Truth or False?

My friend Rod in West Virginia sent me these photos and a brief description.

NEW STATE RECORD!
24 Point Buck

Shot in Livingston, KY during gun season Roger saw it chasing a doe and thought it looked pretty big

Shot at 150 yds

Field dressed at 215 lbs

He’s been told the head might sell for $100 to 200K

North American Whitetail shot the story and it will air next fall

Buck Master measured the antlers and said it is a new state record

Boone & Crockett will wait until the antlers dry and then measure but scored a preliminary 287

The state record was broken about two years ago and had a score of 260

Tom Remington

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Alright all you Black Bear Blog junkies. I got this in my email box. True or false?

“A 9 year old in Oklahoma bagged a 41 point buck!

Supposively Cabelas has offered $150,000 for the deer.”

Tom Remington

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*Fiction*

Fred Sumner grew up in rural Maine a dirt-poor boy whose father labored in the the woods trying to eke out a living chopping on a log landing for a local lumber company. Often his days began long before the morning sun and ended after dark under the headlights of an old rusted out stake-bodied pick-up truck. It was a tough life but it was the only one Fred’s father knew.

Fred recalls his 10th birthday when his father wakened him early on a Monday morning in summer. It was dark out and he could smell coffee brewing and breakfast cooking. His mother was frying bacon and making toast for Fred and his Dad. Once she served them she went on with the rest of her chores which included preparing lunches for them both. Fred was headed to work with his Dad. It was time to learn about logging so Fred could contribute to the family income.

This kind of lifestyle was a direct reflection on how Fred learned to hunt during the various seasons. Deer season was his favorite. He just loved the season, the smell of rotting foliage, the bite in the air and just being in the woods. But Fred also understood that hunting deer was serious business in his family. Meat was necessary for winter survival.

The Sumner family paid little attention to deer tags and bag limits, although they did make the trip in to the town office and bought licenses. Ever since Fred could remember, when you went deer hunting you shot all the deer you could. It was a matter of survival.

One day when Fred was following his father through the woods, he looked up in time to see his Dad pull up his rifle and shoot three times. When the smoke had cleared, his father had brought down three deer. They dressed the deer and buried them in the leaves and continued the hunt.

The Sumner family seldom had an empty freezer heading into the long winter months and Fred and his Dad did everything they could to make sure that didn’t happen. As Fred recalled his younger days, he also remembers taking the family .22 Remington single-shot rifle out to shoot coyote. He remembers vividly what his father told him one day about the coyotes: “They’re a worthless creature. Don’t even know why God put the damned things here to begin with. No good for nothin’ and we need to kill everyone we see!”

That was over 40 years ago and now Fred is a different man. He sees things in a different light than he did as a kid. No longer does he think of hunting as a means of survival, after all he has a good paying job that affords him to live in a nice home closer to the city where services are closer at hand.

As a matter of fact, Fred no longer owns any guns. He thinks they are a socially controversial item that he and his neighbors can get along fine without. He does hunt but only with a conventional long bow. The reason he hunts isn’t so much for the meat or definitely not the trophy. It’s for the feeling, the experience, the sense of becoming one with nature, to feel on an even plane with the other predators that free range through the wilderness.

Fred has become somewhat of an activist. He fights to preserve lands to wilderness. He signs petitions in order to save wolves, coyotes, mountain lions and bears - many of the same animals his Dad taught him to kill. Fred looks down on those who hunt for meat. He shows little understanding or respect for those who hunt with rifles and shotguns and gets visibly angry when he encounters those who use optics, calling devices, scents and lures. This is cheating in Fred’s eyes. What has happened to Fred?

Fred has progressed from a world of bitter reality into a modern world with twisted values and selfish pursuits. A world that voices pride in tolerance and acceptance yet shows little in actions. Fred has become as many Americans, narcissistic with little respect for others backgrounds, family values and heritages.

If Fred’s father were alive today he would have difficulty understanding what happened to his son. He could respect the fact that Fred put down his rifle in favor of a longbow. He would also gain understanding his desire to help protect every living creature and find ways of preserving the essential habitat these animals need to live in.

