Just past a gate and one mile down a gravel road the Little Suamico Hunting and Fishing club, AKA Murder Inc., has quietly sat for decades on the west shores of Green Bay. Founded by a past generation of hard-nosed businessmen and avid outdoorsman, this club offered them the endless opportunities of sharing stories and laughs together, while finding solitude within. It has found a way to spread its routes to many proceeding family members through times of recessions, depressions, and booms. It has been a constant and that is how it will remain for generations to come.  There is a current collage of diverse, willful souls seemingly always wandering our 800 plus acres at any giving moment. These men are bonded by blood, friendship, memories, and fondness.  Forever ready to preserve, conserve, and enhance these lands, members fight greed and fear granting the future caretakers the same privileges to come. This is a tight-knit group of men who deem this place a home away from home - A sort of short term get-away from the hustle of fast pace life. A “CLUB”, “The Shack”, call it what you will, their skills are endlessly tested and the art of patience is perfected.   Long before the sun rises, the blank canvas of Nature’s hand is well at work. Some see the Eastern shores of the bay give way to a breath-taking sunrise as the reeds sway, and the ducks fly. Others simply meander through the falling leaves of ash and oak pondering only of what direction to walk next, as they admire their dog’s keen sense of smell and the burst of a grouse out of the thick cover. As the sun lowers over the still fall horizon, a big buck shuffles through the swamps and onto the oak ridges in hopes of passing just beyond the awaiting bow hunter’s reach to ensure succession. When the snow flies the trails are groomed for skiers to reflect on the cold Wisconsin winter. As the snow gives way to a March thaw, kids paint their outfits with mud and wet, while such a sweet aroma of syrup can be tasted by the boiling fires. And within weeks one can expect to find a tent blind holding up an age old cotton wood tree as flocks of turkeys call out the refreshing spring air. Even as the ticks and deer flies take over our grounds in the warm summer months, this club holds steadfast and true…Life continues on but here men become boys, boys become men, and dad’s are satisfied.