A Hunting Trip to Remember

Father and son experience the ultimate in whitetail adventure.
By: Thomas K. Remington

One of the things that make hunting special is when a dad can share it with his son or on the flip side, when a son can share it with his dad. The excitement of hunting whitetail deer in the State of Maine is insurmountable. Add to that an opportunity for a father and his son to spend a day in the woods with each other is a formula for an event that lasts a life time. It is far too infrequent these days when a father and son spend time together hunting or doing much of anything as a matter of fact. A day in the woods for Dennis and Joel Doyon of Bethel, Maine in November of 2002 would culminate in a way that only a good fiction writer could pen into a best selling drama full of adrenalin pumping anticipation and an ending that would surprise even the veteran reader. It was a day that will be remembered for generations to come. This is that story.

Joel Doyon was in Cape May, New Jersey finishing up his boot camp with the United States Coast Guard. I’m sure that many nights Joel would dream about getting out of the long days and short nights that boot camp can bring and getting back home to Maine to spend a little bit of time hunting before he headed for Seattle, Washington to be united with his ice breaker duty with the Coast Guard. Many times I am sure Joel found it a bit difficult to concentrate on his studies and pulling his duties knowing that in a few days he would be headed back to Maine with his parents to visit friends and family before shipping out.

Graduation day for Joel was on Friday, November1, 2002. His parents had made the 10 to 12 hour trip south to attend his graduation; a sacrifice every child should have the pleasure of witnessing. I am sure both Dennis and his lovely bride Betsy swelled with pride as they watched their son so boldly wear the uniform of the United States Coast Guard and parade through his graduation ceremonies. The schedule for them would be a bit on the hectic side to say the least. When Joel completed his graduation ceremonies, they were going to hop in their car early the next morning and head directly for Maine. What was the hurry? Well, Saturday was opening day of deer season for Maine residents, of which Dennis and Joel were going to miss and Sunday was the day everyone checked in at hunting camp for the first week of hunting. They needed to rush home, grab a little bit of sleep and then awaken Sunday morning, pack their gear and head for camp.

Hunting camp for most of us was a chance to relax and get away from it all. None of us were what I would call serious, hard core hunters when it came to the week at hunting camp. There was though a lot of knowledge and years and years of experience there. Over the years the deer population in certain areas of the State of Maine has become sparse. The area where our hunting camp is located is one of those regions that is hard hit with severe winters and it has an ample population of coy dogs or coyotes or brush wolves; whatever you prefer to call them. The mortality rate for deer was high without the pressure of hunting season There were usually about eight of us who would spend the entire week at camp and during that time if one person was lucky enough to bag a deer we considered that a success.

It was a cold Tuesday morning with a biting breeze coming from the northwest. Some of us were going to hunt around the pond and check out the swamps. Others had their favorite spots that they planned to sit and watch but Joel opted to take the high point up on the power lines that run through that area. In the years prior to this deer season, Joel hunted with a single shot 30-30 that his father had gotten for him. Dennis felt that this would be a good rifle for Joel to learn with. This day though he had borrowed a lever action, 300 Savage from our close friend, Gary Inman.

Joel found his perch up high on a knoll and he tucked himself nicely back against the backdrop of the surrounding forest. His sight distance was probably more than the 300 Savage with peep sights was practical for but it is always nice to see great distances. The direction that he was facing looked somewhat downhill and toward the pond outlet. Just slightly to his left and he was looking more in the direction of the swamp. I have sat many times on that same power line and often in the same general area where Joel sat and I know how difficult it is to sit there and remain focused. For one thing, the wind usually will blow right in your face and chill every bone in your body. Another, the view is panoramic toward the west with fantastic mountain views and it is easy to just sit and gaze in that direction and soak up the vastness and raw beauty of the Presidential Range. Finally, there is just plain a whole lot of territory to cover with the naked eye. The power line cornered nearly 90 degrees further up from where Joel sat and from that corner it was only a short distance through mostly hardwood and some softwood trees to a small bog area just below the outlet of the pond. Joel was actually sitting in a good location to catch sight of deer making a run across the power line to escape danger from down around the bog. In the area around the hunting camp the deer are extremely intelligent. They know where the posted land is and when they get into trouble that’s where they head. Joel sat with his back to the posted land. He was no dummy either. He sat quietly hoping to see some action and as the frigid air penetrated his clothing he hoped for a chance at a deer to get some blood circulating and warm up.