What his Dad could not understand is his son’s attitude that he has become better than the rest. That he would actively seek the protection of predators at the expense of man losing his ability to protect his property, goes against everything he was taught. This isn’t the son he raised. Where did he go wrong?

Fred turns down his paved driveway that leads in to his 5,000 square foot dream home that sits quietly on 2,000 posted acres. His headlight illuminate three deer crossing the drive and Fred smiles knowing that what he has is his and that he’ll do what is necessary to keep it, even if it means taking from others. This is the world we now live in.

Tom Remington

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Aubrey Olson came to Maine to participate in a moose hunt through Hunt of a Lifetime. Skinny Moose Media, LLC and U.S. Hunting Today are proud sponsors of the Hunt of a Lifetime organization. This moose hunting trip was hosted by Sebec Lake Lodge and our friends at Northwoods Adventures, Chris Cobbett and Nate Fenderson, along with all their staff. Chris Cobbett is a blogger for the Skinny Moose Media network as well as a contributing writer for U.S. Hunting Today. If you visit Chris’s blog, there you’ll find many of his videos of his hunting adventures across North America.

There is little that can compare to the thrill and excitement that participants in the Hunt of a Lifetime program experience. Aubrey Olson is just one of many kids who have been selected to participate. And one of the things that makes Hunt of a Lifetime so successful is the unselfish giving of individuals and businesses like Sebec Lake Lodge and Northwoods Adventures.

If you can, watch the videos below made by Northwoods Andventures TV and experience part of the giving, the excitement and a lifetime of memories that Aubrey and her Dad will share. The video is done in three segments. You can also find this video at Northwoods Adventures along with many of their other shows.

Thank you Nate and Chris and Sebec Lake Lodge for helping to make Aubrey’s life that much more fulfilled.

Tom Remington

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Found on Road Dead……evidently!

Tom Remington

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I may get ridiculed for some of what I am about to write but I have to at least ask the questions that I’m sure many of us have asked. First, let me say that I am extremely happy that 53-year old Steven Wright of Woodford, Vermont, who was lost in the Maine woods near Tumbledown Mountain during a recent hunting triop, was found safe and has since recovered.

Wright was hunting this area with two other buddies during a snowstorm. When Wright decided it was time to head back to the truck and meet up with his companions, a series of events caused him to spend three days and two nights in the woods.

The Bennington Banner has an article today recounting Wright’s adventures as was told by him. This is the first chance I have had to read accounts as told by the lost hunter himself. I had received all the press releases and updates being put out by the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife. Prior to reading this article, I only had a couple of questions. After reading this, I have a bunch more.

Wright is described as being “an experienced hunter and outdoorsman”. According to the article, it began snowing there around 4 a.m. and by the time the hunters left camp, there were six inches of snow on the ground. Wright saw deer tracks crossing the woods road he was on and followed them. He says that about 300 yards from the road, he spotted the deer.

By his own account, he saw the deer again about an hour later and says he should have had the deer but didn’t and doesn’t give any explanation as to why. Once again according to the article, Wright continued to follow the deer “for some time, winding his way through the woods.” At some point he decided to call it a day and head back. This is where it gets interesting.

Wright said he knew where he was supposed to go by his instincts but decided he would refer to his GPS device to find out how far it was back to his truck. He claims the device was telling him to go in another direction.

Confused, he decided to take out his compass and by some strange coincidence, it too wasn’t working. He said he couldn’t get it to read the same way twice.

“I could not get my compass to read the same spot twice. I’ve never had a problem with it,” he said. “You get a little nervous when your compass is not working. That’s all right, I’ve got my GPS,” Wright said.

Apparently his GPS was telling him the truck was about a mile away and he didn’t believe that to be the correct information. So, according to Wright, when it was time to head out, his instincts were telling him where to go and his instincts didn’t agree with his GPS and his compass isn’t working. As a footnote here, after Wright was found, Maine authorities took the GPS and was able to determine the path Wright took until he turned the GPS off in a gravel pit.

