T11, R13 WELS — There’s nothing quite like a hunting trip to the North Maine Woods. Our group, which features brother Bill Lander of Dedham and Chris Lander of Orrington, learned that in 2024.
We enjoyed unprecedented success hunting grouse and saw 40 birds, so it was an easy decision to dust off the camping gear and head north earlier this month.
We had hoped someone in our circle might draw a moose permit, but we were shut out. Instead, we would have to settle for magnificent foliage and a bevy of birds.
Expectations were tempered by the knowledge a cold, wet spring may have hampered grouse nesting success. Even so, preliminary reports indicated it should be a good, solid season.
Chris tackled the hardest part of the preparations, preparing the tent, pop-up shelter, gas griddle and assorted other necessities that would provide us with a comfortable experience at the campsite. He also brought along an exciting new item — but more on that later.
Blessed with beautiful weather, we arrived early enough on a Wednesday to unload, set up camp and sneak out for a quick ride. We had a bird in no time and saw another, which stood defiantly beside the road in a safety zone where hunting is not permitted.
Our dinner was a hearty bowl of Billy’s bangin’ beef stew, which really hit the spot as the evening cooled off.
This year, Chris opted for inflatable mattresses, rather than camping cots. The enhanced comfort meant a better night’s sleep for all.
If there’s any such thing as a “bad” day hunting in the North Maine Woods, our first full day was it. Climbing out of our sleeping bags into the 27-degree morning, Chris whipped up a tasty breakfast of bacon, eggs and corned beef hash — aka Alpo — before we headed out.
We scoured a particular section where we had seen lots of birds in 2024, but they were scarce. Billy picked up one midafternoon bird from a well-concealed group of three grouse, but that was it.
Otherwise, it was a nice fall day riding the roads, marveling at the colorful leaves and enjoying each other’s company. We returned to camp before sunset.
I decided to take a little walk with my 20-gauge on a winter road close to the campsite. I hadn’t gone 200 yards when I noticed fresh moose tracks in the soil.
Upon reaching an open area, I made a few cow calls. To my surprise, I heard thrashing in the bushes, maybe 100 yards in front of me.
I couldn’t get a glimpse of the moose and after several minutes and a few more calls, there was a brief burst of bush-bashing, then nothing. It was gone.
Dinner consisted of our traditional “Petey Pasta” and Texas toast.
Things got interesting on Friday morning. When I went to retrieve a small bag of trash from the bed of Chris’ pickup, it was gone.
Squirrels? Raccoons? No — only a bear would be able to grab the bag and make off with it, we reasoned.
After searching for tracks on, in and around the truck, we found nothing. As a precaution, Chris and Billy contemplated throwing a rope over a branch and hoisting the large cooler out of reach.
Instead, both coolers went into the bed of the truck for the day, and off we went.
Our travels took us farther west and north to an area we had hunted on our previous visit. Along the way, Chris spotted a doe with two fawns in tow.
The grouse sightings were numerous and Chris got on the board with a stubborn bird that absorbed a couple of blasts from his 16-gauge. Billy downed one just before our lunch break.
By day’s end, we had seen 14 birds and shot a handful.
Back at camp, we grabbed two buckets and headed to the Allagash River to fill them with water. Soon after, Chris cooked big, juicy burgers and huge hot dogs, all from Maple Lane Farms in Charleston, on the griddle.
That’s when the bear mystery was solved. Chris opened a plastic tote to find the missing trash bag. Some dimwit forgot that he had stashed it there the night before.
With our bellies full, we wrote a game-changing chapter in our camping history. Chris, always eager to enhance the experience, had bought a portable outdoor shower, complete with a foot mat and a cordless sprayer.
A large pan of water warmed over the fire was poured into a five-gallon bucket and positioned inside the little tent. Each of us took a glorious shower and emerged renewed.
“We’re Allagash clean,” Chris pronounced.
Plenty of action greeted us Saturday morning, followed by some exploring in an area we hadn’t visited previously. It was uneventful.
After another tailgate lunch of sandwiches and chips, we returned to a road that had been productive a day earlier, one we affectionately called “9 Bird Road.”
Billy cashed in on a grouse that bravely stood its ground in the road — six feet in front of the truck. On a nearby road, a bird dashed into the brush as Chris and I approached on foot, only to flush when we got close.
We both fired and Chris knocked it down. A second bird took flight, but I couldn’t follow up as I had unintentionally touched off both barrels on the first bird.
Our count for the day was 17 grouse seen and more in the cooler. Three-plus days of hunting yielded at least 32 sightings and we each put four birds on ice.
We ended Saturday with succulent filet mignon from Maple Lane, along with potatoes and corn. It was a fitting celebration of another fabulous trip.
Remarkably, we did not lay eyes on a single moose up north. We were blessed with gorgeous weather, lots of laughs, great food and wonderful camaraderie.
The experience got us thinking about making a fishing trip to the North Maine Woods sometime next spring or summer. If not, we’re sure to return in search of grouse next fall.
