A Tribute to My Father – Tim Flermoen: The Man Who Started My Outdoor Journey

The Foundation of My Outdoor Passion

As many have experienced in this country, their father taught them about the outdoors. This was no different with my father. He showed me how to hunt, fish, and camp, many of the skills taught were very basic like how to set up a tent, how to hold and shoot a gun, and how to read deer sign. However, these basic skills have led me to being passionate about these very topics hunting, fishing, shooting, and the outdoors. So much so that now, at just a few months short of 40 years old, I have had experiences hunting in places that my dad never was able to do.

Those experiences lead me to start this platform The Inside Spread, not only to share my outdoor adventures but the story of many outdoorsmen and women across this great land. I am forever grateful for my dad’s impact on my life and the passion instilled in me. My father Tim Flermoen passed away on June 19th, 2025, at just 68 years old.

Memories from "The Hunting Shack"

As a tribute to my father, I will share just a few memories of growing up and going on hunting adventures with him:

When I was just a kid, starting at 10 years old, my father would take me grouse hunting/pre-deer hunting stand repair and set up. He and a few of his buddies had “the hunting shack” on a farm that was on his best friend’s uncle’s land. They had dairy cows, so it was an interesting place to hunt because you not only were looking for deer sign but also dodging cow pies. Those dairy cows always produced some of the best milk I can remember.

The shack itself was across the road from the old farmhouse, which was vacant, as the owner lived a short distance down the road in a mobile home. The shack was a three-room building that had a kitchen, one bedroom, living room, and off the living room were a bunch of bunk beds. One set of bunks was three high and barley had enough space for a small child to fit in the bed without banging your head on the ceiling. It was not much of a sight, but it was “the hunting shack”.

My Dad told me many stories about the years they had spent going to the hunting shack, from big deer to silly mistakes to lost deer in the swamp. I have three distinct memories from my time at the shack.

When I Crashed Into Dad's Car (And He Still Loved Me)

First, my dad allowed me to ride ATV that used up there to assist dragging deer back to shack. It was early fall so it was grouse hunting season so during much of afternoon and evening we just spent time around the shack. My dad specifically told me not to drive the ATV near any of the cars parked in front of the shack. So, I went on my way around the open fields cruising, jumping over mounds, riding to the tree line and back. When I was done, I started to head back, I got to area in front of cars, I tried to slow down but brakes didn’t work so I held on for dear life and tried to avoid the cars, then BOOM, I ran that ATV straight into the front bumper of my dad’s car. The ATV bumper was just low enough that it got stuck under the bumper of the car and no amount of reversing that ATV or car could quite get it unstuck. In the end we had to lift the car off the ATV to free it.

The Day 150 Deer Ran Across One Field

The second story was more of shock and less of funny mistake. During another grouse season at the shack just before dinner I noticed a few deer were standing in the field on the opposite edge of the woods from the shack. I grabbed my binoculars and crept slowing to the edge of tree line by the shack and just watched them eat for what felt like hours, but I am sure it was just 5 to 10 minutes. Then I decided to start crawling across the field to get a better look. I was 200 yards away but by the time I crawled 20 yards the deer had already pegged me. I froze assuming they would just go back into the woods, but that is not what happened on this day. The doe threw up her tail and started to run across the field then suddenly not 10 deer, not 25 deer, not 100 deer, I counted at least 150 deer ran across the field and I know that I missed several. They just kept pouring out of the woods from that same spot. I have never since seen anything like that in my life.

Frozen Snickers and Father-Son Mornings

The Buck That Died Without a Bullet

Thank you for taking time to read this tribute today, the stories and memories remain fresh as I grieve my dad’s passing. And there are countless more stories of my dad and brothers hunting over the years. I hope to share them in different ways in the future, but this is good for now. Thanks, dad, for all you did for us! I plan to continue to share my passion for the outdoors with your grandkids to continue the family tradition.