Wright opted to follow what the GPS was telling him which he claims was leading him straight up Tumbledown Mountain.

This is where I begin to have several questions. First let me say that in this article, much of the information being told to the reporter is quite detailed. When someone gets lost, often with a certain degree of panic setting in, thinking becomes unclear and also you memory of what you did is sometimes non existent. Wright is described as being experienced. Reports that came from the MDIFW say that the hunter left his survival pack back at camp. Of course that was a mistake.

I’m trying to put myself in that situation which may or may not be the right thing to do. If I’m hunting an area like this, which sounds like he has been to before but doesn’t know real thoroughly, my thought processes are much different than if I’m in an area I know real well.

So, here I am hunting in snow. I’ve decided to head back. I’m confused at my GPS and my compass doesn’t work. What are the odds of both a compass and a GPS failing? Why not backtrack? I’m hunting on snow. I’m leaving tracks. Was it snowing so hard that his tracks could not be determined anymore?

Let’s say his GPS was working properly, which according to MDIFW it was until Wright shut if off. If the direction it was telling him to go was straight up Tumbledown Mountain, then isn’t it correct to conclude that he would have to have gone all the way around the back side of the mountain from where he began? Assuming of course that his GPS plotted course back to the truck was a straight line. If that were the case, then wouldn’t an experienced hunter and outdoorsman, who we should assume knew how to use his GPS, reconfigure his track so as not to have to go up and over the top of Tumbledown Mountain?

During his journey up Tumbledown Mountain, somewhere he fell into water - twice. During his interview he tells the reporter that if his truck was where his GPS was telling him it was, “they would have had to put it up there with a helicopter”.

Now wet and frozen, Wright makes his was back down the mountain, supposedly still following the directions on his GPS. He comes to a woods road. Here’s an interesting part of the story that I didn’t pick up on initially. Here’s how it reads:

Wright then made his way back down into a valley until he came to a logging road. He walked for several hours, watching the sun disappear, passing a gravel pit and a camper. He chose not to go inside, though.

Before I get into the camper part of the story, here’s what came to me. When he decided to head back to the truck, in this accounting he doesn’t say what time that was. Of course this could be important in trying to determine how far he had gone while tracking this deer. How much time had elapsed from the time he headed up Tumbledown, fallen in twice and gotten wet and now come upon a logging road? I don’t know but look what it says. It says that Wright “walked for several hours watching the sun disappear”. This makes no sense at all to me.

If he is watching the sun disappear, then he certainly knows where west is. How long has the sun been out? When did it stop snowing? Is using a GPS turning an “experienced” hunter into one that doesn’t know general directions before setting off into the woods?

The sun is disappearing, which means it’s getting dark and it is obvious that Wright doesn’t know where he is or how to get out. He claims that at the point where he fell into the water a second time, the GPS was still telling him the truck was only 300 yards away.

He passed a gravel pit and a camper.

“I was gonna go in it, but the door wouldn’t open,” he said. “I said, ‘well, I’m not going to break into this camper. It was my stupidity. Why? I’m gonna be out of here by daylight anyway.”

Even though Wright seems to be recalling what he did, I have to question whether or not he was thinking clearly at all. He fell in the water and says his GPS is telling him the truck is 300 yards away. He has walked for “hours”. Is this the point where he turns off his GPS? Wardens say he turned it off in the gravel pit. Then Wright says his thought process was that he would be out by daylight. How did he know that? What is telling him that he will be out by daylight. You either know where you are or you don’t. He admits his stupidity in not breaking into the camper.

An experienced hunter and outdoorsman would have stopped before dark, built a fire and shelter and planned to spend the night there. Wright can’t be thinking at all clearly. The first rule of thumb when you realize you’re lost is stay put. He didn’t do that. At some point of the interview and it appears near the end of the article, Wright says he was never lost.

Wright maintains that he was not lost. “I just trusted an instrument that put me in a situation and it snowballed from there,” Wright said. “Other than that I would have been back to the truck and home. None of this would have happened. A chain of events just kept me from doing what I needed to do.”

