October has always been a special month for Jay Robinson. Put a blaze-orange hat on his head, a 20-gauge shotgun in his hands and an eager bird dog in front of him and life was nearly perfect.

Even after the Millinocket paper mill went belly-up – his job vanishing along with it – the first full month of autumn was a time to be savored, appreciated and cherished.

Opening day of bird season is a day to be celebrated, after all. Even when the birds are scarce and the weather is warm, you know that things will change. Eventually, the nights will grow chillier. The trees will quickly gain color and then, after a day of strong rain or wind, relinquish those leaves to the forest floor.

About that time, when the visibility gets better and the flights of woodcock start their annual migration south – stopping at regular haunts near Medway and Chester and Woodville – Robinson figures it’s time to get serious about hunting.

This year, though, he admits that things just feel different.

Look in the back of his well-worn Chevy truck – 300,000 miles and still chugging – and you’ll see part of the reason why.

There, in one kennel, lies Sadie, an 8-year-old English pointer with a great nose for birds.

In the kennel next door lies Katie. She’s 10 … and though she, too, is officially Jay’s dog now, she unintentionally serves as a constant reminder of how much things can change between hunting trips.

A year ago, you see, Katie didn’t belong to Jay Robinson.

No, back then … so recent, it seems … she was Wiggie Robinson’s prized pooch.

“I miss my dad,” Jay Robinson says softly, shortly after joining a couple of hunters for a day in some of his favorite bird covers.

Seasons change … years pass … and regrettably, fathers do, too.

That’s just the way it works. And knowing that fact doesn’t make it any easier.

Not even when your dad dies at age 85, after living a long, full life, as Jay Robinson’s dad did back in June.

“I miss my dad,” Jay Robinson says again, a bit later. “I think once the weather cools off, I’ll get a little more enthused. I’m taking a guy next week that we’ve guided for over 30 years.”

Then, of course, the memories will continue to flow.

Birds shot and missed. Dogs that have come and gone. Hunts that were great … and not so great.

The Robinson men were both guides and spent hours together hiking into remote trout ponds, tracking deer and watching their bird dogs point grouse and woodcock.

Come October, the birds got top billing, and both men made a point to set time aside for their regular trips afield.

“If the weather wasn’t bad [on opening day], we usually always went out,” Jay Robinson says. “And the last week of the season, we were mostly done guiding and we saved that week for the two of us. That’s when the flights were in good, the leaves are all gone, it’s a bit cooler.

“We had more fun that last week than anything, really,” he says.

This week, Jay Robinson has been largely alone with his thoughts, as he travels from one bird-hunting spot to another.

No matter where he goes, his father awaits.

That, too, is the way it works.

“The first day I think I moved 20 birds, but I didn’t shoot good that day,” Jay Robinson says.

The next day, things got a bit better … but still weren’t great.

“I haven’t moved a lot of grouse. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have shot a few,” he says. “I’m a little rusty. I think I miss the old man.”

Together, the Robinsons made a great team.

Wiggie Robinson knew everything there was to know about the woods, it seemed. Jay Robinson was the sponge who walked alongside as a child, soaking all that knowledge in.

When his own advancing years – and likely his years of working in the cacophony of the same paper mill – cost Wiggie much of his hearing, Jay was there to help.

Year after year, he increasingly served as his father’s ears in the field, and told Wiggie when a dog’s collar bell had stopped ringing.

Silent dogs are often pointing dogs, you see.

And that’s what the game’s all about.

On Thursday, Sadie and Katie worked hard in hot, miserable conditions. They pointed a few birds, and Jay and a visitor each shot one … and missed others.

Katie is still adjusting to her new master, it seems, and may well have memories of her own, of the sinewy old man who followed her through the woods, year after year.

Seasons change. Life changes.

We all adapt, the best we can. Not that it’s easy, mind you.

Jay Robinson is grateful for the time he got to spend with his father and the valuable lessons he learned.

Consciously or unconsciously, he passes those lessons along to others every time he guides a hunter.

Tracks. Scat. Trees. Mushrooms. Bird cover that looks promising. Dogs: present, past and future. All are likely to be discussed at length. And all were topics of conversation when he and his dad went into the woods.

Season after season. Year after year. Until …

Jay Robinson remembers the time, not too many months ago, when he, his son, Michael, and Wiggie took the dogs into the woods to sniff out some birds.

There would be other days to come, of course. Other, better days … when birds were plentiful, the leaves had dropped, and everyone was shooting well.

“Little did I know,” Jay Robinson says, softly, shaking his head. “Little did I know.”

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