Mentoring Women Trappers Begins with Bear Trapping

I am new to trapping. I’ve only been trapping since the last bear referendum, and when I got my trapping license, it was solely for bear trapping. During the bear referendum is also when I met my friend, Erin.

What I didn’t realize was how challenging and exciting all trapping is, and bear trapping got me hooked. Every year, I learn a little more about where to trap, what types of lures to use, which different types of traps to use, how to trap in water v. land, etc. There are so many different aspects and challenges to trapping, that there’s really never a dull moment. 

My husband, John, and I run a little trapline behind our house. When I can, I invite my friend Erin along for the trapline check so that she can see what we do. As I’ve become better at trapping in general, so has my bear trapping. We’ve adapted our trapping as we’ve learned from our mistakes, and that goes for bear trapping too.

This year, Erin got a moose permit, and she expressed wanting to complete the grand slam. I completed the grand slam in 2016, so I know how hard it is to make it happen. To help her out, I offered to help her get a bear by trapping if she didn’t go on a guided dog hunt, which is how she usually gets her bear. Even though Erin has had a trapping license for a few years, she had never trapped a bear, and this year, she was all for trying and taking me up on the offer.

To get started, John and I lent Erin one of our pipe traps, and I helped her set it, set up a bait site and then bait the trap.  In addition to the trap, we set cellular cameras up to monitor not only the bait site, but also the trap specifically. Two cameras on every site has become our go to method just in case one dies when you need it the most. 

Sitting in the treetops. I put up a second hang on stand beside Erin’s tree stand. The winds had me holding on for dear life! The whole tree would sway in every direction.

Once bear were coming in, they were all pretty much nocturnal except for one. The first night the cable was set, a bear got caught, but as quick as it was caught, it literally stepped out of the loop. Turns out the compression spring needed to be tightened.  Since we have to check traps each day, we decided to sit over the bait just in case that same bear came in during daylight hours. We went in early and reset the trap and fixed the compression spring with a wire rope clamp. We sat until almost the end of legal shooting and decided nothing would come in because of the crazy winds. The wind was swirling so much, there was no hope of seeing anything.

We drove home not really thinking we’d be so lucky to have a bear that night. We were wrong. No sooner had we gotten home and settled in, my phone started sending “you’ve got bear” notifications. As I went to send a text to Erin, I got a text from her, “Is that a #$@! Bear?!” “Trapped?” “Yup!” I said, “and you need to meet us and we’ll help you get it.” 

The three of us loaded into the truck and drove to the site, discussing how the harvest would happen. Once we got to the bait site, Erin loaded her gun before we headed in. We walked in without a word. I went up the tree stand first and helped Erin get settled. We used our flashlights to spot the bear while John stayed on the ground. John ended up having to shine his flashlight too, since the foliage and shadows were blocking Erin from getting a good shot. As I held my flashlight and the branches out of the way,  I told her to shoot when she had a good shot. There’s no hurry. Take your time. Erin made a clean one-shot kill. She had her bear! Erin gave me a big hug and thanked me for helping her. It was rewarding to see her so excited and seeing her adrenaline kick in. 

We gave Erin the whole experience down to the field dressing, loading and transporting of her bear.

Next up, I plan to help her in setting the fisher exclusionary trap that I made for her last Christmas.

With the explosion of women hunters interested in bear trapping, there is a great opportunity to get more women into trapping in general. I hope that if you are a bear trapper, you’ll consider helping a fellow hunter trap a bear, and invite them along for a day on your trapline. The addiction is real and once they see the challenge, they too will be hooked.

How to Find Fiddleheads for Next Year’s Harvest

Now is the time to start searching!

Every year, at the beginning of the fiddlehead season, I see countless people asking, “Is this a fiddlehead?” It seems like a no brainer finding them, but I forget that when I was growing up, my mother would have done anything to know how to find fiddleheads and not have to buy them. Since fiddlehead spots are heavily guarded as sacred, it’s just much easier to find your own spot than to even think of asking someone or possibly contributing to over-harvesting on a popular spot.

Well, I’m here to tell you that you can find fiddleheads even now for next year, and perhaps even easier than when the season starts and definitely with less competition.

Best of all, finding fiddleheads out of season means you’ll be well prepared for next year. Chances are, you will find fiddleheads where you least expect to find them, and they’ll be bigger and less picked-over than the popular picked spots on the river.

Yes, fiddleheads do grow on the river banks, but that’s not the only places they grow. In fact, the biggest fiddleheads I’ve ever found weren’t found on the river, but in the woods, along a road, far away from the river. John and I spend a great deal of time driving logging roads all over Maine. This is the time of year when you can easily spot the ostrich a.k.a. fiddlehead fern.

There are two things you look for when scouting for fiddleheads; fern fronds (the leaves), and spores. Fiddleheads are the beginnings of the ostrich fern, which are easy to spot now that they are in full display. Another distinguishing attribute is the grooved stem of the fern. There are only 12 ferns in Maine, and most of them don’t look anything like the ostrich fern, so once you learn the twelve, it makes it far easier to finding fiddleheads, but really, just learn what the ostrich fern looks like and you won’t have a problem finding fiddleheads.

Fiddlehead ferns have very distinct foliage with very sharp points and slender leaves. Once the fiddlehead season is over, the ferns unravel and fill the roadsides along with other ferns that are often mistaken as fiddleheads. They are taller than most ferns. They look rather majestic and stand upright like ostrich feathers. If the ferns are large and are around three feet tall, then you most likely have found a mature batch with nice sized fiddleheads to found next spring.

So look carefully and look for sharp edged ferns. I’ve included photos so that you can really see the difference.  The first picture is fiddlehead fern. The others are not fiddlehead ferns, and when you compare them side by side, it’s easier to tell them apart. Fiddleheads will often grow amongst other ferns. In the picture with John picking fiddleheads, there are other ferns already up and open…and they’re not fiddleheads. Look at the photo of the fiddleheads up close; you will see the leaf structure of the fiddlehead fern before it opens up.

Fiddlehead ferns are bright green like a fiddlehead, not lemon green, or blue green…and not glossy like a Christmas fern.
Fiddleheads emerge from a cluster of root ball. You can usually find the dried spore pods as an indicator of where to look for fiddleheads.
John picking fiddleheads. See the other ferns that are not fiddleheads. They are paler green and have rounded leaves. Also note the seed pods from last year’s fiddlehead crop. New fiddleheads are emerging from the base of each bunch of dried fronds.

So the next time you get the chance to ride some roads, bring along your Gazeteer and mark locations that you can return to next spring. You won’t find those beautiful ferns, but you will most likely spot the dried spore pods that are left behind. So if you find yourself still not finding fiddleheads by the ferns, then try concentrating on the spore pods. Ostrich fern spore pods are very distinct, and you’ll know for sure you’ve found your spot. Not only are they neat to discover, but they make great decorations in a simple vase.

Ostrich fern spore pods look like a brown ostrich feather.
Remember that the fiddlehead has to have a grooved stem.

The other important thing to remember is timing. Since most of our fiddleheads are found north of where we live, we find that our mountain fiddleheads can be as much if not more than two weeks later before they’re ready to harvest, so don’t get discouraged if they’re not readily found the first time you check. Patience and persistence will get you the prize!

One other thing to consider if you are foraging on paper company land is to look for herbicide use nearby. Large clear-cuts will get sprayed yearly, so I like to make sure there aren’t any signs of herbicide use before I pick.

Happy Foraging!

Seriously, Leave No Trace

I truly love going into the wilderness. There are few, if any, places left in Maine where someone can say that no one has been, so it’s nice to feel that when you do get a chance to go somewhere new, and wild to you, that it feels as wild and untouched to you, as it did to the person who got to experience it beforehand.

That’s why I get kind of sad, and then really mad, when I see things that shouldn’t be there, like the 40 year old beer cans in our pristine pond where native brook trout reside and that we fish for. Even after all that time, those aluminum beer cans still stand out from the bottom of the pond as a glaring inconsideration for the water, fish, environment, and all the fisherman who’ve had to see it. Back in those days, fisherman would drink their beer, and throw their cans in the water as casual behavior. In this day in age, when adults, for certain know better, I continue to see popular shiny-blue beer cans on the roadside…undoubtably those riding the roads trying to rid the evidence of drinking and driving. Yeah, we’ve seen a few drunk drivers in our time, but up in the wild, law enforcement are seen few and far between. So goes the saying to do as you would as if someone is watching you.

When we first started making the wilderness a regular destination, we hardly ever met a vehicle on our trips, but over the past twenty years, as more urbanites flock to the woods in escape of Covid and the stresses of the world, they also are bringing along some bad behavior.

Now on top of the Appalachian Trail hikers, we have the entire Bigelow Range being hiked and then Maine Huts and Trails also began courting tourists with concierege service while hiking, biking and eating gourmet meals and wine. With this onslaught of urbanites, our “untouched” wilderness is beginning to feel just a bit crowded, which is okay as long as they behave.

We see a lot of hikers because our beloved pond is also part of the Appalachian Trail. One of the biggest messaging campaigns I’ve ever seen regarding protecting our special wild places is “Leave No Trace.”

The Appalachian Trail has posted signs designating approved campsites and asking people to leave the site as if no one has ever been there.

How hard can that be?! After all, it’s basically pack out what you pack in, bury your waste and toilet paper, but most important, leave things undisturbed.

People seem to forget this last one. I am forever seeing stacked rocks in the oddest places. I understand that stacking rocks was originally used as directional guides to mark a trail for hikers, but most of the time, it’s simply someone thinking it’s something cool to leave behind. Some critics have even called this grafitti…and I think they are right.

Stacking rocks, called cairns, is a no-no in my book. And it’s a no-no in a lot of places, and it’s actually illegal in all national parks such as Acadia and Zion National Park.

When we made our first trip out onto the pond this spring, I was more than annoyed when I saw a teepee structure made from driftwood right on the Appalachian Trail, and not far from the actual lean-to that is the designated camping spot. It wasn’t like the person building it needed a place to sleep. And one of the the leave not trace rules are to not expand the campsite.

Even nature knows how to leave no trace.

Last year, we came upon a flock of turkey vultures feasting on a carcass. The carcass turned out to be a young bull moose that had been hit by a car. It had a broken leg and its foot had become tangled in a tree root. The thought of what this moose had to endure in its last minutes of life was sad, and all because someone couldn’t slow down. We had seen the collision signs on the road and the moose hadn’t traveled far before succumbing to its injuries.

The first week we watched as the birds ate the eyes, nose and gut of the moose.

The second week, coyotes and who knows what other predators had a feast leaving just the skull, rib cage, shoulder blades and leg bones with flesh still intact. The stink was incredible and any thoughts of retrieving a scapula for future moose hunts quickly vanished with retching and watery eyes.

The third week there only remained a stain and discoloration on the ground where the moose had been. There were a few scattered bones with no flesh left, and for the most part, the moose and the stink were gone.

A year later and the moose is a mere memory and a couple photos. We were only able to find the few remnants of some vertebrae on the edge of the woods.

If you love the wilderness as much as we love it, I hope you’ll take the time to leave no trace…or at least please don’t litter, stack rocks, or make shelters out of driftwood unless you absolutely need to in order to survive.

I’d like to say, treat it as your own, but let’s face it. It’s not yours, so don’t ruin it for everyone else. Get outdoors and enjoy it, and remember what you love about it, and leave it that way for the next person. With so little wilderness left, let’s all make an effort to keep it at least feeling like wilderness even if there are way more people around than you like.

Happy Summer!

How to Spot Signs of Spring Bear

Most of the time, bear sign is all around, but you’ll miss it if you don’t know what to look for.

We always hear that we need to remove food for bear when it starts to warm up and they start raiding bird feeders. Many people don’t even know what bear like to eat. Bear are omnivores with means they survive by eating plants and animals. Bear don’t eat just honey and they will kill other animals if they want to eat it.

