I remained disciplined all summer but by September I was beginning to think about Maine grouse camp, a lot. I looked at Google Earth for hours. I daydreamed of shooting a bird over my pointing dog, of hunting coverts that resembled paintings, of woodstoves and bourbon shared after the hunt. I packed my gear two weeks ahead of departure day.
Now, I’ve hunted the remote and vast North Maine Woods for grouse before and shared the tales with you in the pages of this publication. I’ve been four years and loved every gloriously wet, cold, sweaty, adventure-filled day.
We usually stay at Ross Lake Camps way up north near the Canadian border – about a 19-hour drive all told. This fall I decided to try hunting a bit closer (only 13 hours away) in the southwestern portion of Maine known as the Rangeley Lake/ Highlands Region. With this refocus I shaved off a full day of travel and explored some truly beautiful new country. The tale of this adventure follows.
My itinerary had me traveling to my long time hunting and fishing buddy’s place in Middletown, Delaware Saturday, October 5, then Jeff and I would drive in his truck (a full-sized Dodge Ram) to Grant’s Kennebago Camps and hunt Monday and Tuesday. Wednesday we would drive and hunt our way to our second destination – Bulldog Camps outside of the legendary grouse hunting town of Jackman, through Friday. We had five days to hunt my favorite feathered quarry – ruffed grouse and woodcock.
Now grouse populations can vary greatly from year to year. Two years ago I experienced good hunting with an average of 15 flushes per day. From what I was told prior to our trip, the hunting this year was going to be tougher. A wet spring during brood season had not been kind to the grouse and both camps (lodges) told me frankly what to expect – a six flush day would be considered a good one.
Considering that would be excellent in Virginia, I was hopeful. I’m still in good shape and figured I could probably outhunt most of the “road hunters” looking for birds just from their trucks. Besides, I had Lady Bird of Lake Anna with me, my four-year-old Brittany spaniel that had a nose for woodcock and had already been to Maine once. Four bird limits weren’t that difficult to shoot in past years.
After the sprint from DE when we arrived at Grant’s Kennebago Camps the first person we met was owner, John Blunt. He was on the front porch of the lodge repairing rocking chairs. At 78 years young he’s still guiding and hunting, and if you’ve never heard a native Mainer accent, John’s was quintessential – no Rs anywhere. I could tell he had welcomed thousands of guests over his long tenure as owner of Grant’s.
We were staying in the M&M cabin, one of about a dozen vintage structures overlooking Kennebago Lake (reputed to be full of brook trout and salmon). The lodge and dining room were two and three doors down from us respectively.
Our cabin was fairly typical of Maine camps – made from pine lumber with a small screened in porch lakeside, two single beds and a wood stove, A loft held two more beds. Unlike some of the places I’ve stayed, Grant’s Camps had bathrooms, shower and sinks in them – much better than using an outhouse or a communal bathhouse.
Yes, we fired up that wood stove Monday and Tuesday nights and enjoyed the true warmth it resonated. Our stay saw temps in the 30’s and 40’s with some wet snow and rain Monday morning, just rain at times on Tuesday and Wednesday.
Unlike the other camps I’ve stayed at, Grant’s provided three meals a day. Breakfast was served at 7 am and there was a menu. Of course I ordered blueberry pancakes each day! We ordered our lunch at dinner. The dinners were excellent with two choices each evening. We dined like kings eating chicken Parmesan, shrimp scampi, pot roast, clam chowder, even a turkey dinner.
Now, the hunting, well, it was tough. Predictions of few birds proved true. While there were many hunters, bird dogs of all breeds and veteran guides, the birds were elusive.
After dinner on our arrival night at Grant’s I took Birdie out for her final walk and gazed up at the sky in wonder. The stars were brilliant and the Milky Way was plainly visible. I waited until I saw a shooting star, made a wish and headed back inside with a grateful to be alive feeling. What I wished for will remain private, but I, like you, have many that could use uplifting in my life.
On our first day afield we walked nearly eight miles on old logging roads and bushwhacked between roads. Incredibly, we moved just six grouse and six woodcock. This covert was a suggestion we received from one of the part time guides we met at check in.
Little did I know this was to be considered a “good” total for the year. Sadly, we had few shots and dropped nothing despite Birdie pointing most of the flushes. One of the flushes contained three grouse, so I was hopeful with determined hunting we might still have a good results. One of the flushes was a single grouse and it flushed out of a spruce-lined ditch off a point from left to right over the old road we were walking. I flat out missed it with both barrels of the American Tactical Calvary 20 ga. over and under I was carrying.
We had to head back to camp a bit earlier than usual as I had a Teams meeting at 6 pm. I was thankfully able to use the lodge’s Wifi to attend. We ate a quick, hearty meal prior to my meeting and had dessert boxed to go – more blueberry pie for me.
That night I learned a well-placed fan helped drown out my hunting companion’s impressive snoring!
