Story Published in West Coast Maine Magazine 2020

​Early on a cold Saturday morning in late January I unlocked the front door of the factory and stepped inside. I fired up the large ammonia light panels, turned on the compressors, and returned to my office and turned on my computer. It was one of the old Dell computers and the “blue screen of death” slowly glowed as it booted up. I had repeated this routine for years, but this morning was different, this morning I was going to miss yet another event that my daughter had because I had to work on Saturday. As I stared at the screen, my chest tightened and my pulse started to race and I thought to myself “this is what I do, this is my life, and once again, I miss these small moments in life…” I remember asking myself if I could see myself here in ten years, five years, one year….? In that instant, in that small fraction of time, I knew the answer. That moment would change the course of history for me and my family. After working for twenty years in the machine shop, which I began at the early age of fourteen, it was time to start over…from the very beginning.
 
My wife Deirdre and I met right after high school, we fell in love and soon started a family.  We had four children, Autumn, Skye, Gunner, and Orion. We lived in southern New Hampshire in a small town and started a hobby farm and life was good. Life was busy, I worked tons of hours, and we had money. I was making a very good living and we had just completed a large addition on our home; vaulted ceilings, a hot tub and fireplace in our bedroom, and many other amenities. Our house was full of kid’s toys, and we had everything we wanted, including two nice vehicles in the driveway. We were caught up in what seemed like the “normal” life of hard working parents, yet, something was missing and it took a while to figure out what it was. The feeling was there for a while, but it took a long time for things to get to the breaking point. For me, the breaking point was this blue computer screen staring back at me, and the overwhelming sense of a lost connection to the outdoors and limited quality time spent with my family in nature.  
 
I was done. I was walking away from the security of a good paying job, sound health insurance, and a very comfortable home, to a place where we had to start from scratch. It was a briefly terrifying moment followed by the realization that I knew we could do this. Things moved quickly from there and we sold our home and most of our possessions. We liquidated many of the trappings that at one time we thought brought us happiness and we packed up a few things and headed north. Our destination was a piece of land we bought years earlier in Mason Township, population: 59 residents. We built a little cabin (12’x16’) with a loft that would have made Charles Ingalls proud and it was from this point that we started over.
 
Our youngest son, Orion, was 3 years old and he slept in a wooden crib below while the older kids slept in the loft above. We had a woodstove for heat and cooking and a traditional “one holer” outhouse nearby. Kerosene lanterns lit the cabin at night and we drew water from the stream that trickled down Tyler Mountain. We washed up in the brook, and in the colder months we had to shower outside using a 3-sided wooden enclosure with gravity fed water that we’d warm on the woodstove. The showers were quick to say the least! The kids would strip down and put on a bathrobe and I’d carry them over to the shower and then quickly back to the cabin. I distinctly remember one evening my daughter Skye took a shower and quickly threw her bathrobe back on. As I carried her back to the cabin over my shoulder, I slipped on some ice and in an instant, she was airborne and landed facedown, scantily clad, into the freshly fallen snow. It was moments such as this that helped to build character, grit, and a sense of adventure. Hardships provide obstacles that you have to work to overcome and we were not about to take an easy path.
 
Each day the kids would scramble through the forest barefoot, climbing trees, catching frogs and all sorts of critters, and they were always busy exploring. One day while I was busy working on the cabin I could hear the kids cheering and getting all excited about something. I came down off the ladder to find them huddled over a piece of cardboard with lines on it. They were having a slug race! When you have nothing but time on your hands and a sense of adventure, you can make the time to have slug race I guess.  
 
As a family, we began to build our home; a modest and rustic house that had everything we needed, and little that we didn’t. We still did not have power, or refrigeration and the only running water was running down the side of the hill. We cooked and ate most of our meals outdoors, fully immersed in nature and an active part of the seasonal cycles. When berries or foraged foods were abundant, we’d pick, and when it was hunting season we’d hunt. We also fished almost all year and we attempted to raise a small garden despite the lack of fertile soils and over-abundance of rocks. These are the same rocks that caused earlier settlers to move on and abandon their farms as evidenced by the numerous rock walls and stone foundations found on our property. I often think about how hard their lives where and what they faced for challenges. I think of how much they had to rely on each other and about their dependence on nature to help provide sustenance for their survival. I sought to understand the role that they played in this relationship as a part of their ecosystem and link in the food chain.
 
I began to realize that the hardships added to the adventure I was seeking. Nothing was easy, everything required determination and we relied on each other to push through the times that could break us. We were challenged by the weather, by wildlife, and by the inconveniences of life in western Maine, especially in the winter. We had to hike our long driveway with snowshoes on and kids on our backs or in a sled through several feet of snow more times than I can recall. The weather has always posed a challenge whether it was the heavy snows, high winds, or wet and muddy springs. This provided an ever-changing component that we embraced, yet sometimes with gritted teeth and cold hands. Cutting firewood was always a priority for without it, you find yourself struggling to keep warm, especially in the depths of winter. When you manage your own woodlot you soon become very much connected to this renewable resource and you think very differently about each and every tree and how, when, and where you should cut. Fortunate for us we had many hands so stacking was a chore we shared. A favorite highlight each year was our annual search for the perfect Christmas tree. Most of our balsam firs are tall so we’d have to assess from the ground what the tree may look like once we chop the tree down. Most times, the end result was a misshaped, lopsided, gnarly looking specimen, and each was special in its own way.
 
