Success Redefined

In the fall of 2004, I made a trip northward from my home in West Virginia, up through New England in to the great state of Maine for the very first time. While we were there, we were the guests of one of Maine’s premier outfitters and guides, Mr. Matt Libby of Libby Camps, near Ashland. More on the later.

I was privileged to harvest my first black bear, weighing 344 lbs. That story is recorded in this magazine, Maine Hunting Today and many other sites belonging to U.S. Hunting Today, under a list of my articles. That has since spawned an addiction to the pursuit of Ursus Americanus back in my native West Virginia, and has spawned a deep need to return to Maine.

I have not seen all of Maine, actually only a small part, The North Maine Woods, up on the Aroostook, but I have seen enough to feel a kinship with this country. I was raised in the woods of eastern West Virginia, in the Monongahela National Forest, on streams like the Greenbrier River, Cranberry River and Hills Creek. These are the places where I feel most at home. This explains much of my attraction to Northern Maine. It is so much like my native Potomac Highlands, only on a much larger scale. Four million acres of vast wilderness, with cool streams and hardwoods. This area is home to moose, martins, coyotes, big deer and the largest population of Black Bears in the lower 48 states.

First is a friend I know from the corporate world that I have worked with closely over the last few years and is an avid deer hunter. He hails from the great state of Ohio, which some call a third world country, but actually has moved to the Baltimore area since he committed to this venture. His name is Terry Dewitt. He is a bio-tech geek for a German Medical company. He is one of the guys that keep all that marvelous technology we see in hospitals working!

Second on this trip, and newest to the hunting circle is Doug Lambert, a chemist with Dow chemical in South Charleston, West Virginia. I met Doug several years back at a wedding. It seems that Doug’s wife’s younger brother was foolhardy enough to propose marriage to my only daughter. The result of all this is that Doug and I are related now in some inexplicable manner. But we hit it off from the start as we both share an interest in hunting and fishing that borders on insanity.

Both these gentleman have never hunted bears before and have spent the last year making mighty preparations and growing in excitement. I have shared with them all I know about Maine and Libby Camps and bear hunting in general, which frankly is just enough knowledge to be dangerous.

Doug and I left Charleston, West Virginia on Friday, August 25th at dawn without incident. Our route would find us easing east a ways, into the rising sun, then north on I-79, eventually meeting up with Terry where I-70 and I-81 N merge. After picking up Terry, we managed to make it to Cabela’s in Hamburg Pa, for a late lunch, and to pick up last minute essentials. We re-traced the route we had raveled in 2004, spending the night with friends in New York and working our way into Maine on Saturday, eventually at the Katahdin Motel in Sherman Maine.

The Katahdin Motel was populated almost exclusively with bear hunters, most stopping there before traveling in to their respective sporting camps farther north. Towns with names like Fort Kent and St. Francis were mentioned.

On Sunday, we drove into the North Maine Woods passing the Oxbow checkpoint where we paid our user fees on the way in. Old man Lester was still manning the gate and at 93 is still sharp as a tack, “Aren’t you those guys from Virginia that were here a couple years ago?” I affirmed this and he said, “ I guess we can let you in here again!” Twenty miles into the forest we arrived at Libby Sporting Camps on Lake Millinocket. I was greeted by the guides who remembered me from the previous trip, then up to the lodge to check in with Matt Libby and his wife Ellen. Also nearby were son Matt Jr. and his wife Jessica. (Actually I think Jess runs the place…)

Day 1.

Monday was overcast and after a HUGE breakfast and a HUGE lunch we were off to the bear woods to sit in elevated ladder stands until dark. After a technical glitch with my stand that was somewhat unnerving ( it slid down the tree a foot or so), it was ably repaired in the usual Libby professional manner and the hunt commenced. No one in our party saw a bear that night. There was a family there, all hunters, consisting of Dad, Mom, two boys and a teenage daughter. The daughter shot a 175 pound bear at 4:30 that afternoon. It was tracked by the guides until late that evening when it was finally found. She was very proud of her first bruin.

Doug saw nothing that first night. Nor did Terry. Terry was uniquely positioned in a ground blind. That presented a 125-yard shot to the bait right next to a beaver pond. Terry saw the beaver, but no bear.

