I have heard a lot in conversation with clients, friends, and those I just met how lucky I am to be a guide. I often smile into those wistful looks and think to myself "Buddy, you have no idea". Don't get me wrong, I do so love what I do - as I love the outdoors. However, it is a great deal of hard work, long hours, and sometimes filled with dangerous conditions. Here's a sneak peak of one day last month, in a remote tent camp hosting bear hunters (generally 4-6 clients at a time, with 2 guides):
Arise at 0330 to mix and cook my secret family recipe of bear bait (I use only all natural ingredients...sorry bears, no donuts in my bait!). This can take anywhere from 45 minutes to 2 hours, not including cooling time. Then its time to gather firewood, skin bears harvested the night before, and begin making breakfast, all before 7am, when most people begin waking. Breakfast was served to our groggy clients at 8am.
From there, there were camp chores to be done - more firewood, dishes, making & packing bag lunches, showing clients spots to fish (the area in which I guide bear hunters contains excellent fishing opportunities), cleaning out ashes, sweeping dirt of the the canvas tents, and so on.
At noon, we begin moving clients into the woods for the evening hunt. From the tent camp, it can be anywhere from 30 mins to 3 hours to get all of our clients into position, traveling over logging roads into even more remote areas. With all of our clients in place, it was time to bait the unwatched bear baits. Generally, we have between 40-100 bear baits out at any one time. The process of baiting these baits can take up to 5 hours.
By the time the baits have been baited, its time to start picking up clients at the stand sites. Again, this can take several hours - longer if there are downed bears to retrieve & dress. We arrive back at the camp about 11pm, and promptly begin to cook supper. With supper completed, we fall into our sleeping bags after midnight.
Still want to be a guide? Ok, so its not all bad...but neither is it a walk in the park, either :)
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Coffee Can Stove
As the weather starts to turn colder, and my time outdoors increases, I'm inclined to start dragging out my winter camping gear. One of the little devices that I like to carry around for a quick fix of something hot while out in the wilds, is my coffee can stove.
I found the idea for this little stove came from an outdoor magazine, and I am quite sorry to say that I have forgotten which one, otherwise I would be happy to give the author his/her due. It's quite an ingenious little invention, simply a coffee can with a 1"x3" slot cut near the opening (what will become the bottom of the stove), and a 1/2"x3" slot cut in the other end, opposite side from the first slot.
The larger slot becomes the vent for the stove, as well as an area to be able to place more fuel on the fire, should you need it. The smaller slot is the "chimney" of the stove, like so -
With this setup, you can quickly boil a cup of water, soup, hot chocolate, coffee, etc. Flipping the cup upside down on the stove, you can even bake a biscuit!
One quick recommendation - don't try to use any branches or twigs larger in diameter than the diameter of your pinky - they do not seem to burn well in such a confined area.
I found the idea for this little stove came from an outdoor magazine, and I am quite sorry to say that I have forgotten which one, otherwise I would be happy to give the author his/her due. It's quite an ingenious little invention, simply a coffee can with a 1"x3" slot cut near the opening (what will become the bottom of the stove), and a 1/2"x3" slot cut in the other end, opposite side from the first slot.
The larger slot becomes the vent for the stove, as well as an area to be able to place more fuel on the fire, should you need it. The smaller slot is the "chimney" of the stove, like so -
With this setup, you can quickly boil a cup of water, soup, hot chocolate, coffee, etc. Flipping the cup upside down on the stove, you can even bake a biscuit!
One quick recommendation - don't try to use any branches or twigs larger in diameter than the diameter of your pinky - they do not seem to burn well in such a confined area.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Proposed bear hunting ban opponents finally unite!
See the press release from the Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife here
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Meindl Perfekt Hiker Boots
As with all the equipment reviews I will be doing, allow me first to divulge the background information on them. First, I bought them, they were not given to me to test. No, I was not afforded a discount by either the manufacturer or the retail outlet. *Dusts hands* Now that we have that out of the way...
In the spring of this year, I began a search for a new pair of hiking boots. I was planning a section hike of part of the Appalachian Trail, in Virginia, as part of my continuing saga of section hiking the whole AT. As with every equipment purchase, I pored over technical specifications (Tech nerd? Nooooo...not me!), online reviews, other blogs, etc. Finally, I decided that my best bet was to actually put my hands, and more importantly my feet, on these hikers.
