Skunked Again: Freezer full of meat

If someone saw the load of deer meat in my freezer they’d see that I, or someone I know, had shot a deer. Here’s a story of how I stocked my freezer this year.

My family recently gathered up to camp in Lakeville, Maine, where we were hosting an early Thanksgiving. The men of the group, however, spent most of our time in the woods behind the camp hunting for that late season buck.

For all those gun enthusiasts out there, I decided to include a line-up of our tools for the field:

• Tucker – a unique Marlin model 336a lever-action 30-30, sharply distinguished by its rich American black walnut stock and a sniper-like 24-inch barrel.

• Zach, my sister’s husband, toted heavy artillery with his Remington 742 Woodmaster .308.

• My father started the season with a light-weight Savage 7mm-08 with an AccuTrigger, but since the rifle could only shoot tight groups with top-shelf ammunition, he recently switched back to his tried-and-true Winchester model 70 .270.

• As I’ve mentioned before in other articles, I lug around a Remington model 700 .35 Whelen.

Saturday morning the four of us got up early, drank a few cups of breakfast and set out quietly as to not disturb the slumbering ladies. Our first mission was to climb up and over a nearby hardwood ridge, each of us with a similar bearing on the compass. As we fanned out we were soon all on a hunt of our own.

As I began my way up the gradual incline at the base of the ridge, I quickly noticed how dry and crisp the autumn leaves were on the forest floor. I became increasingly frustrated with how loud every deliberate step became, and it wasn’t long before I found a stump tucked away and took a seat. If walking around was going to be that noisy and obvious to other creatures, I felt sitting down might give me a better chance at actually seeing a deer now that dawn was settling in. After waiting 15-20 minutes and trying to motionlessly survey the surrounding hardwoods for evidence of movement, I stood up and slowly resumed crunching my way towards the summit. After all, I had to climb up and over this ridge and then back again to meet at the truck in about three hours.

On my way up I eventually reached a plateau of sorts where the ground was noticeably more level and the walking was subsequently easier. The hardwoods seemed thinned out in this section of the woods, but the clumps of evergreens that took advantage of the extra sunlight restricted visibility around me in certain directions. I posted up against an oak and stood silently, grateful to have stopped thrashing through the woods. In my humble attempt at hiding, I heard an extremely loud SNAP straight ahead of me and suddenly I realized there was a big creature of some sort coming straight at me. I hardly had any time to react before two enormous creatures crashed through a clump of evergreens 15 yards away; it was a cow moose and her calf. Since they were traveling at a pretty good clip, as soon as they burst through the evergreens and saw me directly ahead they simply adjusted their angle 20 degrees northward and cruised right pass me.

As I reached into my pocket to grab my camera in an attempt to take a fleeting shot of these moose, I heard the distinct, eye-opening “snap” directly in front of me again, and spotted another moose, only a bull this time, hurtling through the trees with a bearing straight for me. As it reached the trees where the previous moose had entered, it sensed something wrong and came to a dead halt. It spotted me quickly, only yards away.

The two of us sat in silence and seemed to stare at each other in order to judge one another’s reactions. The moose, almost broadside now and perpendicular to my line of sight, stood gazing at me with one eye, kind of like how a whale stares. It occasionally moved its head slowly back and forth, panning the woods around him, as if he had forgotten I was there and was searching for something else. At this point I was awkwardly holding my camera, trying to take a decent shot. I remember it being dreadfully silent as the moose stood its ground boldly and made it quite clear he was reluctant to give up on his adventures with the cow he had been chasing.

Eventually however, the bull took a 90 degree turn and slowly started walking directly north, making much less noise than before. I raised my deer call, a Primos Can, and tried it once. As soon as the noise permeated the woods the moose came to another dead stop and began his slow pan of the forest. Within a couple minutes, however, he resumed his journey to get around me.

I left my spot soon after but with no sense of hurry, except with the notion of a loose schedule I had to maintain. After the occasional stop to take a breath and peer around, I eventually reached the top of the ridge a little while later. The part of the summit I scaled wasn’t quite as spectacular as I imagined, offering only ancient skidder trails thick with raspberry bushes as locations to see a healthy distance. I was able to find a bedding ground for deer but little sign elsewhere. I traveled down the ridge a healthy distance, but when I glanced down at my watch, I realized I had better start the journey back to the truck.

Before I reached the truck on my way back, I sat at the edge of a field laden with tall grasses and a perimeter of prickly raspberry bushes. It was only a few minutes before I saw movement through the trees and realized I had another animal coming my way. I remember becoming excited as I saw the distinguishably brown fur, much different than the blackish broadside of a moose. However, as this creature rumbled towards the section of the woods I was currently sitting in, more of its body came in to view and I realized I had merely been watching the head of another moose in the distance—the head fooled me by resembling the brown color of a deer. Reluctantly putting the safety back on, I took my camera out once again.

That weekend we fit in an additional hunt on another nearby ridge but failed to produce any deer — a small loss when you come home to a freshly cooked, gourmet Thanksgiving meal. The men came in tired and sweaty but couldn’t help but notice the women had been hard at work as well, preparing a wonderful feast for the holidays.

So where did I get the meat in my freezer? Now that you’ve read my entire story, I’ll tell you: the Monday after the weekend just described my brother went on a hunting trip with his friend, Jared. Paddling upstream in a canoe, with grasses on either side to hide their presence, they kept an eye out around them for deer that might be foraging in the area. At one point, Jared spotted a beautiful buck and relayed the sighting to Tucker at the front of the canoe.

Swiveling around and spotting the buck, Tucker carefully raised his 30-30. Seeing the buck tense up and display the “about to bolt” look, Tucker committed to the shot he currently had and squeezed the trigger. The 8-point, 220-pound buck didn’t take a step.

Here are some pictures of my brother’s buck, as well as a beautiful deer my friend, Ray Linck, shot in Mt. Vernon. Happy hunting for those rabbits, and let’s all gear up for ice-fishing season!