Admittedly, the hunting gods have smiled on me during eight seasons chasing the elusive whitetail. And taking two nine-pointers in three years can mess with one’s “standards” when it comes to evaluating what deer to harvest.
After last fall, I am beginning to gain an appreciation for the, “if it’s brown, it’s down” theory, although I don’t yet espouse it.
I have strived to harvest bucks that appear to be mature, but that philosophy creates constraints that can assure that a hunter doesn’t put any venison in the freezer.
In 2008, I sat and watched as a spikehorn approached and walked directly under my treestand. Three years later, I shooed away a crotchorn with a voice “bleat” after watching it circle around me.
Last year, I jumped two deer simultaneously but never saw any others despite some determined hunting.
My patience had run thin as the 2014 firearms season ended. I had been in the woods 11 or 12 times and seen only one deer derriere. The weather was all over the place, with three different significant snows and diverse (or maybe I should say adverse) conditions that included several windy days.
On a positive note, I was blessed with the opportunity to explore some new hunting territory through the generosity of Len Price of Nutkin Knoll Farm in Newburgh.
I also visited avid hunter Brhaun Parks’ property in Kenduskeag and was in the vicinity when his daughter Landen, my cousin, shot her first deer. The then 10-year-old was hunting for the first time ever, alongside her dad.
She shot a nice spikehorn using her dad’s .30-06 — the same gun he had used to harvest his very first deer as a youngster.
And there was a visit to Otis and a patch of woods frequented by hunting buddies John Holyoke, Chris Lander and Bill Lander. It was windy, cold and unproductive.
I had put in my time, but to no avail.
Thus, I was ready to participate in the muzzleloader season that began Dec. 1. There was only one problem — I didn’t own a muzzleloader.
This time around, Parks and hunting mentor Terry Farren, each of whom had previously had loaned me a “smoke pole,” would be using them.
Firearms season had barely ended when I bought a muzzleloader and all the gear necessary to get back out in the woods. I snuck out for a few hours Dec. 1 in Kenduskeag and didn’t see anything.
The next day, I returned to Newburgh.
The snow, which had been soft and quiet the day before, was frozen. Every step was akin to stepping on a bag of Doritos. Eventually, I cut some tracks in the snow that ran through a sparse stand of trees and up across an adjacent ridge. It seemed a good place to set up and wait.
With a breeze coming out of the north that would carry the estrous doe scent back into the thick cover near the stream, I put out scent wicks below and walked halfway up the ridge.
I stood amongst some small fir trees that would break up my outline while giving me a good vantage point. I stood there for a solid hour, squawking out a couple of sequences of estrous doe calls. A bit later, I noticed movement over my right shoulder.
I caught the glint of the sun off an antler and watched as a spikehorn buck approached, clearly unaware of me or the scent wicks.
Given two full seasons of frustration, my “standards” suddenly went out the window.
We were separated by only 30 yards, but I would need to shift my feet slightly on the crusty snow to get turned toward it. My heart raced as I tried not to give myself away.
It took a few more steps that put a good-sized tree between us, giving me a moment to adjust my stance and raise the .50-caliber CVA muzzleloader. I froze as the deer began to walk directly toward me.
Suddenly, it turned slightly to its left, giving me a broadside shot at 25 yards. I aimed, squeezed the trigger and dropped it with one of my patented “high, hard ones.”
The exhilaration and satisfaction that ensued is difficult to convey. I quickly sent a couple of text messages, then began my first solo field-dressing experience. I’m no surgeon, but I was patient and pulled it off.
Dragging a 91-pound deer through 5 inches of crusty snow is a heck of a workout (no, I haven’t been to the gym for a long time). Luckily, I had a good downhill portion over a snowmobile track that helped reduce the strain.
After hoisting the buck into the truck, I walked back out into the adjacent field for my second harvest — a beautiful, fragrant, 6-foot Christmas tree.
On the way to register the deer, two young women in the car behind me laughed at the sight of a deer and a Christmas tree side by side. One snapped a photo with their cellphone. Only in Maine, I suppose …
It was through the support and generosity of my friends — and the patience of my wife, Annia — that I was able to enjoy a successful hunting season.
Looking ahead, I hope to help my sons, Will and Paul, harvest their first deer. My advice for them? If a safe and sporting opportunity presents itself, take the shot.
One never knows when the next opportunity might arise.
Pete Warner, a BDN assistant sports editor and sports reporter, is an avid hunter and fisherman.