Of all the models that I examined, I opted for a pair of Perfekt Hikers from Cabela's. Perfekts are made by the famous Bavarian boot makers, Meindl. Meindl knows boots - they've been making them for over 300 years. Their quality is beyond approach, based on online reviews. I knew that the manufacturing was sound - but sound enough for daily abuse by a guide well known for pushing his equipment above and beyond?
When I tried these boots out at the store, I was surprised at how heavy the boots were. They weigh in at just over 3#, at least by my scale when I got home. However, the boots were amazingly comfortable when I put them on. The lacing system works well, and the boots had a natural, well fitted feel to them, at least with my feet at a normal (read: non-swollen!) size. But what would happen after 40 or 50 miles on a trail? Would they still feel as comfortable?
Well, to make matters short and sweet - yes. So far, I have logged about 150 miles in the boots, and they feel as good now as they did then. So far, they have stood up to all the abuse I have been able to throw at them - hiking, mud, rain, sleet, snow, and so forth. I would expect nothing less from a manufacturer with the reputation and history of Meindl.
The Perfekts are a full grain leather boot, but feel remarkably light for such. The uppers grip my ankle solidly, aiding greatly in support for the rough terrain I am often required to cross. In fact, I have started to feel my ankle roll several times in the boot, only to have the uppers catch and save me from a serious injury. I find the firm outersole with good traction, even on icy surfaces (although certainly not as good as crampons!). The best feature of the Perfekts, in my opinion, however, are the cork/memory foam inserts. Immediately upon putting these boots on in the store, I could feel the comfort - in fact, these were even more comfortable to wear than the sneakers I had worn into the store!
If you are looking for a high end ($200+) pair of hikers, and want as much quality as possible for the money, I highly recommend the Perfekts.
Monday, September 23, 2013
What's in my pack?
As a guide, I am often asked what is in my day pack...so here's a sneak peak. Of course, everyone is different, and prepares differently as well. The pack and contents below are setup for cold weather trips.
Fanny Pack (Cabela's Guide Pack)
LL Bean metal water bottle
(2) emergency space blanket
roll of flagging tape
"You Alone In the Maine Woods" (great information/stress relieving reading material/fire starter)
cyalume nightsticks
hand & foot chemical warmers
small first aid kit
Sharpie marker & grease pencil (not shown)
pad of paper
emergency whistle (Fox 40)
aluminum foil
waterproof matches in a waterproof case (I like the double proofing)
magnesium firestarter
vaseline soaked cotton balls in a film container
unlubricated condoms (for water collection)
Leatherman multi-tool
headlamp with extra batteries
signal mirror
hot chocolate
granola bars
water purification tablets (not shown)
Lipton instant pasta (not shown)
2 leaf trash bags (not shown)
(2) pairs of wool socks (not shown)
(2) compasses (primary 1 and a spare)
With these items, I can survive comfortably for several days, signal as dictated by the situation, and so on.
Fanny Pack (Cabela's Guide Pack)
LL Bean metal water bottle
(2) emergency space blanket
roll of flagging tape
"You Alone In the Maine Woods" (great information/stress relieving reading material/fire starter)
cyalume nightsticks
hand & foot chemical warmers
small first aid kit
Sharpie marker & grease pencil (not shown)
pad of paper
emergency whistle (Fox 40)
aluminum foil
waterproof matches in a waterproof case (I like the double proofing)
magnesium firestarter
vaseline soaked cotton balls in a film container
unlubricated condoms (for water collection)
Leatherman multi-tool
headlamp with extra batteries
signal mirror
hot chocolate
granola bars
water purification tablets (not shown)
Lipton instant pasta (not shown)
2 leaf trash bags (not shown)
(2) pairs of wool socks (not shown)
(2) compasses (primary 1 and a spare)
With these items, I can survive comfortably for several days, signal as dictated by the situation, and so on.
Monday, September 9, 2013
The case of the missing TP and the territorial squirrel
Gentle readers,
I wish that I could say that this tale illustrates the boldness, calm and fortitude of the stereotypical Registered Maine Guide. Sadly, far from it. This is a story of the unfortunate circumstances which sometimes overtake those who spend the majority of their time deep in the woods, far from such luxuries as telephones, refrigerators, and(in this case) indoor plumbing.