Day 2

I entered the stand again and spent 5 hours staring holes into the bait barrel. While I saw no bear again that night I was able to make a personal relationship with a coyote that came calling around 6:30. The guides picked me up about 8:15, and off we went to look for the bear that Doug had shot. The bear was shot at 38 yards with Doug’s 300 Weatherby. Doug had heard it run into the woods at 7:05PM. Then he heard a crash and a

moan from the bear. Being a novice, Doug thought it best to wait for help, so when we arrived on-site at 8:30, it was completely dark and a flashlight affair. We followed the guide, Jeff, into the thicket (He had the 44 magnum, so we let him go first) Doug’s bear was found 40 yards away from the barrel, piled up. Its live weight was estimated at just over 200 lbs. This was a great way to get started as a first-time bear hunter! Now it was up to Terry and me.

Terry saw the beaver again.

Day 3.

Not being the most patient sort, I spoke with Mike, the head guide on Wednesday morning and indicated that my stand was pretty slow. He agreed to move me that night, but moved another hunter, Brenda Pidgeon into my stand. At about 7:00 pm she shot a pretty nice bear. Oh well….

Also, Terry spotted that pesky beaver….no bear.

Day 4:

Since Doug’s bear is skinned, cut and wrapped at this point, and since Terry and I have neither seen nor shot at anything of interest, I would like to share a little about Libby Camps. Bedtime often comes early around 10:00PM or so due to a long evening in the stand and usually about that time I succumb to what I like to call “fresh air poisoning”
Since I have advanced a little in middle age, I notice that a day in a quiet place with fresh air, no cell phones, or laptops, tends to cause me to relax a bit and after a couple days, bedtime seems to roll around earlier and earlier.

Libby’s accommodates their guests in log cabins which are clean and comfortable. Each has 2-4 beds, a table and chairs for card games and the like, a full bath with hot water and toilet. Each cabin also has a nice covered porch with a view of Lake Millinocket. Right about dusk, when the sky over that lake explodes with beautiful sunsets, and the only sounds are the water lapping at the sandy beach and the loons on the lake making their cry, it just doesn’t get any better than that!

I awake early, shortly after dawn. My eyes open and I am looking out the window at the lake as the sun begins to brighten up the view. I am lying under homemade quilts on a soft mattress on a bed made from logs. This time of year in Maine, it can be in the 30s or 40 s in the morning and getting out from under those quilts can be tough!

First order of business, is of course, coffee, so as is my custom, I amble over the lake side path to the main lodge where I smell bacon frying and coffee brewing. About 7:30 it’s time to enjoy another of the huge family breakfasts that Ellen Libby is so famous for preparing.

Let me just say once again, that Matt and Ellen Libby run a sporting camp in the finest Maine tradition. Everything they do has a certain excellence to it, all the while appearing very laid back and comfortable in their own skins. Their son, Matt Jr, is becoming a backbone of the crew and his wife Jesse, is quickly becoming the “face” and personality of Libby Camps. Her infectious smile and unique gait quickly become something to look forward to.

If you are used to hunting in a tent camp, or even at a traditional hunting shack, you will not be prepared for the unusual combination of rustic charm, but world-class service that Libby’s offers. The big meal of the day is at 1:00 PM. When Ellen rings the dinner bell in the yard, all five Brittany Spaniels start howling! This year’s menu included, roast turkey, prime rib of beef, pork roast, spaghetti, etc, the perfect fuels to make you take a nap right about time you get into your ladder stand! Be sure to bring a safety strap!

On this trip to Libby’s I am sad to say, I did not wet a line. I did no fishing at all, but I heard from others at camp, the fishing was excellent, with a brook trout caught on nearly every cast. I have a couple photos to include with this article of Carl Rainone, in the midst of a trout flurry! At this point, I was becoming focused on the bear hunt. All else became secondary. I enjoyed some serious resting, boating and sight-seeing but was mentally preparing each day, for another stint on the bear woods. For a world-class fidgeter like myself, sitting 5-6 hours in a ladder stand, day after day, can get to you, but after the second night, I kind of go into a groove. That evening, I spent some quality time in the stand, watching and waiting for the old bruin I imagined would show up at any time. The baits were being hit every day, but not when I was on stand. The guides at Libby’s were concerned that the bear kill was down so far.

Day 5:

View of Millinocket Lake from Matt Libby's airplane. - Rod Davis Photo

Friday dawned beautiful on Lake Millinocket, as it often does. This day, I was able to take a sight seeing flight with Matt Libby in his Cessna float plane and Doug was on board for his first flight…ever. Doug had a blast, I got airsick, but it was beautiful to see the great North Maine Woods from the air and see just how vast this area is and how untamed.

This night would be my last night in the bear woods, even though our hunt ended officially on Sunday morning. We had agreed in advance to head home early Saturday morning, due to the length of the trip.

