Respect among hunters dwindling

Where has the sportsmanship gone? It was difficult to find in the woods of northern Maine during the October 2000 Maine moose hunt. In most cases, many people try for years before their number is drawn, months of preparation and a considerable amount of money is spent for what is often a once-in-a-lifetime hunt. One would think that all hunting parties involved would have a little more respect for each other than what we saw.

This year my father-in-law had his number drawn in the Southwest district. From the day of the drawing, we began to make plans to make this the hunt to be remembered. We assembled a group of family and friends from Maine, Massachusetts and Canada to accompany us on the adventure; a group that has hunted, fished and shared the love of the woods for many years but have never been able to hunt together at one time. In preparation we spent many hours scouting, locating camps, learning the roads and researching the areas we finally chose to hunt. Everything was in place except the moose.

On Monday just before first light, we positioned our vehicles along the edge of a half-mile-long dead-end dirt road. We walked to the end of this road and began calling the bulls toward us. As a result of our scouting, this area was to be our main focus point. Within an hour, we could hear the bull returning calls and coming closer with each call. Long moments later we heard him on the edge of the chopping but still out of site; the excitement was building for all.

Then, with the bull all but visible, two trucks passed by our vehicles, came within 100 yards of our position and stopped. They got out of the trucks and began talking and pointing in our direction. Five minutes later, they got back into their trucks with slamming doors. Any game within a mile knew that humans were around. Another 45 minutes of calling and no return sounds from the bull were heard again.

Throughout the week on other dead-end roads, no less than four similar incidents occurred. Many of the vehicles would come up to where we had parked, leaving only after several minutes of unnecessary noise. In every situation our trucks were visible hundreds of yards before, evidence that we were in the area and there was no reason to continue to the end of the road. Our company from out of state and Canada were shocked by this lack of respect for other hunters. We had to apologize each time for the actions of these people. The apology was because every license plate in these cases were from Maine.

On Tuesday it snowed. Most every hunting party in our area was driving the roads. We were witness to parties passing other parties to get ahead on the dirt roads, hand waves not returned when meeting oncoming trucks and a general lack of camaraderie that once was shared in the Maine woods.

Wednesday was supposed to be that day that even we could not find a way to make up for the damage done to the Maine sportsman. Late morning, we opened a snow-covered road that no one had gone on. It was narrow and steep, with a washout at the end. We had planned to work this area the entire day. After about two hours of calling and tracking, another vehicle came down the road, they passed by and we thought they would be turning around at the washout, they did not. They spent some time crossing the washout and continued on.

On three more occasions they traveled back and forth by us without even a wave of the hand or stopping to talk. Their final pass by us was within the last 15 minutes of legal hunting. We moved our truck to let them pass. Fifty feet in front of us they jumped out and dropped a cow that was coming to our calls. She dropped within five steps of the road. We were left having to ask them to move their truck; all doors still open, engine running in the middle of the road. No one knew what to say for most of the evening.

We did finally get a small moose on Thursday afternoon, but by that time we had been so disheartened by the actions of others that all we were out to do was fill the tag. As Mainers we need to do a better job of being sportsmen, not only for each other and out-of-the-state “sports,” but for the next generation. Hunting should be more than filling a tag. Respect for the other hunter, the game, the laws and the woods we all cherish should always remain the most important goals of a sportsman. After seeing what I saw this moose season, I wonder if I am going to teach my children the ways of the woods at all.

Robert Proulx lives in Oakland.