Our tale begins one warm,sunny, and somewhat humid June night. It is the sort of night that non-natives (and even some Mainers) dream about. Crooked Tail and I were sitting on the deck off the back of our house, listening to the gentle sounds of cricket chirps and bullfrog croaks. Overhead, nary a cloud in the sky blotted out the view of the milky way's meandering path through the stars. It had been a long day, for CT and I - paddling and exploring our way through a local marsh, gathering some carnivorous plant photos, photographing a loon's nest, as well as doing some summer trapline scouting for muskrat and mink.
Suddenly, there came a rumbling from deep down inside me. An incessant gurgling, like that of a babbling brook turned psychotic by a violent thundershower at the head waters. In an instant, I stood, recognizing the growing revolt of my empty stomach, pleading for food. What to eat? Hmm,that question plagued me. I opened up the refrigerator, and stared at a landscape as barren as Death Valley. I had forgotten to get groceries earlier. Whoops. Now what?
I grabbed the keys to my truck and headed for the door. Fearing what was coming, CT opted to stay staring at the stars. I hopped into Jethro and headed for town,determined to find something to occupy my stomach's attention. Seven miles later, I rounded the last corner, and saw the lights of the "big city" come into view. One of the first lights I saw was advertising a local franchise of the fast food chain "Taco Smell". While I normally enjoy home made Mexican, eating fast food Mexican is akin to allowing weapons of mass destruction onto a subway train...you just don't do it. Well, apparently, I chose to look the other way while my stomach smuggled the WMDs on board.
The next day was a planned hiking day. I wasn't working, but needed to assess trail conditions after a week or more of rain, prior to a hike planned the following day. The trail wound about 2.5 miles, up a mountain of about 3,000', before clambering out of the thick woods onto what geologists refer to as a bald,with gorgeous views of the surrounding mountains. The weather was beautiful,for the first time in a while, and I was looking forward to exploring. CT felt the same, by the way she bounded into Jethro when the time came to leave.
The climb up was a wonderful breath of fresh air for both of us-the sun shining down, filling us with Vitamin D, the burn in the legs from the climb, the view of CT dashing up the trail out of sight, and then sprinting back as if Usain Bolt was fast on her heels, was cathartic for this old guide's soul. Yet trouble was brewing, and would soon strike so swiftly and suddenly that I was left as powerless as a leaf in the wind when it struck.
The trouble began on the descent. CT and I had spent a glorious hour on top, enjoying the breeze floating out of the north, and the brilliant glowing ball of gas high in the sky. We lounged, browsing on some ripening wild strawberries we found among the grasses and scrubby brush. We even split a bottle of ice cold spring water. For the first mile, we moved swiftly, almost at a jog. By now, CT was tiring, and her pace was a bit slower than normal.
As I half walked/half jogged, I became faintly aware of something. At first I wasn't quite sure what was causing the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Was I being watched by another predator? Was it like the time I sensed CT was about to fall through a soft spot in the snow,and disappear into a raging torrent below? I slowed my pace and brought my senses to a focus. What was going on?
Then, at first almost imperceptibly, I felt it. Yes, IT. That feeling that comes with the knowledge that one of mother nature's biological functions is impending. Unknown to me at the time, the timer on the WMD package was in its final countdown. I deliberated for a moment, and decided to push on...after all, it was only another mile or so to the parking lot, and a nice comfy portable toilet. Twenty minutes, tops, and I would be able to relieve myself.
Now, gentle reader, let me take a moment and explain the PROPER way to poop in the woods. First, one should always move at least 100 yards off a highly used hiking trail. This will prevent others from having to deal with your, well, frankly, your crap. Next, one should dig a shallow hole, much like a cat, and (using a well aimed shot), evacuate your colon into the hole. Then push the dirt you dug out back over the top, and wipe your vital areas with toilet paper and put the used paper into a brown paper bag, to be burned over the next campfire. Simple, right? Right. Except when you forget your guide pack, containing my trowel, toilet paper, and paper bags. Well, doom on me.
