woods rompers travel to our re-
mote camps to ready them for
the upcoming hunting seasons.
rather than cottage or cabin. That's prob-
ably because most are just simple shacks
with a bunk bed and a woodstove. These
hideaways are often without electricity or
indoor plumbing. I own such a place.
in the series was a column I wrote for the
October 2007 issue of Bangor Metro titled
"Ruth's Rifle." The second was "Flipping the
Bull," my December 2007 column about the
Bull Moose I shot with that old rifle.
father and great-uncle. They both owned
that rifle until it was passed on to one of my
great-aunts and then to me--along with a
20-gauge shotgun. I have old faded photos
of them with partridge, deer, and even bear
taken out to camp with those guns.
and my grandmother--inherited the small
yet sturdy, hip-roofed camp. According to
family lore, my grandmother had no
interest so declined her ownership in it.
That was unfortunate because my great-
aunts didn't allow anyone the use of it.
(Rumor has it they let a family member use
it one deer season and the subsequent
damage sealed it off from others hence-
forth.) They had a local hunting guide act
as caretaker, making sure all was in order
for their month-long stay every summer. I
have to give those old biddies credit, this
being a remote and bare-bones operation.
it clear through the family grapevine that
I wanted first dibs if it was ever sold. There
was an undeniable ancestral pull telling
me I needed to keep that old camp in the
family. A few years ago that day finally
came, and after considerable family
haggling and dealing with lawyers and real
estate agents, the keys were passed to me. I
now owned the family hunting camp on a
couple acres, a mile down a dirt road, deep
in the north Maine woods.
neglect had left the camp in serious disre-
pair. But even with the leaking roof, rotted
floor, and smell of mold and lamp oil, it was
like stepping back in time when you
entered. Old tattered sporting prints hung
on the walls. A gun cabinet--that once
again stows that old rifle and shotgun--
stood watch just inside the front door, and
captured center stage in the main room. It
was a classic Maine hunting camp and I was
determined to bring it back to life.
immediately. Then I got a work crew of
friends together and we replaced the
leaking roof over the back bedroom and
reinforced the main roof. A new stovepipe
was added to the cookstove and I built a
trees were cut, allowing sun back in
through the windows, and the sole apple
tree--that attracted deer I was told--was
spared and pruned.
systems, and all the hassles, headaches,
and costs associated with living in the civi-
lized world. The heart of the camp is that
old cookstove. It took some time to under-
stand its personality: the nuances of the
draft controls; where the hot spot was on
top so the morning coffee was ready before
morning deer stand; how long partridge
breasts took to cook in the oven; and how
many times a night I had to get up to fill
the small burn box so we didn't freeze.
be replaced and the spongy spots in the
floor suggest additional renovations in the
in its physical integrity it makes up for in
history and tradition.
before the woods had reclaimed it and the
ghosts of my ancestors had floated away.
Master Guide, and owner/editor of the online
magazine www.uplandjournal.com.