SOUTH PORTLAND — Bamboo fly rods run upward of $1,500 and $2,000. That’s not the kind of cottage industry that would make it in a poor economy. Unless you’re in Maine.

Peak rut. The phrase quickens the pace of every serious deer hunter. When word goes out that “it’s on,” it’s time to drop everything and be in the woods. If we only knew what triggers it, we might be able to plan a little ahead.

During the 1950s when hunters routinely wore black-and-red or black-and-green plaids, hunting fatalities took upwards to 19 lives per year in Maine alone — a terrific carnage compared to today.

The stories statewide the past two years about the harsh winters of 2008 and 2009 and the toll those aberrations in weather took on the deer herd are starting to play out at tagging stations.

Perhaps you saw the movie “The Big Year” earlier this fall. Starring Steve Martin, Jack Black and Owen Wilson, the movie is adapted from a book by Mark Obmascik of the same name. The book describes the efforts of three birders to see as many species as possible in North America in a calendar year.

Over many summers of outdoor fun in Maine, the Christie family has developed a few annual, and never-missed traditions that have survived year after year.

November woods and fields look so drab now compared to summer, but curious eyes see plenty, beginning with deer signs such as heart-shaped tracks, buck rubs (bark “rubbed” off small trunks) and scrapes in soft earth.

I was settled in my tree stand awaiting the dawn’s early light when I heard the distinct sound of a deer’s hooves approaching on dry oak leaves.

There are iconic images associated with the outdoors in Maine. A large brook trout sipping a fly. A burly bull moose feasting, chest deep in water. A landlocked salmon leaping, and of course, a large buck, slipping silently through the forest on fresh snow.