Having a camp house or a cabin really helps take a hunting property to the next level. There’s something special about leaving town, going to the cabin, and hanging out for the weekend. It’s therapeutic for a lot of people. Whether it’s the hunting club or your own private place, the memories made at these camps last a lifetime.
There are some outstanding—and even historic—camps across the country. They range from small wooden shanties, trailers, and campers to repurposed barns and elaborate lodges with every comfort imaginable.
In my mind, my quest for land ownership always included some kind of camp house. To be honest, I always thought it would probably be a single-wide trailer—nothing wrong with that at all. Simple and easy to set up. However, I always loved the warmth that wooden camp houses seemed to emulate.
When my wife and I were finally able to purchase a place (and I really need to thank my wife here for allowing me to indulge a want), it came with a small, one-room cypress cabin with a bathroom and a back porch. It was perfect, and I was thrilled.
After a few years of silently wanting a kitchen and bedroom, enclosing the porch made the most sense. I really didn’t know much about construction, but I knew the porch provided a skeleton of what I wanted. I just needed to fill it in with walls and windows. What I didn’t realize were all the details that would be necessary. With a limited budget, I decided this would be a project I could tackle myself—knowing that if I got in over my head, I could always call someone.
My hope is that this article might inspire someone to do the same and tackle what they can themselves. Trust me—it’s very doable. After studying the area, I broke the project down into phases:
- Tearing out the old area to prepare
- Framing walls
- Adding cypress siding
- Electrical and heat/air
- Insulation
- Windows/doors
- Interior boards and trim
- Flooring
- Ceiling
- Kitchen counters
- Fridge, stove, and painting
For Christmas, I asked for tools and started watching YouTube shows on DIY cabins, and I became convinced I could do most of it.
After turkey season ended (priorities, please), I got started framing the small bedroom. It went slowly, but by adhering to the cliché “measure twice and cut once,” I made progress. The walls slowly went up. Each weekend was focused on what needed to be done; weeknights were spent back watching YouTube.
After framing, I started to learn about cypress wood. It’s an amazing material—perfect for cabins and camps. It doesn’t rot, it’s naturally bug- and water-resistant, and it has character you just can’t fake. That’s where Lacy Larry from “DH4 Lumber” in Greenwood, Mississippi, stepped in to help. He matched my current cypress for thickness and helped pre-cut the boards to size, leaving the length for me to handle on-site. He also explained how kiln-dried wood was a better choice since the moisture had been removed, reducing the likelihood of the boards contracting. You can’t find it just anywhere, but if you can, I highly recommend using it.
The next step was to insulate the walls and ceiling. I’d heard about R-values but didn’t really know what they meant or what I needed. I did know that our coldest weather comes during deer season, and I wanted the cabin to be warm during the worst weather. It had to be a comfortable place—especially for my newly born grandson, Charlie!
I started doing some research online and found a website for “John Mansfield Insulation.” They had a handy insulation calculator. You type in the zone where your project is located, the type of structure, wood thickness, stud dimensions, wall vs. ceiling, and their guide determines what you need and exactly how much. It was really that simple. The best part was that I was able to easily and safely (using glasses and gloves) install all the insulation myself. The ceiling was the toughest part, but the insulation fit perfectly between the rafters and stayed in place.
Once the walls were insulated, I searched for old barn boards to use. A friend had a pile of old lumber that I spent a weekend cleaning up and treating for insects. I also found other old boards on Facebook Marketplace. I used the local car wash pressure washer to clean them and then sprayed them down with Bifenthrin insecticide to kill any pests. None of the boards were the same size—it was like piecing together a puzzle. However, I think the walls turned out just fine, and I was able to capture that warm, wood feeling I wanted.
The floors were next, and if I had to do it over again, I would have done the wood ceiling first. Lesson learned.
The heart pine flooring came from my friend Philip Kelly, who owns Taylor Made in Maplesville, Alabama. I listened as he explained what I needed and how to install it. I’m sure he shook his head as I left with the lumber, not knowing what I was in for.
Fortunately, on the day I was ready to install the floor, master floor installer and friend Hunter Crimm, his dad, and a few others arrived eager to help. They even roped in Brent Lochala, who hosts a podcast called “The Woodsman’s Perspective.” Suffice it to say, it was the busiest day of the project so far. The three of them showed me how to lay a tongue-and-groove floor while humbling me with their generosity. It was hard work—but it turned out beautifully. Crimm Flooring saved the day, and I learned a valuable lesson in friendship.
As I type this, I’ve started to install a pine ceiling. This is not easy—everything is overhead and on ladders. However, the deadline for the winter issue is forcing me to make this a two-part series. I hope to be able to show you the ceiling in the next issue, and I hope that if you’re in a situation like mine, you’ll decide to work on your place and do what you can yourself.
I can honestly say it’s been very satisfying—and, as you can imagine, exhausting.
Why do we love camps? Do the steaks taste better? Why do card games suddenly sound like more fun? Why does the hard work seem enjoyable? It’s all anticipation—the anticipation of the memories that will be made. It’s about the hope of sharing the experiences you love with friends and family. It’s more than hunting. In its own way, it’s healing. I think we need it now more than ever.
Long live the hunting camp and all that it promises and delivers.
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