On Day 2 we decided to continue our exploration and travel out the back gate of the property and hunt a vast expanse of managed forests which consisted mostly of spruce, birch, maple and aspen (locally known as poplar), raspberry thickets, golden rod and other weeds. We had a light snow/rain falling as we reached that gate with 37-degree air temps, but we were gung-ho to hit the woods.
After a day of walking seven miles in off and on rain we had flushed two grouse and two woodcock. I did manage to knock down one of the woodcock on a tight point by Birdie. The bird was two feet in front of her nose!
The other highlight of the day was an encounter with a bull moose that jumped up from its bed on a grassy hillside Birdie was casing and trotted down the road ahead of us. When I first travelled to Maine some 16 years ago we saw many moose. The past two visits I’ve seen just a few – still just as impressive old world animals for sure.
After a hot shower for me and getting our sodden boots on the boot dryer we took our time at dinner that evening. We even toasted a guest that had shot her first grouse per Grant’s tradition. The wood stove warmth awaited at the cabin, and I read a bit before falling asleep soundly and dreaming of walking the woods. By the third day of most trips I am getting acclimated.
Day 3 was our travel day. We’d again head out the back gate and head northeast to our next destination – Bulldog Camps, a bit southeast of Jackman. According to Google the trip would take about three-and-a-half hours but we would hunt our way there, exploring whichever old logging road looked particularly intriguing.
The route took us through some beautiful mountainous backcountry. We even saw our first “road bird”. I did stop and we did fan out and look for it in the woods but I did not turn Birdie loose. The bird remained elusive and we kept on rolling.
On one of our forays Birdie pointed a grouse that was hiding in a ditch covered with young spruce trees crowding for sunlight on the edge of the old logging road. It flushed and flew back into the woods before I could get my gun up. We took chase and I caught that bird about 30 yards away and managed to drop it with my second shot. It was a mature gray phase bird, large and healthy.
I marveled at the colors of the bird’s feathers that so matched the forest floor, fanned the tail for a photo and gave birdie pats of thanks.
We made several more stops and walks and even came upon a road bird as we made our way up and over the Bulldog Camps, but we took no more birds. We pulled into Bulldog Camps around 5 pm where we were greeted by Melina, part of the staff, who gave us a brief introduction to life at camp which included breakfast and dinner times and other camp policies. She pointed to a sturdy wire wagon we could use to transport our gear to Old Lodge Cabin.
When we opened the wide wood door to our modern log cabin quarters I was blown away. A stamped and painted concrete floor, a couch, coffee table, dinning table, two bedrooms on either side of a great room, bathroom and shower, plus kitchen – all powered by propane and a sizable solar array on one corner of the property. Interestingly, there were no plugs in the cabin. Recharging devices (everything from phones to dog collars) would be done in the lodge.
Bulldog Camps sits on the southwestern side of Enchanted Lake, another brook trout fishery. The forward view included an imposing mountain that rose up from the far shore, reaching nearly 2,400 feet, one of many that surrounded us with a stunning orange, red and yellow backdrop.
I slept well that night with no fan and only the faintest hint of my buddy’s snoring emanating from the room on the other side of the cabin.
We were up at 7 am for breakfast, meeting our fellow campmates over coffee and for me, two pancakes the size of hubcaps! There were two other hunting parties at Bulldog – one a couple from North Carolina, the other a threesome, two from Massachusetts and one from of all places, Virginia! I learned that my table mate Mike LaTranga was an accomplished upland hunter with several national field trial championships to his credit and plenty of experience working as a guide for a hunting preserve near Smith Mountain Lake. Small world, I thought!
This day, Day 4 (Thursday) we would backtrack to where I dropped the grouse and flushed a few more yesterday. Before we did that, though, I turned off a road not far from the camp and we began trailblazing through a 15-20 year old poplar forest surrounded by cutover.
Within five minutes Birdie was on a solid point and when Jeff and I advanced a woodcock flushed but we didn’t have a good shot. Woodcock don’t fly far and Birdie pointed it again about 20 yards ahead. I managed to flush it again and the bird towered and got stuck in some tree branches. I found it at the end of my barrel and shot. The bird vaporized. All that was left were the wings caught in the tree. It’s tough shooting in tight cover. Ideally, you don’t want to catch the bird quite that close, even with a 20 ga.
We also flushed a grouse after Birdie pointed it in a stand of young spruce remaining in the cutover. I would have sworn I knocked it down with my second shot but we never found it and Birdie always finds her bird.
We bailed on this covert and headed to yesterday’s hot spot. It took us about 45 minutes but when we walked that road again, we flushed birds. One of which was a grouse Birdie pointed and then it promptly flushed nearly straight up right to left over Jeff’s head in front of me. I managed to fire both barrels but nothing dropped. Argh!!
Next up was a hard point in a dense thicket of spruce. Both Jeff and I went in to flush the bird but nothing flew and Birdie held tight. I squatted down to see if I could see anything under the trees and was greeted by a woodcock waddling towards me. It too flushed right to left, and I missed that one, too!
Later that afternoon, while hunting a covert behind a gravel pit Birdie became excited, yipping and running around. This indicates she’s on a rabbit. Beside me Jeff said, “Where’s Birdie?” and I said she was up front with me. He said he had a snowshoe hare in his sights, something he had wanted to take.
