So here I am, back in civilization. I couldn’t have chosen a more relaxing
civilization.
It’s day 2 of my glorious Library Vacation! My first one of these was ages ago, when I
stayed over with a librarian friend for a week, went to work with her, and
discovered this to be the polar opposite of a bother. I had forgotten how completely lovely these
are.
Yesterday I wandered around Fort Kent and got the lay of
the place, then found myself on the University of Maine’s campus. It’s rather small: I was halfway across it
before I realized it. But I soon found
the library, which seems to be much the same vintage as Frostburg State’s,
where I went for a semester. This
library, unlike the small public library in town, has the glorious hours of
0800-2300, and way more visitor computers.
Score. I have found my haunt for the next couple
days, I thought.
So yesterday was devoted to checking in and clearing up the
email inbox, going from 1300 unread emails to 60, which entailed about four
hours of staring at the screen. My eyes
weren’t used to it, so that was about all I could manage for the day.
I then went for a walk along the St. John and Fish Rivers,
which intersect near the Blockhouse, then aimed to finally fulfill my
pizza-and-beer fantasy, but hit a snag when they were cash-only. Gotta love small towns, though, the pizza
place accepted an IOU and a promise to come back and pay it off as soon as I
got an ATM to agree with me, or my friends came to town to loan me some cash,
whatever happened sooner.
So with these adult-issues adventures, I don’t feel like I’m
that far off the Trail. This trail was
by no means total wilderness, and there were only a handful of days where I
went without seeing another human. I
feel I should be a little more shell-shocked, slightly sad to leave sleeping
under my tarp and sitting by the fire and feeling the pulse of the river and
leaving the loons and the beavers behind in exchange for a cheap hotel
room. The wilds of the Trail were great,
don’t get me wrong, but the part that I appreciated and embraced the most was
the freedom, the self-sufficiency, the simple cause-and-effect of your
decisions deciding the consequences and, subsequently, your next couple
days. The environment factored in, sure,
but if you read the weather or the Trail wrong, you got exactly zero
sympathy. Adapting was the only option. Scrappiness was the only virtue.
And that principle, thankfully, doesn’t end here at the Trail
terminus.
I paddled the miles, which was the surface-level goal. But more importantly, and fulfilling the larger goal, I feel ready to take on life beyond the Trail.
On the
Way:
Allagash Village, St. John River, St. Francis, Ft. Kent
Miles: 27. Milepost: 740!
Weather: Cold and rainy
Map: 13
I’M HERE!!!
Eastern Terminus, yeah! Photo by some poor, confused teenager hanging out in the park whom I cornered and asked for a picture.
I came, saw, conquered, and showered! I figured what the hey, a good day count was
something to aim for, and blazed through the last 27 miles into Fort Kent. I’m here now, having arrived at ~1730 on a
Tuesday evening, and looked at the Blockhouse campsites, and promptly trooped
down Main Street to the Northern Door Inn—the historic start of US Route
1. It’s not that the Blockhouse sites
are bad, since they’re well-maintained by the local Boy Scouts and rife with
historical import (Mainers holes up there in a bloodless standoff with French
forces across the Canadian border in the 1800s). But they’re relatively exposed in the most
urban locale I’ve yet to visit in Maine.
And I wanted a shower, dammit, and to wake up without my clothes covered
in a layer of frost. If I hang out here
for four nights (until my folks arrive on Saturday), it’ll feel rather
extravagant, but hey, it’s my one major extravagance of the trip.
And not going to lie, it’s nice here. The snowmobilers’ lodge is cozy, the beds are
nice, and there’s even wifi. And
laundry. I’m off to do a load now. And tomorrow I’ll explore the town!
I’m a little ahead of schedule, but the nights were getting
pretty cold and miserable, and the morning meant jamming my numb limbs into
near-frozen river clothes. It was fun,
but my body was ready, after 37 nights of camping outside, to relax a bit. Plus my shoulder issues need some attention,
now that I’m not working that joint for 10 hours a day…
Also, I was given some beta by a local in Allagash that,
thankfully, ended up not to be true.