When living in the middle of the forest, wildlife isn’t something you simply see, it’s something that you experience and interact with. Raccoons, porcupines, deer, moose and other critters are our neighbors. One night years ago, a bear got into the house. I was away guiding a trip and Dee was home with the four kids. We were living in the basement at the time as the house was framed and we were in the process of finishing it so there was wood and tools scattered above. The bear entered the first floor searching for food and continued to knock over just about everything until he found a hole in the floor that went to the lower level, directly above where Dee and the kids were. With little more than a headlamp she saw the bears muzzle pressed into the hole sniffing wildly. With a shotgun in one hand and the light in the other, she held the fort down and finally spooked the bear off, yet not without leaving a vivid imprint on them of the new life we were now living.
 
Bears have been a big part of our life here and we’ve come to live with them comfortably. As a Registered Maine Guide, guiding bear hunters has been an important part of our lives, yet we have the utmost respect and admiration for them. One of our goals was to be an active part of the food chain and all of our kids have grown up on wild game meat. Moose, deer, bear, birds, and fish have all been staples at our table and we appreciate every opportunity to provide for ourselves. We also enjoy sharing this bounty with others.
 
In addition to wild game, we’ve raised pigs added a pair of Holsteins to our single Jersey bull, “Tuff.” One cow will be bred and milked, while the other will supplement our game meat supply. Tuff’s role is simple, eat hay, and make manure, and he takes this very seriously! Our lack of fertile soil is slowly changing and we’re starting to see things growing much better now that we’ve got a steady supply of composted organic matter. We also have a flock of laying hens that have outwitted every fox, weasel, and owl to date.  The chickens have a habit of trying to sneak into the house and if successful, they’ll lay their eggs in just about anything they can find; a pile of laundry, a bath towel, and even a sneaker. We added a handful of turkeys to the mix and we’ve got a roving, bug eating, fertilizing troop of birds that mostly rely on eating what they find.
 
Now that our children are grown, we are fortunate to have grandchildren to share these experiences with. This has added to the excitement of having new adventures and is a testament to the importance of the life lessons our children learned at an early age. Each has a deep appreciation for the environment, and a strong connection to nature and to each other. They gained resilience and strength from the hurdles and difficulties faced.
 
Over the years, we have slowly added things back that we once did without. Each decision is planned and considered beforehand. Regardless of “re-evolving” it is the story that we always consider first because in the end, it’s all about the story. The story of your life; of how you lived and how you treated people and how you raised your kids, and how you faced conflicts and the challenges is what makes up a life. Our story continues to unfold and with that new adventures lie ahead. Never be afraid of changing the direction you’re heading, and expect it will be hard at times. If you believe in yourself, all is possible.
 

​Thinking “Inside the Box”
 
I’ve been a deer hunter for over 30 years. In that time I’ve learned what seems to work and what doesn’t, in a myriad of situations. Of course this is a general statement, as the factors and variables are ever changing and you need to adapt to those changes. Let’s face it, as a deer hunter it’s about learning from your mistakes, and hoping to not repeat them again. Being from the Northeast, deer hunting has remained somewhat consistent. Set up a stand or stands along travel routes and ambush locations, or a ground blind at the edge of a crop field, and wait. Sometimes I still hunt, slowly, ghostlike, I would slip into the forest in search of a whitetail, keeping the wind in my face. When there’s fresh snow, maybe I’d resort to tracking a big buck, sometimes even catching up to him.
 
When the invite to hunt whitetails in South Texas was offered by a previous client, and now friend of mine, I jumped at the opportunity. Never have I had this experience, I had to commit myself to listening and learning from my host. Having owned the ranch for some 30 odd years or so, I knew that he just may know a thing or two about how to be successful here. What I quickly learned was that I had to leave much of my whitetail skills previously learned at home. Hunting in Texas is a whole lot different, and I was a fool to think that I knew best here.
 
After landing in Houston, we drove 5 hours west to the hill country of Kimble County. As we drove through the different counties, one thing that I realized is that there are a lot of deer hunters here. The highway was dotted with pick up trucks with coolers and duffels, and camo-clad drivers. As we made our way off the highway and into the towns of Fredericksburg and Kerrville I notice that at each hardware store, convenience store, and even the grocery store, there were lines of fabricated box blinds and feeders of all sorts of configurations. Pallets of feed corn and other supplements lined the parking lots. I wasn’t in the northeast anymore.
 
We stopped for groceries and fuel, and then the feed store for several bags of deer corn. “The feeders go off at 8 and 4,” Henry said. “When they do, the deer should approach quickly.” My first thought of this was that this was going to be an easy hunt, one with an advantage that I am not used to, and one that is not legal in my home state. We settled into camp, unlocked gates, and fired up breakers and water pumps to the main camp. We spent time gassing up the “buggy”, an old Geo Tracker that resembled something from an African safari, complete with makeshift camo paint and bald tires, and then the Yamaha Grizzly.
 
