Lane Brook

We arrived at the campground in the middle of the afternoon, and found only a couple of trappers camped out there. The first thing we noticed was a coyote hanging beside their camper. We were only a short time getting our camper in place and leveled. Then we made preparations for supper. Craig was quite familiar with this area because he had been up this way moose hunting every fall, for the past several years. The three of us discussed a number of different locations where we might like to hunt, finally agreeing to try our luck on nearby Seboomook Mountain, that had a clear cut about three fourths of the way to the top, while the peak was covered with open hardwoods. There was a nice logging road leading clear to the top of this mountain, so access was very convenient.

Early next morning we had our breakfast and were ready to go hunting long before daylight. The morning air was cool and crisp, but the winds were quiet, with the overhead sky partially cloudy. Just the right kind of a morning for good hunting conditions. We all got into Don’s pick-up truck and drove up the mountain road. Don wanted to park the truck so he could stay in it and watch the clear cuts, while Craig and I decided to head up into the hardwoods on top of the mountain, to do our hunting. We left Don at the truck, then Craig and I went in separate directions. I took a “skidder” road to the left, and walked up through the clear cut for about a half-mile before I entered the hardwoods. Craig went in the opposite direction; but before we left I told him if either of us got a deer we should wait a few minutes, after shooting the deer, then fire two quick shots. This way either of us would know the other person had shot a deer, and could come to help.

I saw lots of fresh deer droppings, and tracks, along the upper edge of the cutting. As soon as I stepped into the hardwoods there were fresh deer tracks everywhere. I had no doubt that one, or possibly both of us, would see deer in this area. The ground was still bare, but the tracks showed up quite well in the leaves. I still-hunted very slowly, expecting to see deer at any moment. This was not the case, at least for the first couple of hours. Periodically, when I came to a fairly open area, I would sit down and watch the surrounding area. Then I would get up and move slowly along, staying very alert. By now I was nearly three fourths of the way to the very top of the mountain, but I had not met up with Craig. As I stood watching and listening, I heard a sharp rifle shot, which sounded very close by. It came from the direction where I believed Craig was hunting, so I presumed it was he doing the shooting. The shot sounded as if he was no more then three or four hundred yards from where I was standing. One thing for sure, it was very close by.

I just stood in place, listening intently, and keeping a sharp eye out for any movements. I hoped that very soon I would hear him fire off a couple of signal shots to let me know he shot a deer. After several minutes had passed, I decided he must have missed, so I decided to go back down to the truck. I came into the cutting very nearly in the same place where I had entered the woods earlier. I took a “skidder” road back to where the truck had been parked, but when I got there, the pick-up was gone. I looked all over that huge cutting and finally spotted the truck parked on another wood-road, almost a half mile away, higher up on the side of the mountain.

I had no choice but to trudge back up through the cutting. It was much harder walking, because I chose to head directly to the truck, rather than take a longer route by following logging roads. When I finally arrived at the truck, Don and Craig were talking. I asked Craig if he was the one doing the shooting? He replied: “Yes.” Then he went into great detail to tell me how he shot a small deer, but needed help to drag it out of the woods. The good news was that he told me it was only a short distance from the truck. I took my rifle with me as the three of us headed back to where he had left the deer. I think we must have walked at least a quarter of a mile, when we came upon a huge eight point buck lying on the ground!

How Craig laughed when he saw the expression on my face! Naturally, I was surprised to see such a big deer, especially when Craig had told me he shot a small one. Then I told him: “You could have saved me a least a mile of extra walking if you had only remembered to fire the two quick signal shots, because I was really close by when you shot the buck!” He apologized, saying he forgot all about doing that. Then I asked: “Why did you have me carry my rifle all the way in here, when you knew you had such a big deer?” He just laughed, and told me he only wanted to surprise me! Indeed he did, but I didn’t appreciate his humor, especially when it meant much more work for me!

Craig had the buck field dressed, so all we had to do was tie a rope to the buck’s horns and we were ready to drag the buck out of the woods. Don agreed to carry my rifle, which made it much easier for me. The ground was relatively level, so we made good progress, but we could not go far before we had to stop to rest. Just the weight of the deer made it drag hard, especially on bare ground. We took our time, and eventually made it back to the truck, loaded the buck, and drove back to our campsite at Lane Brook.

That night it began to snow, and when we got up Saturday morning, the wind was blowing the snow almost horizontally over the countryside. Still we wanted to go back up on that same mountain, in spite of this bad weather. With Don’s four-wheel drive pick-up, we made it up the side of the mountain without any problems. Don stayed close to the truck, but Craig and I went out in the snowstorm, with eight inches of snow already on the ground. Believe it or not, we did jump deer. The blowing snow filled in the deer tracks about as soon as they were made. Still, Craig and I tried to follow their tracks, but after a couple of hours we decided it was no use to continue hunting. The snow was blowing even harder up there on top of the mountain, making it nearly impossible for us to see, and we were getting cold. The wind-chill factor must have been down near zero! Reluctantly, we walked back to the truck, then headed back down to our camper.

The snow did not stop falling until late afternoon, but by that time we decided it was too late for us to go out again. We had to leave for home on Sunday morning, so we stayed in camp. That night we enjoyed a supper of deer liver and onions, mashed potatoes, canned vegetables, and other “goodies.” Don prepared the liver differently than I had ever seen it done before. He sliced off several pieces of liver, then cut those slices into narrow strips, a little larger than French fries. Don explained that by doing this, the liver cooks much quicker, making it more tender. I have tried his method many times since then, and I have to agree Don was right. Now I always prepare deer liver, for frying, in this same manner. Cooking it in bacon fat makes the liver taste even better!

The first thing Sunday morning we finished packing up the camper, and hooked it up to my station wagon, ready for the trip home. Craig had to get home early, so he and Don left right after breakfast; after I assured them I would make it home O.K. I finished cleaning the dishes, and packed the last minute items; checked the connections on the camper, then headed for home. The logging road was covered with hard packed snow, so I had no problems at all until I approached the bottom of Sias Hill, where the gate house is located, and a few miles northeast of Kokadjo. I knew the camper would be hard to get up over such a steep grade, so I made a run, increasing my speed as fast as I dared to go on the hard packed snow. By the time I got three fourths of the way up the long hill I was just crawling, because I was trying to keep the front wheel drive from spinning the wheels. I was nearly stopped when I decided I did not want to back the camper down that steep hill. I did the only thing I could by stepping on the gas pedal enough to spin the front wheels. Luckily, the tires cut down through the hard packed snow and dug into the gravel below. This was just enough to keep me moving ever so slowly up the hill. It was probably very hard on the tires, but at least I was making headway. I was really relieved when I finally crested the top of the hill, and as luck would have it, that was the only difficulty I had all the way back to West Paris.