It was nearly 9:30 am now and a time when that early morning “get em on the way back into the thickets” had passed. Becoming restless now, Joel scanned to his right and then to his left wanting to stand or walk around but he knew that wouldn’t be a wise choice until he had decided the hunt was over. He saw nothing but the same dried golden rod waving in the breeze, the same half rotten tree stumps and boulders of every conceivable size scattered over the viewable terrain. As he returned his glance back to the right, his eyes caught some movement and when he looked completely around just off his right shoulder it was happening. Coming straight at him was a beautiful 8 point buck with steam flowing freely from his wide spread nostrils. The deer was headed for high ground and nobody was going to stop him now. Joel took his safety off and raised his rifle to shoot. The loud crack permeated the morning air and the sound could be heard from a long distance away. I was on the back side of the swamp and I remember the sound very clearly. I knew it had come from the direction of the power line and I just smiled knowingly.

The shot missed and the deer really paid little attention to it or to Joel except that he altered his direction slightly and passed on Joel’s left and was headed for the woods in rapid form. Having mostly only hunted with a single shot rifle in the past, Joel thought his chances were over until he realized that he could jack in another round. Jacking in another round is what Joel did. He took quick aim knowing this would be his only chance and squeezed the trigger one more time. I have been in that position many times myself and it does sound good to say I “squeezed” that trigger. It somehow makes the entire episode seem precise, exact and planned. It is more like yanking the trigger to get the bullet to come out quicker to hasten the anticipation of the ultimate demise of your prey. The deer fled into the woods and disappeared. At first Joel didn’t know what he should do but he began to think things through in his head and knew he should see if there was a blood trail. He searched several times before finally spotting a tiny bit of blood on the ground but sizing up the situation his fears grew. He was thinking he had only slightly wounded the deer and would probably never find it. He followed the sparse blood trail only a few yards into the woods and there he found his prize. Oh, man! He was a handsome beast. A great rack of horns, a thick coat of hair and what appeared to be an ample supply of fat for the upcoming winter season. It wasn’t long after I heard that second shot that I heard a voice yelling, coming from the same direction. It was a loud exclamation of joy and excitement over what had transpired. I knew that voice and it belonged to Dennis. I had heard it echoing from mountain tops and side hills in that area in the past. He may have been more excited than Joel but somehow I don’t think so.

Several of us made our way out of the woods to come and be witness to the historic event. Second to arrive on the scene was Gregg Inman whom we so affectionately refer to as the “Gut Master”. He acquired the nickname for his eagerness to indulge himself into the art of field dressing a deer. As I stood back and observed the proceedings, I think there was a real possibility that Joel was hoping that the “Gut Master” would take over. Well, true to form the “Gut Master” did take over, but today he became the teacher instead of the entertainer. Joel got his hands dirty and Gregg gave him the blow by blow directions on the proper way to field dress a deer and then he became the entertainer we all enjoy.

As is the case no matter who does the shooting, whether it be the seasoned hunter or the first time novice, the story is told several times and often the story gets a little better with age. It was Joel’s lucky day in more ways than one. Josh, one of our other hunting buddies, drove his pick-up truck right up the power line and we loaded the deer into the back and headed for camp.

Now that’s a great story! But that is far from the end of it. Tradition at camp has it that each hunter contributes a certain amount of money to a deer pool and the total dollars are split up at the end of the week between the first person to bag a deer and the one who brings down the biggest. Usually both portions of the pot are won by the same person. It was obvious that Joel would win the first half. Who would get the second?

After our lunch of famous red hot dogs and a side of some seriously sharp cheddar cheese, we headed up behind camp to do some investigating. To be honest I think most of us figured that would be the end of our excitement at camp for one year judging from past history. Again some of us went high and some stayed low. Some of us walked a lot and some sat all afternoon. Dennis went up high to make a swing under the ledges that overhung the east side of the mountain. I was somewhere below him and moving at a snail’s pace. It was just about 2:30 pm when I heard a shot ring out that seemed not that far away but with the ledges nearby and some big hardwood trees on an east sloping mountain side, it was difficult to tell where it came from. I assumed above me and that it must be Dennis.