Bear are one of the biggest predators to deer fawn and moose calves born each spring. Bear compete with other predators such as coyote and bobcat, which also kill deer and moose calves. Source

When bear come out of their dens, most often, there isn’t even green grass, let alone abundant berries, nuts, or other goodies to eat, which is what drives them to take advantage of what’s available. That means if they live in your woods, they’ll raid bird feeders, bee hives, chicken coops, grain barrels, and garbage bins, if given the opportunity.

Bear also take advantage of roadkill, called carrion, which is why motorists may get a chance to see bear roadside in the spring. Just think of how much road kill you can see in one trip down the turnpike: deer, ground hog, raccoon, beaver, porcupine, turkey, and fox, just for starters. Bear love beaver, which has been referred to as “bear caviar” or “bear coke”, but I’ve never heard of bear specifically hunting beaver as a source of food. Beaver have some pretty nasty teeth, so most likely, it would be road kill. We actually have used beaver as a scent attractant when we initially set bait for bear hunting. It works.

A bear’s incredible sense of smell will bring them into neighborhoods and populated areas not usually frequented once natural food is available. Since I am fortunate enough to not get bear in my backyard, I have to go looking elsewhere.

photo credit: https://vtfishandwildlife.com/learn-more/living-with-wildlife/living-with-black-bears/bear-resistant-trash-containers

In our travels, primarily on paper company owned land, I’m always looking for signs of bear activity. In all the time we’ve spent in the woods and driving roads, we’ve only seen a bear three times, all at dusk, and only glimpses, because once they see you coming, they usually are gone in a flash of black.

I truly love to see the signs of bear in our travels. You don’t need a game camera to find where bear are hanging out. When traveling roads, you can also spot signs. We often get out and inspect what we find. I love to take pictures and talk with the kids about what the bear might have been eating or doing when it was there. This is also a great way to break up a long ride. Most of the time, bear sign is all around, but you’ll miss it if you don’t know what to look for. So here’s a run down of what to look for:

1. Bear scat, in the road…Yes, bear poop in the road, not necessarily always in the middle. Poop in early spring is usually very black and consists of grass that has just sprouted. This is also a way for boars to mark their territory. Since spring is the beginning of mating season for bear, this is just another calling card.

A few years ago, we were trying to get a picture of this huge pile of poop…and got caught by another motorist…not everyone understands the desire to take pictures of scat. His hand out is for reference. He wasn’t reaching for it…I promise!

2. Rocks that have been rolled out of their spots. You can usually spot when a rock has been overturned. I have scoured my files, and despite knowing I’ve taken pictures of rocks, I can’t find one. But trust me…just picture good sized rocks overturned and ants crawling about. To make up for it, here’s more poop pictures.

3. Logs and other debris in the woods and in older wood yards. These are our biggest finds, and we often find bear claw marks on the wood. Bear rely on insects as an important part of their diet throughout the year, but spring is when ants provide them the food they need.

Newly shredded log in search of bugs
Ants are a great source of protein for bear in the spring.
See how the big stump has been rolled out of the way.
Looking for ants and grubs

4. We’ll find bear tracks in the dirt if we’re really lucky. Nothing to me is more fun than spotting tracks. Which one is it? Front foot? Back foot? The size of the track compared to your hand is a great photo opportunity. ‘

Husband’s hand compared to a bear track
Twelve year-old son’s hand compared to a bear track

And finally…claw marks on trees. Some of the trees were visited long ago and the tree has started to grow, while others are freshly carved. Any way I look at these, they’re all wicked cool.

Those are some deep claw marks…glad it’s a tree and not me!
Old claw marks in a beech tree. The tree was literally covered in claw marks.

I hope this will give you a chance to find your own bear sign. Get out of that truck and take a look the next time you’re on a dirt road. While chances are you won’t actually see a bear, finding sign is almost as good. You’ll be surprised by how much you’ve been missing. Don’t forget your camera or cell-phone…you just may find your own pile of poop to photograph.

All the Noise, Noise, Noise!

Anyone who hunts knows how much noise can make or break a hunt. When I first started hunting, it didn’t take long to figure out that noise could be my best friend or my worst enemy.

There’s noise in the world. You may not even realize just how much noise we are exposed to each day until you find yourself out in the woods at daybreak. The silence can feel as deafening as noisy traffic. To be able to hear every little noise, such as the snap of a twig or the grunt of a buck, creates a memorable moment that makes the whole effort of trying to be quiet that much more satisfying. Being quiet allows you to see a world you otherwise would not see.

I’ve always craved the perfect morning deer hunt scenario where the sky is star-filled, there’s barely a wind, and the temperature hovers at 30 or lower degrees. These types of mornings require every step in to my stand be slow, careful and deliberate so that I can get there undetected. A simple break of a twig can feel like the sound of a tree falling. I’ve been busted more than once because of noise. I like to hunt every day I can, but weather never fully cooperates so I’m left to contend with wind and rustling leaves, and a few squirrels and mice, turkeys, birds, and rain. My biggest irriation is noisy traffic, which if I let it, would ruin my hunt.

This year, I tried to two different techniques to embrace the noise. There is nothing worse than trying to get to a tree stand and having to deal with the sound of crunching leaves with every step shrilling through my brain. This year, we took a hack from another family member, and using our leaf blower, cleared a lovely leaf-free quiet path to the tree stand. Okay, so I didn’t embrace noise; I conquered it! It worked too! The warmer weather and rain kept my trail clear and quiet for most of the season–until it snowed. This method worked so well, I did it for three of my other stands that are notoriously filled with noisy leaves. By the time snow fell, the leaves had blown themselves back into my trail and I was getting hunting fatigue.

My second technique was to use noise to my advantage. I would drive to my spot and park, then I’d wait for a passing car to get close, then open the door to my car and get out. I would shut it using the sound of the passing car to muffle my noise. I’d sneak across the pavement and once on the trail to my stand, I’d use another passing car to my advantage and walk as quietly and quickly as I could. I would continue to use passing cars to make my way to my stand. Once at my stand, I sometimes had to wait to make my way up the ladder. I would start to climb, but then would have to wait for what seemed like forever because I knew that the fourth step up the ladder would creek making what felt like a gong and “I’m here!” warning. I needed the traffic to block that sound, or at least dampen it. Once I got above that step, I’d climb the ladder waiting for another car to pass until I could sit down. Once I started using the traffic noise to my advantage, I tended to get far less annoyed and Grinchy having to deal with to it. For now, I’ll embrace the noise as best I can, but when the wind blows and gusts, that old saying, “Hunt the wind.” will begin to creep into my brain.

So, these noise techniques didn’t guarantee me a deer this year, but it did allow me to experience hunts as I never had. I got to hear grunts from three different deer (I’d like to think bucks), and I literally walked up on a deer totally unprepared to take a shot, so it does work…Now if only I could think faster on my feet, or if my eyes could see what I hear, and if the wind would cooperate, I just may get a big buck some day. I will certainly have earned it by then!

My Bear Hunt 2020


I still can’t believe that I was able to bear hunt this year. A lot has happened since the pandemic hit, and my life as I knew it, almost came to a screeching hault.

Sow and two cubs usually showed up first-before the big bruins.

I have dealt with chronic arthritis in my knees for years. Having finally taken the giant leap to see an orthopedic surgeon, I scheduled my bi-lateral knee replacements right when bear hunting would begin. I had accepted the fact that I would have to give up something in order to have it done, and this seemed like the time to do it.

A week latetr I was blindsided when my alma mater and employer of ten years, laid me off on March 20th. My whole world came crashing down. Not only was I going to lose my job and insurance, but also any chance at having my knees replaced. My only consolation was that I received six months severance and with that, my insurance would continue until the end of September. However, the pandemic had other plans, and any elective surgeries came to an end. So even though I had insurance, I was still facing the fact that I’d may have to deal with arthritic knees for at least another year, if I was lucky enough to find another job.

I felt pretty defeated, but decided to make the best of it. The bear hunt was back on regardless of what happened. I needed something positive to focus on, and hunting always soothes my soul.

In late May, just when I had accepted the fact that I’d have to hobble a little longer, I unexpectedly got a call from my surgeon. They were starting up surgeries again, but only taking the worst cases, and I was on the list. Would I be available? Hell yes!

My right knee just after surgery on June 5th.

On June 5th, I had my first surgery, and after being cleared of Covid-19 a second time, I had my other knee replaced on July 21st. Baiting began the following week, and with a little, no, a lot of help, I was at least able to be there to help, even it was minimal. I used my crutches to get around and although I couldn’t lift bait buckets, I took charge of the cameras and helped spray scent and grease.

Hobbling around with crutches in tow.

Bear came into the bait sites in a flurry. Food has been extremely limited due to dry conditions. Berries were almost non-existent, and other natural foods that were available weren’t abundant nor of any size worthy of a feast. Two days before the hunt, and for the first time ever, I had daytime bear hitting the bait consistently. I had nighttime bear~we had a whole lot of bear on our sites.

In the midst of two surgeries, I also became re-employed, so my time to hunt was greatly diminished, but I would hunt!

The first time out, I had John drive me to my stand. I wasn’t sure if I could make the hike up the mountainside, and I was a little uncertain of my stamina to get there. What if I encountered a bear? I tried to think positive. I would be able to hunt. I had hoped that John driving me to my stand, and then leaving with the four-wheeler would make the bear think no one was there. No such luck!

The night was pretty uneventful. I didn’t see a bear, but I did see one of the biggest rabbits ever to come eat at the bait. Rabbits apparently love bait as much as raccooon, fisher, song birds, squirrels, chipmunks, vultures…and yes, even moose!

This was my target bear. He visited everyday right up until opening day…then he went AWOL.

John retrieved me after hunting hours were over and drove me out of the woods. I have to say this was odd. I hadn’t had to have him do this for me since my first years of hunting. As grateful as I was, I felt like such a whimp!

Trying to fit hunting in between weather and a new job kept me extremely busy, but I was determined to hunt. With the weather forecast actually looking pretty decent and me actually scheduling a vacation afternoon, I decided I was going to hunt. I was bummed when John told me he couldn’t get the afternoon off, but I pulled up my big girl pants and decided I’d go alone. John would arrive later after he dropped the camper off in our usual spot, and then he’d meet me on the mountain.

I prepared myself mentally for the climb and the thought of being alone with so many bear nearby. I took my vehicle to the mountain. I changed into my bear clothes, packed my backpack with warmer accessories, and headed in. I carried my son’s 45-70, what I like to call a mini cannon, into the stand. I found that as I climbed the mountain, it actually got easier. It actually felt really, really good on my knees. I climbed into my stand with ease and settled in the afternoon wait. It was calm and quiet. You could hear a pin drop.

Video of what it’s like to sit while bear hunting.

It’s sometimes hard to sit still given the bugs, the birds, and the wind, but the pandemic helped me prepare for sitting with a mask on, so it just seemed easier this time.

As I sat there, I really didn’t expect anything to come out. I have only once seen a bear come to my bait in all the years I’ve tried hunting. So when this bear stepped out, it looked like a big bear. The night before a larger bear had been in, and I would have bet money, it was him.

This is the bear I thought was at my bait.
He came in the afternoon I couldn’t hunt…typical way it goes!

I was quite startled when the bear stepped out. I sized it up to the barrel laying on its side. It looked as big as the barrel! The bear came in on the right and stepped in front. I drew my gun and took aim, and pulled the trigger. Nothing. This gun has some wonky way about the lever action. It wasn’t in place where it should be. The gun wouldn’t fire. I played with it some more. I knew the lever needed to come up to set into place. I tried again. Still no shot. The bear continued to move quickly around all of the barrel and buckets not really settling in to eat. I went through all the motions trying to get this gun to fire, while not losing my cool. It wasn’t easy. Then miraculously, the handle clicked into place. The bear did a quick dart, but then turned right around and came back around the front of the barrel again. I took aim and shot. The bear dropped and my hunt was over.