The guide Toby took me to a new stand on a ridgeline near the Aroostook River. The stand was a two-person type and was very comfortable. The stand overlooked a small clearing with a bait barrel about 35 yards away. I entered the stand about 3:00pm and settled in. About 4:00PM, over my left shoulder, I heard what sounded like people yelling. A little later, I heard it again. It seemed to be several hundred yards away, but now sounded a little like a coyote. It was a strange sound.

Over the course of and hour or so, I kept hearing the noise, a little closer each time, and sounding more and more like coyotes in the distance.

About 5:45PM, I hear the sound again, this time about 50 yards over my left shoulder, and the noise became incessant, as it came quickly closer. The sound, at close range, sounded like “ MWAAAH”- MWAAH”! and quite loud! In a few seconds, the source of this racket was off my left elbow, about 20 yards in thick brush. I thought it was maybe a baby moose. I hear branches, and brush cracking and saw weeds shaking and then I saw something jet black!

The big bear cub literally rolled end over end into the clearing about 10 yards from where I sat. All the while, he never stopped, “ MWAAAH, MWAAAH!” I have no clue what he was trying to communicate nor who/what he was trying to communicate with. He appeared to be about 50lbs. I could not decide if he was this year’s or last year’s cub. There was no Mama bear evident at the time.

Something frightened the little guy, and he darted back into the brush. I could hear him walk around in there for a minute and back out he sprang, still shrieking,” MWAAH, MWAAH!.

He turned his backside to me and looked directly at the bait barrel about 25 yards away and headed straight for it. I got the feeling he had visited here before… He ran up to the 55 gallon drum and reached up and pulled himself up the left side and then… he was in the barrel! All I could see was his rear end and legs shaking as he shinnied down into the drum, head first. Then he was gone. The barrel was quiet and he had not come out. I decided that I would not shoot him (in Maine he would be legal), but I really wanted a picture when he came out. I started digging around in my camo pack for my digital camera. Of course it had worked its way into the bottom and had to be pulled out. By the time I got my camera out, it registered with me that I was hearing something large walking in toward the clearing from my right and to the front. I looked and could not see anything. I heard the steps stop near the clearing’s edge and then heard the steps start away in another direction.

I could not decide if I was hearing Mama Bear, or another larger bear coming in from a completely different direction, to investigate the racket at the bait barrel. It may have been an old boar that was hanging around there. In any case, I blew it. The bear had heard me and probably saw me playing with my camera.

About now, the cub climbed out of the drum and scampered up the bank into the woods before I could get a picture! He stopped about 20 yards into the woods and snacked on a mouthful of cookies he had carried out of the drum. I could make him out, but not good enough for a picture. I watched him and LISTENED to the crunching of cookies that carried across the clearing back to me. After 10 minutes of this, he ambled off on up the ridge in silence. About 10 minutes later, I heard faintly in the distance,” MWAAH”.

Upon returning to camp, I found that Terry had also struck out and was disappointed for him. The big news was that Carl Rainone, at 89 years young, had harvested his first bear!

I have to tell you, I was more excited about these events as any experience I had in the woods. It was great to see God’s creatures, undisturbed, acting out their daily lives. It would have been great to shoot a bear that week, but it actually was much better to see that little guy and watch him enjoying his cookies.

At dawn on Saturday, we started the 1200 mile trek back to West Virginia. In the truck sat three hunters, only one with bear meat in the cooler, but all three were successful.

I had lots of hours of driving to reflect on the week and found it a little strange, that I was not disappointed in the way the hunt turned out. I’m still not.

I had the opportunity to:

 Spend time in northern Maine ( I love Maine)
 Spend time with friends
 Spend time in the woods
 Spend some quality quiet time with my God ( hours in a tree stand are good for this)
 See a cute cub
 See a Moose and Baby
 Learn a new word ( MWAAH!)

At age 51, I have learned from a lifetime in the woods and streams that success is not measured any more by whether or not an animal is harvested, but by the experience. Also by the time well spent. I don’t believe any man will lie on his deathbed and recall the work he has done. He will remember the time spent with family, children, spouses and friends. He will remember time spent afield, pursuing the game he loves.

Frankly, I feel sorry for the man who has never watched the sunrise in a hickory laden ridge on a frosty morning. I feel sorry for the man who has not felt the pounding heartbeat when that large buck or bear slips into view. I especially feel sorry for the man who has never heard our Father’s voice in the quiet of His forests. Many folks say God does not speak anymore. He can still be heard, if we just listen…

Success? I am glad that it is becoming redefined for me. Bears? The fall season at home is coming up soon…