Shed hunting in Maine was once a quiet pursuit. It was something done in solitude or shared quietly between a few people who understood the woods and respected its rhythms.
You could walk miles without seeing another person, let alone worrying about competition. You kept your spots close, not out of greed, but out of tradition. The woods were big enough for everyone.
That feeling has changed.
In recent years, shed hunting in Maine has exploded in popularity. Social media, online markets and rising demand for moose and deer antlers have turned what was once a personal passion into something far more competitive — and at times, cutthroat.
Today, stories circulate of stolen spots, sabotaged areas, false online accusations and even threats exchanged between people who all claim to love the same woods. I know this firsthand.
I’m Drew Maciel, a city kid from Florida who made the decision to change my entire life to follow this passion north. I didn’t grow up in the Maine woods, inherit secret spots or family traditions passed down for generations. What I did have was time, willingness to sacrifice comfort and a deep respect for the land and the animals that live there.
Along the way, I didn’t learn everything on my own. Experienced individuals, some who have been shed hunting in Maine for decades, chose to help instead of compete. They shared knowledge, offered guidance and corrected me when I was wrong.
That mentorship reflects the best of Maine’s outdoor traditions, and I never want to discredit the generosity that still exists in this community. Without those people, I wouldn’t be where I am today.
Eventually, I turned shed hunting — particularly for moose antlers — into a business. Not out of greed, but necessity. The antlers I find help pay for gas, food, gear and the ability to continue traveling and searching in the North Maine Woods.
That decision has not always been welcomed. I’ve received threats simply for monetizing something others believe should remain untouched, or reserved for a select few.
Maine’s woods are unique. Much of the land is privately owned, yet long-standing traditions of access have allowed generations of people to hunt, fish and walk these forests.
That access depends on respect. This includes respect for landowners, posted property, gates and roads and for the understanding that permission is a privilege, not a right. Conflict often arises not because of antlers, but because people who don’t own the land try to control it, deciding who “belongs” and who doesn’t.
What fuels tension isn’t just competition. It’s miscommunication, entitlement and the belief that personal history in an area grants authority over others. When assumptions replace conversations, resentment grows. When access is treated casually, relationships with landowners suffer. And when online drama enters the picture, small disagreements can spiral into public accusations that follow people for years.
Still, that’s only part of the story.
Shed hunting can also be one of the most unifying outdoor experiences Maine has to offer. I’ve met people from completely different backgrounds — loggers, guides, hikers, lifelong Mainers and fellow transplants — who all share the same awe when they find a weathered antler half-buried in moss.
I’ve shared coffee in truck beds at sunrise, swapped stories on logging roads and listened to older shed hunters whose understanding of the woods deserves real respect.
Those traditions matter. The quiet ways of doing things matter. Preserving the land and the relationships that allow access to it matters.
Shed hunting doesn’t have to become a battleground. There is room for old-school ethics and new ways of making a living. There is room for passion without hostility, competition without cruelty and success without sabotage.
The woods aren’t smaller than they used to be. But our patience, communication and respect for one another might be.
If shed hunting in Maine is going to remain something worth protecting, we need to remember why we started walking in the first place — not for territory or attention, but for the silence, the challenge and a shared love for the land that keeps drawing us back into the woods.
