Not many years ago, if one hunter worked to push a deer toward another, it would have been considered a “deer drive” — and deemed illegal.
That changed in 2013, when the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife clarified the rule:
“Driving Deer: A person may not participate in a hunt for deer during which an organized or planned effort is made to drive deer. Four or more persons working together to move deer constitutes such an effort.”
The update made it clear that large, organized drives were illegal, but small pushes by two or three hunters were not. And when done safely, they’re still productive.
“You sit here and I’m going to circle around and see if I can’t start something your way,” has been said countless times by fathers to children, hunting partners, and even strangers who meet in the November woods. It was and still is a productive way to hunt.
I’ve been hunting the same patch of woods for close to 40 years now. My late hunting partner, Rene Lavoie of Lewiston, introduced me to these ridges in the late 1980s. We took turns sitting at certain spots while the other would work their way through the woods.
Over time, I learned the natural funnels, the choke points where deer were funneled by stone walls, terrain or thick cover. We even named some of them. “Machine-gun rock” was my favorite. It overlooks a break in an old stone wall where deer almost always pass. I’ve taken three deer from that rock.
Another spot we named “the thicket.” If you forced your way through the tangle of thorns and vines, you could sometimes push a deer out the far side to a waiting partner. When pushed slowly, deer usually stay far ahead of the pusher and walk casually toward the sitter, offering a safe, ethical shot. Not everything goes according to plan, but if you know your woods, you generally know how deer will react.
This season I took two hunters to a few of my favorite push spots: Bill Tapley, a veteran deer hunter who had yet to tag a deer, and Colby Wyatt, a new hunter on his first deer hunt.
Both had any-deer permits. We put Colby on machine-gun rock, I sat 75 yards above him to cut off any escape route, and Bill was the pusher. After a few minutes, I heard the tell-tale crashing of a deer in the thicket. Seconds later, a rifle cracked — then cracked again.
Colby had taken his first deer.
“She came out exactly where you said she would,” he told me. I love it when a plan comes together. He gutted and tagged his first deer, a small skipper that will make incredible eating.
On Veterans Day, Bill and I both had the day off, so we hunted together again. This time, I sat and he pushed.
After what felt like an eternity, I caught a flick of tail 50 yards in front of me. I must have moved too quickly and the deer slipped away into some brush. I waited, hoping it would circle back, but a gunshot from Bill’s rifle told me what happened instead.
The deer saw me, tried to skirt past Bill, and stepped into his crosshairs. He dropped his first deer — a nice, plump doe. Sometimes the pusher ends up being the shooter.
With half the season ahead, I told Bill and Colby they both owed me a push. After all, I took them along and butchered their deer. They agreed, and we’re already planning our next hunt.
A traditional deer push, when done legally and safely, is a time-tested way to fill a tag — and it creates bonds between hunters that last a lifetime.