Where my bear fell. One shot. Dead at the barrel.

Just after I shot, I got a text from John. I thought he had heard me shoot. He had just arrived on the mountain and was telling me he was there. I texted him, “Got it.” He replied, “what?” I texted back, “I shot a bear.” Him: “Really?! I’ll be right up.” He couldn’t believe it. Eventually, I heard the four-wheeler and he was there to celebrate, load up, gut out, and bring home my black bear. It was a long night by the time we got home and processed the bear, but we have some good meat to eat this winter.

As usual, my bear had ground shrinkage. It wasn’t nearly as big as I had thought it would be, but I was happy. And my bear has a beautiful white blaze on its neck. Some day a giant bear will show up when I’m sitting, but in the meantime, I’ll enjoy my harvest. It was something I never thought would happen this year, so I was particularly proud of this hunt. I had overcome a lot of obstacles this year, drove up alone and got into my stand alone, and finally harvested a bear.

So my words of advice, is once again to say, never give up, never think something is impossible. While hunting isn’t a sure thing, it’s for certain that it builds resiliency and determination for unknown outcomes. I’m so glad I stuck with it, bear or no bear, it helped me prove to myself that I was okay. Life was going to be okay, and I’m so glad I hadn’t given up.

My bear and me…life is sweet when everything comes together.

Nature at Work

I like to tell people that the outdoors is my happy place. One of the things most enjoyable to being in the outdoors is that you never know what you’re going to find or see. Whether it’s a plant, animal, rock, or scenery, there is always something that makes me smile in the outdoors.

I used to bring my fancy pants camera, but after a year and a half of dragging it along, it’s now broken. So, for now, I have to rely on my cellphone camera. Even if I don’t have cellular coverage, I always have a camera. Unfortunately, my cellphone camera leaves much to be desired. It’s not very good with zooming in photos, but it’s all I have.

The very first time John and I decided to try some moose shed hunting, we ventured down a skid trail where the paper company had cut. That was a mistake we won’t make again. We had to crawl over blown down trees and slash. The whole trail was filled with newly grown birch, maple, and bushes. Lots of bushes. It was a struggle for me to navigate with my hobbly arthritic knees. So when I finally got to the edge of the woods, I cut through to the grassy opening. On my way, I followed a well-traveled moose lane, full of moose droppings. Just as I headed up the gradual knoll, I was startled by a grouse. It nearly flew into me, then landed a few feet away and started displaying the broken wing dance. It then flew to a nearby tree. I was excited. I knew there had to be a nest somewhere. And there it was, RIGHT at my feet! I took my camera and carefully moved a leaf to see seven beautiful eggs. I snapped a couple pictures with my cellphone and then went to tell John what I had found. IMG_20200517_120622177_HDR

The following week, we were back moose shed hunting and I wanted to see if the hen had hatched her eggs…nope, as we approached she sat still. I got within about 6 feet and snapped a zoomed in picture. I didn’t want to scare her off the nest. Such a good mom!

IMG_20200523_125700912
See how well the hen blends in with the sticks and leaves. You can see the tips of her feathers on the left.

You can see how well she is camouflaged and how has sticks over her head for more concealment.

The third week, I was excited. We had turkey chicks show up on the Spypoint camera at home, so I was sure we’d find an empty nest with some empty shells. I was so excited. I slowly crept up to take a peek…no bird in the nest…then I saw it.

IMG_20200523_125629957Sadly nature got the upper hand, and this hen and her seven chicks became a predator’s meal before they had a chance. I was so sad to see her feathers strewn all over the ground. The only thing remaining was a wing, and some empty egg shells.

The grouse had made the fatal error of placing her nest alongside a well traveled corridor and the way she made her nest, there was only one way out. She must have been ambushed. It was either a coyote, bobcat or fox. In one meal, seven grouse were gone.

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Even though I have spent countless hours in the woods, I am still surprised, shocked, or saddened by the cruelty of nature. I guess I have to remind myself that predators are just doing what they need to do to eat, and that if predators aren’t controlled, they potentially become over-populated.

So when you venture out, be prepared to see things other than all beauty and happy things. Occasionally, you’ll get blindsided by reality.

Moose Shed Hunting – A Beginner’s Guide

John and I have watched countless seasons of people hunting for “moose sheds”, antlers that are dropped (shed) sometime in January. It’s big business for a lot of people and with the introduction of mountain snowmobiles, many shed hunters can get into moose territory easily, and pick up a shed as soon as they’re dropped. The hardest part about shed hunting is finding a spot that someone else hasn’t already found.

Some shed hunters train their dogs to find antlers. This saves on many hours of walking and possibly walking right by one.

In both cases, we neither have the snowmobile, nor the trained shed dog.

Last fall, we went into an area totally off a well traveled road. The old road we walked in on was heavily overgrown with alders, but the moose path was evident. Once we made it past the alders, the area opened to a giant chopping with a small bog created by a now absent beaver. And moose sign everywhere, including several raked trees that a bull destroyed during the rut. This is important since only bulls have antlers and we wasted a lot of time hunting an area that we decided was wintered by a cow and calf.IMG_20200531_142932638 (1)

We stood on the hill, wind not in our favor, and made a moose call. By the second call we heard a moose answer with his grunt. A bull with a nice set of antlers, grunting and ready for love, emerged from the bog. Had we been hunting, it would have been all over.

 

Since the river was at levels too high to safely fish, we decided to go where we had seen the moose last fall. As we drove toward our destination, we couldn’t help but notice all of the saplings and new maple growth that had been browsed on during the winter. The broken over branches were evident on nearly every tree. This was definitely a place to start. To our advantage, it’s not a path that a snowmobiler would go down unless they knew there were sheds there, so we were hoping this meant it was unexplored.IMG_20200517_160930405

Moose winter up in areas with food. Looking in forests of soft maple that are chewed on with abundant tip browsing is the key. Incredibly, there was moose sign, a.k.a. moose poop and bark gone from trees, everywhere we looked.

We followed a skid trail that fingers off from the main clear-cut. The area is very deceiving from the trail, since I initially stumbled my way over slash and acres of raspberry bushes. As soon as we got to the edge of the forest, we entered a maple stand. It was easily walkable and open, and there, we found maple trees literally stripped of their bark. If you find trees like this and they’re softwood, it’s been raked by a bull with its antlers, and is not food.

 

We decided to grid walk the area. It wasn’t long before John turned and yelled, “I found one!” And there it was, leaning up against a tree as if someone had laid it there! It seemed the further in we ventured, the more sign we found. We never found the match to this beauty.

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A few more paces and he found a matched pair from the previous year lying in a small opening. It had some small chews on it, but to us they were still magnificent. By the end of the day, we had found five huge antlers: two different new antlers, a matched pair and another single from the previous year. Actually, John spotted most of them since he is faster and more agile in the woods than me with my cranky knees.IMG_20200517_162151304_HDR

After walking for what seemed hours, we finally made it out to the skid trail. I plunked down and said, “Have at it, I’m done”. So there I sat using one of the antlers for a seat, while he explored. I got to see how big these antlers are; I could barely get my hand around it. Remarkably, we had proof that at least three different mature bulls wintered in this area. We’ll be back for sure!

 

We went back the following day and hunted another parcel in the same area. I hadn’t actually found one all on my own so I had high hope of spotting a big old antler after the success we had the day before.

We split up again. I headed to the left, John to the right. And then it happened. I finally found an antler. Had I not known for sure that he hadn’t, I would have questioned whether John had planted it right in the middle of the road. It wasn’t huge, but I officially found my first antler!

Toward the end of the day, we went back to look one more time where we had scored the five. Sure enough, John managed to find an almost identical antler to the one I had found earlier. Both antlers were from the same side, so we knew we had two different two year old bulls in the area.

So it doesn’t take anything special to find moose antlers. You just need to know where to start, and then use those clues to help you find them. Remember to bring extra drinking water, a snack, and a manual compass, (that you know how to use) before you begin. It’s easy to lose your way when you’re busy looking for antlers. Note: our Garmin BackTrack units did not work properly and were pointing in the complete opposite direction of where we parked the truck. Had we followed them, we might still be lost in the woods!

Rebecca’s Buck of a Lifetime

It’s not too often that a hunter gets to harvest a lifetime buck, but when it finally happens, it something you never forget. So, when my husband sent me a text telling me my daughter had shot a big buck, I thought he was joking. Then he told me how my daughter called him, excited and out of breath to tell him her story. It was only then that I realized she had tried to call me too, but I had missed the call. I’ll never forget that night. It was almost like waiting-for-the-arrival-of-a-new-baby excitement!

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Big sisters are the best!

When I started hunting, I was fortunate to have a built-in babysitter. My oldest daughter, Rebecca, wasn’t a hunter in her teens, but her willingness to watch her little brother allowed me to get out in the woods more than most mothers with small children. Over the years, Rebecca has hunted when she could find the time in between night shifts as a registered nurse, pregnancies, and finding daycare. Since she started hunting, she has only been able to tag one deer, but one thing was certain; her passion for hunting has grown, and with a recent job change to day shifts, she now has weekends to hunt and she takes every chance she can to hunt.

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Becky’s first buck

So when my son-in-law, Aaron, got his spike horn buck on opening day, I got excited for my daughter, as this meant, Aaron could watch the kids and she could hunt. Or so I thought.

I hadn’t realized that Aaron and Rebecca were going to hunt together, something I often did with my husband when I first started hunting. Aaron’s sister-in-law, who also hunts, offered to watch the three kids along with her two little ones so that Becky and Aaron could hunt together, and then the couples agreed to take turns watching the kids so that each mother would get a chance to hunt.

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The buggy

The two had found a spot deep in the woods, accessible by their side-by-side UTV, a.k.a. “The buggy” as my grandkids call it, and at least a mile in to where they park. Then there’s a nice long hike to the stream, which is boot high deep, cold and unforgiving, which you have to cross and then hike another quarter mile. Once there, it’s nature at its best. You can’t hear the usual car traffic that comes with most spots I hunt. It’s silent, and the view is awesome from the stand. Aaron’s buck had come in from the left on a well-traveled trail, so they were expecting the same for Rebecca’s hunt.

This day, Rebecca and Aaron got into their spot good and early for the afternoon hunt. They brought buck lure in the can, a doe bleat and a buck grunt. Rebecca climbed the narrow ladder into the tree stand that is hidden by an enormous hemlock, and faces out over a bog and swale grass. They had only put the stand in place that morning; Aaron had hunted from a chair beneath the hemlock the day he got his buck. Aaron would resume his spot at the bottom of the tree and try to stay hidden by the large boulder and hemlock blow down off to his right.

The buck lure was put out–an entire can thanks to those locked triggers and Aaron’s big hands. Fifteen minutes in, Aaron made a doe bleat. Then the wait began. An hour later, Aaron began making buck grunts. Then there was more waiting. Within a matter of minutes, a deer began to make its way toward its challenger, and as Rebecca put it, “sounded like a horse galloping through the woods” from the right. Aaron first spotted the deer and saw its antlers. He kept calling and as it got closer, the buck changed direction and began to circle out of Aaron’s sight and thick growth of birch blocked his view. Rebecca, standing in her perch, which was the last thing she wanted to do, had seen the antlers and realized the size of the deer. With immense pressure to not miss this gigantic deer before them, she readied herself to shoot. As the deer moved out of the thick brush and came into view, Rebecca, as she steadied against the tree, made the shot using the Rossi .243 rifle that her little brother gifted her. She thought it was a good hit when the deer hunched, but then as quick as that, the deer turned and bound away. She kept hoping she had made a deadly shot and not just wounded the deer.

Once on the ground the two couldn’t find any blood. So back into the stand Rebecca went. She guided Aaron to where she had shot the deer and then directed him in the direction of where the deer went.  There was great relief to find a bunch of hair and a good amount of blood and tracks.

