HUNTING Upta Moosehead Lake

Warning: this post contains a picture of a harvested deer and animal violence against a man.

I spent some time recently up to camp on Moosehead Lake. It's the camp my grandfather built over sixty years ago. A place of sentiment, wildness, and peace. Well, peace for me, at least.

My friend and beta reader Dave joined me. We played cribbage, hunted, and laughed quite a bit.

First, the violence. Dave was attacked by a vicious wild animal. Three grey jays, also known as Canadian jays or whiskey jacks, visited us in the front yard. Here's a video. Turn the sound up.

Yes, that thing bit him! I guess he'll pull through.

Meanwhile, here's some more pics. The last one has the deer (no blood) and a rifle, so if you're not into that, turn back now.

Snow up on the mountains. Those are Big and Little Spencer mountains.

Where else do you have a lunch out in the wilds than a tailgate?

7-pointer. He came in sniffing after a doe.

Maine has a long history of hunting our great outdoors. This deer was harvested under fair-chase conditions. I even processed the deer personally over a couple of tiring afternoons; nothing was wasted. Unless you count the scraps made into dog food. Addie does not believe it a waste, so you can argue with her.