Well, today was my last full day at Camp Hidey Ho.
I got everything loaded into the truck for my final trip to the dump and started down Democrat Ridge Road.
I hadn’t gotten very far when a bird ran out into the road in front of me.
And this was not a bird that seemed particularly interested in getting out of my way.
In fact, he appeared to be saying:
“What the heck are YOU doing on MY property?”
I slowly pulled forward, assuming that once I got close enough, he’d do what most sensible birds do and move out of the road.
He didn’t.
Eventually I got so close that I couldn’t see him over the front of the truck anymore.
So I stopped.
I started to back up a little and then thought better of it because I had absolutely no idea where this bird was.
I got out and walked around to the front of the truck.
There he was.
He was only four or five feet away from me, strutting around like he owned Democrat Ridge Road.
He had puffed himself up as big as possible. His neck feathers were flared, his wings were spread, his tail feathers were fanned out, and he was marching around looking thoroughly irritated by my presence.
And he was not remotely afraid of me.
So naturally, I pulled out my phone.
He was nice enough to continue his performance while I took several pictures.
I checked with ChatGPT, and my angry little roadblock turned out to be a ruffed grouse. Apparently this sort of territorial display is characteristic behavior for them, and the Maine woods are exactly where you’d expect to find one.
So basically, he was where he was supposed to be.
And he was letting me know that I wasn’t.
Eventually I guess he realized that neither I nor the Toyota Tacoma was going to be intimidated off Democrat Ridge Road, so he finally gave up and walked away.
Another new wildlife sighting for the list—and on my very last full day here.
From there, I continued to the dump, where everything went smoothly.
And since I was already out, there was one more stop that absolutely had to be made:
My final breakfast of the year at the Old Fashioned Family Restaurant.
I sat at the counter rather than taking up a whole table by myself.
Not long afterward, another man came in and sat nearby. He was wearing a Vietnam veteran hat, and before long we started talking.
He lives year-round with his wife near Lambert Lake, not far from Vanceboro.
That was particularly interesting to me because I actually knew where he was talking about. After my trip through the Vanceboro border crossing, including that long stretch of road where I think I saw one other car in about 20 miles, I suddenly had some familiarity with his part of the world.
He was having some trouble walking and was on his way to the VA in Calais, but our conversation eventually turned to wildlife.
He told me that he searches for shed moose antlers.
Moose shed their antlers each year, and apparently he goes out looking for them.
Then he said:
“I’ve got a picture.”
And off he went to his car.
He came back with a photograph of some antlers he’d found.
These things were enormous.
A photograph probably doesn’t do them justice, but they looked like they were perhaps four feet from one end to the other. It was difficult to comprehend that an animal had actually been walking around carrying something that large on its head.
By this point, our conversation had attracted the attention of everyone else sitting at the counter.
They all wanted to see the picture too.
So my last breakfast of the year turned into one more of those random Maine conversations I’ve come to enjoy so much.
A stranger sits down beside you.
You start talking.
Twenty minutes later you’re looking at photographs of giant moose antlers with everyone else at the counter.
I’m going to miss that.
After another excellent breakfast, it was back to Camp Hidey Ho and back to work.
I finished up a few more things on the battery closet and did a little more organizing in the shed.
But most of today’s work involved moving everything out.
Tools, equipment and everything else that’s going home with me had to be ferried across the bog and brought up to the truck.
Trip after trip.
Load after load.
I’ve spent the entire month hauling things into Camp Hidey Ho.
Now I’m hauling them all back out.
By the end of the day, I had started packing the truck, and I’m hoping to get an early start tomorrow morning.
And it’s finally beginning to sink in.
I’m leaving tomorrow.
I’m sad about that.
I’ve spent a month here, and despite the work, the rain, the poison ivy, the sore muscles, the bog, the projects that didn’t get finished and all the little problems that seem to come with living in an off-grid cabin in the Maine woods, I love being here.
I’m not quite ready to leave Camp Hidey Ho.
But at the same time, I’m ready to go home.
I’m ready to see Trudy.
I’m ready to see Bailey and Harley.
And after a month of hauling lumber across a bog, I’m probably ready for a little rest.
So tonight is definitely bittersweet.
One last night at Camp Hidey Ho.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll finish packing, close everything up and start the long trip home.
But Camp Hidey Ho will be here waiting for me next year.
And apparently, so will the ruffed grouse guarding Democrat Ridge Road.