The first morning was spent filling feeders and graining roads that connected the stands. I observed deer tracks, and saw a doe and Axis deer bedded on the other side of a short barbed wire fence. Everything is fenced here, marking each land-owners ranch. I soon learned that these fences are for people, not wildlife, such as deer, hogs, and other game, which slipped through under or over them effortlessly. There was nothing fenced in or out and everything was completely free range, except the cattle. I was told to watch for rattlers, scorpions, and cactus as well as fire ants. Once chores were done, we ate lunch and swapped a few hunting stories around the table. The anticipation to get to the stand was growing and I readied my gear and checked my rifle.
 
At 2 p.m. we all made our way to our assigned blinds, mostly elevated box blinds of various height and shot opportunities. I was to take residence in a stand called “Turkey Hill.” A short walk later through cactus and limestone, pin oak and cedars, and I found my new residence, a plywood 4 x 4 box with a tin roof. There were slot windows of plywood that could be raised and lowered as needed and an old bass boat chair mounted to a wooded frame. “Check your stand for scorpions before you sit down” were the words I most remembered and I did. After a few minutes of settling in I began glassing the brush and edges, ranged the feeder and a few marker trees, and checked my gun movement. And then I sat quietly…
 
An hour into the hunt I saw a large doe walk in at 100 yards, then 2 more. I was excited! “Here we go!” I whispered to myself. During the next two hours I saw at least another half a dozen does. Mostly feeding along the wood line on grasses and browse. Several stopped at the corn we spread 100 yards out. I glassed each shadow and brush pile and picked up a few more. By the end of the day I think I counted 22 deer total, mostly does or small spikes. Several mothers with young came in and out. At last light, I slowly slinked out the back door and back to camp. I was anxious to see how Derek and Henry did, as I hear a shot just before dark.
 
I shed my hunting gear and waited by the truck and heard the rumble of the quad returning from the other side of the ranch. Derek took a young spike. Our license allows 2 bucks and 3 does, 4 turkeys, and Axis deer and hogs were a bonus as they are considered exotic and not regulated.
 
We headed to the skinning shed and processed his deer and returned for a steak dinner. We swapped stories and toasted a good day in the Texas hill country. My sights were set high on a large mature buck, and that was my personal goal. Henry’s camp rules were buck 8 points or better, and one doe each, which are simply his personal management goals. An Axis each if possible, and hogs were to be shot on site as they cause a lot of destruction, which was very apparent.
 
I didn’t sleep much as thoughts of huge bucks filled my mind. We were up at 4:30 a.m. and right back at it, slipping in without lights to our blinds. It seemed to take forever for light to arrive, and in the darkness I could hear Axis with their faint grunt-bugle, and a hog or two snorting a long ways off. As soon as I could see, I noticed the silhouettes of several deer in front of me. I glassed in the low light, looking for antlers. As morning arrived I could clearly see 6-7 does feeding. Several of them slowly fed on grasses near the blind which was perched up on a small hill backed into the oak, a stunted tree with crooked branches and small acorns. I had yet to see a buck but knew that I should have a chance at one at some point. I continued to pass up doe after doe and I studied each one carefully. The skies were clear and a cool breeze was in my favor. When the feeder went of, several deer spooked and soon returned for a snack. By 10 a.m. all was quiet and we returned for lunch.
 
By 1 p.m. I returned yet again with the same anticipation, and again glassed does moving quietly through the brush. During the last hour I had 9 different does in various locations, and 3 of them started working their way up the hill toward my stand. For a half hour or so I watched for the largest one, and she started to hook around to my right hand side, more cautious than the others. I knew that this was a mature animal that knew the game a bit better than the others. As she approached 40 yards I decided that she was far enough away from the feeder area that I could probably shoot her cleanly and without too much of a disturbance. I eased the rifle into position and waited for the perfect broadside slight quartering away shot and after she cleared a large blow down I took it. My casing ricochet of the wall and I watched the deer run 20 yards and drop to the ground. The other deer seemed concerned but never left the area. I thought to myself how fortunate I was to have made a clean shot and I looked forward to Western Texas Whitetail backstraps for Christmas dinner.
 
Henry arrived in the buggy a half hour later and we again headed to the skinning shed to butcher the deer and return for dinner. I saw a total of 16 deer that evening and I was even more excited for the next morning.
 
Again we walked quietly to our stands and sat in the cold darkness. This may be Texas, but it was 27 degrees and still. As soon as I could see I notice a single shadow down below at 90 yards. As I glassed in the light of dawn I saw antlers, yet couldn’t make out how big the rack was. After a long half hour I was able to confirm that this was a shooter buck, yet he only had 7 points. We were held to an 8 point standard and I would honor that. I watched for a long time as does poured in from every direction. Some fed on corn, some did not. At one point I lost sight of the buck and saw a smaller one slink by to my right side and then I caught a fleeing glimpse of the rack of an Axis on my left. By 11 am I returned for lunch and to swap out some hunting clothes for the evening hunt.
 
