Having grown up in north-central Pennsylvania in the house that WAS hunting camp for those magical days, I feel the loss of these traditions in my soul.
Dad and Bucky and Lantzy are dead. Uncle Chuck and Old Bert are gone, too. Hell, even my sister has passed There's just me. I no longer live there but I travel up a couple times a year to see the mountains.
Speaking of weather and thinking you're gonna die in the woods... pretty sure it was opening day of the 3 day doe season one year. I was maybe 14 and it was COLD. Unbelievably cold. Dad put me at all tree and told me to wait, he'd be back in a few hours. I now understand that he was waiting for daylight and was going to try to push some deer back to me.
I couldn't take it. I hadn't been on stand long and I was frozen to the bone. Rifle leaning against the tree, almost forgotten, I walked a groove in the snow making a 15' circle around the tree. Round and round, warming myself with activity.
Dad laughed when he finally came back and I seem to remember the radio in the truck saying it was -23°F but I've never been able to confirm this and subsequent life experience seems to say thats not possible but MAN was it cold.