Well, flash back to my hairy white butt hiking down the trail. At first, going was swift with the added impetus of my impending colon release. Soon, however, in the words of Edgar Allen Poe "came a rapping, a gentle tapping at the door"of my colon. Every step increased the effort of the tapping, as if to say "I will NOT be ignored!". I sweated. I groaned. I moaned. I squeezed my butt cheeks tighter. All of this simply escalated the pressure from the bowels. I was in trouble. My rectum was getting ready to burst like a dam wired with 200 tons of high explosive.
Making a hasty decision, I trotted off the trail as fast as my clenched butt cheeks would allow. I need to find a large tree to shield my furry hiney from anyone coming up or down the trail. Looking to my left, I spotted a large oak tree which would serve the purpose to perfection. Ducking quickly behind it, I yanked my shorts down and squatted, knowing instinctively I wouldn't have enough time to kick out a shallow hole with my hiking boots.
What came next was very much like a volcanic eruption, minus the ash cloud. It flowed. It oozed. I groaned. Then I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. There, situated about 5 feet above my head, was an enormous red squirrel. His expression was a cross between Stu Price's expression when he wakes up from a night of debauchery in "The Hangover", and the typical Chuck Norris "I'm ticked off and you will pay" expression. I could imagine the thoughts drifting through his head (or at least, in my mind he was male). They began with "WTF", quickly transitioning to "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY BACKYARD????", and ending with, appropriately enough, "Death to the unholy". I knew what was coming next.
I quickly plucked a few oak leaves to wipe my nether regions as the first staccato alarm chirps floated down from on high like a Gatling gun warming up. In mere milliseconds, before I could even finish wiping and pull up my shorts, the gun was warmed up and shooting out a rhythm of sound that could be heard in the next county. Quickly pulling up my shorts, I flashed back up to the trail, hoping my dastardly deed hadn't been discovered by more than the squirrel. I swear I heard CT laugh all the way back to the truck.
PS - Every time I go by the tree now, that same squirrel starts chattering. Who knew squirrel memory was so long? At least I've never forgotten my toiletry kit since.
I wish that I could say that this tale illustrates the boldness, calm and fortitude of the stereotypical Registered Maine Guide. Sadly, far from it. This is a story of the unfortunate circumstances which sometimes overtake those who spend the majority of their time deep in the woods, far from such luxuries as telephones, refrigerators, and(in this case) indoor plumbing.
Our tale begins one warm,sunny, and somewhat humid June night. It is the sort of night that non-natives (and even some Mainers) dream about. Crooked Tail and I were sitting on the deck off the back of our house, listening to the gentle sounds of cricket chirps and bullfrog croaks. Overhead, nary a cloud in the sky blotted out the view of the milky way's meandering path through the stars. It had been a long day, for CT and I - paddling and exploring our way through a local marsh, gathering some carnivorous plant photos, photographing a loon's nest, as well as doing some summer trapline scouting for muskrat and mink.
Suddenly, there came a rumbling from deep down inside me. An incessant gurgling, like that of a babbling brook turned psychotic by a violent thundershower at the head waters. In an instant, I stood, recognizing the growing revolt of my empty stomach, pleading for food. What to eat? Hmm,that question plagued me. I opened up the refrigerator, and stared at a landscape as barren as Death Valley. I had forgotten to get groceries earlier. Whoops. Now what?
I grabbed the keys to my truck and headed for the door. Fearing what was coming, CT opted to stay staring at the stars. I hopped into Jethro and headed for town,determined to find something to occupy my stomach's attention. Seven miles later, I rounded the last corner, and saw the lights of the "big city" come into view. One of the first lights I saw was advertising a local franchise of the fast food chain "Taco Smell". While I normally enjoy home made Mexican, eating fast food Mexican is akin to allowing weapons of mass destruction onto a subway train...you just don't do it. Well, apparently, I chose to look the other way while my stomach smuggled the WMDs on board.
The next day was a planned hiking day. I wasn't working, but needed to assess trail conditions after a week or more of rain, prior to a hike planned the following day. The trail wound about 2.5 miles, up a mountain of about 3,000', before clambering out of the thick woods onto what geologists refer to as a bald,with gorgeous views of the surrounding mountains. The weather was beautiful,for the first time in a while, and I was looking forward to exploring. CT felt the same, by the way she bounded into Jethro when the time came to leave.