Within minutes of being back in the stand I saw what looked like a large shiny black turtle amble out of the brush and soon confirmed it to be an Armadillo. As I watched him scurry past, I saw a bird I had never seen before, but recognized quickly. It was a Roadrunner, and I watched him for almost 45 minutes, eating lizards and small bugs from the dry ground. At about 3 p.m. a large black object appeared at the feeder followed by two others. At first I thought they were wild hogs, but glassed them and now had my first sighting of Rio Grand longbeards. I could have shot all three, having 4 tags, but I decided to refrain, as I was committed to hunting a big buck, and I enjoyed the moment just the same. They all sported 8-10” beards and were much larger than our Easterns back home. Not long after, a spike walked in as well as several more does. I again returned to camp and remained optimistic that I would see a buck in the morning.
 
I left a little earlier this morning and sat quietly. On my way in I bumped what sounded like a large deer very close to the blind, and another on my right side. At first light, I spotted a familiar shadow and soon learned that it was the 7- pointer again feeding quietly. At 7:30, two does walked in, and a third which looked larger and more reddish. I said to myself “Axis” and I quickly confirmed this with the binos, only to watch her walk back into heavy cover. I kept my gun up and watched the buck for a few minutes, and the Axis returned broadside at 100 yards. I brought the crosshairs up just behind her shoulder and prepared to squeeze the trigger on this perfectly positioned mature Axis, yet as I did, I realized that she stopped directly in line with the buck. If I was high, I might have hit him. If I was right on, I’d have a pass through and would most definitly hit him. Although legal, house rules are 8 or better, and I simply wasn’t going to gamble so I held still waiting for one of them to move. Unfortunately she walked another 10 feet and disappeared into the brush. I had an opportunity but never questioned not making the shot. I never did see her again, nor have an opportunity to shoot her. This scenario played in my head several times in the coming hours.
 
I was back on stand on my last evening by 1 p.m. I settled in and tolerated swirling winds and warm temps. At about 4 p.m. things calmed down and I continued to see over 16 deer, mostly does and a few button bucks and spikes. Before heading out we were told that we could take a second doe or a spike if we wanted, if a buck didn’t show up. As I sat in my little wooden box, my determination had never been higher. I had passed up many shots that I could have taken, and I remained committed to waiting for the big one. With a half hour left in our hunt, deer were simply all over me. I had no less than 11 in sight and range of my gun and had now been given the green light to take one. As the minutes ticked by I chose the largest doe I could see, a big “jug head” lead doe that kept tabs on many smaller ones. I glassed the edges and shadows for one last chance at a buck and I again turned back to the doe. As I settled into her vitals with my crosshairs, I pulled up, and watched her through the scope for a minute or more.
 
To me, hunting is matching your skills with the animals you hunt, in the conditions that you hunt them. I found Texas to be everything I had expected and so much more. I didn’t need to take another doe or spike to satisfy my love of hunting. I already had a cooler full of meat and almost 40 hours of memories made in the blind. My view is much different of this style of hunting and I simply cannot wait to return to Texas. Despite the fact that I never had a shooter in my crosshairs I leave with a renewed sense of pride and higher awareness of my self-discipline and patience. Texas has an abundance of wildlife and their whitetail management is outstanding. I know I had big bucks close several times and even heard them battling just outside the blind in the darkness one morning. I return to Maine appreciative of this opportunity and I look forward to a return trip someday.
 
 

​As we wind down the 2015 deer season here in Western Maine, there’s a time to look back at the days afield and the adventures gained. Unlike many states that boast higher deer populations, Maine is a state where the spirit of free chase, big woods, and extreme weather makes the challenge just that, more challenging. We don’t allow baiting or mineral attractants, deer drives, or even “nudging” deer to a hunting partner.
 
This makes for one heck of a challenge, considering that a mature Maine whitetail is just about as wary and elusive as any animal on the planet.  Sure, rut crazed bucks may let their guard down, and we all anticipate on capitalizing on that, but to the vast majority of deer hunters, it comes down to long days in the stand or many miles on foot, sometimes both. Your skill level must match your quarry, and that includes movement, scent control, and all of the other factors that go along with deer hunting: weather, hunting pressure, density, food sources, and available time to spend afield.
 
All that being said, luck cannot be understated. Many times it simply comes down to being in the right place at the right time, under the right circumstances to make it all happen.  Before I go further, I’d like to congratulate all of the successful hunters that had the ability to punch their tag this year. Well done! I’m sure there are a lot of great stories circulating around the deer camps and dinner tables across the state and beyond. Remember too, a fair majority of those folks are from away, and we should celebrate that. Without the level of interest in our state, many of us would suffer economically, from guides to gas stations, outfitters, to corner stores. Hunters are vital to our livelihood. I write this as I sit a mile in the air on my travels to South Texas to hunt whitetails and Axis deer. The allure and challenge of new adventures in far away lands his inspired me to travel for the same animal I’ve chased for a month and a half here in Maine. The Axis deer is simply a bonus!
 
To all of you that did not punch your tag, congratulations to you as well. You participated in a tradition that has been passed down from generation to generation. Hopefully you had the opportunity to introduce a new person to the field, and I hope that both of you enjoyed that experience. It is our responsibility to foster the love of hunting and of being outdoors with others, as presumably, someone did with each of us.
 
