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I am thirty-eight years old and have been hunting since I was twelve. I've shot quite a few deer, but have yet to harvest a wall-hanging buck. I've had several chances, but for one reason or another, I was not able to drag out a nice buck. With the close of the 1988 deer season, my mind was already thinking ahead to the season coming. Who would have believed it was to turn out as it did. Each year I look forward to the hunting seasons, bow and rifle, in the mountains of New England. Although a Vermont resident, I've primarily hunted the Northern woods of Maine with three friends during the last week of November. There are decent bucks in Vermont but bigger woods and less hunting pressure always draw me to Maine and this year to New Hampshire. This year I wanted to get in some extra hunting before I went to Maine. So to sharpen my tracking skills, get in better shape and acquire more hunting time, I purchased a New Hampshire license. This year the New Hampshire rifle season started November 8th and would end on December 3rd, adding another week beyond Vermont and Maine seasons. I hunted a couple of days around Lyme, New Hampshire without any luck. It rained hard the first day and was quite warm the next. Sunday, November 12th, my friend Gary Clough and I headed for the Northern Maine woods. During the week and a half of hunting, I had come across some good tracks but had never managed to catch up with the deer that had made them. Gary harvested a four-pointer. Gary's brother Dale and another good friend, Brad Lockwood, came up to hunt with us later in the week. Between the four of us we saw twenty-eight deer. Dale passed up an opportunity at a small buck and Brad shot at another good sized buck -- that was the extent of this year's Maine hunting season; without the success we had hoped for. Early Wednesday morning, Gary, Dale and I decided to head back home to spend Thanksgiving with our families. Gary and I turned our sights to New Hampshire, where we hoped for fresh snow. Little did I know this was going to be the most exciting, disappointing, and rewarding part of my hunting season. The next day, after Thanksgiving, we went up to my Uncle's old farm in the White Mountains. I had hunted these mountains as a boy. There never used to be many deer there, but in the recent years the herd has come back some due to better management. When we arrived at Uncle Clayton's house, it was the usual cluttered place I remembered. He lives alone and housekeeping is not a priority for him! We made ourselves comfortable and got a good night's rest for the day ahead.
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