Following the tracks of a solitary wolf up a remote river, Dad and I kept one eye on the ever changing ice and the other looking for animal tracks in the snow. After satisfying our curiosity as to the nature of the river, we tucked into a thick black spruce grove to make a fire and cook lunch.
True campfire cooking, not just dumping pre-wrapped foil packages into the flames, is more difficult than one might imagine. Lucky for me, I get to learn from the best. Dad has years of experience and knows the personality of wood and flame.
The venison steak was from last fall's harvest. I took the deer with my bow, tracked, field dressed, skinned, quartered and processed it almost entirely on my own. All the work and experiences I put into this piece of meat, was eaten with the occasional call of ravens in our ears and smoke in our eyes. Somehow that seems natural to me, it is how food should be eaten and appreciated.