Across the state this I believe took place in many different ways; from an early morning walk to the deer stand, to an evening sit after work, a shared Slim Jim on the bed of the pick- up, to the cell phone call we all love getting and making; Deer down! Deer hunting in Maine takes many forms and the common bond of the pursuit of this elusive animal unites us all. I enjoy the moments of staring into the bed of as truck with a cup of coffee, listening to the story of a successful hunter just as much as I do as the story of the big buck that was just out of range, that was too fast, the brush was too thick, the fingers too cold, of safeties that were on, of forgotten shells, bumped scopes, of wind that was bad, and so on. To me, it’s all a part of the story, that of a Maine deer hunter.
During this season, I had the distinct pleasure of being a part of so many stories, and I enjoyed every one of them. The alarm clock went off at 4 a.m. for 6 weeks straight, and at times, I was thankful that we can’t hunt on Sundays, so that I could merely catch a few extra hours of shut eye before the new week began. Many a morning was spent preparing for the day, coordinating who was hunting where, and when each would return. Pick up trucks rolled out of the driveway and onto the dirt road, and soon the slow hike to the stands began. This part of the hunt is one of my favorite parts. In the darkness I’d walk, alone sometimes, or with my wife, child, or client, and each time I/we would be filled with anticipation of a new day, a clean slate, a new opportunity, of new sounds…
 
The crunch of the hoar frost under our boots, the moist breeze in a dense fog, or biting cold in the stillest of air, all variable and unpredictable at times. During each hunt, small moments made up the content of the story, the backdrop, and the inspiration for the next hunt. One morning, I was able to walk nearly silently to my stand, and proud of my ghostlike presence, I sat in darkness until first light. Soon after, a red squirrel, nature’s alarm clock, sounded off, and then a running doe entered the clearing behind me and walked passed. Two others followed, and then a faint grunt was heard coming from the same direction…. With gun up and as stealthily as a predator, I waited…. His steps slowed as he neared the edge of the dense fir and spruce. In moments he would walk into a shooting lane, and, providing I could stay still, and he didn’t detect my scent, a tag would soon be hanging from his beam and I’d be calling my son, “Deer down!”
 
Another faint grunt, a twig snapped, and a blur of brown pushed through the trees, closer to the opening, cautious and deliberate he moved closer. As I looked over my scope I thought of how I had made all of the right decisions that morning in preparation. Here he comes…two more steps…safety off…and there before me, in the same steps as the three does, right in the middle of a clear shooting lane, perfectly broadside and still…a spike horn stood! With his nose in the air and lip curled slightly, he grunted. As I looked through my scope I noticed how the muscles in his neck were just starting to swell from the pending rut. I slowly pushed the safety back on, and I enjoyed that moment, of excitement, anticipation, hope, and of humility. I was reminded of why I hunt, and I watched him pass on by quietly, cautiously, and deliberately.
 
It’s never been about pulling the trigger for me, or of feeling dominant over one animal or the other. To me, hunting has been about humility, of Chickadees, of Red Squirrels, the muddy boots, cold hands, and stories…and sometimes spike bucks!

As hunters we have the responsibility to pass on the traditions to our young people. That's the way that it has worked for thousands of years. Yes, the tactics have changes, but the core skills have not. To exist, people had to hunt or gather their food, and in the long cold winters, gathering doesn't sustain much. Remember, hunting is a primal instinct, not only an enjoyable pastime but a way that we as omnivores participate as active members of the food chain. There's a drive born within us to provide food for ourselves. One of the major changes is the fact that people now find that the time afield is more than simply a means to survive, but a chance to connect with one another in a ay like no other. Enough said...

Today is November 7th. and nationwide, there are hundreds of thousands of hunters in the woods in search of deer and other game. Most of whom had that one special person in their life at the right moment, to open their eyes to the sport and tradition. We can all remember that moment, and the burning desire to learn more, hunt more, and experience the next adventure. The rut is on in many places and the woods are an exciting place to be.  

In my own life, I've had the pleasure of raising my children in the woods, and our entire family lives around the hunting calendar. We have also shared that magic with many others, young and old, nephews, cousins, and new friends. I find more satisfaction in guiding others to their first buck than pulling the trigger myself. You simply have to be committed to yielding in your own desire to punch your tag, and live in the moment of another's success. There's nothing like it, whether you are a guide, a parent, or a mentor of an apprentice hunter.

This week as I sat in the blind with my wife for a short morning sit, I heard the crack of a rifle a mile away. Knowing that my son and his girlfriend we both in their blind, I smiled and looked at Dee. "The kid's just shot!" Then the phone rang..."Buck down!" Gunner says. "India just shot a big 8!"

Both Gunner and India have been raised in hunting families. They have learned their skills first hand, by watching and participating in the hunt. At 16, now both able to hunt as adults on their own this is a bitter sweet moment...I've raised ethical hunters that follow the ruled, and always put safety first. I'm now handing over the responsibility to make decisions and to pass this tradition on to others. I'm proud of this, and I look forward to many more years in the field as I yet build my youngest son's skills.

