Esay #2 Classification

I load the round, I aim, the gun cracks, the game falls, and I retrieve my prize. If all goes well this is the story. No matter what the designated creature, if the hunt goes well and all work pays off, I’ll be heading back to the lodge with my bounty. Hunting in my family is huge and always has been. With each of Maine’s seasons that come and go, so do the hunting seasons. With the states bountiful hunting opportunities and gorgeous backdrop of mountains and streams, I am faced with a decision. I ask myself which of the available hunts out there is the most desirable. Would it be staring at a whitetail bucks warm breath on a frigid November morning or maybe watching a giant gobbler come into my decoys responding vocally to my hen yelps. Of course there is always the thrill of waterfowl, watching a mallard scream in like a B-52 bomber over my perfect homemade blind. Although all of these outdoor experiences thrill me and many other Mainers on a daily basis, there must be one that stands out above the rest like that favorite rifle sitting high on the mantle.
The elusive and majestic whitetail deer stands out sharply in comparison to other woodland creatures found in Maine. It’s the second largest game found in our state and without a doubt one of the most mysterious. Anyone who has lived here for a couple seasons or more can recount seeing multiple deer or even a small herd feeding in roadside fields during the winter and spring. At the end of summer comes November and that first rifle crack when the deer almost seem to vanish with the morning sun. Now I am not sure what possesses us hunters to crawl out of our sacks during the frigid fall mornings to chase after these brown ghosts but something ingrained in the deer hunter’s DNA fills me with excitement every year when I hear the leaves crunch beneath my boots on opening day. The thought of a freezer full of delicate venison makes my mouth water as I dream of bagging that monster buck lurking through my favorite bog. I scout the area for a year finding the most popular beat down game trail. I pick out a tall beech tree which sits straight as an arrow seemingly waiting to support a deer stand. All of the planning, details and hard work that go into whitetail hunting all pay off when I see the glimmer of antlers coming down my path. It is hard for me to imagine a better feeling than seeing my preparations pay off with a nice healthy buck to bring home.
The next hunt on our safari through Maine is the wild turkey. Many may say that it is merely a hideous bird and one would be better off claiming their prize butterball at the local grocery store but turkey hunting is much more. What I am dealing with here is an eagle-eyed, master of vocal sounds, prehistoric bird. Hunting these 20 to 30 pound gobblers means paying special attention to lifelike decoys, perfect camouflage, and realistic calls. As I sneak out into the edge of a clearing in the prone position, placing the Tom and hen decoys perfectly, I know that any quick movement or flash of shiny metal will tell all turkeys within a mile that I am here. It is a battle of wits whenever hunting these wizards of the forest. I think it is this cat and mouse, Tom and Jerry game that attracts me so much to them. I know that the flawless execution of time tested methods will be the only way I’m going home with a trophy Tom.
The third and possibly least graceful game discussed here is the common duck. Don’t get me wrong here, the duck is well known for its precision eyesight as well as discerning hearing. Using the different duck calls available on the market today take lots of practice. Hunters blowing their brains out on a three hundred dollar duck call sounds basically like an air raid warning to our winged friends. Careful preparation must be taken to construct intricate blinds and hours of practice calling and shooting clays must be performed to be effective in the marsh. Watching a lab retrieve the fowl is amazing. The feeling I get when watching a dog I trained myself perform is hard to match.
With the countless memories gained from trudging through miles of twisted and rugged Maine landscape in pursuit of all sorts of Wiley animals, there is no way I can say any of my hunts have been inferior. I may have liked certain aspects better than others but when all is said and done, all the experiences combined have been woven together to create in me a tapestry of love for Maine’s wilderness. Whether it’s tracking that monster buck through the swamp or sitting motionless, camouflaged in deep green brush watching a huge turkey, it’s not the quarry I’m after but the untouched beauty of the state and the pride of keeping my family tradition alive that makes them all equally priceless.