The climb up was a wonderful breath of fresh air for both of us-the sun shining down, filling us with Vitamin D, the burn in the legs from the climb, the view of CT dashing up the trail out of sight, and then sprinting back as if Usain Bolt was fast on her heels, was cathartic for this old guide's soul. Yet trouble was brewing, and would soon strike so swiftly and suddenly that I was left as powerless as a leaf in the wind when it struck.
The trouble began on the descent. CT and I had spent a glorious hour on top, enjoying the breeze floating out of the north, and the brilliant glowing ball of gas high in the sky. We lounged, browsing on some ripening wild strawberries we found among the grasses and scrubby brush. We even split a bottle of ice cold spring water. For the first mile, we moved swiftly, almost at a jog. By now, CT was tiring, and her pace was a bit slower than normal.
As I half walked/half jogged, I became faintly aware of something. At first I wasn't quite sure what was causing the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Was I being watched by another predator? Was it like the time I sensed CT was about to fall through a soft spot in the snow,and disappear into a raging torrent below? I slowed my pace and brought my senses to a focus. What was going on?
Then, at first almost imperceptibly, I felt it. Yes, IT. That feeling that comes with the knowledge that one of mother nature's biological functions is impending. Unknown to me at the time, the timer on the WMD package was in its final countdown. I deliberated for a moment, and decided to push on...after all, it was only another mile or so to the parking lot, and a nice comfy portable toilet. Twenty minutes, tops, and I would be able to relieve myself.
Now, gentle reader, let me take a moment and explain the PROPER way to poop in the woods. First, one should always move at least 100 yards off a highly used hiking trail. This will prevent others from having to deal with your, well, frankly, your crap. Next, one should dig a shallow hole, much like a cat, and (using a well aimed shot), evacuate your colon into the hole. Then push the dirt you dug out back over the top, and wipe your vital areas with toilet paper and put the used paper into a brown paper bag, to be burned over the next campfire. Simple, right? Right. Except when you forget your guide pack, containing my trowel, toilet paper, and paper bags. Well, doom on me.
Well, flash back to my hairy white butt hiking down the trail. At first, going was swift with the added impetus of my impending colon release. Soon, however, in the words of Edgar Allen Poe "came a rapping, a gentle tapping at the door"of my colon. Every step increased the effort of the tapping, as if to say "I will NOT be ignored!". I sweated. I groaned. I moaned. I squeezed my butt cheeks tighter. All of this simply escalated the pressure from the bowels. I was in trouble. My rectum was getting ready to burst like a dam wired with 200 tons of high explosive.
Making a hasty decision, I trotted off the trail as fast as my clenched butt cheeks would allow. I need to find a large tree to shield my furry hiney from anyone coming up or down the trail. Looking to my left, I spotted a large oak tree which would serve the purpose to perfection. Ducking quickly behind it, I yanked my shorts down and squatted, knowing instinctively I wouldn't have enough time to kick out a shallow hole with my hiking boots.
What came next was very much like a volcanic eruption, minus the ash cloud. It flowed. It oozed. I groaned. Then I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. There, situated about 5 feet above my head, was an enormous red squirrel. His expression was a cross between Stu Price's expression when he wakes up from a night of debauchery in "The Hangover", and the typical Chuck Norris "I'm ticked off and you will pay" expression. I could imagine the thoughts drifting through his head (or at least, in my mind he was male). They began with "WTF", quickly transitioning to "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY BACKYARD????", and ending with, appropriately enough, "Death to the unholy". I knew what was coming next.
I quickly plucked a few oak leaves to wipe my nether regions as the first staccato alarm chirps floated down from on high like a Gatling gun warming up. In mere milliseconds, before I could even finish wiping and pull up my shorts, the gun was warmed up and shooting out a rhythm of sound that could be heard in the next county. Quickly pulling up my shorts, I flashed back up to the trail, hoping my dastardly deed hadn't been discovered by more than the squirrel. I swear I heard CT laugh all the way back to the truck.
PS - Every time I go by the tree now, that same squirrel starts chattering. Who knew squirrel memory was so long? At least I've never forgotten my toiletry kit since.
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