Wright says he walked through the night. Why didn’t he find shelter or build a fire. Here’s what he says.

“You think of all kinds of things like, ‘let me cut some pine boughs and make myself a little shelter,’ but you know, that’s fine to tell somebody,” he said. “I didn’t have the time or the energy to jerk around and spend an hour doing something.”

He didn’t have the time or energy to build a shelter but he walked on through the night. Another indication that either Wright was not thinking clearly or he wasn’t the experienced hunter and outdoorsman many thought he was.

The next day, Wright suffers from snow blindness. I’m getting even more confused. Let’s recap briefly. According to reports from the MDIFW, Wright reached the gravel pit around midnight. He claims he walked on through the night. How far did he go? The sun came out and at some point he became sun blind. He says he tried to continue on for about a half hour but couldn’t see.

“It wasn’t my glasses. I was finally going blind,” he said. “It was like half my eyes were looking through an iceberg. I walked for another half an hour and then everything got screwy on me. The roads were going in every direction. At this time I’m getting down to the point where I can’t even see my hand.”

He tried to turn back and get to the camper but couldn’t see. He said he walked back and forth on the logging road to keep moving for most of the day.

If Wright walked all night and if in fact he had been at the gravel pit at midnight, how far did he travel and in what direction was he walking? He is still on this one road. If the sun rose at around 5 a.m. then from the point of the gravel pit to the crack of dawn was approximately 5 hours. How long after the sun came up did he come down with sun blindness?

“Everything got screwy on him”, he said. Then the article says that Wright turned back trying to get to the camper. Are you kidding me? How many hours away is this? Isn’t he lost? Wright says he was never lost. Was he lost or wasn’t he lost?

While suffering from sun blindness, he hears a plane overhead.

“I could hear a plane go by my. I kind of put my arms out. I thought I heard it kill the engine a little bit but it just kept on going,” Wright said.

I think that if I had just spent the night in the woods and I had two hunting buddies expecting me to return that afternoon, I would assume, lost or not, that people were looking for me. But suppose I didn’t think that. I’m blind. I don’t know how long this will last. Do you think I’m going to “kind of put my arms out”.

From that point on, details in the article are sketchy. It says Wright spent the night in a ditch curled up in a ball. He had a difficult time getting out of the ditch in the morning but once he did, he said he was going to try to find his way back to the camper.

Wright says he was in a lot of pain and couldn’t walk very fast or far but he did manage to crawl down over an embankment to get a drink of water. This is when the snowmobile, driven by Donald Eisenhaur of Madrid, went by. Eisenhaur didn’t see Wright down in the brook.

Fortunately, a short time later Eisenhaur returned and brought Wright safely out.

This entire story is nuts. When incidents like this happen, we take them and try to learn from them. We can use real life accounts to educate others on what to do and not do when we’re lost in the woods. I, like everyone else, try to second guess and make some sense out of what happened.

I certainly hope that Mr. Eisenhaur has learned an awful lot from this episode but I have my doubts that he has learned perhaps the most valuable lesson of all. And for that proof, I’ll leave you with what he said once again.

Wright maintains that he was not lost. “I just trusted an instrument that put me in a situation and it snowballed from there,” Wright said. “Other than that I would have been back to the truck and home. None of this would have happened. A chain of events just kept me from doing what I needed to do.”

Evidently none of this was his fault.

I’m glad he’s home safe and sound with his wife and kids.

Tom Remington

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“Born on a mountain top in Tennessee.
Killed him a “bar” when he was only three.
Davy, Davy Crockett.
King of the Wild Frontier”

We all learned the song as a kid growing up (well, those of us with a little age behind us) and about the legend of Davy Crockett. Now, 5-year old Tre Merritt, whose grandfather claims is a ten-times removed great grandson of Davy Crockett, has perhaps written his own legend by bagging a 445-pound black bear, shot and killed in Arkansas.

According to Fox Sports, this isn’t the first time young Tre has taken big game.

