---

At that ungodly time of the morning, I should've been sitting in a tree waiting for the sun to rise and a deer to appear, or at the very least, shivering uncontrollably in a duck blind somewhere. Instead, I found myself at 5:30 a.m. last Friday -- commonly referred to as Black Friday -- sitting in my SUV in a pitch-dark parking lot at the Forest Lake Gander Mountain store. As I sat there waiting and sipping hot coffee, the AM 1500 KSTP morning crew was ridiculing shoppers like me on the radio. I didn't care. It was worth it to hear that infernal alarm clock buzz at 4:30 a.m.

What was I to do? The store was practically giving away deluxe upland hunting vests to people like me willing to swap some precious sleep to save a few bucks. And besides, I was determined to get one.

I discovered that a Black Friday store opening at a major outdoor retailer has its own set of social dynamics that are quite distinct and highly unusual. It's certainly unlike anything you'd expect to witness at a Wal-Mart or Target, or most any other retailer for that matter. At one of these other stores, you'd naturally expect to see a throng of outwardly excited and enthusiastic folks bundled up against the cold and waiting for hours (quite happily, no less) outside the store in a long line. At Gander, the lot was empty until 5:55 a.m., at which time I looked north to see a seemingly never-ending stream of headlights speeding south along the frontage road of Interstate 35. It looked a lot like that scene from Field of Dreams when Ray Kinsella and Terrence Mann watched in disbelief as thousands of vehicles wound their way to the magical Iowa baseball field. I could almost hear that guy somewhere in a nearby cornfield whispering, "price stuff low and the sleep-deprived idiots will come."

That, by the way, was just the tip of the iceberg. Not only did these pickup-driving-camo-wearing-tough-guy shoppers arrive late, it seemed that not a single one of them was willing to tip his hand as a too eager shopper once they got there. Heck, even after one of the groggy store clerks unlocked the front doors, these stoic dudes remained in their trucks, their true identities protected under a veil of pre-dawn darkness. I thought, "Well, I can't put the toothpaste back in the tube now. I'm here and I'm committed to stiff-arming anybody I have to in order to get my half-priced vest." So I shut off my truck, spritzed just a hint of Trail's End #307 behind each ear and proudly sauntered through the unlocked doors at precisely six o'clock. Evidently, that's all the tough guys needed to see. I looked over my shoulder and saw them collectively jump down from their tall trucks and hit the asphalt like Neil Armstrong leaving the Apollo 11 capsule at Tranquility Base - except these guys weren't quite willing to recite the famous line: "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."

I got my vest, just in case you're wondering. There were two extra-larges on the rack and I got one of them. I didn't have to karate-chop anybody in the windpipe to get it either, which was fortunate for me. I can't speak from experience, but I imagine it'd be tough to enjoy the holidays while doing hard time in the county slammer.

When it was time to check out, the young guy running the cash register asked me if I wanted the receipt thrown in the bag with my hard won vest. I squinted my best Clint Eastwood squint, hooked a thumb in the waistband of my casual Friday slacks and hissed through my clenched teeth, "Better not, Punk. I plan on wearing the vest and blasting some birds the minute I leave here." The kid looked a bit nervous as he handed over the receipt, but he let me leave the store without alerting security.

Dan Brown's weekly outdoor column is brought to you by Frankie's Bait and Marine, in Chisago City, and St. Croix Outdoors, in St. Croix Falls, Wis.

---