There are plenty of Maine hunters who can be counted on to get their deer nearly every year, no matter what.

Rain? Snow? Wind? Heat?

These hunters will succeed, through a combination of woods knowledge, experience … and access to plots of land with plenty of deer.

And then there are the rest of us. Most other hunters are occasionally successful. And a few of us – like Chris Spellman of Hampden – finish each deer season uttering the same refrain.

“At the end of every deer season, I said, ‘I’m just not destined to get a deer,'” Spellman said. “And it seems like every year, I can hear my dad say, ‘Well, the deer are safe for another year.'”

Spellman, 42, has been hunting since he became old enough do so.

For 32 years, he sat in tree stands, tromped through the woods, and tried his best. And for 31 of those years, when the end of the season rolled around, he was left with second thoughts about all the hours he’d spent in pursuit of wary whitetails.

“I’d say, ‘Well, I’m not gonna hunt another year,'” Spellman said.

Of course, that’s not the way it turns out. Not for most hunters. Not for guys like Spellman, who have been raised in the woods of Maine, and who relish everything about the sport.

“Fall comes, and I can’t wait to put the tree stands up,” he said.

If you know Chris Spellman, you’ve undoubtedly already heard this story. The Bangor native – “Spelly” to all his friends – is a bit … well … talkative.

If not sit back and listen. Especially if you, like me, are still waiting to bag your first buck.

This year, after 32 years, Chris Spellman got his deer.

Finally.

While hunting in Stetson on Wednesday afternoon, Spellman watched as a doe and a lamb moved into sight across a swamp from his stand.

Excited, he hurriedly pecked a cell phone text message to his brother, who was at work.

“[Shawn sent a message back that said] ‘Be patient. Be patient,'” Spellman said.

At 4:03, Shawn Spellman sent his last text message to his eager brother.

“Let me know when you get ’em,” the message read.

“At 4:15, a buck came out. It was on the other side of the swamp. And all I could see was antlers,” he said.

Two shots later, Spellman had his buck … and the hard work began.

A cell call to his brother, an avid outdoorsmen with about 15 deer to his credit, launched the search-and-drag mission.

Another friend, Bob Marcoux, also enthusiastically agreed to come to Stetson and help.

And after dispatching the paralyzed deer, the trio laboriously dragged Chris Spellman’s prize back to his jeep. After a bit, another friend, Steve Campbell, stopped by to pitch in.

Campbell is a National Guardsman who recently returned to Maine after a year in Iraq. And the thought of slogging through his home mud and muck was apparently too attractive to pass up.

Through the muck they went. Through waist-deep water. Over stumps. And finally, at 10:15 p.m., back to civilization.

Now, the tale of the tape: Chris Spellman’s first deer was a 184-pounder sporting a tall eight-point rack.

After 32 years, Chris Spellman has what he always wanted. A deer. A big deer. A deer big enough to brag about.

“I was just so excited about shooting my first deer,” he said. “And being able to tell my brother, because he’s got 15. But now, I can boast that I have the biggest rack out of the two of us. He’s got more deer, but I’ve got the biggest rack.”

And after all those years, Spellman is still able to put the little things in perspective. Spend enough time in the woods, and you’ll see plenty … even if a deer doesn’t come within shooting range.

“What did I see out there? A weasel – a little pine marten type of thing. I saw a bobcat last year and watched him for four or five minutes,” he said. “So I may have never gotten a deer, but still, being out in a tree stand and seeing that owl go by and landing in stealth mode [is special].

“It’s not just about getting the deer. It’s about getting into the woods,” he said.

And next year, as a proven deer hunter, it still will be.

Maine native cherishes tales

When you live in Maine, it’s easy to take many of our simple pleasures for granted.

There’s something special about stepping out your back door early on a frosty morning and hunting the same woods your grandfather used to hunt. Or tromping up and down the same pristine trout stream where your mom learned to fish. Or just enjoying the natural beauty of our four distinct seasons.

When you’re a Mainer and duty calls you elsewhere, you tend to think about things like that a bit more often.

Two years ago, I shared an e-mail I received from Air Force Staff Sgt. Jeff Bishop, who wrote to say how much he missed his home state.

Bishop checked in again this week with another tale … and some good news.

Here’s what he had to say:

“I recently read your article ‘Buck survives encounter’ and it reminded me of a time I was hunting back in high school,” Bishop wrote.

Bishop’s time in Maine was drawing short, as he had planned to enlist in the Air Force at the end of his senior year. He hunted non-stop, knowing he might not get the chance to do so for several years.

One day, he headed to his grandfather’s house in Orland and hoped for the best.

“There were some old apple trees vainly attempting to hold their own against the ever-steady advance of alder trees in an old cow pasture and I was hoping to catch an unwary buck sneaking in for a late afternoon snack (OK. So there isn’t any such thing as an unwary buck in November in Maine, but hey, I was young).

“So as I was sitting on this knoll watching a partridge strut around I heard a noise back to my right that rocketed my heart rate up into the low ten-thousands. I slowly turned my head until I saw the deer standing about 30 yards behind me to my right.

“Unable to see if it was the buck I had been waiting for or just a silly doe sent to tease me, I started to wonder if I could turn, identify and shoot fast enough to bag this animal, or would I just get the infamous white-flag salute (not the one that says ‘I surrender,’ but the one that says ‘HA HA.’)

“As I sat there gathering myself for the hunting move of the century, I saw something else out of the corner of my eye that still makes me laugh to this day. While I was concentrating on the deer down the hill, a doe had been sneaking up on me. She stuck her head around the pine tree I was sitting under and looked at me from a range of about 18 inches.

“Needless to say, it scared the crap out of both of us and she took off faster than a kid running from his angry grandmother. I never did see what the first deer was, and I doubt that doe will sneak up on any more pine trees.”

Bishop said that after years of monitoring the Maine goings-on from afar, he’s eager to return to his home state.

“Happily, I’ll soon be able to read your articles directly from the paper instead of over the Internet,” he wrote. “After nine and a half years on active duty in the Air Force, I am coming home. I will be joining the 112th Medevac Unit in the Bangor Army National Guard. After January I will be home for good.

“Who knows? Maybe next hunting season I’ll be writing to you again to tell you of the buck that didn’t get away! (Or another near miss story).

Thanks for the e-mail, Jeff. And while your return isn’t for another couple of months, let me be the first to say “Welcome back.”

No disrespect intended

An attentive reader called on Thursday to point out an error in Thursday’s column.

In that piece, I explained that had I successfully scaled the large pine and ended up in the frightening tree stand Arthur Watson calls “The Swale Seat,” a helicopter from the Maine Air National Guard would have been needed to extract me at the end of the hunting day.

The reader pointed out that if I waited for that extraction to happen, I’d be waiting for a long, long time.

The Maine Army National Guard has the choppers, he pointed out.

John Holyoke can be reached at jholyoke@bangordailynews.net or by calling 990-8214 or 1-800-310-8600.