Whitetail Cabin
Minnow Camp Resort
$95 Fri–Sat
$75 Sun–Thurs
Reserve Now
Named for the ghost that flickers through the trees—white tail, flash of muscle, gone—Whitetail Cabin offers its own kind of quiet vigilance. It stands sturdy and unshy in its orange-brown skin, with clean white trim and a rake leaning just so, as if someone has only just stepped inside.
Inside, this cabin breathes pine. Knotty wood wraps every surface—walls, ceiling, cabinetry—with the warm, amber glow of a place that was built to hold in heat and hush. The twin beds are framed in that same wood, dark quilts against golden boards, like dusk falling in a meadow.
Here, even the ceiling fan has antlers in its blood, and the black-tiled bathroom hums with the cool modernity of a place that nods to comfort without breaking its wild streak. There’s a small but proud kitchen—coffee, microwave, a rugged countertop of real grain and thick varnish. The kind of counter you could write a postcard on. The kind someone already has.
Slide open the back door and there it is: a gravel patio tucked in against the woods. Grill. Table. Fire ring ringed in stone. This is not a showy place—but neither is the forest.
And just beyond, behind the cabins, the peacocks linger. Mr. Pea, strutting with his imperial green tail; Little Pea, curious and watchful; Mrs. Pea, low in her nesting hollow, still as a question unanswered. Their presence is strange, yes. But so is beauty. And so is peace.
Whitetail Cabin is for the early riser, the evening walker, the one who sees things just before they vanish. It is a hunter’s rest—not of game, but of stillness, clarity, and time well spent.
