Example Essay

There are people who live in or visit this state who falsely call themselves outdoorsman. They drive their tiny SUV’s with a soccer ball sticker on the back window right below their $1000 Thule rack sitting pretty with a big, fat, un-tippable, tie-died kayak strapped to it and finished off with a shiny, pink master lock like someone would actually steal the eyesore. I can’t help but laugh as I pass them on the highway with my gas-guzzeling, mud covered Chevy truck with fishing poles sticking out the back and an old rusty boat in-tow. Yes I may be a redneck but who has more fun? As I watch them turn into the public boat landing right beside the Wal-mart, I step on my gas pedal a little harder thinking about that secret trout spot my grandfather showed me as a kid. There are many reasons I consider myself an actual Maine-ah, but the time and effort I put into hunting and fishing in the state prove it. Braving the ridiculous weather we have here, the long days of traveling into the wild blue yonder and getting absolutely dirty shows my dedication to holding true to my ancestry and having fun at the same time.

“There’s a Nor’ Easta Comin’”. We hear it from the toothless guy on the corner grasping a brown bag hours before it comes from the educated meteorologist on the nightly news with his LL Bean boots sticking out of his dress slacks. People here in Maine know they live in a wasteland as far as the weather is concerned and most are proud of it. So a little snowstorm is coming. Gram will be out there in her snowmobile suit pushing a snow blower while the kids stay home from school performing 10-point back flips off the garage roof. This is when I throw my old bird dog, a beat up old pack basket full of patched up traps, a Coleman stove, a package of deer meat, and anybody I can coheres into going with me into the truck and head for the lake. Yeah it is snowing to beat hell and half the state is without power but the fishing is hot. A real Maine fisherman doesn’t let god tell him when it’s ok to hit the ice. I’ve caught some of the biggest and ugliest fish during these blizzards and wouldn’t give it up for the world. When I see that fat brook trout pop out of a 10-inch hole, flipping his tail and looking just as beautiful as can be, I tend to forget that my toes are frozen together and I can’t feel my face. Tasting that venison after it has been sautéing with butter and garlic in a tin foil fry pan, the last thought on my mind is the tornado of snow shooting down my collar. Just barely seeing the smile on the face of a six year old through the flakes as he pulls a giant pickerel through the ice makes it all worth it.

The people who print the Gazateer, a topographical map of the state, should put a scale for miles and then one that says pack a lunch sucka. If you want to get to those spots where memories are made and tourists are only found in jokes, you’re gonna have to drive. And drive and drive and drive a little more. I can always tell the folks who know where to go for a true Maine outdoor experience. They come back into town with mud and dust caked on the side of a truck with jagged lines dragged from bumper to bumper by branches. I know this look very well as the best roads are normally half grown in. I have found that these back roads, abandoned by whoever made them in the first place, usually bring me to the golden places where fish jump in my creel and deer cut in front of each other to have a look at me. Yes it takes a toll on my vehicle and might put a couple of scratches in the paint but who gives a rats ass? When I am on my death bed, am I going to think, “geez, if only I could have kept my truck a little more clean, my life would have been so much better.” Probably not.
I don’t care who you ask, even if they are just a weekend redneck, they will tell you that having fun in the outdoors almost always means getting dirty. If you happen see some friends and I after a long four wheeler ride, there will be two clean areas. One is the spot of our faces which was covered by a set of goggles and the other will be a brilliant white, Cheshire grin. For some reason unbeknownst to me, there is nothing more fun than creating a rooster tail of mud through a boggy trail. I just can’t understand the people out in the woods and on the trails wearing some white knickers, a lovely little spring jacket and a sun hat. Don’t they realize just how fun it is to go animalistic? If you haven’t gone out and just not cared about getting dirty and just enjoyed unbridled fun, you haven’t lived. This willingness to put looks and societies idea of proper attire aside makes me fit in with the true Maine outdoorsman crowd.