Past Hunts & Hunting Parties

George and River opened camp on November 12, with Pat rolling in two days later. PJ made his return to Maine after more than two decades away — arriving right in the middle of a snowstorm. The week started with about five inches of fresh, quiet snow. Conditions stayed about as good as they can be. PJ hunted new ground and had three shootable does come in on Monday. The stage was set, but a buck never showed.

Both Pat and George turned up strong signs — Pat found a fresh bed off a heavy trail, and George tracked a buck to a rub so fresh the wood shavings were still sitting on the snow. Thomas flew into Bangor later that week and kicked out two does on his walk back to camp his first night. No buck came to tag this year, but as always, the meals, appetizers, and libations kept camp full long after dark.

One thing we know for sure—there are at least three good bucks that survived the hunting season and will be back in 2026!

2024 marked the 50th year of hunting at Two Falls Camps — and the camp couldn't have written a better story to mark it. George and Thomas arrived ahead of the others on Wednesday, November 13, sighting in rifles and scouting familiar ground the next morning. During the scout they heard what sounded like grunts and locking antlers off in the distance, and sat down to wait it out. Thomas was holding a golden ticket that year — a Zone 14 doe permit — and that afternoon the two set up along an edge long known for feeding does. At 2:00 PM a pair of does stepped out far to the left, unaware of the hunters, but at 190 yards Thomas, still new to the woods, wasn't steady enough to take the shot. At 3:45, another doe stepped into the same spot — again too far for Thomas. Minutes later a big-bodied buck followed her out of the tree line. George made the adjustment for 200 yards and squeezed the trigger. The buck kicked its tail up and bolted back into the woods.

After waiting half an hour, father and son walked to where the buck had stood at the shot — no blood anywhere. With daylight nearly gone, George pushed into the woods where Thomas believed the deer had run. The strong scent of tarsal gland hit him almost immediately, and as he crouched under a fir tree, his headlamp caught the buck just ten yards in, down for good from a clean 200-yard shot. George called Thomas in, and father and son celebrated with the kind of shouting that carries through the whole woods. It was George's first buck in Maine, after two decades of waiting for a trophy — a classic big-woods deer, well over 200 pounds on the hoof.

Thomas hunted hard for the rest of his stay but never tangled with another doe before flying home from Bangor on Sunday. George stayed on, with Pat and Pat Jr. expected next. Pat "The Buckmaster" had broken his arm hauling a doe out of Anticosti just a month earlier and arrived in a cast to the elbow — some doubted he'd make it back to Maine that year at all. The Buckmaster proved them wrong. On November 22, lightning struck twice: tucked into a ground blind, Pat picked up a doe on the move, with another trophy buck trailing close behind. Both deer were quartering away at about 100 yards when the buck stopped and turned — Pat took the shot with his .30-06 and dropped a beautiful 8-point, broken arm and all.

Pat Jr. was on deck too, there to celebrate his father's score and holding his own doe permit. Although lightning didn't strike again, Jr. had already scored an atypical trophy buck just a month earlier in Anticosti.

Having tagged out on his first day in the woods, George retired his Ruger 7mm-08 for a fly rod, fishing the East Outlet of the Kennebec River and landing several landlocked salmon — another notable first for the trip. He also took to the grouse woods with his pointer, River, where the two found plenty of birds, but George whiffed. Hey — that's the grouse woods for you.

Maine doesn’t owe you anything — and 2023 was the year she made that perfectly clear. No tags filled, no venison in the cooler. But the stories? Those came home just fine.

Pat “The Buckmaster” slipped into a cut early in the week and surprised a good buck — rack up, horns showing — completely off guard. For about a half a second. The animal had other ideas, and before Pat could get the Browning up, it melted back into the timber like it was never there. Just another ghost of the North Woods.

For Thomas, 15 years old and on his first-ever hunt in Maine, the woods delivered a moment he won’t forget. Armed with a doe permit and a full afternoon of legal light — or so it seemed — a good doe stepped out and offered the shot. Thomas got on her, steadied, and then watched the last of the daylight slip away just fast enough to make it a no-go. The kind of ending that stings for about a week and then becomes a story you tell forever.

The North Woods has a way of doing that. She sets the stage, dims the lights, and dares you to come back. We will.

2020 was the year of COVID. Maine shuttered all of its sporting camps early on, and for a while the future of a fall hunt looked doubtful. Thankfully, the state came around on its protocols, and our great friend Cindy at Two Falls came through for us, letting the crew occupy Cliff for the week.

Once again, Pat "The Buckmaster" and his Belgian-made Browning put another mark in the record book. On Friday afternoon, with snow falling and the light fading fast, Pat caught movement on the edge of a clear-cut about 150 yards out. His first shot caught the deer's attention, but it just stood there. Pat reloaded, compensated for distance, and sent a second round. Forty-five minutes later, the crew found him bedded down in the snow, finished clean by a deadly heart shot. The COVID Buck was in the books.

The next day, George made a camp first with his one-year-old pointer, River — finally downing a pointed and flushed Ruffed Grouse (AKA, The King). After blowing lots of opportunities that week, River nosed into a blow-down and locked up on point. The bird flushed to the right, and George dropped it on the first shot with his 28 gauge. A grouse appetizer was well received by camp.

This trip got off to a hot start. On the first morning of the hunt, for two hunters, it was over before it ever really started. That’s right — father and son had deer hanging in camp by the end of day one.

Pat “The Buckmaster” drew first blood, putting down a 3-point buck before most camps had even poured their second cup of coffee. Not to be outdone, Pat Jr. answered the call the same morning, connecting on a doe and punching his tag before noon. Monday, November 18th — two hunters out, two deer down, the whole week still ahead. George, now hunting with two tagless partners and the smell of venison already in the air, can only laugh. Some mornings in the North Woods, the deer just decide to cooperate.

The rest of the week belonged to camp life — the kind that only happens when the pressure is off and the fire stays lit a little longer each night.