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Aaron put on his tracking hat, and off they went to find that deer. There wasn’t a lot of blood, which triggered the roller coaster of excitement and fear of disappointment. Finally, Aaron spotted the deer bedded down in the swale. As they got closer, Rebecca tried to get another shot, but before she could, the deer jumped up and ran toward the stream. Deciding to follow it instead of backing out, they realized the deer didn’t go far. They approached the deer standing at the stream, but this time, it didn’t move. As they watched, it literally died and fell into the stream where it stood. She had her deer.

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They pulled the deer up on shore, and Aaron took the celebratory photos. They were certain this big boy was a two hundred pound deer, and it took all they had between the two of them to float it up the stream to the path they had hiked down. As they got to the bank, Aaron gave one big tug on the deer, and Rebecca lost her balance. Into the stream she went, gun and phone included. Aaron yelled, “What are you doing?” to which Rebecca yelled back, “taking a swim in the stream in November, what do you think I’m doing?!” All laughs aside, Rebecca was drenched, and they still had to gut and drag the deer up the unforgiving path.

After about 200 yards of dragging, and Rebecca being soaking wet cold, Aaron went and got the buggy. Then came the part about getting the deer into the buggy. How they managed is still beyond me. They were relieved and excited to show the kids Mom’s amazing deer.

Rebecca tagged her deer and had it weighed at the local store. The deer weighed in at 193 pounds. She was a little disappointed to be that close, but at the same time, she was so proud that she didn’t miss the buck, or get flustered when she saw it. It was still a buck of a lifetime for her.

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Making the rounds in dry clothes

Since Aaron’s dad is a taxidermist, they went to see him about mounting the buck, and to make the rounds to show everyone before it went to the butcher. Not believing that the buck didn’t tip the 200 pound mark, her father-in-law weighed it a second time. The buck registered 201 pounds on his scale. Wondering if the local store’s scales were off, Aaron had the butcher, who has a certified scale, weigh the deer a third time, and even after 24 hours, the deer weighed in at 200 pounds. Not only did she provide meat to the family freezer, but Rebecca also got her Big Buck Club buck.

As I shared my daughter’s success, I had several people comment that “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Then, I had to laugh when Rebecca replied, “yeah, I’m a lot like my one-hunt wonder brother, Tyler. I go out one time and shoot a big buck.” Okay, so maybe it’s not my tree, but I’m still one proud Mom.

 

 

 

My 2019 Bear Season – Part II

The 4-Wheeler Blues

One of the most essential components of bear hunting and baiting, is being able to get the bait to your site. Unless you are somewhere literally fifty feet off the road, you’re going to need to carry bait with a four-wheeler or two, which we heavily rely upon to help us get the job done. We also use our four-wheelers when we hunt. John drives towards his site, then hikes in the last distance. I go the “long way around” to avoid driving by John’s bait site, then hike into mine, so having two working machines is crucial.

We have two four-wheelers: a green Polaris Magnum 500 that’s John’s, and a blue Polaris Magnum 325 that’s mine. Right after the season started, the muffler blew out on the blue one. John and I took the muffler off, and brought it home to weld it up. No sooner had we got it fixed, both machines decided to leak gas. I bought new petcocks for both, and we installed them. Just when we thought we were set, the electric starter on the blue one went on the fritz, which explains why it wouldn’t start that night I was left in the dark. Of course, I had a practically brand new part in my linen closet for over 20 years, that I had just tossed out sometime in the last year, thinking I’d never need it. The first replacement I purchased on Ebay for $31 turned out to not be the right one despite what it said, so then I bought a used one on Ebay for $60, and we were back in business.

Meanwhile, the green machine decided to quit starting all together. We brought it home to work on it, leaving us only one machine to use to get to our sites. We finally decided in order for both of us to hunt, and be quiet, I’d ride in with John to his parking spot, and we’d both walk the rest of the way in to our sites from there.

The walk in was much easier for me than hiking the mountain side, but it was also longer. The leaves had just started to fall, and the weather was hot in the afternoon, cooling to an almost chilled-cold by night fall. I’d pack all my gear into my backpack, hike in to my stand in the thinnest shirt I own, then dress for the late evening chill.

As I walked to my stand, it was perfect in every way. The afternoon air was comfortable, with no humidity and not the slightest breeze. The sun was bright and hot on my back. I slowly and silently walked up the road, avoiding all the gravel and staying on grass to keep quiet. As I neared the top of the landing, I heard a distinct and all too familiar sound: a snake slithering through the leaves. I froze looking for it. There it was off to my right, headed away from me, a good two-foot long garter snake. Once I knew I wasn’t going to step on it, I continued on my way trying to make sure to look up more than I spent looking down at where I was stepping. Every few steps, I’d stop and listen. As I went to take another step, I looked down for a second then looked up. At the intersection of the road and the landing , there staring at me in a crouched ready-to-pounce position, sat a huge bobcat. Our eyes met. He picked his head up as if startled and confused. In a second, he turned and pounced away. I certainly was glad he had decided I wasn’t worthy of trying to take down. I couldn’t decide if I was shaken or excited, but I couldn’t wait to tell John about my encounter.

Over the course of the next two weeks, I bought several parts for the green machine, starting with the cheapest and easiest to fix: a fuel filter. Then I worked my way up the chain of possible fixes with a starter, then a fuel pump, an ignition coil, followed by a stater, which eventually fixed it. We topped it off with a new recoil starter and cover assembly because the original cover was cracked. When it finally started, we were psyched, but the machine was literally in a pile of parts and pieces we had to reassemble. I never knew there were so many pieces to a four-wheeler, but now I know what the parts look like and what they do when I hear their names. I hope I’m not reminded too soon.

Hunting over bait stalled. Not a single bear were coming to the bait. It seemed that every day I decided I would sit, there wasn’t a single noise, then on the days I wouldn’t or couldn’t sit because of work, weather or just opting to take a boat ride on the pontoon boat we had just restored, the bear would show up. Sitting at work, my phone went off to let me know I had two bear, the first bear in a long time show up on my bait. That was definitely a hard pill to swallow. Once trapping season was in full swing, we’d have to go in and check the traps each night, which didn’t help with keeping bear coming out just before dark. In fact, they just stopped coming out once we started checking traps.

We eventually got both machines back on the mountain just in time for John to catch his first bear by trapping. Baiting season had ended, and we ended up using just one machine to check and tend our traps. Meanwhile, Mother Nature had provided the bears with more natural food than they could eat, and in return, the bears hadn’t been very good about coming to my bait, and the only action we had seen in several days was on John’s bait site. Two days in a row, we had watched a bear get caught, then get out of the snare by the time we arrived on the mountain. We’d reset the trap every day, but it literally was a waiting game. We made some modifications to our compression spring so that it would close quicker, and we crossed our fingers.

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Tending the site

After two nights of not getting home until after midnight, then getting up again for 5:30 a.m., I stopped checking my phone and muted the notifications so I could get some sleep. I didn’t have a lot of hope that we’d actually catch a bear since I lost a bear last year after it had been caught for nine hours.

Then it finally happened. That morning, we got up to go to work, only to see notifications coming in a flurry to my phone from my Spypoint game camera showing that a bear had just been caught around 5 am. We were totally surprised to see it still in the snare when we woke up. With an hour and half drive to the mountain, we kicked it into high gear and got ready to go to the mountain one more time. I emailed work, John called our oldest son, Zack, and by 7:15 am, all three of us were driving up the mountain to get a bear if it hadn’t figured out how to get out yet again. On two four-wheelers, and rifles in hand, we drove up to where John parked to hunt. From there, we walked in so that we wouldn’t agitate the bear any more than necessary.

The bear wasn’t happy and it huffed and snapped its jaws as we approached. It knew we were there. It could smell us. John climbed into his tower stand to get a the best shot at the bear. Zack and I stood and watched through the trees as we waited for John to take the shot. Then it was over. It was a whole new experience for John and I and is something I’ll never forget. It was a lot of work, and it was definitely worth it.

It was a big bear-a dry sow, and the biggest bear John has ever gotten. I was happy for him, but I was hoping I’d still get my chance before the season ended.

Next up: I get my bear.

My Bear Season 2019 – The Beginning

I climbed on and tried to start the machine. Nothing. I tried again. Nothing.

Remember way back when I said I was prepping for bear season. July 27th kicked off the baiting season. We baited our spots and waited. It was nearly three weeks before I had even one bear on the bait. It was a scrawny little bear seriously needing some weight gain, but he pretty much stopped, smelled and left.

This year turned out to be particularly difficult due to the abundance of food. We had a very wet and cold spring. Summer wasn’t much warmer, but this kind of weather is perfect for growing lots of vegetation, berries and tree fruit. So it goes, the beech trees were top heavy with nuts, and the vegetation and berries were abundant. There was so much natural food, bears were busy trying to eat what nature gave them, and they had no reason to go looking for my barrel of goodies. My Spypoint game cameras showed bear coming in and spending all of five minutes at the bait before leaving. I set up a Wildgame Innovations non-cell camera as a backup and at a different angle since we have a history of not getting photos when we want them. As the season progressed, more bear eventually found the bait, and I even had some day time bear.

The daytime bear was exciting because you hunt bear in the afternoons and sit until half hour after sunset, not in the middle of the night. A week before the season opened, the hounds came through my site. They stayed longer than any bear ever had, and from that day, all of my daytime bears stopped showing up for almost two weeks. When they finally resurfaced, they were nocturnal for most of the remaining season, only showing up a couple times, when I wasn’t sitting in my stand.

I planned the whole first week of bear hunting by taking half-day vacation days and hoping to see a bear. Just as last year, John went his way into his stand, and I went the other route so that I wouldn’t go past his stand. I parked at the bottom of the mountain, and hiked in. It was hot and by the time I got to the top of the mountain and into my tower stand, I was one sweaty mess. I started out in the t-shirt, then as night closed in and the temps dropped, I had to put on several layers to get warm, but still ended up shivering before dark. I hadn’t brought enough warm clothes and legal time couldn’t come soon enough. On the up side, there wasn’t a bug to bite me.

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August 28th: No bear showed so I made my way out of the stand, down the hill, around the corner and back to my four-wheeler. There I was greeted by what I initially thought was a brand new pile of bear scat, but later turned out to be moose droppings. I climbed on and tried to start the machine. Nothing. I tried again. Nothing. The battery seemed dead, but I knew I hadn’t left the lights on. I tried not to panic. I absolutely hate being in the dark with bear lurking around. I took out my flashlight which is a super duper LED light. I, at least felt better. I’d see a bear before he killed me.  I texted John that my machine wouldn’t start, and to come get me. I headed back up the hill and by the time I got to the road that leads to John’s stand, I could hear him coming on his machine. We went back down the hill to look at the machine. It started with no problem. I was not amused.

August 29th: I sat again. Still no luck, but I was pretty proud that I wasn’t afraid to walk down the mountain this year. I mean, not even nervous. Well, let me step back…not as comfortable as I would be if John was there, but I felt like I was fine. I started the machine and headed out over the grown up alders trail that we have yet to clear. As I made my way back, there are two different spots where a culvert was put in years ago by loggers, but has washed out. I have more than once gotten stuck on that culvert if I don’t hit it at the right angle. John and I had filled the dip in the old wood, rocks and logs but sure enough. I hit that blankety-blank culvert, and there I sat. Then the machine stalled, and I couldn’t get it to start again.

Now I was not a happy girl. At least last time it wasn’t totally dark, but me and my cup of courage thinking kept me until the end of legal sitting time and now I was broke down in the dark. I prayed I could reach John on my cell phone. I sent him a text: “Stalled come get me! I’m  at the first culvert.” I tried to call him. No answer, so I left him a “very urgent” message filled with a few expletives and to come get me! Okay, I was on the verge of freaking out.