According to the report, Tre’s father said his son began shooting when he was 2 1/2 and killed three deer last year. What else would you expect from a decendant of the “King of the Wild Frontier?”

You can watch video of Tre and his grandfather from KATV at this site.

Tom Remington

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As most of you know, Evel Knievel passed away last week and millions of people worldwide are mourning his passing. I was never a huge fan of his but I did sit in awe many times as I watched him perform his over-the-top stunts and wondered to myself what a man was made of that would overcome the fear and cheat death on a regular basis.

I never knew much about the man prior to becoming a stunt man but today I learned something about Mr. Knievel that I thought I would share with readers. This is my way of honoring the passing of Evel Knievel.

*Big Hat Tip to David Robert Crews*

The Joie Chitwood experience may have planted the seed that helped Knievel decide he wanted to be a stuntman, but something happened in 1961 that was equally if not more important in forming the persona that would become “Evel.”

During this period in his life when the young man was trying on many different hats in an attempt to find his calling, Knievel started a hunting outfitting service called Sur-Kill. As a man who always insisted on walking the walk he talked, Knievel found himself right in the middle of a conservation debate between Montana’s hunting guides and outfitters and the National Park Service. There had been a long-standing practice of park rangers slaughtering the excess elk numbers in Yellowstone National Park, giving the meat away to regional Indian tribes, homeless shelters and food banks. In 1961, the Yellowstone herd numbered over 10,000, calling for a drastic reduction of some 5,000 animals.

The guides and outfitters were demanding that the excess elk be transplanted to areas in Montana, Idaho and Wyoming, rather than senselessly slaughtered in unsportsmanlike fashion and given away.
Knievel made himself his new profession’s spokesman and hitchhiked from Butte to Washington D.C. – along with a six-point trophy elk antler rack – to protest the cause to the Kennedy administration’s top officials. He was amazed when he found himself on the front page of the Washington Post, his name all over the media and eventually, himself, face to face with JFK’s Administrative Assistant, Mike Manatos and then Secretary of the Interior Stuart Udall. The Department of Interior called off the elk slaughter in Yellowstone and started to transplant the animals to national forest locations in the area shortly after Knievel’s trip to the Capitol. A massive elk rack and an even greater amount of self-confidence and guts got Knievel into America’s executive offices and his cause the attention it demanded.

Tom Remington

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It may not be exactly what the title describes, but it is quite and incredible story anyway - one that deserves a read.

And when you’re done with that story, check out the one of the guy who found two “locked” bucks that drowned in a lake. Combined dressed weight of the deer, 400 pounds.

Tom Remington

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Pete Bodo has a story today in the New York Times about a traditional bowyer and deer hunter, Thomas Aquinas Daly, who prefers to hunt with a hand-made long bow and arrows. Interesting story and one I like because he doesn’t dump all over hunters who prefer other methods of hunting the whitetail tail.

Check it out here.

Tom Remington

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Take a look at this.

Now go over to Whitetail365 and find out what the real, well maybe, story is behind this.

Tom Remington

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Hunting Camp – Wednesday and Thursday, October 31st and November 1st, 2007

I sure wish I had something more exciting to report but unfortunately the hunting remains quite poor but not for the reasons some might reason. There are deer around and some reports are that they are quite plentiful. One problem we face is there doesn’t seem to be deer anywhere around our hunting camp.

People are seeing deer in the fields and apple orchards most everywhere. Those two physical characteristics really cannot be found in our surrounding hunting area. We may have to consider traveling away from the camp in order to find deer – perhaps tomorrow.

The weather remains warmer than normal. Yesterday was sunny with highs approaching 60. Same today except more clouds. Forecast had called for showers and maybe a thunderstorm this afternoon but right now it appears as though a weak front has gone by and it is clearing. Tomorrow sounds a bit windy with temperatures still remaining slightly above average.

I believe I wrote in a previous report that this reminds me of hunting back in the 80s when there were no deer around but we still are all enjoying having the time away.

Yesterday, right after lunch, we returned to the bridge construction project and finished that up. I’m happy to report that the bridge is complete and is easily passable with ATVs and most pick-up trucks.