When I mentioned going down the St. John to Fort Kent, her face got dark
and she gravely said “There’s no water in that river…” I thought that must mean lots more
side-of-the-road toting and the final test for my trusty wheels, but instead it
was one of the deepest and widest and most pleasant rivers I’ve been on so
far. There were a couple rapids that
were low enough to command some navigational attention—I can only imagine how
much fun those must be in high water. I
can see how this is a famous canoe trip-slash-muskie fishing destination. After all this time, I finally feel like I
can say I can jam along and enjoy myself and read the river on the go, which is
hopefully a lasting skill that will prove useful down the line.
Next adventure! AKA,
pizza and craft beer!
Things
Learned:
+ Small-town, friendly hotels like this one are pretty
reasonable and accommodating. This one’s
as nice as any chain establishment I’ve been to, and the first one I’ve ever
stayed in alone.
+ After going so long without desserts, I’m pretty
sensitive to sugar. My celebratory Ben
and Jerry’s and local beer kept me up until 0200. But Young
Frankenstein was on, so all was well.
Trail
Magic:
+ St. Francis served as a great small stopover town before
Fort Kent. It popped up just when I
needed a break and a snack.
+ I can’t wait to explore this exquisite little town in the
morning!
End:
Allagash Outfitters Campsite beside St. John River
On the
Way:
Allagash River, Round Pond, Allagash Village
Miles: Only
13…but I wasn’t pushing it. 27 mi to Ft.
Kent!
Weather: Clear and warm all day!
Map: 13
Yeah, I didn’t make it through Allagash Village today, and
seeing the state if the St. John River, the last river to go, it’s looking like
a 27 mile day would be a loooong day indeed, full of careful river-reading and
lining in increasingly cold water. So
I’ll either manage to squeak through the gravel bars and feel great or make it
partway, grumble, climb out of the boat and slosh along. I can either take the 27 miles tomorrow, or
make it partially and roll into Fort Kent in the morning. No big deal, but either way, lots of shallow
river paddling in the near future. Just
got to grin and bear it.
However, spending the night in Allagash does mean that my
greasy spoon breakfast fantasy cravings might be fulfilled! Allagash is home to the famous Two River
Lunch, which both books crow about considerably. The only problem is that it’s cash-only, and
the Allagash Wilderness Waterway cleaned me out of cash, and there’s no ATM in
this tiny town. All I’ve got is a
Canadian $10, so I’ll have to ask nicely if they’ll accept it. Might work, considering we’re 10 mi from the
border. [Turns out they took it
happily!]
This campsite is the standard US definition of a “campsite”
these days: a parking spot for an RV, a fire ring, and a lot of mown
grass. I’m grateful that the nice gramma
at the outfitters let me stay here for free, but there’s not a tree to sit
under, let along two for a hammock. No
matter: a night on the ground will do my back good. I set up the tarp lean-to style in front of
the fire barrel to catch some heat, gathered up the mown grass to make a cushy
hay pallet, put my sleeping pad and hammock on top to keep the hay in place,
and rolled out the sleeping bag. It’s
pretty cozy. The only issue is that I
think I have my bag oriented with my head downhill… Rookie mistake. Eit.
A fancier version of my high-tech hearth. Via Pinterest.
Facing the last few dinners means I can pull out the flavor
stops. Tonight I splurged and put both a
soup packet AND half a bouillon cube in my noodle soup, along with the
remaining beans. Pretty
scrumptious. Then I folded my last wheat
tortilla over a sliced-up wild apple with honey and sizzled it on the fire for
a bit. It tasted like a carnival.
Soon, Fort Kent! My
pizza awaits! (Also, can you tell that
I’m reaching the end when I all can think about are warmth and food?)
Things
Learned:
+ The E-bivvy experiment kept me warmer, but it left my
sleeping bag wet and gross and clammy in the AM. Definitely not a long-term solution.