I took out my trusty flashlight, and I took the seat off to see if the choke had stuck, as it had days before. Since gas wasn’t pouring out if it, that was quickly ruled out. I tried to start it again. I gave John another text that I needed help. One more try…and Oh my gosh, it started. Second text: “I got it started. I’m going to try to go out if I can get off this culvert.”  After a couple tries, I got over the culvert. The relief was heard in my text:  “I’m on my way out!”

As I got to the end of the trail, I saw the lights from John’s truck as he approached. When I finally go to him, I was so relieved. As I began telling him my tale, it turned out he hadn’t seen any of my texts or heard my messages.  I was just relieved I wasn’t still sitting there waiting for my rescue. We now have protocol to check our phones as we leave to make sure we’re okay.

Next week: Phase Two

The Elusive Buck: My 2019 Deer Season

As I sat there staring at the birds, I heard a rustle of grass….shoosh, shoosh, shoosh. I know that sound.

img_20191015_235710_01.jpgBear season seemed to go on forever, and just when I was ready to throw in the towel, the bear returned, and I trapped my first bear ever. By then, deer season was literally two weeks away, and I hadn’t so much as put out a game camera let alone scouted any place to decide where to hunt.

John and I did some quick scouting, and he and I put up a couple stands on the Saturday before opening day. November 2nd rolled around pretty quickly. I had all my gear freshly washed ad de-scented and hung outside. I have a menagerie of camo clothes: a little of everything from just about everyone for all types of weather. I scored some nice Sitka gear at Marden’s, a local discount store, this past summer so I would at least be warm. I stocked up on buck lure, hand warmers and lip balm. I charged my Ozonics battery and the Tink’s deer escent dispenser, which has become my favorite.  I was ready.escent

tripod standI decided to sit in my tower stand on the hill. I hadn’t even been there since last year. Last year was an awful deer season since there were no acorns, so the deer that normally hang out there, had to find food elsewhere. This year was looking much better, so John and I hacked down the chest deep weeds and made our way up the hill with the four-wheeler. Some quick scouting, and a nice rub line convinced me to sit in the tower stand. I wanted to move it, but forgot the keys to the cable lock, and there it stayed.

My first morning was mostly uneventful. I did get to see a bald eagle swoop down in front of me. It had spied something to catch, but I think it spotted me and changed its mind. I saw geese flying overhead, and I heard loons, mice, and chipmunks, but no deer. I sat a few more times in the morning and afternoons with no luck. I even moved and sat on the ground in chair where I thought I would have a better chance at seeing a deer. I finally put out a cell camera, a Spypoint Link, and found out the deer were coming through at midnight. I decided I was done sitting there.

John was also experiencing a lack of deer, so we headed over to “Bill’s” to scout out a spot. Not many, if any hunt Bill’s land so John was pretty psyched. We put up a stand in the exact same spot he shot one last year. The sign was good. The area had lots of scrapes, rubs and acorns…the perfect mix for a buck to show up. I even sat in the stand a couple times, but it felt dead. Not even a squirrel showed up, and with the road so close, it wasn’t an enjoyable sit for me, so back to the drawing board.

Not knowing exactly where I should sit, I decided to sit behind the house on the beaver bog (which no longer has beaver). John and I have had a stand there for years. It’s one of the only homemade ones left that’s still in a tree because it’s built strong and the branches help keep it secure. It requires climbing a ladder, then a couple screw-in steps, to climbing the tree branches and finally a shimmy onto the seat. When I was fat, I couldn’t climb it without going into a full sweat and asthma attack, which is why it ended up with a ladder on the bottom. On more than one occasion, I’ve seen does, as well as a bobcat, along the bog, so I thought that would be my best option.

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The only thing about sitting on the bog is that it’s a long walk in and the wind is never in my favor. It’s not somewhere I can sit in the morning since daylight comes barely before I have to leave for work. So the very first Saturday, I made my way in. It had rained so all of the oak leaves were wet and super quiet. I climbed into the stand. I had my gun on my back since there wasn’t a pull-up rope. When I got to the top, I found the pull-up rope had somehow ended up in the tree, so I untangled it and dropped it so that I could use it in the future. I was actually pleased to get into the tree without a lot of noise. After a while I did my buck grunts and then a doe bleat…then the wait began.

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My view 45 degrees to my right. Note where the barrel is for future reference.

As I sat there, I obsessed over how much the branches on trees out in front of me had grown, and how little I could see. I was quite annoyed and wondered if I’d even be able to shoot past the branches to hit a deer, should I be so lucky to see one. The animals around me were in full annoyance mode at daybreak. The mice, squirrels, and chipmunks were seeing who could yap the most, and the birds: blue jays, chickadees, finches, nuthatch, and even a partridge were all flitting and fluttering around me. It was hard to hear and to concentrate on listening for deer sounds.

Then a new sound. Annoyed, I looked to my right. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There, off to my right, was a cardinal, flitting in the fir tree. I hadn’t seen a cardinal since last year, on the day I hung my deer in the tree. I got a bit emotional thinking about my mom, the hunter in my family, and wondered if she was giving me some clue. Then I watched it fly down to my left, slightly below me, before I lost sight of it in the brush.

As I sat there staring at the birds, I heard a rustle of grass….shoosh, shoosh, shoosh. I know that sound…a very distinct rustle that had me in panning the grass left and right trying to figure out where to hell that noise was…it was a deer. And then I spotted it…them…two deer on my left moving swiftly in unison. I think that cardinal was trying to tell me something. I saw the side and butt end of one deer as it followed another. I only saw its side for a second before it went behind a row of fir and spruce trees on the other side of the bog. I didn’t even have a chance to raise my gun. I kept thinking, “That has to be a buck“, but I didn’t see antlers. It shouldn’t have mattered since I had a doe tag, but geez, it would be nice to get one big buck in my lifetime. I hadn’t had a doe permit in so long, I was still in buck mode.Buck chasing doe

As I sat there, I couldn’t believe it. The deer finally emerged from behind the trees, and went up onto the hill on the other side about 150 yards away. It was a buck chasing a doe up and down the hill, in circles, chasing non-stop. This was so cool because it’s the first time I had ever seen it happen. I had only heard stories about it as told by John and my oldest son, Zack. It was also frustrating because I didn’t want to lose my chance to get a shot, but it was so far away and they weren’t standing still. The buck would chase, then stop and eat. The doe would run, stop and eat, then run again. At one point the doe did come down to the edge of the bog near the tall fir tree to the left of the X, closing the distance; however, the buck didn’t follow. When the doe bound back up the hill, he was right behind her. 

I sat there trying to decide if I should or could take a shot. I’ve never shot at a running deer, and I’ve never shot a deer more than 40 yards away…damn…what to do? So after what felt like forever, when I had enough watching them chase each other, I decided to take a shot. The buck was on the side hill standing broadside and eating acorns. There was a grove of young pine trees lining the lower, far side of the bog. They just tall enough so that they narrowly left an opening for me to have a shot at the deer just above the tops of the trees. I tried to increase my scope magnification from the normal 3 power up to 8, but then I couldn’t find the deer in my scope…gahh…they were running around again. Then the buck stopped. I dropped my power back, took aim and fired. I hoped I hit it, but I doubted it. I was silently cussing at all the branches in my way among other things. The deer had run off as if nothing happened. Now I’m thinking, that was a stupid move because I may have wounded it, or if not, then scared them off from coming back. I think I can say, this was my first, and hopefully last, case of buck fever. I sat until I couldn’t take the cold any more. I got down out of my stand and made my way across the bog to see if I was lucky enough to hit the deer. I certainly didn’t want to wound a deer and not go after it. After about 40 minutes of looking all over the hill, which didn’t seem nearly as big once I was there, I found no sign of blood or hair, but only some running deer tracks. So I headed home, mad at myself that I couldn’t make that shot and that I even tried.

I had several other chances to hunt in the morning. One morning, instead of heading to the bog, I went about half way, and sat on a rock just off the trail. I could see up the hill but not quite to the top of the trail, and I could see a nice area off to my right. I thought I heard what could be a deer, but never saw anything. As I left to get ready for work and headed up the hill, I was greeted at the top of the hill with fresh deer tracks of a buck chasing a doe. I couldn’t believe it.

img_20191112_080042485.jpgA morning later, work was called off due to the snow/ice storm. I got everyone else off to work and then I headed out. I figured I’d see if there were any sign of deer, and make my way to my stand in the bog. Just behind the house, I came upon fresh deer tracks. There was a very noticeable doe-in-heat pee and big buck tracks right along with it. Dang. I’ve never tracked a buck, so I wasn’t sure if I should plus I hadn’t prepared. I decided they were probably too far gone, so I kept to my plan and made my way toward my stand. Almost there, I came to the hemlock tree that had a scrape under it all season and where I caught a smaller buck on the camera. edited image of rabbit and partridgeAs I walked, I came across new rabbit and partridge tracks in the snow…literally walking together. This made me smile so I took a picture with my phone, which doesn’t do it justice. A few feet more, I came across the tracks of the same buck and doe. It was tempting, but I had to keep a clear head. They hadn’t traveled where I was headed, and I had already decided I wasn’t going to track them, so I continued to the stand.

Raincoat morning
Me in my raincoat under my blaze orange vest.

I stood at the opening by my tree stand and took a look out over the bog, remembering what I had seen days before. I had worn a raincoat, but my gloves were wet from the snow and rain so I decided I’d sit in my stand for a while, then head back home after a rest. I walked back to my stand and turned around to face the ladder. I took my rifle clip out of my gun and put it in my pocket. I secured my gun stock to the pull up rope so that the barrel wasn’t touching the ground, and then I started to climb the tree. I was bit nervous as I climbed. My hands were really feeling the cold now and the limbs were wet. I was literally shoulder height with the stand’s seat, when I heard something. I turned my head to watch a doe, followed by a chasing buck, which I made a point to look at his beautiful golden brown rack and then in desperation, whimpered no! no! no! as I clung to the branches in shock. Then for a kick in the teeth, the buck stopped perfectly broadside to take a look my way. A perfect shot and me climbing a stand with my gun on a rope at the bottom of the tree. I watched him trot off to catch up with his lady friend.

Deer laughing at me
Can you feel my pain?! Remake of me seeing the deer while I climbed the tree.

I climbed into the stand hoping they’d show up in reverse of what I saw on the first day. I pulled my gun up. I loaded it. I sat there in disbelief of what had just happened. I called John. At first I couldn’t reach him so I sent him a cursing text about what just happened. Then he called me back. I tried to tell him what happened with my angry voice, but instead I cried in frustration. I cried…I never cry, especially when it comes to deer hunting…then I was mad that I had climbed that tree stand. I walked home feeling quite defeated that not once, but twice this buck had eluded me.

That’s the second time I’ve seen a deer while climbing that %$#@*&^* tree stand, and right then and there, I vowed I wouldn’t be in it again. Next year, I’ll have a real tree stand that I can easily and quickly climb.

November 15th. I feared the rut was over, but it seemed like the perfect morning to hunt, and I had even considered calling in a vacation day. It was a nice crisp morning, so I decided I’d walk all the way into the bog, but instead of sitting in that tree stand, I’d plunk down where I could see and hear and possibly get a shot at a deer. The storm had left a hard crust, and walking in was never going to be quiet. So instead of trying to be quiet, I opted to walk like a deer. I’d take a few steps and stop, then take more…walking toe heel so I wouldn’t sound like a person. I took out my buck grunt and once in while I’d give a grunt. Every single step was a loud crunch. I made it right to the top of the hill where the buck and doe had crossed a few days before. The wind is NEVER in my favor here. It blows from right to left diagonally down the hill. As I made my way down the hill, I heard a loud crunch, crunch, crunch. It was, without a doubt, a deer breaking through the crust as it walked, and it was downwind of me. It seemed to be coming toward me so I got my gun up and tried to move closer to the opening to see if I could see the deer and possibly get ahead of the wind. As quick as it started, it ended. Where it went, I don’t know. I think it smelled me and made a quick exit. Even though I didn’t see it, I got excited again. It was the kind of excitement I get when I have these kinds of experiences.