I am most thankful that one, I have created an amazingly talented young hunter, and two, I haven't yet given him all of my best spots! (You'll find your own I'm sure!)

If you or someone you know needs resources in getting young folks outdoors, please don't hesitate to contact me. I can recommend hunter safety courses, gear, or provide workshops or hunting adventures.

Ron
​ orionoutfitters07@gmail.com or call 603-401-1802

As we make the final preparations for opening day of deer season in Maine, we know all too well that with that, comes Thanksgiving, and then, you know what's right around the corner... I always wished we could slow down time and enjoy more day in the deer woods, but it is simply inevitable that Christmas will be upon us. 

The timing of this post is intentionally early, because all too soon, the malls will be full  of people and the  onslaught of advertisements will begin. One thing that I've heard over and over, all year long from friends, parents, and guests "All my kids do is play on the computer!" "They never want to do anything outside..." We know it's true, we know it's a problem, and we know that it is adding to the childhood issues such as obesity, ADHD, and the continued disconnection to the natural world.

My first question: "What did the kids ask for Christmas?" Or  "What did you buy them for Christmas?"
Things like tablets, I Pads, X boxes, and Playstations are on the top of the list, among all sorts of other technology gadgets, gizmos, and distractions. OK, so maybe the Wii allowed kids to actually move around a bit while playing, but it's a "virtual" experience.

I encourage you to take a moment and think about what may spark passion in something new. Take a quick look through the Cabela's catalog and you'll soon find not just gift items but opportunity for adventure! X Box you say? How about a pair of snowshoes. I pad maybe? How about your first .22 rifle? I can go on and on, but we as adults have so much impact on the future of our youth, all of our youth that we can make change! Some great ideas that will not only get kids outdoors, but you may even find that you might spend more quality time together. Check out the Genesis Bow to get started in archery, maybe some ice fishing traps, a pellet rifle or .22.  

We need to stop this trend of "screen time satisfaction", and get kids back to being adventurers, explorers, and outdoors people. Buy them a subscription to Outdoor Like, Field and Stream, or some other magazine. Remember when you'd get a magazine? You'd read about adventures, far off places, and exciting people, and every month you'd look forward to the next issue. 

In a world of "play dates", theme parks, and manufactured experiences, our children are only a generation or two removed from what was an amazing way to grow up. It's our choice, our responsibility, and our challenge to reconnect our young people and ourselves to the outdoors. There are still wild places to be explored, even in your cul de sac or neighborhood. We can collectively make change for the good. You are not a bad parent for setting limits, for buying your child a BB gun, or for helping to educate them to what may not be as mainstream as it was, but we are the only ones that can do this.  To the contrary, your child may just find a passion for something that they didn't know existed. It's also important that we give them the gift of our undistracted time. Mentor them or find someone that will help do so. There's lot's of ways to learn more about outdoors activities.

I'm sure this will offend some folks, but I hope that it will at least invoke some thought. I'm committed to providing outdoors experiences and I would be happy to assist anyone in their search for ideas, or guidance in purchasing outdoors equipment. 

​Reflections of a moose hunt…
 
Every year, thousands of people from across the country and beyond, wait for one fateful afternoon in June; the day that Moose tags are drawn! In a few short hours, several thousand lucky folks get the long anticipated news that they have been waiting for, while tens of thousands scroll through the list in disbelief that they again have yet to draw a tag.
 
It’s quite simple…not everyone gets a tag. It’s hard to accept, and easy to become discouraged, but you just have to hope for next year and try again. That being said, when you do win the coveted Moose hunting permit, you need to be thankful for the amazing opportunity that is now in your hands. It is an amazing privilege indeed.
 
Not long after the last name is drawn, the preparations soon begin. As a Registered Maine Guide, that means the phone starts to ring.  Each season I receive phone calls from folks from all over the country, each doing their homework, asking questions, planning, and looking at their budget. During each of these phone calls, I ask as many questions as they do. I want to know fully what my potential clients’ expectations are and I want to make sure that we are a good fit for them.
 
At Orion Outfitters and Guide Service, we hunt Moose as it has done for many, many years…on the ground, in the forests, in the swamps, and on the mountainsides. We don’t road hunt, and we don’t use electronic calls. Our passion for hunting this majestic animal is reflected in our respect for Alces Alces the “twig eater.”
 
One of our favorite hunts is in Zone 7, known as the Rangeley area. We provide a traditional spike camp along the Kennebego River as our base camp where the river flows merely feet from your tent, and the moose roam freely through the valley, often heard calling to each other or walking along the river bed. Evenings are spent around the campfire replaying the day’s events, and setting the stage for the following days hunt.
 
A typical day begins well before daylight. The fire is kindled, lanterns lit, coffee is brewed, and a hearty breakfast is served. Soon we’re gearing up and on the road, with a “to go” cup of coffee of course! We have about a forty-minute drive to the remote hunting grounds that we’ve scouted intensively, and as we get closer to our destination, the anticipation grows. I’m very fortunate to have the opportunity to guide these hunts each year, but to our clients this is the hunt of a lifetime, and that is something that we take very seriously.
 