Trail
Magic:
+ Saw my campsite palls again today! Helped them haul their gear down to the base
of Allagash Falls. The Falls were pretty
extraordinary, and would be a fabulous swimming hole in the summer. I’m amazed that the kayaker who went over
survived. I told my pals “happy
paddling,” and the engineer gave me his card for future networking.
On the
Way: Allagash Wilderness Waterway, Allagash Falls
Miles:
27.5. Milepost: 700! Only 40 mi to Ft. Kent!
Weather: The weirdest day of weather I’ve had so far
on the Trail. Started out cloudy, then
clear, then super-windy on the deadwaters (just my luck), then sunshowers that
were so light and cold that I thought they might be snow. The showers continued on to evening, and now
the skies are all clear and poised to give us a proper frigid night. But the clear skies do let us see the stars,
which are lovely out here on the wilderness reserve…
Map: 13
The weirdest day of weather I’ve had so far on the
Trail. Started out cloudy, then clear,
then super windy on the deadwaters (but in the opposite direction, just my
luck…), then sun-showers that were so light and cold that I thought they might
be snow. The showers continued on to
evening, and now the skies are all clear and waiting to give us a properly
frigid night. But the stars be lovely
out here on the Allagash reserve…
It has officially reached autumn temperatures, as I saw on
the ranger’s weather report when I checked out at Michaud Farm this afternoon. Today’s high was 54 Fahrenheit! And yesterday’s was around the same! No wonder I was so freezy-cold in the
morning. I learned some tricks for today
and the future, though. Gloves are a big
plus: fleece in camp, and neoprene on the water. A puff and long sleeve under the waterproof
jacket is a must. Winter hat and buff
scarf at all times. Nalgene of hot water
to cuddle at night. Fire to keep toasty
and dry clothes in the evening. I’m
gonna experiment with using my space blanket e-bivvy in the hammock
tonight. Basically, it’s getting
uncomfortably cold to camp (well, without an underquilt), and I’m glad we’re
reaching the end.
Also to cold to go splashing in the river if I run up on
some dadgunned sandbar, especially in the morning before the sun’s risen. The Allagash has been featuring lots of
gravel bars, which make me grumble, firstly at getting out of the boat and into
the freezing drink, and secondly to undo the skirt that’s keeping my legs toasty. More of that coming tomorrow. At this rate, it’s looking like I’ll be into
Allagash Village tomorrow, camp about 6 mi on the other side of town, then
cruise on in for the last 21 mi into Fort Kent, maybe stopping for some
convenience store fun in St. John or St. Francis—little towns on the way along
the St. John River.
In any case, I’ll be
into Fort Kent for Tuesday night, with a ride coming on Friday at the
earliest. I was entertaining notions
today of really stretching out my river time, since there’s really not that much to do in Fort Kent. But I’ll have a library and a hotel room for
at least a day or two. Maybe I’ll spend
one night camping at the Blockhouse, where the Boy Scouts maintain some sites
next to the river, but again, it’ll be chilly…
I’m quite good at being creative about occupying myself: money is the
only real X-factor involved.
Lots of things I’m looking forward to in Ft. Kent:
exploring town, doing laundry, buying a big cheesy pizza and beer and watching
a mindless movie with some ice cream, showering, finishing my books, checking
in at home, stretching out my shoulder, and generally relaxing!
One sign you want to listen to... Via Canoe Tales .
Things
Learned:
+ Layering and de-layering: Simple lessons that should not
be forgotten simply because there’s no snow about.
+ My imitation Buff (scrapped together from an old merino
pullover) works really well! I’m pleased
with it.
+ Wet neoprene will freeze on frosty mornings. Point of interest.
+ Along those lines, I’m not usually what we’d call a
morning-compatible individual, but mornings at this time of year are soooo unpleasant. No need to rush things.
Trail
Magic:
+ My sitemates from last night made up for their snores by
sharing a sumptuous breakfast of bacon, onions and eggs, and real coffee with
me! Protein to keep me going all
day—great stuff.