It’s about 4:45 now so I think I’ll head out and find a place to sit until the end of hunting and hope for the best.

The above photo is Bruno, the camp dog. He actually belongs to young Walter. Bruno is a mix Walker and pit bull. Sound a bit odd by what a good natured and enjoyable hound. His biggest downfall is his incessant need to keep barking. As the photo shows, he quite mild mannered and had no problem playing a little dress up. For those wondering, no we didn’t take him out in the woods with us but when we were sighting in rifles, he didn’t seem to mind having the ear protectors on.

Tom Remington

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Tuesday, October 30, 2007

There’s nothing real exciting that has happened yet at camp. We went out this morning and covered a fair amount of territory more or less on a scouting mission trying to determine what the deer are doing.

From my own travels and talking with fellow hunting partners, there are really no indications in this area of Maine that shows the deer have even begun the pre-rut, if that’s what you prefer to call it.

I purposely covered the area where last year I set up my blind. On the West Side of a large beaver bog, last season there were several pawings, scrapes and rubs. Today, there was nothing. It was quite unusual to say the least that there aren’t at least a few semi-active scrapes.

The weather is warming up a little bit each day and is forecast to be in the low 60s tomorrow and a chance of showers on Thursday. I would prefer some cooler weather with little or no wind. Yesterday and today we have had to deal with wind.

This afternoon we did some more exploring and once again proved that we don’t know where the deer are. There is virtually no mast crop. I keep hearing that the deer are after the apples and any greens available in the fields, all of which we don’t have much of around our hunting haunts. I have yet to figure out where the deer are and what they are feeding on.

Late this afternoon we decided to take about an hour and work to improve a washed out bridge at the bottom of the hill. The bridge was negotiable with the smaller 4-wheeler ATVs but the Mule, which is being used to transport the two senior members of our party, had trouble getting over some of the bigger rocks.

During the process of hauling and placing rocks, one of our party got his middle finger on his shooting hand smashed between two rocks. After close assessment, it was decided that our own first aid was enough to handle the accident. (As I post this story, the next day Gregg visited the emergency room at the hospital and he had in fact broken his finger.)

I covered a lot of ground today and managed to see only one wild turkey. I was surprised that I didn’t see more grouse. The day was basically quiet and I can already hear some grumbling from some of the crew.

Perhaps after tonight’s supper of beans and venison, it will help to spur on more effort tomorrow to get out and find where these deer are. With warmer than normal temperatures forecast over the next couple of day, it won’t help to get the deer moving.

We’ll keep pounding the woods and trails until we find where these critters are. More tomorrow.

Tom Remington

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Sunday – Monday

October 28 and 29 – Maine Hunting Camp

I think I was the last to arrive at hunting camp yesterday even though I envisioned being the first. It was my full intention to be here earlier but you know plans can change. I decided to go with my mother to church on Sunday. She has decided to join a new church and I could tell by the look in hers eyes that she would like me to go.

Sunday was a sunny day but windy and when I arrived everyone was busy sighting in new guns and checking out the old standbys. I got my gear stowed and dusted off my .308 to see how it was going to shoot. After a few adjustments, I felt confident that I could at least scare some game away.

Supper at camp was good. Don brought a huge pot full of a New England boiled dinner. After eating, we tuned in the battery-powered radio so we could listen to the World Series game – Congratulations to the Boston Red Sox.

To bed by around midnight and up at 5 a.m. certainly made for a short night. After a feast of bacon, eggs, toast, juice, coffee, etc., the search began one more time to gather all that stowed gear and get ready for a day in the Maine woods.

When I awoke at about 5 a.m., a quick check of the thermometer hanging in the tree behind camp revealed a chilly 22 degrees. It warmed to around 34 by midday.

I believe this to be my 33rd year coming to this camp and I discovered yet another first. With a cold wind blowing at the left side of my face as I still-hunted through an area where I found success last year, I heard a loon crying on the pond that sits perhaps a half to three quarters of a mile from the hunting camp. This is the first time I have ever heard loons on this water. As I was returning to camp late this afternoon, I heard yet again a loon crying out.

