect storm.

Skirting the edge

The Friday before the gun-deer opener in Wisconsin, I returned home. My dad, brother, and Cousin Craig decided to put up a deer stand on the property’s edge. It was an Indian summer-like day topping temps in the high 50s the third week of November.

Going into the woods, I was uneasy; I felt like someone was watching me. I was not comfortable with the placement of the stand where my dad wanted to put me.

First, it was unlike him to put up a stand the night before deer hunting, and second, it was right on the neighbor’s property line.

Even though we got along fine with the neighbors for many years, it was risky in my opinion.

When it all started to get bad. The stand, like most of my dad’s stands, was 30 feet up in the air. It had a wooden platform nailed between three trees with a makeshift ladder going up.

After it was all built, dad kept saying the deer would be in here thick in the morning. Every time he had me climb up and check it out, I just didn’t feel right.

By the time we finished, I had no choice but to accept it. It was hard to get in and out of it at the top.

The last time I climbed up the stand, I decided to carry my binoculars, lunch and supplies to leave them up there for the next day so that I would not have so much to carry in during the early morning trek to the stand.

We had nails to hang the lunch sack, binoculars and other things put up in the stand with a five-gallon bucket for a seat.

Short night, long morning

That night against my dad’s wishes, I stayed at the cabin. He didn’t want me to stay up too late or get to partying with the rest of the hunting club, but I stayed at the cabin anyway. Turns out, we were in bed probably before my dad and the rest of the family at home.

Very early that next morning I awoke to venture to the stand before the neighbors arrived.

Much to my surprise, there was a 3- to 4-inch coating of white fluffy snow covering everything and the temperature had dropped about 30 degrees.

The snow squeaked beneath my feet on the way out. It was hard to find the stand because of its newness. I got to the stand long before shooting hours.

Dad was right. An hour before shooting time there were deer all over the place. They were grunting, making rubs, and meandering all over below me. It was the longest hour of my life waiting for daylight.

I could just see their silhouettes as I heard the neighbors start to arrive and car doors slamming off Marsh Road.

The hunter is hunted

That morning, I was nervous about being so close to the property line in a stand that was just erected less than 24 hours before.

As daylight drew closer to opening shooting hours, I had identified at least two different bucks beneath my stand within 25 yards. My heart and the deer milling around kept me warm on that quiet, cold and very brisk morning waiting for shooting hours to open.

Six minutes before legal shooting time, I was up standing on the platform. I was thinking about what the neighbors would think come daylight, and other issues that might arise from the new stand placement.

My eyes were playing tricks with me and those deer below me seemed big and heavy on the horns. Then all of a sudden, a loud pop and crack went off.

The stand shook, my feet vibrated on the wooden platform and snow fell on me from the branches above. I instantly thought somebody accidentally fired a shot in my direction and the tree stand took a stray bullet.

The deer went on high alert, but didn’t run. My heart was racing in fear. Then a second bang and distinct thud hit my tree and more snow fell on top of me.

I screamed in pure terror: “Heyyyyy! Watch where you are shooting!”

The deer immediately took off bounding through the swamp. My heart was pounding so hard my ears were ringing and there was moisture running down the back of my neck.

Realizing I was up in the air a good 30 feet, I ascertained this was likely not an accidental shooting and I was being targeted.

In a split second, I contemplated jumping from the stand, knowing it could cause death, but I knew I had to do something.

“Heyyyyy!” I yelled again as I grabbed my gun, searching the perimeter.

While that thought raced around my pounding heart and deer bounded away breaking skim ice, crashing and splashing water, I nearly fainted in fear.

Just about ready to jump.

A third shot hit louder and harder than the two before.

This time the five-gallon bucket seat flew up in the air and pieces hit me, along with a whole bunch more liquid and falling snow.

I tasted something sweet on the side of my mouth, felt the back of my neck and looked where the bucket blew off the platform.

There was a completely exploded six-pack of Pepsi-Cola cans laying there all split open with a few shards of aluminum laying around.

Turns out my mystery shooter were cans of soda blowing up from freezing, with a grand finale thermal stress point causing a cluster explosion.

That afternoon back at the cabin, everyone around me asked who was doing that early shooting and all the hollering over there. They all got deer and I got home alive, barely.

It’s a long story, but I still haven’t lived it down.

Happy Halloween and please have a safe hunt this season. Please keep your superstitions at home and your soda cans insulated.