+ I had the good luck to run into the M. Farms ranger, who
was on one of his off days but stopping by the office to grab something. Poor guy: just a couple days ago, a kayaker was dumb enough to go over the 40-foot Allagash Falls, and get pretty
Alla-gashed up as a result. The ranger
said he had been to see him in the hospital, where he gotten all patched up. What an
ordeal to go through as a ranger, though…I told him about the Trail, and he
told me congrats in advance.
+ Saw a cow moose!
Watched her through the binos as she fed at the edge of the pond.
End:
Sweeney Brook campsite, right after (the last!) Long Lake
On the
Way: Allagash Wilderness Waterway, Allagash River,
Umsaskis Lake, Long Lake
Miles:
~15. 68 to go!
Weather: Sooooo cold.
Cloudy, the clear in the evening, but most persistent wind of the whole
damn trip!
Map: 12,
13
Map 13! Last one!
Map Overview
Today it seems like I just couldn’t get warm. Like a Hollow Day for eating, where your
tummy always wants more no matter how much you feed it, but swapping out hunger
for lack of body heat. I think it stems from
having pretty had circulation in my feet, which I’m sure isn’t helped by hammock
sleeping. That and having a wet ass
24/7.
Anyway, on account of that, my shoulder really acting up,
and nothing really causing me to hurry into Fort Kent besides the vanity of my
final number of days on the river, I took it easy today. Well, there was a lot of wind, compounding
the cold and making my last couple of lakes an utter workout. I’m sharing campsites tonight with two
fellows who are out in a rental canoe. I
dunno how they managed that whitewater in a canoe, or managed to come so far in
a day (the Churchill Dam ranger said they had come by around noon). They did mention that they stopped today at
1400, so they couldn’t have been pushing that
hard.
Also this morning, I got up at ~0600 to avoid any
outfitters who might have shown up to put-in at the bridge, put on my wet and
miserable river clothes, skipped breakfast and headed out into the fog. I couldn’t even see the river that well.
It was, in a word, dismal. Pain doesn’t frequently overcome me, but I
had to stop and wallow in self-pity over the state of my poor frozen hands and
immobile fingers a few times. When my
usual method of sticking my hands under my pits didn’t help, it was time for a
break. I stopped and waited for the sun
to rise a little higher and had a proper hot oatmeal and coffee breakfast at
the first campsite downriver. The sun
burnt off the fog on the river so I could actually see, some water steamed off
my river clothes, and I felt much better.
That break, plus a nap it took in the sun later at Long Lake Dam (one of
those autumn sun patches where you think you should be warm, but really aren’t…) made it a low-achievement kind
of day. Basically, today’s lessons
amount to “daybreak starts are way over-rated.”
The last washed-out dam of the trip at the top of Long Lake. Via Hawk's Journal.
It does mean, though, that I should aim to book it tomorrow. I have one night’s stay left on the fee I
paid to camp in this watershed, although I could probably sneak another. They’re patrolled by seasonal retired guys in
motorized canoes, and the check-out point is miles before the end of the fee
zone—what kind of system is that?
The Allagash is lovely, though. I’m looking forward to a day where I’m not
rushing through or blinded or preoccupied by cold, and can focus on the quality
scenic stuff that this river is known for.
You know, like avoiding rocks.
Things
Learned:
+ According to one of my sitemates, most east-coast coyotes
are actually cross-bred with wolves from Canada. HUH.
Not sure if I believe that.
+ Sleeping next to a bubbling brook drowns out the buzzsaw
snores that any aforementioned sitemates might produce. Also, earplugs help: was very glad to have
brought a pair.
Trail
Magic:
+ Lots of kingfishers!
I’ve been fascinated with these birds ever since my parents hung an
Audubon poster with a giant painting of one in the center on the basement wall,
but I’ve never seen them in person.
They’re very cool.
+ The Last Long Lake of the trip! There’s been no less than three Long X’s (two
lakes and a pond) on this journey.
+ With the changing autumn temperatures come the changing
autumn leaves. My inner white person is
quite enthralled by them.
On the
Way: Lock Dam, Eagle Lake, Churchill Lake, Allagash
Wilderness Waterway, Allagash River
Miles: 21.5. Milepost: 624.5
Weather: Rainy and cloudy in AM, cleared up a bit in
later afternoon. Now all clear, but
windy as hell from the North!