On one occasion several years ago we happened upon a young bull in the road as we rounded a corner. It was opening day, and about an hour before daybreak. The bull ran in the road in front of us for several hundred yards, even after I backed off and even stopped. Each time I started to move he started again in front of us. As I approached a wide stretch or road, I decided to get out around him and move on. I eased up carefully and he charged the truck. I backed off and tried to let him move on, yet he was intent on staying in the roadway. A half mile later I tried again as we approached a turn around. I was almost successful! The moose started to veer off to the left and suddenly hooked around and drove his antlers into the front fender and hood of my pick-up, pushing us about 3 feet sideways!
 
We both stopped, and I did finally get around him, but not before being on the receiving end of 1,000 pounds of rutting moose! We did manage to get to our first hunting spot on time, and that early morning encounter was retold around the fire all week long!
 
On another moose hunt in the same region we set out in an exceptionally foggy start to the opener. I nodded to my hunter to load his hunting rifle, as it was now first legal shooting light. I turned my head, cupped my hands, and made my first moose call, only to hear a large bull call right back-from less than 50 feet away! We had literally walked almost into this bull that was standing silently in the fog. His distinct bull grunt was so close it made the hair stand up on my neck. The only problem was that the low light and dense fog made it impossible to make a shot. He was partially visible, but a clean shot was out of the question. In seconds the bull vanished into the fog, but not before he gave us a quick glimpse of his large rack, adding to the excitement of the first day.
 
One crisp October morning we decided to walk a remote logging road bordered by a clear cut on one side and a thick swamp on the other, a perfect place to set up. The puddles that lie in our path had just a skim of ice on them, making it harder to sneak along. The smell of balsam, of mud, and the distinct musk of a rutting bull cut the air like a knife. I made my first cow call, and it was quickly met with call back, then another, and another. The problem was that all three bull calls came from different directions! We had a bull deep in the cutting just on the other side of a hill, and two others hidden in the swamp.
 
I called again, and again they returned with calls, as well as a cow now joining in. The breaking of branches and cracking of limbs gave away their location, and we found ourselves smack in the middle of at least 3 bulls. They began to call to each other, along with the cow, and it started to get a bit confusing as to which way we should set up. Without a lot of cover we were actually pinned down along the edge of the logging road. The calls got closer and the crashing got louder. Several more bulls joined in and started sparring and raking antlers. My hunter had put in for 23 years before drawing his tag, and he was now experiencing something that few people have ever had the opportunity to experience.
 
This moment will go down in history for Orion Outfitters, not because it was a successful hunt, but because I was able to provide an experience that reconnected two brothers that had lost touch with each other. The mud, the miles, and the moose that caught us off guard, the cow with a calf that curiously passed by were all part of the bigger whole. Hot coffee and a hearty lunch served in the forest of Maine, cool mornings, and rutting bulls, and the stories…

As a young boy, I can remember the 3-hour car ride in the station wagon dreaming of all of the adventures that lie ahead! As the miles passed and the air cooled, the excitement grew, for soon I’d be tramping in the forest and paddling on the clear waters of western Maine.

Before the car was even in park I’d be out the door and on a dead run! First to the stream, and then to the swimming hole. The cold rushing waters, lined with driftwood, were refreshing and clear…and after a quick dip I was most certainly standing on a rock with my Zebco 202 in hand, hoping to catch a fish!

Little did I know back then that I’d someday be living in this place that I loved so much, a place I felt connected to, and a place I felt at home. Little did I know that I would not only be living in this place, but I’d be making a living here doing what I love, and providing an opportunity for others to share this same experience!

Orion Outfitters and Guide Service is Bethel’s premier 4-season guide service. We are here to provide exceptional outdoors adventures for people that have the desire to experience all of the wonderful things that western Maine has to offer – from hunting, fishing, and canoeing, to other recreational opportunities.

Each summer, thousands of visitors head to the region for a chance to relax, to reconnect with each other, and to find adventure! Fortunately, adventure isn’t too hard to find here! Whether it’s looking for a moose, catching a brook trout, or enjoying the best lobster roll around, Bethel is sure to please!

While here, you will find friendly people, beautiful scenery, and abundant wildlife, and in the warm summer months, you have a yet another opportunity…bass fishing!

Yes, that’s right, Large and Smallmouth Bass! Maine is slowly being recognized as a go-to destination for trophy quality bass fishing! Now I’m certainly not discrediting our exceptional trout fishing; brookies, browns, and rainbows are abundant. But as the waters warm and the days are long, the bass fishing is hot! What makes western Maine so unique? Bass can be fished in many area lakes and ponds, as well as rivers and streams, by lures, by fly, or by bait. Nothing get’s your adrenaline pumping like a hard strike on an early morning top water fishing excursion.

In some locations you can catch both Large, and Smallmouths on the same cast. Other locations are more specific. Either way, the fishing is nothing short of amazing, and Orion Outfitters will be happy to put you on the fish! As a family friendly guide service, we specialize in connecting youth to the outdoors, as well as the novice or experienced angler! We’ll provide the equipment, and have a fully outfitted bass boat, canoes, and jon-boat to get you where the fish are. We also provide rods and tackle and lunch on the water! For more information check out our website at www.orionoutfitters.net, or our facebook page.