My assumption was correct. While Dennis was slowly making his way across the side slope, he heard a noise off to his left. When he looked up, he was greeted by a nice buck coming straight downhill toward him. He raised his TC 54 muzzleloader and took aim. He pulled the hammer back in preparation to fire that 50 caliber round ball at his target. Dennis has been known to get a little excited from time to time and I’m sure he wasn’t the cool cucumber he would like everyone to think he was. Did he squeeze or did he yank the trigger? It didn’t really matter because when the hammer hit the cap nothing happened. He lowered the gun to see what was up and that’s when he discovered that his custom made patch made out of florescent surveyors ribbon and electrical tape he used to protect his hammer from hitting the cap accidentally, didn’t function the way the theory implied that it would. The not so well thought out plan was when he pulled the hammer back the patch would just fall off exposing the cap for a direct hit from the hammer. The only problem was when he pulled the hammer back the patch remained firmly in place. It had sort of molded itself to the cap. I think it is a family thing but while all this is taking place the deer has not changed course and as Dennis put it, “I think that deer was snickering as he continued to approach me”. He manually pulled the patch off, cocked the hammer back, took aim and yanked (I’m sure) the trigger. When all the smoke cleared, the deer was gone. Before doing anything else, Dennis reloaded his muzzleloader and then he began to look for a blood trail. He hit pay dirt! The deer hadn’t gone but only a few yards and fell dead only feet from an old logging road. It was but just a few seconds after he located the deer that I came along. It was a sight to behold and I know you would have to know Dennis to appreciate this but when I looked up through the trees where he was standing with his deer he was trying to lean up against a tree and act like he wasn’t excited. He was Mr. Cool! I think it was more like a fish trying to pretend he didn’t miss the water. I nearly fell over laughing.

The story continues to get better. As the crow flies, we were perhaps only a half a mile from where Joel shot his deer only 5 hours earlier. We back tracked Joel’s deer and determined where it must have come from would have been about half that distance. It was rare for us hunting in this area to see two deer in one day say nothing about shooting two. They were both nice bucks and the debating began. Which deer was bigger and which one had the bigger rack of horns. No one knew for sure but we all agreed they were very similar in size and age.

What a day father and son had in the woods that day. We returned to camp that afternoon with Dennis’s deer and put the two deer side by side. They could easily have been twins. The debating and guessing continued well into the night until the next day when it was decided to take the deer from camp, get them weighed and tagged and take them to Dennis’s house. Both deer were weighed on the same set of scales at the same tagging station. Joel’s eight point buck weighed in at exactly 200 lbs. Dennis’s was hoisted up onto the scale and his eight-pointer topped out at 203 lbs. Joel tried several times to see if something was wrong with the scales but to no avail. He claimed that the reason his father’s deer weighed three pounds more was because the 50 caliber round ball was still in it and that weighed 3 lbs. I think Joel really just wanted the other half of the pot of money.

They had the deer heads mounted and they now hang proudly on the wall of their den at home. Many stories have been told and many more will follow. When the taxidermist engraved the brass plates he had them both weighing 200 lbs. Dennis decided to leave the plates that way in hopes that it would help to quiet Joel down about whose deer really weighed more. This past summer for Dennis’s birthday Joel bought him a new buck knife with both of their names, the date and 200lbs etched into the blade. And to add another irony to the story, Joel came home this summer for a visit and as he was getting ready to head out the door to go bike riding with his Uncle, Dennis’s mount pulled out away from the wall pulling the bolts that held it up part way out. Dennis’s explanation to Joel was because his deer weighed more.

I am a firm believer in the strength that lies in father and son bonding experiences. There are many things that families can do to create traditions and have bonding experiences of their own but I think there is no comparison to that of a father and son sharing the outdoors and the excitement of the hunt as Dennis and Joel did last November. This truly will be a day they will both remember and a story that will be passed on for generations to come. I just hope they can get all the facts straight!!

Thomas K. Remington
Copyright September 2003
All rights reserved