I met Rod Sirois after sending a bulk e-mail to everyone who had camps for hire in the North Maine Woods Association boundaries and e-mail.  The text went something like this.  “I know it’s late in the season, but I also know you won’t have much demand for your camp between Moose season and Deer Camp.  I’d like to hire a camp that sleeps 6 for two weeks and I only have $400 to spend.  In addition, I don’t want to count people and be charged on a per/person/per/night rate.”  It was a tough opening for some negotiations.

I got some replies back, and quickly.  Some quoted full-price.  Others had a shed that might work.  One said “no rowdies,” which I’m not certain if my group is rowdy or not in someone else’s opinion.

But one caught my attention.  “Todd: We can work something out.  Rod”  I knew right away that this was my guy.

Northern Hideaway camps are located on the Big Black River in T-14, R-15 WELS, Maine.  It’s about 85 miles from where you leave pavement in Portage to the cabins.  It has been marketed primarily as a bear camp, but they cater to every kind of sportsman.

Rod was a Navy SEAL, worked for the FBI, and rumors abounded about the stuff he couldn’t tell you about.  He had an odd sense of humor; the family trophy collection was warehoused in an over-sized outhouse.  You got the sense when you met him that he could still snap you like a twig, if he wanted to, but he probably didn’t.  He was always smiling, jovial and confident.

I had heard tales of Rod from my friend, Craig McLaughlin, prior to ever contacting Northern Hideaway.  It wasn’t until I arrived and saw some features of the camp (like the sauna) that I put the pieces together.  Craig thought I’d be instantly drawn to this rugged individual with a colorful life and stories to share.  Craig was right.

Rod and I were never close friends.  We didn’t exchange Christmas cards or call each other out of the blue.  We did have a beer together, but I practically had to twist his arm for him to take it.  He did only after Judy pointed out that the chores were done at the camp.  Rod was someone I looked forward to seeing each fall.  He was part of the fabric of my life, woven into my favorite section: bird hunting.

Last year, when I saw Rod up at camp, he was different.  He’d put on some weight and I barely recognized him without his signature BDU’s.  He was “warmer” than before.  We looked through his picture album with photos of the record-breaking bear season.  He and Judy were wintering in Panama and looking forward to taking it easy.

I didn’t know at the time that he was sick.

I found out through a mutual friend about Rod’s illness.  I was not supposed to know; nobody was.  He wouldn’t even allow his wife to accompany him to the hospital in Boston.  It’s about a ten-hour drive.

I suspected Judy was forbidden because Rod just couldn’t bear to let anyone see him like that.  I didn’t quite know what to do, and I did nothing.  I regret my negligence today.  Rod passed away Saturday evening.

Even if we weren’t close friends in the traditional sense, Rod was always part of the hunting trip I was dreaming up next.  I looked forward to seeing him every year, and kind of took for granted that he’d always be there.

I’m not sure where I stand on the whole heaven and hell thing.  If there is a heaven, I hope hunting bears over bait is legal.