With more than 700 members, the Cedar Rod & Gun Club is one of the largest nonprofit organizations in a county known for volunteerism.
But 80 or so years ago, it was best known for 120 acres of swamp land home to an unceremonious trapper’s cabin.
A “welcome” sign hung near the door. All visitors were met with hospitality at the sanctuary — as long as they swept the floor and split some firewood on their way out.
“It probably started out as a trapper’s shack, and I think Peter Schettek owned the 120 acres if I’m not mistaken,,” opined Bruce Lehmann, who served six or seven years as president of the Cedar Rod and Gun Club and 15 more as secretary. “There were four of them and I can name them. They started the club. They would go up the river and have meetings. There were two bunks, a wood stove, a table and a couple chairs.”
Those founding members of the Cedar Rod and Gun Club, as told on the club website, were Schettek, Paul Garvin, Rufus Brow, and Joe Pleva.
All were stalwarts of a bustling town that served as a hub to a farming community comprised mostly of immigrant families. Schettek had the allimportant job of managing the Cedar train depot, which was essential for moving harvests to markets.
“They were all close and of about the same age,” recalled Ray Pleva, Joe’s son. “There aren’t many towns that have a river like that. They all had strong ties to the river and wanted to help people who went down the river to fish or trap.
“It was a source of warming up and even surviving.”
Lehmann can attest to both. No one knows for certain who built the cabin or when, but it was still up and functional in the 1950s when 12-year-old Bruce and his father, Nelson Bernard “Bones”Lehmann, took advantage of an unseasonably warm day in April to canoe up the Cedar River for a day of bass fishing. They had a banner few hours before the wind rotated out of the north and the sky darkened.
“The weather turned. We weren’t dressed for it. It was 55 when we left and it was in the 30s when my dad pulled into the shack. We got a fire going so quickly I’m surprised we didn’t burn the place down. I was so cold. Dad took his socks off and put them on my hands,” Lehmann said.
As occurs during shoulder seasons, two hours later the wind swung back from the south and the rain-snow mix abated. The Lehmanns climbed back into their canoes and headed downriver. At the mouth a still-recovering Bruce was surprised and a bit dismayed when his dad told him to take off his coat.
“I said, ‘What?’ He said, ‘Take your jacket off and put your oar in it.’ A strong breeze had come up, and we sailed across the lake back to the cabin in no time,” Lehmann recalled.
You can still find what’s left of the shack, but not without some effort. It’s collapsed.
“Nothing is forever. One spring we went up there and it was flat. Now it’s all grown over. It was a pretty neat spot. It meant a lot to me,,” Lehmann said.
The ashes of Lehmann’s father and son are scattered there.
The 120-acre Cedar swamp parcel was sold and is now owned by the Leelanau Conservancy. Monies from the sale were used to purchase 25 acres of vacant land off Sullivan Road, site of some the finest skeet, trap, rifle, and sporting clay ranges in the state.