All hunters in camp spent the day in the woods. Some are still out as I write. Some have seen flashes and glimpses of deer but no opportunities. I saw at least a half-dozen ruffed grouse and one mink but no deer.

I will finish this later while I wait to hear reports as hunters return.

Well, almost everyone is back in camp and so far, no luck. But this will not daunt any of us from getting up early tomorrow morning and hitting the woods again.

The snacks are breaking out and discussions on each hunter’s excursions continue.

As I follow stories and hopefully excitement builds, I try to get stories out to you.

Tom Remington

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Another of my stories I dusted out from the archives. This one is also available as an audio podcast or just click the player button and stream the audio now.

Fiction by Tom Remington

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I heard the door to the bathroom across the hall quietly close and could see a light shining through the space at the bottom of the door. I grappled with reality trying to decide whether I was dreaming or awake. I looked at the red glowing numbers on my alarm clock and reality came crashing down. It was 4:07am.

Dad was up, this being his usual time anyway. He was raised on a family farm and ever since he was a young boy, his father made him get up by 4:30 and help with the chores before the long walk to school.

I was sure glad I didn’t live back in the “good ole days” as they were called. I have also heard of those good ole days being called “those trying times”. But today was different – or so I was trying to convince myself.

My Dad and I were both avid hunters. Today was Thanksgiving Day, which meant it was very close to the end of the season and neither of us had had much luck. Dad had passed on a small buck the previous Saturday and I had only caught glimpses of a few does and an occasional white tail waving good-bye.

I rubbed the sand out of my eyes and with a loud groan, I turned and sat on the side of the bed. My little brother was fast asleep. When my feet hit the floor, it seemed much too cold so I slipped on a pair of L.L. Bean acorn slippers and headed downstairs.

Thankfully there was a bathroom off the kitchen that I could use as Dad was still tying up the upstairs one. I stumbled down the stairs and turned right at the bottom headed for the kitchen. On the way to the refrigerator, I passed the back door. Something possessed my to turn the outside light on. It was snowing hard with about 4 inches on the ground.

I love hunting on snow and now my pulse quickened and my eyes broadened widely. I raced back up the stairs and knocked excitedly on the bathroom door. “Dad. It’s snowing like crazy out! Did you see?” I said trying hard to keep the noise down but it was hard with all the building excitement.

All I could hear on the other side of the door was a moan, so down the stairs I went to get something to eat and gather my gear.

We decided over some bacon and eggs that the swamp would be the place to go. There would be a lot of hunters out today and the big bucks would be headed for the swamp. Not many hunters will venture into this swamp. It is massive with mostly cedar trees growing close together and nearly all of them the same size. It is easy to get lost in there.

We gathered our gear, loaded up the truck and away we went. I was pumped. I knew this was going to be an eventful day.

We parked on the old logging road as far in as you could drive and crammed everything we could into our backpacks. It was still very dark so we donned our headlamps and with guns unloaded, we headed into the swamp.

Dad knew the way. He had made this trek hundreds of times before it seemed, so I just followed him. The woods were quiet and the heavy blanket of snow muffled any sound. The snow depth was increasing rapidly as the white stuff came down at a nearly blinding pace.

We reached the spot where Dad always set up camp. First order of business was to ready the campsite for the day. We gathered some dry firewood and stacked it near the opening where we sometimes had a fire. Dad checked his watch. Even though it was still very dark, it was legal hunting time. The thick layer of storm clouds was prohibiting any morning light from shining through.

Dad always assumed I could read his mind. He would never offer much information and would depend on me knowing what his plan was. “Do you want to sit first or hunt?” he asked.

“I’ll sit first,” I answered.

I took up a stand near where a small brook slowly meanders through the swamp. The brook had not yet frozen over because of a mild November so far. I like the spot where I waited and Dad knew where I’d be because I always went there.

From my stand I could see only about 30 yards through the dense growth but that was a long distance in that swamp. I got under a relatively small cedar tree and sat down on my hot seat.