DEER LICKING BRANCH ON BOG
A photo-shopped version of where my deer stood.

With a new perspective, I continued down to the bog. With my seat cushion in hand, I stepped up to the opening of the bog, just beyond my tree stand. As I stood there trying to decide where I should sit, I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye. There in front of me directly across from me on the other side of the bog stood a buck. He was licking branches on the same fir tree that the doe had stood under when she was being chased. I carefully dropped my seat pad, slowly took the gun off my back, and standing there, I took aim. I waited until he was broadside, and I shot. I knew I had hit him, he hunched and then just stood there. I shot again, and he went down. I had my deer.

IMG_20191115_183255_01I called John and told him I shot a buck. He came down and together we went to claim my bounty. I called my work and told them I’d be in late. I had just gotten my deer.

So that buck…that elusive buck showed up on my stand right behind the house, that I haven’t sat in for two years. He was chasing a doe. I’m pretty sure he was what I heard that morning. He’s still out there as is the other three bucks and lots and lots of does I had on camera. Next year can’t come soon enough, but as with every year, there are no guarantees that he’ll do a repeat of his territory next year.

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She was right there with him

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Same morning I shot my deer

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Not my buck but same genetics by the antlers and lack of brow tines

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One of three smaller bucks has uneven smaller brow tines.

 

 

 

Trapping Beaver With A Friend

It’s my third year of trapping. In 2018, I spent most of my time trapping land fur-bearers, because water trapping was too hard for me to do on my own. John and I like to trap beaver for the meat, hide and tail, and the rest makes lovely coyote and bear bait.

Last year, I decided that if I was going to trap, I was going to step it up. I was going to prep my traps, dye my traps, set my traps on site, check my traps, and take my catch just like a true trapper does. I was very successful and caught my first gray fox and two raccoon, along with a few porcupine.

For this year’s season, we boiled our traps in maple bark water and then waxed them. This is to de-scent them and to make them ready for trapping. Using a draw knife, we strip maple bark from young saplings like a moose would. By taking just a bit from a few trees, it doesn’t hurt the trees and they continue to grow.

In 2018, I began the season by trying to trap beaver. It was a lot of fun, but John had to set the #330 conibear trap because I simply do not have the strength to set it, even with tongs. We even bought locking trap setters, but to no avail, I cannot get it that closed to lock and so it’s still a two person job.

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My first beaver set. It’s an underwater set.

My friend Erin approached us early in the spring and asked if we’d be interested in trapping some beaver for a neighboring landowner. The 2018-19 season had ended, so we couldn’t help him. Seasons are in place for a reason, and IF&W won’t just give someone the right to remove a beaver if it can wait. Since April, the beaver had totally gotten out of hand and had flooded the area so much that a bridge was now in danger of being washed out.

Erin met us at the landowner’s place, and we  scouted the area to decide where to place the traps. The late fall sun was setting fast, so we had to make some quick decisions.  Although the area was flooded, there wasn’t the usual slide area or really good evidence of beaver activity besides the very chewed mature trees. We weren’t sure if the beaver were further up stream, but with time ticking, we figured we start there.

John, in his waders, took to wading across the cold stream and climbing over the second dam to set a trap nearby one of the beaver houses. Erin and I made our way further down the stream bank to a spot with a channel that didn’t run anywhere except to land.  John helped me set the safeties on the trap, so all we had to do was not set it off, get it set into place and secured in the channel, put the necessary dive sticks in place, take the safeties off, and then hope for beaver. It was quite an process, but Erin and I finally got the trap in place and it looked pretty darn good. And neither of us got our hands snapped! John met up us, and together, we placed two more traps where the beaver had been dropping trees.

As John and I drove out, we passed by the landowner’s place. He was outside by his truck. We waved to sort of acknowledge-who-we-are wave. He didn’t even wave us back. In fact, it was a back turn. That immediately was a put off, and should have been an indication of what kind of person we were helping. The one thing that’s important to trappers is feeling welcome, and having the landowner understand what we do and why.

We checked the traps nearly every day, with no luck. Then, one the one day Erin couldn’t join us, we finally had a sprung trap. The beaver must have went over the top of it as it exited the channel, because it was knocked over toward the stream. John and I reset the trap making sure to secure it even better than before so that the sticks wouldn’t come out of the mud. By the time we were ready to leave, it was totally dark. I heard what I thought was an animal, possibly a deer crossing the creek. A definite water sloshing sound. Then it came closer. I couldn’t see anything, and John scanned with his flashlight. It was dark, but he was able to spot a swimming beaver just above the house, and between our two trap areas. He threw a stick and the beaver slapped its tail and dove under.  It was in the process of preparing its feed bed for the winter. That beaver had no plans to go anywhere.

beaver damMeanwhile, the landowner was growing impatient that we hadn’t cleared all the nuisance beaver out of his creek in a matter of a couple weeks. He was threatening to breach the dam. Communicating through Erin, we decided we were pulling our traps if he did that. You can’t catch beaver in a puddle, and frankly, we’re doing this guy a favor, and I didn’t like being treated that way, so it was no loss in my mind. And I don’t even know if it’s legal for him to do that to a beaver house. As trappers, we have so many regulations to abide by that I was just stupefied by his actions. He then told Erin that he was definitely going to breach the dam, so Erin and I made a date to pull the traps on the following Sunday. John had made other commitments, so it would be the girls pulling the traps.

It took us a while to find the first trap on the other side of the stream near the beaver house. It was a great spot, and I’m surprised we didn’t catch anything. Then we headed over to the traps on the other side. The second trap, again, had nothing. Each time we pulled a trap, Erin waded in and using one of the poles, she’d spring the trap and give it to me. I hadn’t worn my waders thinking I didn’t need them, so I’m happy Erin wore hers. It wasn’t long before we came to the trap where Erin and I had originally set in the channel. There before us, was our prize. A huge, beautiful brown, very dead beaver laying in the stream. Erin’s wasn’t excited about picking up a bloated dead beaver, so I said I’d do it. Using a long stick, I pulled the beaver close enough to get a hold of its webbed foot and pulled it to shore. Erin and I were thrilled that we finally caught one.IMG_20191111_132125566

IMG_20191111_132118294It weighed so much! I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to lug it out of the woods. At first, I was like, oh yeah, I can get it. Then reality set in. It’s not an easy trek, and my knees were already screaming in full protest of what I was doing. After pulling the last trap, I had three #330 conibear traps in a backpack, along with set poles and H-stands to carry out. There was no way for us to take the remaining trap off the beaver, so using one of the poles we had to bring back, I slid it through the circle of the spring and together, Erin and I carried the beaver, and all the other equipment back to my truck. The male beaver weighed nearly fifty pounds. There was no way I could have ever pulled that thing out on my own, so I’m thankful I wasn’t alone.

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Conibear traps big (#330) and small (#110) and H-stands

After the landowner heard we caught a beaver, he mentioned that we could trap some more if we wanted to…nah. As much as I enjoy beaver trapping, and sharing the experience with my friend, I wasn’t excited to go back. There are plenty of beaver close to where we live, and we had already pulled the traps! Had the landowner been a little nicer, I might have considered it. I still had fun the day we trapped together, so perhaps I can convince Erin to join me on my trap line before the season ends.

The landowner might not have been thankful, but we were. We got some great beaver meat for the freezer, some beaver castor for next year’s bear hunting, a beautiful beaver hide that I’m going to use to make something, and I’m excited to have a beaver tail to tan, so that I can make more beaver tail jewelry.

I am ready to trap for fox now, except the weatherman is predicting rain followed by a temperature drop, a less than ideal situation for trap sets. Keep your fingers crossed. I have my eye on a fox and fisher that I’ve caught on camera.

 

No Land to Hunt? Ask….or Find It.

First of all, it’s important for anyone, man or woman to ask to hunt land that isn’t yours.

Sperson knocking on dooro I started following a group of women hunters, and a question came up about hunting when you have no land of your own, and what to do when you aren’t very comfortable about knocking down doors to ask.

First of all, it’s important for anyone, man or woman to ask to hunt land that isn’t yours. Even if the land isn’t posted, if you feel you have to sneak around, it just won’t feel right. And the last thing you want to do is be chased off land you didn’t ask to use, because you now know the answer would be no for sure.

town map
Town map…find your spot and then find the owner

There are ways to find available land no matter where you live. Look for access by permission only signs and find the owners if it’s not listed on the sign. Don’t be afraid to go to the local town offices to look at town maps, or get online and find landowner information from tax assessing records. You won’t find a phone number, but you will find a name and address, and that’s a start.

I was scared to death to ask a farmer to hunt turkey, especially being a woman. Low and behold, despite their surprised look of a woman asking, the owner was cordial. She had promised it to another hunter, but if I could wait until Thursday, then I could have it. Turns out she knew my Dad, and was happy that I was a Norridgewock native. Small steps may lead to a big opportunity.

lagrangetomedford
LaGrange to Medford Trail

There’s a lot of public land in Maine that’s accessible to hunters. Now I know it’s annoying that there are some places that people used to hunt that are now off limits because land was donated to a group or cause, and they make their own rules. Many of these organizations don’t consist of hunters, and because patrons might feel afraid, they restrict hunting…blah, blah, blah…it’s not going to change unless we are part of the process. The one thing that will help all hunters is making sure good landowner relations continue to protect what we do have access to use. So asking is best.

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Bigelow Preserve

So I did a little digging. I can’t give away all my spots, but this will help you find public land to hunt. Be thorough and do your homework on the area. First of all, you can hunt on public lands and even some state parks, but you have to put on your detective hat and scout the land. The Maine Department of Agriculture, Conservation and Forestry has some great information on their website. Hunting is not allowed at State Historic Sites or Memorials, and there’s a list of places you can and can’t hunt right there to review. You can search by activity and these are the public lands and state parks that came up for hunting. Just be mindful to know the rules pertaining to state parks and when you can hunt. I was surprised to see so many options in southern Maine, since I’ve never really considered it anywhere near accessible to hunters…but it is. I live farther north and don’t hunt in southern Maine, but there are lots of opportunities to  hunt.

Bear hunting has more restrictions/requirements, but bear hunting is still allowed on public lands, but by permit or lottery. It’s either by straight application and the sites are split equally among requests, or a lottery is done if the number of requests outnumber the number of sites. More information about how to apply is found here.

There’s also information on gathering (berries, mushrooms, fiddleheads) which has become very popular, and as with hunting, permits are required for some types of gathering.

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My moose from zone 5 in North Maine Woods

Another source for hunting is the North Maine Woods, which is actually several timber companies that let you access their land for a fee. You pay at the gate, and the land is there to hunt. Just know the zone rules for whatever game you are hunting. Now when we hunt the NMW, it’s a trip, week long or at least three days because we live so far away, so it’s not something right out your door, but it’s nice to know it’s there. And there are several registered guides throughout the NMW that can help you get that deer, moose, bear or whatever you want.

IMG_20190826_120920641.jpgAnother source is paper company land closer than the NMW. We rabbit hunt “north” and it’s on paper company land. Some companies such as Wagner and Weyheuser, have a permit/lease system for bear hunting, and it’s pretty gobbled up by a few guide services, so don’t be totally discouraged because they hold some sites for DIY’s like us, and sometimes sites become available. They have roads to bird or rabbit hunt, deer hunt, moose hunt, and even bear hunt if you’re lucky enough to see one not over bait, so it’s not a total loss.