We were pretty far from the camp at that point when I called it and we headed back.
To be honest, this was a particularly frustrating day because we hunted hard, walking nearly seven miles only flushing two grouse and two woodcock with nothing in the game bag by the time we had to head back to camp. We also endured hourly rains and gusty winds. When I started to become sullen, I thought of my friends, like Aaron and Rex and family members that would gladly trade a tough day in the woods for their daily trials.
Over the dinner table our happy bunch commiserated over smoked pork chops and exchanged hunting stories. There was a new group of hunters in camp from Connecticut that had been coming for 18 years. Darren, the owner told them it was a tough year. I heard one of them say, “It’s always the same, you gotta get out of the truck, the birds are within 50’ of the road and you have to be a good shot.” No truer words were said.
Afterward I lit the campfire I had laid the previous day and Jeff and I enjoy the warmth and cigars along with one of the Massachusetts hunters. The stars were brightly shining when we said good night and headed for Old Lodge Cabin.
Friday, Day 5 was our final day of hunting and it dawned sunny and then an hour later, like clockwork it began to rain. Jeff and I were going to explore a road that was not far from Bulldog Camps that led back behind the mountain and looked to be part of a 15-mile loop. Mother Nature had other plans and we sat in the truck for about 45 minutes and waited for the rain to stop.
Our first covert walk looked like it would hold woodcock with alders in a wet hollow but after 30 minutes of nothing we made our way back to the truck and continued along the logging road.
We drove a long way in and out of rain on the Mead Road. I did stop and walk a secondary road with Birdie but turned around after a 1.5 miles when the sky darkened again. It was sprinkling and we were within 50 yards of the truck when I heard a grouse flush from heavy spruce above the main road. Birdie and I investigated but that bird ghosted us like so many others.
Theory is that the few remaining grouse are two to three years old and smarter than the year-old birds you often find on roads or close to the roads in good years. These smart birds keep themselves further into the woods and flush much easier and thus lived longer.
Back slowly driving in the truck trying to avoid potholes and various logging road hazards during one of the periodic sunny breaks I had just said, “I can’t believe we haven’t see a single road bird today,” when lo and behold we came around a corner and standing in the middle of the road is a mature red phase ruffed grouse.
I urged Jeff to hustle out of the truck, grab his gun, load up and dispatch the bird. By the time he was on the stalk I could tell the bird was getting nervous. He raised his gun, the bird flushed and two shots punched holes in the air. Another grouse had beaten the odds!
A bit dejected we turned Birdie loose but the grouse was long gone.
On this expedition we discovered the planned loop was not possible as the roads were blocked by boulders. We did some serious rock scrambling with the Ram and stopped when we reached a creek that had washed out the bridge. You could cross via a nearby ford but we decided to turn around as it was getting to be time to head back to camp.
I walked that road blocked by boulders and found the perfect alder thicket guarding the entrance. Birdie did a j-point, looking down and back at me, her body curved into an impossible yoga pose. I tried hard to find the woodcock but never saw it until it exploded from at my feet, and fearful at vaporizing another, I hestitated and missed with both barrels. Aiyee!
I pushed on through the alder thicket and the road opened up with young spruce on either side. Birdie got “birdy”, and I watched a grey phase grouse flush about 30 yards ahead – too far for a decent shot.
That was the sixth grouse flush of the day – what we were told to expect if we hunted hard, but far below what we were used to seeing on previous trips.
We rolled back into camp, did some packing before dinner and then sat down to a delicious meal of pot roast, mashed potatoes, carrots and bread. I really thought I would loose some weight on this trip!
We settled up with Darren and thanked him for the great accommodations as we would pull out by 6 am since we had NY and NJ Saturday traffic to contend with.
We made DE by 6 pm. I pushed on and made my Virginia home by 10 pm. I was amazed that I was in remote Maine that morning, drove by NYC, Philly and DC and made it back home at the Lake Anna W2 HQ in one day.
So why do we drive all the way to Maine to hunt grouse when we have them in Virginia? That’s a good question. Generally the bird numbers in Maine far exceed anything we have currently in Virginia. I have hunted and seen Virginia grouse but never dropped one. That accomplishment is high on my bucket list. One day I’ll check that box.
Now, Maine Grouse Camp 2026 wasn’t a bust but it certainly wasn’t going to be remembered for great shooting and bird numbers. Will I go back? Well, I’m 57 now and while I do have an aching Achilles a week after the trip, if I get a report bird numbers are back up, I’m definitely game for another visit. There’s something about exploring such a remote area that greatly appeals to me. I also don’t want to be 80 and wondering what it would have been like. I do want to try an upland hunt out west soon and hope to bring you that story one year.
In the mean time, I’m prepping now for West Virginia Woodcock Camp and will bring you that tale in our December edition.
Virginia grouse season began October 24 and runs through February 13. Virginia woodcock season runs November 11 though December 1 and then December 26 through January 18.