Dad would make a circle first staying about 100-200 yards out from my stand. When he returned it was my turn while he sat. We each did this one time and then retreated to the campsite for some lunch.

By the time we had returned to camp, the snow was easing and the sky was getting lighter. We knew the storm was coming to an end. There was about 8 inches total on the ground. It was dry and fluffy.

We built a fire and roasted some hot dogs while we discussed our plans for after lunch. Dad ate his lunch and said very little. I hounded him with one question after another. I knew I was driving him crazy but I didn’t care. I was still too excited.

Once lunch was over, Dad laid out a plan. I was going back to my favorite sitting spot and he was going to his. He explained to me that with the weather breaking, the deer would begin to move. With several hunters beating the perimeter of the swamp, any deer left outside would be coming in and those already in the swamp wouldn’t be going too far.

We split up and I returned to my spot. I knew I would be here until the end of legal hunting so I made sure I was comfortable. The waiting began.

A breeze began to pick up out of the northwest – typical in Maine right after a snowstorm. Large clumps of snow began falling out of the trees making for patches of whiteouts and bouncing limbs. It would be difficult to pick up movements of deer in this weather but still I waited patiently.

Over the next couple of hours, the snow had been blown out of the trees and you could hear the roar of the winds howling up on the side of Baker Mountain. The temperatures were dropping as well. I was beginning to lose my patience.

I was getting cold and anxious for the sun to set so I could get out of the woods and get warmed up and some hot turkey. Mom always planned Thanksgiving Day dinner for the evening, as she knew we would be in the woods all day. Right now my mind was on turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, squash and all them delicious home made pies.

I watched the opening through the cedar trees struggling to concentrate. I wondered what Dad was doing.

I heard a crow – caw, caw, caw as he flew by overhead and out in front of me. I remember Dad telling me once that every forest noise tells you something if you pay attention. Soon a red squirrel began to chatter angrily at something or someone. I guessed that my Dad was coming and he had run out of patience too.

Luck was in my favor today. I wasn’t doing many things right on my stand but I was rewarded anyway. From out of nowhere, directly in front of me stood a buck. I had heard nothing and seen nothing, yet there he was. Racing through my mind, I could still hear the crow and the squirrel and I hadn’t paid much attention.

Putting into practice the countless times Dad had told me how to move slowly, I began to raise my British .303. I knew all the while I was preparing to aim, the buck would bolt in a flash and leave me sitting there dumb founded.

But he didn’t seem in too much of a hurry. He raised his head high and stretched his neck long, sniffing the air. Did he smell me? Maybe Dad was coming. Did he smell a doe and was ready to give chase?

As soon as the deer entered my peep sight and it was on his front shoulder, I squeezed the trigger. I couldn’t hear anything but the ringing in my ears and the deer was gone. I even began to question whether or not I had actually seen a deer.

I looked at my gun and then put the safety back on. I took out the clip and added one bullet to replace the one I just spent. Then, I walked over to where I thought the deer had stood. Right in front of me was a big patch of hair but no blood. Disappointment began to fill me up. I couldn’t believe there was no blood. It should be so easy to find in this snow.

I looked in the direction the deer ran and saw nothing. I debated whether to wait for Dad to show up but decided this was my deer and my effort. I’ll let him have his hunt.

I circled around the thicket that the buck plowed his way through and when I got to the other side, I not only found his tracks but I found a trail of blood. I was renewed with excitement and began to shake.

I only had to go about another 20 yards before I found my prize lying in a heap among the cedar trees. I had only noticed when I shot, that the deer had horns. I hadn’t realized just how big this deer was. As I approached, I could easily count 5 large tines on the half pointing up. The other side was a perfect match – a ten pointer!

Dad arrived within minutes and it was sure nice to see a big grin on his face as he admired the big buck. I think he was excited too and wanted to know all the details. Once we got the deer out of the woods and into the tagging station, he weighed up at 236 pounds.

Now I could go home and get some hot turkey!

Tom Remington

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