And a fairly new option I sort of stumbled upon is land trusts not state owned, such as the Ezra Smith Wildlife Conservation Area, donated by George Smith and family, and is managed by the Kennebec Land Trust which allows hunting on most of its parcels of land. There’s quite a comprehensive list so go to their website and check it out.

img_20191015_235710_011.jpgNow getting back to landowner permissions. The ONLY way we bear hunt on private land is because we got landowner permission, and in return, we give back by maintaining his road. We feel so privileged that we have this access and we take it very seriously. And all we did was ask.

My son hunts on land that isn’t his, and all he did was ask. And he asks every year. I’ve hunted turkeys on land that wasn’t posted, but we still asked. The landowner appreciated it and told us so.

no hunt signAnd you’ll have some landowners who are anti-hunting or what I call land greedy (it’s mine all mine and you can’t use it even if I don’t) and they have their signs posted everywhere, but sometimes conversations can lead to opportunity such as just asking to bow hunt instead of rifle hunt and a door opens. Sometimes not, but it’s worth asking.

Ask a farmer. He may hate those turkeys eating into his silage pile, and wants you to “shoot all of them.” And if all else fails, ask friends if you can hunt with them. You may just find a mentor. Many friends make a trip to hunting camp each year and/or leave their own property un-hunted. Opportunity….Ask. Ask. Ask.

You may just be surprised to find more people are willing to let you hunt than you realize. Access is only a knock away. The more we talk to landowners, the more we build relationships that will help protect the future of hunting.

Good luck and be sure to identify your target before you shoot.

 

 

A Cup of Courage

August means the start of the hunting seasons, and bear hunting is one of my favorite, both for anticipation and actual hunt. It’s hard to believe that just seven years ago, I started baiting bear sites with my husband, John. I was along for the ride then. This was the guys’ hunt; my husband, son and son-in-law set baits in hopes on getting a big bruin, so there really wasn’t any room for me. I was always mindful to not crowd in on guys-time as I think it’s as important as the girl-time I spend with my daughter. Even though I didn’t tell anyone, I really wanted to try this bear hunting.

I remember helping John bait those first sites. Since the guys worked later than he did, I got to tag along and help schlep the barrels of bait and grease.  We got our first game cameras just for bear hunting, and checking our memory cards was always the highlight of the trip, especially when the bear would try to destroy or rip the camera off the tree.  Seeing bear photos for the first time was a definite WOW moment for me. The excitement of seeing bear while having the fear of them, was real. The whole time I helped bait the sites, I was constantly looking over my shoulder, leery of what may be lurking in the woods. I was never outright scared because John always had the .44 magnum on his hip.

Fast forward a couple years, and boys decided they didn’t have time to bear hunt north. There was my opportunity knocking! By then, I had grown more accustom to seeing bear photos and instead of feeling that fear, there was more taking the time to see which one was left or right handed into the bucket, and seeing how big the bear were. I was then, and still am amazed at the number of different bear we have coming to bait.

I was so excited to finally get to bear hunt; however I also knew this would be a challenge for me with my fear of the dark. John helped me prepare my site, but I ultimately picked the spot. For years we had driven by one side of the hill and I was just dying to check it out. Turns out it was loaded with beech trees, clawed up from bear climbing them in previous years. It was also shaded and would get dark earlier than an open spot.

We set my tree stand and barrel, then baited it up, and in no time, I had bear coming to MY bait. Once bear hunting finally arrived, I was faced with my first challenge. I had to walk into my bait site alone. John would have taken me, but if I was going to hunt, I was going to not have him have to hold my hand.

When I first hunted deer, John was right by my side, taking the lead and walking me into my tree stand and sitting with me the entire time, but over time, I learned to face my fear and walk into my stand on my own. This was different. It was daylight. How could I possibly be afraid?! I can’t say I was completely comfortable because there’s always a chance of encountering a bear on my way in, so I’d take a deep breath, taking in my cup of courage, and off I’d go.

I was always relaxed once I got in my stand, but until then, even encountering a snake in the trail would scare the hell out of me. Walking in was not one of my favorite things to do.  I would sit until legal shooting hours ended, but then I’d have to stay in my tree stand until John retrieved me. As dark approached, I would go from hoping a bear would come in, to hoping one wouldn’t decide to show up because what would I do then?! I would always be relieved to hear the truck coming down the road, and would watch for John’s light in the trail. He’d let out a whistle in the dark, and I knew it was safe to get down.

One night, I decided to face my fears by getting out of my tree stand and walking out to John. I knew he was on his way in to get me, so down the ladder I went. When I reached the bottom, I realized I had left my flashlight in my backpack. As I rummaged through the pack, I heard a noise on the trail. I gave a whistle. No whistle back. I gave another whistle. Again nothing. Then the sound of an animal running off in the brush with a good bristled huff. It was a bear, and there I was on the ground with nothing but a flashlight! In an instant, John gave a yell. The bear had run right at him on his way in.  I was glad he didn’t hang around me. I was pretty proud that I maintained my calm and didn’t panic when I realized it was a bear. Call me naïve or dumb, but that event actually helped me gain more courage when I bear hunt.

I moved my stand higher on the hill the following year. It was the very first time I had daytime bear. One night we went to our stands later than normal. I had been having a sow and cubs on my bait, so I was a bit nervous about the possibility of running into an angry Mama bear. I took a deep breath and my cup of courage, and headed in. I brought my trusty bacon scented spray to help cover my scent as I ascended the trail to my tree stand. I sprayed a small squirt of scent on the trees every few yards. As I made my way to my stand, I was going to spray up my bait site, but instead, jumped a small bear, that took off in flash of black. So much for my cup of courage. I decided I didn’t want to go any further so I put the bottle of spray at the base of my tree stand ladder. I climbed into my stand which I had equipped with a handy dandy hanging tree blind, so that I could go undetected if a bear came in. I thought I was sitting pretty.

As night closed in, I was pretty excited that I had actually seen a bear in the wild, since that was a first for me.  Then came the unmistakable sound of something coming up behind me, walking ever so slow and deliberate. I could hear minute pieces of sticks breaking almost silently under the steps…then came the sniff. The sniff of a bear directly under my tree stand, smelling my bacon spray. I didn’t dare move. I swallowed another cup of courage and tried to get my eyes on this bear, but the inside of the blind was small and unforgiving and I couldn’t move…or I didn’t dare move. As it went to my right, dark was closing in fast and I still could not see the bear because he was directly under me. When he finally made his way out in front of me, I could just make him out, and I only had five minutes left of legal hunting. It was now or never. As I pulled my gun up, the bear stopped. I slowly moved my gun so that the barrel came outside of the blind so I could aim. In an instant, the bear bolted. He had seen my gun. In a flash, my bear was gone, and he’s never returned.

My heart raced, and as bummed as I was that I didn’t get a chance to shoot my dream bear, Scrapper, I was overjoyed by the whole experience. It still remains one of the most memorable moments in my hunting adventures.

Bear season will begin the end of August, and hopefully by the time you read this, I will have harvested a nice bear for the freezer. I will still have to drink my cup of courage when I head into my stand, and when I leave, which I now do alone as I make my way back down the mountain to my waiting four-wheeler. I’ll drive through the trails in the dark, sometimes jumping a moose or two and make my way out in the dark to where I’ll leave my four-wheeler and get picked up by John.  And yes, I’ll probably swallow a cup or two of courage every time I do it. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. That cup of courage has made me more confident as a hunter and person, and any time I think I can’t do something, I just drink another cup of courage and say, “yes, I can.”

My advice to anyone who wants to hunt, but has fears. Find a mentor, and face them head on. Drink that cup of courage. You won’t regret it.

Cellular Game Cameras – A New Way to Scout

LINK-WWith the start of bear baiting season, and only once-a-week visit to the site, I wanted to know if my bait was getting any action during the week. I discovered a new way to see my bear photos during the week, and there’s nothing more exciting than getting that notification on my phone sound that “you have pictures.”

I bought a Spypoint Link-W game camera on the recommendation of an acquaintance. “W” means Walmart which is where I bought it. While I’m still trying to understand all that it can do, and how to tweak it so that I get consistent photos, I can attest that the camera is very simplistic and easy to use. If you only have 100 photos a month, you can even do the “free plan”. I, on the other hand, am doing the unlimited photos for $15 a month. I found out early on, that a bunch of wind photos can eat up your allotment pretty darned quick, so be careful to put your camera on a sturdy mount or big tree trunk, and be sure to clear all the foliage that can trigger it to take wind photos. It comes ready to use and records pictures and videos as well as other features listed below.

Photo
Definition (MP) 10MP
Number of LEDs 42
Flash range < 80′ (24m)
Trigger speed 0.5 s
Screen None
Stamp on pictures Date, time, moon phase and temperature (°C/°F)
Multi-shot mode Up to 2 pictures per detection
Illumination technologie Infrared boost
Continuous mode Yes
Video
Video definition HD (720p)
Sound Recording No
Photo first Yes
Memory/Power
Memory card Requires an SD/SDHC card up to 32 GB (not included)
Others
Automatic infrared level adjustment Yes
Distance detection sensor Up to 70 ft (21m)
Motion Sensor 1 sensor covering 5 zones detection
Schedule setup 7 days
Mount Standard 1/4″-20 tripod
Dimensions 3.8″ W x 5.0″ H x 3.2″D (9,6 cm L x 12,7 cm H x 8,1 cm P)

I bought the Verizon model because of where I hunt, and after comparing maps on the Spypoint link website, I decided that Verizon has the best coverage. I am literally on a mountain where if I’m on the bottom of that mountain, I have no cell phone coverage, so the key to making this work for me was having a good signal. It worked so well, we bought a second one for John’s bait, but had to buy the long range antennae in order to get a signal.

The pictures are good, especially during the day. The night photos are good despite this only being a 10MP camera. Spypoint does have other more advanced cameras, but I didn’t want to sink a bunch of money into a camera that I may or may not like. The stamp information is easy to read where I’ve had problems with other cameras’ being too small for me to read even with glasses. My plan is to make sure there’s no bear on my site before I head in. This way I won’t jump them off the bait.

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So if you’re going to spend $200 on a camera, which many cost that and much more, I would recommend the Spypoint Link-W. Happy watching. I’m having so much fun seeing my photos during the week.

A Different Bear Season: 2019

To me, there is nothing more exciting than prepping for Maine’s bear season. Over the last seven years, I have learned a lot about bear, and about baiting and trapping bear.

IMG_20150808_131243375.jpgSaturday will be the first day of baiting season. For the first time ever, we put out game cameras ahead of the season, just to see who, if any, bear roam our woods.

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We’ve been pleasantly surprised by the results. We’ve had at least three different bear on two different cameras, and I still haven’t spied the big sow that has been coming to my baits for four years…every other year with a litter of cubs in tow. We’ve also had a bunch of moose, including a cow and calf. Life on the mountain is full and abundant.

We discontinued a bait site last year, and another one is on the list this year, leaving only the two that we hunt on. Or at least, that’s the plan.

Last year, our third site was merely a feeding station for a sow and cub so they didn’t come to the active baits with boars. The only other  daytime shoot-worthy bear to come to that bait, was a nice boar.  And of course, I wasn’t sitting in that stand when it came through.

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This year’s bear season will be different in many ways, but mostly the same. I’ll have the same bait, scents, cameras, trails, four-wheelers, tree stand, and methods to bring the bear in.

Digital Camera
Digital Camera

However, I hope I get my bear early, not only because who doesn’t want to get their bear on the first day, but also so that I won’t be on the mountain in September. I don’t want to be reminded of that day when we got that awful call asking us to come quick because my father had collapsed. He died that night, and so now every time I go to the mountain, and start to think about roaming the woods where we were that night, there’s something different. In all the beauty and methodical planning around bear hunting, there’s still the heavy heart and sadness, that I have yet to shake off.

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2015 Sow and her 3 cubs. The bear population is booming!