(AS SEEN IN THE 2015 BETHEL MAINE MAGAZINE)

Full boar charge!

Black bear hunting in Maine is truly an exciting hunt! At Orion Outfitters and Guide Service we see to it that it’s more than simply sitting in a tree stand and hopefully seeing a bear. We look at the entire hunt from arrival to departure as an opportunity to provide a unique quality experience in which our hunters feel like family, learn a bit about the Maine wilderness, and hopefully see some wildlife!

Bear hunting is considered a somewhat safe hunt, but I can assure you that danger is just around the corner, and carelessness can quickly turn to a dangerous situation. Even if things go as planned, bears must be respected, as they are unpredictable, territorial, and well equipped to do what they have to do to stay alive.

This season, 2014, we saw some of the most exciting hunts and time spent in the Western Mountains of Maine. Beginning well before the first evening hunt, we had run-ins with bears on bait, and several times were bluff charged as we attempted to bait our sites. Gunner, my 15 year old son, and up and coming guide, was charged twice in as many days.

As we kicked off week one we found that we had bears on the baits almost every evening as we hiked back in to retrieve our hunters. Usually they just push off and we get out quietly, other times, the bears simply don’t want to leave, and hold their ground. Several times, sows with cubs were confronted. We started off the week with a bow hit high and I determined the bear was simply nicked. (as proven days later with a game camera video of the same bear, no worse for wear.)

We then started taking bears, and almost every time we pulled bears out in the dark, we had to deal with other bears circling us, barking, growling, and popping their teeth as we worked to get out of the woods. We had also had moose to contend with and several bulls and cows made our evening travel on trails interesting!

We went 5 for 6 during the first week, and we were very happy with the strong start! Week two began, and we saw temps rise into the high 80’s, and activity slow somewhat. The bears fed mostly at night while the humidity hung in the air. We shot 3 bears out of six hunters and were still above the state average for bear hunting, so we just kept working hard! I knew things would shift. The week was not without excitement, as several times we had bears under stands just after dark, or on the bait as we approached for a morning hunt.

As we entered the third week of the hunt we were ready for action! The weather shifted quickly into a fall pattern and we found ourselves in the 50’s and 60’s! The first night began with 3 bears being taken, two with rifle, one with a bow. It was a busy night at bear camp, and dinner at 11:30 p.m. was welcome! One hunter had 4-5 bears wrestling under his stand after dark, and often, bears would be nudged off as we entered in the mornings or afternoons.

With all of this activity, we did have several hunters that had yet to have opportunity. This is not uncommon, as bears are again very unpredictable. One hunter, Kalen Hutchings had seen two bears briefly, but did not have shot opportunity. On Thursday, he hunted in the morning, and still nothing. After I retrieved our hunters from their morning hunt, they all sat down to lunch and maybe catch a catnap. I planned to move Kalen back to his original bait site for Thursday evening, one of which we access right from camp called “Tachycardia.”

I hiked into the bait which as about a quarter mile into a swamp, and directly under a ledge, and upon my approach, heard a loud thump on the ground several times. As I neared the bait, I heard the barrel getting slammed around and soon witnessed a large bear on the bait. I set down the bait bucket, turned around quietly, and sprinted back to camp.

As I approached the cabin, I yelled for Kalen, “Grab your gun! Let’s go! Bear on bait!”

Within 1 minute, he and I both started our hike back in to the site, both toting shotguns. The rest of the hunters watched us rush back in from the porch of the cabin, not sure exactly what was going on.

We sprinted the first quarter mile, stopped for a moment to catch our breath, and then started our stalk into the bait. It was quiet…for only a few moments, and then crash! The bear was still on the bait and was aggressively trying to pull the barrel from the tree. We first gained a visual at about 90 yards, but I wanted to get him into a closer position for a clean shot. We stalked into within 45 yards before I felt comfortable. The bear disappeared.

Moments later, the bear appeared directly in front of us on the left side of the bait, stood with it’s front legs up on the barrel, and broadside.

“Shoot!” I said…and Kalen raised his gun, a scoped 12 gauge, and fired! The bear was hit, and soon ran uphill to our left and out of site. For a few seconds the bear disappeared…

In an instant the bear appeared less than 10 yards and in a dead run directly at us! It’s ears pinned back, eyes fixed, and it was running like a rocket! The bear was low to the ground, with a spray of mud flying behind him. “Shoot him!” I said, and he and I both fired in a spray of hasty shots at close range!

As the bear closed to 10 feet, a well-placed shot ended the charge, and the bear dropped in his tracks. He stood briefly, and slumped over…

Kalen and I looked at each other in disbelief that this had actually just happened, and then I quickly thought about what the guys back at camp may be thinking. Neither of us had a phone, and we enjoyed the moment of adrenaline, excitement, and hunter camaraderie.

After tagging the bear, we hiked back to camp to get the game cart, and let the others know what had just happened. We were greeted by an anxious crew of hunters, and the story was replayed several times before returning to remove the bear. Kalen was quickly a legend!