So, for now, I’ll concentrate on everything I’ve learned to make my site the best smelling and appealing site that I can. I’ll concentrate on my scent cover knowing that bear have noses like no other animal. I’ll concentrate on preparing my body for the steep hike up the hill to my stand in hot weather and still remaining quiet and ready for a bear. I’ll concentrate on getting my stand just perfect so that I’m comfortable and motionless during the hunt. I’ll concentrate on getting my gun ready so that I’ll shoot straight and hit my target.  I’ll concentrate on facing my fears of walking back down the steep hill in the dark, because I’m no sissy.

image.jpgI’ll use this time to enjoy nature, but also to reflect on how lucky I am to have such a great place to hunt with my husband, John, and how much my father’s influences made me who I am today. I’ll try my damnedest to hold up my chin and be strong for my Dad. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

And if I’m lucky, I’ll get my bear. Wish me luck.

P.S. Thanks for continuing to read my posts. Writing is very healing, and it provides an outlet for my grief.

 

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My Dad ❤

 

We’ve Come A Long Way

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One of the first fishing trips John and I went on with his family. We caught a bunch of brook trout.

As I was talking with John the other day, it occurred to me that we’ve changed so much over the last thirty something years. We married in October of 1984, and through all these years, we’ve persevered and have become what some have referred us to as a “power couple.”
IMG_20160507_110851408I laugh when I hear this because it’s usually in the context of hunting and fishing and all the things we do together. It’s quite a compliment, but honestly, it’s just about being together and enjoying what we do. Our kids are grown and off doing their own things with friends and family, so we have more time together that we didn’t have when we were raising our three kids. Hopefully they’ll take some of the times we spent hunting, fishing and wildlife watching with them and pass it onto their families.

So how did we get here?

My dad was pretty strict, but I think it was his own fears that made these rules. I remember not being allowed to go into the woods. My father’s house was only on two acres, but apparently he felt that was more than enough for us to get into trouble, so we (the kids) weren’t allowed to “wander off” and had to stay in the backyard. As an adult, this had lasting effects as I was dreadfully afraid of the woods and what might be lurking in those woods. The first time John and I went for a walk, I nearly jumped out of my skin when a partridge took off. I was never aware of my surroundings and all I remember was that I didn’t enjoy mosquitoes, and I certainly didn’t go looking for wildlife. Even when my family spent time at the camp lot, a parcel of land that my parents bought in the mid 70’s, that had an old school bus on it that we turned into a camper, we were not allowed to explore beyond our boundaries. Now when I hear partridge drumming, it only makes me want to find it.

From the age of 4, my oldest son Zack would want to go “hunting” with his BB gun, so he and I would put on our orange and take walks in the trails behind our house. We never saw anything, but he got the chance to work on his stalking skills and just loved every minute we were out there. I, on the other hand, never went beyond the trails because that’s all I knew.

One of these times, we hadn’t gotten further than 30 yards off the edge of the field, when I spied legs walking down the right trail. In my mind, I thought this was one of John’s cousins who is tall and skinny and who also lived next door. While I was wondering what he was doing out back, I soon realized it was a rutting moose coming down the trail. His head was down and his antlers…huge antlers…were going side to side as if to challenge us. I grabbed Zack by the arm and made a run for it back toward the house. I wanted Zack to see it, but I didn’t want the moose to charge us. I went into a full asthma attack as we hid behind a tree. We never saw it up close because I was so concerned about getting away from the scary monster, and meanwhile the moose changed course and headed down a different trail.

Zack grew to love the outdoors so much that he’d wander off all day. I’d worry and every night, I’d have to yell, “Zack-Ah-reeeeee“, for him to come home. He certainly explored beyond my boundaries, but would come home with stories of his travels and of all the stuff he saw in the woods.

When my husband was a young boy, he would sit around and listen to the men tell hunting stories, but moose hunting wasn’t allowed then so there were only stories of beastly moose and how scary and unpredictable they are. As a youth hunter, he had an encounter with a rutting moose that charged him, which left a lasting impression. John was set up in front of an oak tree while hunting deer. A moose came in to the smell of his buck lure, and when the moose saw John, he charged. John ended up yelling and kicking leaves at the moose and eventually shot over its head to scare it off. He retold this story  as a teenager and said it was one of the scariest moments as a kid he could remember. Then while in college, John was working the wood yard when a young moose wandered into camp. John decided to challenge himself and he was pretty impressed that he was able to make calls to the moose and eventually scare it off. It was then that he realized moose weren’t all that scary.

Thirty plus years later, we’ve grown to understand moose, and fully appreciate their presence in the woods. We’ve successfully hunted, tracked, and called them in just for the sake of seeing if they’d respond. There are no longer fears associated with moose or any animal for that matter.  If anyone had told me ten years ago, that I’d be hunting bear, or that I’d get my grand slam, I would have laughed. I am no longer afraid of the outdoors, the dark, the water (somewhat),  or going beyond my boundaries and stepping out of my comfort zone. I am still challenged when I face new adventures and those old fears creep in; however, I know I have the skills to be competent in the outdoors, so I just push forward challenging myself at every chance I get.

We’ve come a long way from where we were thirty years ago. I hope that if you’re thinking of getting into hunting and fishing or even just nature, that you’ll not put it off for another day. Don’t expect it to be perfect when you do venture out. Just take each time as a new and learning experience. I’m so thankful for who we’ve become both as people and as a couple. I can’t imagine life any other way.

 

Summer, Where art thou?

So spring has taken too long to arrive. I’m not sure if it’s because winter began in October, or if spring really is lagging. The warm weather certainly hasn’t arrived.

Last year we were fishing in the river by the end of April and hammering the salmon. This year, we were on the river in our winter underwear, praying for a bite and a little sun to warm us up. I never thought I’d be saying this, but the mosquitoes and black flies finally have arrived so it shouldn’t be much longer. Just take a look at the difference a year can make. Mother Nature is miraculous, and she’s working hard to catch up.

These are photos of the end of April thru the middle of May 2017. I’m still waiting for my birds to return to my wreath.

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In 2018 we were fishing, finding and foraging all through May. Turtle were laying their eggs, fish was abundant as were the mushrooms. We didn’t get many morels, but it was a dry spring.

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This year, we’re still waking up to a heavy frost and the camper heater has run all night long. Mayflowers stayed in the bloom the longest ever. We just found fiddleheads up north when they’d gone by at home. We haven’t found any oyster mushrooms, but the morel mushrooms didn’t disappoint in this wet weather and arrived right on schedule. The salmon are just beginning to bite, the brook trout are just starting to rise for mayflies, but we still haven’t seen a deer fawn, moose calf, or turtle. We’ve still seen some amazing animals: grouse, beaver, frog eggs, rabbits, geese and goslings, wood ducks, mergansers, and we even spotted some chaga. Oh, yeah, that is bear scat and a snake. We photograph everything we find. Enjoy!

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The week’s weather finally is starting to look like it might actually be sunny. I hope you’ll get out and enjoy the outdoors.

A Tribute

As Mother’s Day and Father’s Day fast approaches, I am facing my firsts without my parents. Many of you know that I unexpectedly lost my mother last June, then my father passed suddenly and unexpectedly in September 2018. Life was feeling pretty grim, and then I was dealt a sucker punch to the gut when my older sister, Kathi, passed away unexpectedly in February 2019. It’s been rough, and it honestly still hurts, but I’ve had some time to think about each of them, and how much they contributed to my being who I am today. This is a tribute to them.

When you’re born, you get “your mother’s eyes, or your father’s nose” and temperament falls in there somewhere. Yes, biology has a lot to do with who we are as people, but what really makes me who I am, is all the stuff  Mom, Dad, and all of us went through together as I grew up.

IMG_20180912_070021976I didn’t come from a hunting family. My mother’s family hunted and fished, and my mother loved to fish from the time she was old enough to hold a pole. I remember my mother telling me how hungry she was as a child so I can only imagine how much a caught fish meant to a hungry belly. I don’t have many photos of my mother, only a few in her youth, but the ones I found show her holding a nice fish.

My father’s family was known to be outright poachers in order to feed themselves. In fact, the one time my grandfather bought a license, he was teased by the town clerk. As a teenager, I remember asking my father why we didn’t hunt. His response was that he hated mosquitoes. At first this seemed odd since mosquitoes are gone by November then he told me that my grandfather made him go hunt with him in the spring and summer, and as my father batted off mosquitoes, my grandfather kept scolding my father for moving. And my inheriting my father’s mosquito magnet traits explains why I hate them so much.

Later in life, my dad fished on Serpentine stream in his party boat, but he really didn’t care if he ever caught anything; he preferred playing cribbage with his in-laws.

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So how is it possible that I love hunting and fishing so much? Yes, I am very thankful to have such a loving and supportive husband who has been willing to show me and share with me his love of hunting and fishing. John took me out on my first turkey hunt, my first deer hunt, and we learned how to fly fish together, but while some say it’s only one person that they credit as making it all possible, I say, it really isn’t all him. Without the love and support from my family, I never would have had the qualities necessary to try this new way of life or the belief that I could do it.

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My mom ❤

You see, my mother was way ahead of her time. She fished when none of her friends fished; however, she wasn’t a mother who just stood by while the kids fished. She fished and fished well, usually out-fishing all of us.

She was a survivor, never having it easy, but she persevered. My mother never emphasized beauty over brains. I watched my mother go to work every day in the shoe shop. We didn’t have the luxury of having a stay-at-home mom, but working gave my mother confidence and independence, and eventually, she worked her way up to having a salaried job that was typically held by men. She was never afraid to try anything, and she even coached the only girls baseball team in the league when only boys played ball and society hadn’t figured out how to indoctrinate girls into softball. As a young girl, I preferred to hit the baseball over softball. I loved the “crack” of the bat and the speed of the ball, and the fact that I truly believed I was a better baseball player than a lot of the boys I played against.

I also remember my mother donning a big orange jacket, loading her gun and in her little go-go boots, head out for an afternoon of deer hunting. That was my mom. She wasn’t afraid to try anything even though she wasn’t particularly athletic. I never heard my mother say she couldn’t do anything because she was a girl…never, ever. And for that, I am truly thankful.

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My Dad in his Army National Guard uniform

My father worked every day, never missing work even when he didn’t feel good or got hurt on the job. I remember my father pushing through the pain of two broken heels after falling from a ladder and going to work on crutches. My father showed hard work paid off, and taking care of the family came first.

He also worked on his education as a non-traditional student and earned his electrician’s license while also being enlisted in the Army National Guard, and working all the time.

My father could fix anything, and my father was smart. I always thought I got my smarts from him, but I realize that my mother was smart too.

Dad showed me that if you wanted something bad enough you had to work for it. He taught me the ability to stick to something and never give up. While my father teased me for being “butch” and liking to do “boy” things, he never made me stop doing what I loved to do. He let me, be me, and didn’t try to make me be someone I wasn’t. And for that, I am truly thankful.

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My Dad and I at my college graduation. I too was a non-traditional student.

FB_IMG_1552430135599My sister Kathi was my role model growing up. I watched her overcome adversity as a teen mother, and finish her nursing education. I was always so proud of her accomplishments. She worked full-time and went on to earn her college degree while maintaining a family, a house and home. I got to see the stability and independence she gained by being able to have a professional job. She too learned from my parents that perseverance and hard work pays off, and despite obstacles we may have encountered, we could do anything.

 

Kathi even began hunting long before me. I was so impressed to hear her stories, and listen how both she and my younger sister went hunting. Kathi was always my biggest cheerleader no matter what I did in life, including when it came to my blog and the hunting stories I wrote. And for that, I am truly thankful.

Time will heal my broken heart, and my loved ones will continue to influence who I am. Although I may not be everything, or any one thing, that my three family members were, there are bits and pieces of their genes and characteristics coursing through my veins, and in my heart and mind, they have given me the strength to be persistent, to persevere, and to know that I can do anything I set my mind to doing, including being the best outdoors woman I can be. And for that, I am truly thankful.

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Me and John sharing a turkey hunt together. And for that, I am truly thankful.