Map: 12
If handwriting’s messy today, it’s because both pen and I
are experiencing some intense cold. I am
so glad I got my warm weather gear when I did, because my river togs are soaked and a night in any part of them
would be most heinous.
Most of today was on Lakes, battling the most intense
headwinds I’ve had on the whole trip.
I’m lucky to have made the mileage I did, considering that by lunch I
had barely scraped 6mi out against the wind.
After lots of cursing and singing to myself (I might have alarmed some
fishermen…) I finally got to Churchill Dam and the blessed rapids of the
Allagash. I forgot it was a cash-only
segment, so they cleaned me out of all my cash for my four nights of
camping. Bah. Maybe Two Rivers Lunch, a much-heralded
cash-only greasy spoon down the river in Allagash, will accept my Canadian $10
bill souvenir from Quebec, or some family will be my Trail Angels. Or there might be an ATM in Allagash Village
[Spoiler: there wasn’t]. Really wish I
had a certain BOOK that could reassure me of such things!
But despite the highway robbery of his fee system (not that
the nation’s first waterway wilderness should be begrudged…), the ranger, who
was a retired swimming coach, was fantastic.
He let me log on to his laptop and check email (Hannah and Zach contact
established!), sent me along with ¼ an apple pie from his kit, helped me tote
my loaded boat around the dam, and opened the dam up a little to give me a
boost down the bony rapids.
The extra
H2O volume was most welcome, since the river is low as hell, but since I
started it at about 1600, I didn’t make good enough time to make it to the
first campsite along the river by nightfall.
Hence how now I’m squatting like a troll by the foundation of the former
bridge, rather than luxuriating in the legality of one of these nice campsites
that I’ve dearly paid to use. Ah well,
I’ll make use of them for the next couple nights. Perhaps there will be another dam release in
the morning. In the meantime, I’m
fruitlessly “drying” my clothes on the stone steps, watching the beavers play,
and scheming to skedaddle early in the morning before any outfitters or rangers
show up.
Lining rivers is so much easier when you can see where
you’re stepping, too. I landed a few
scratches on my boat tonight when the Western sun was right in my eyes. And since
it was cloudy all day, why would I have my shades at the ready? Although it was ultimately my fault for not
being prepared, the lack of control over the situation, combined with the wild
race down the river, made me quite grumpy. I also didn't make it over to see the abandoned locomotives and remnants of the steam tram railway that lurk in the woods at the top of Eagle Lake. Spending last night at Lock Dam put me in a prime location to portage over to the next lake, rather than portaging past the locomotives, so I took advantage and did that early in the morning. When battling the winds, the last thing I wanted to do was add additional mileage to go peer at the rusting things, so I blew on past. And probably a good thing, since I was pretty late getting onto the actual Allagash River, anyway.
+ Mom mentioned coming to Ft. Kent to pick me up. On one hand, I don’t want to pit her plans
and Hannah’s against each other, but on the other, I would like to give Hannah
one more out. I was in a rush to get
back onto the water, so I just forwarded Mom’s offer to Hannah and let them to
duke it out. I felt like an awful
friend.
Start: North
Woods campsite, which, it turns out, IS an official NFCT spot.
End: Lock
Dam Campsite on Chamberlain Lake (part of the Allagash Waterway!)
On the
Way: Umbazooksus Stream, Umbazooksus Lake, Mud
Pond Carry, Mud Pond, Mud Stream, Chamberlain Lake, Lock Dam
Miles:
12. Bah.
Another measly day, but with good reason.
Weather: Clear and sunny, then cloudy with a bit of
rain. Chilly in evening. More rain, please! Every drop we get now is a scratch that won’t
be on my boat after later rivers.
Map: 12
Map 12 (I took the branch on the right)
Trail Overview
Ungh, today.I’m so
glad it’s over.I never want to come
across a body of water with “Mud” as part of its name again.
Mud Pond Carry was just as muddy and difficult as all the
books and maps portended. The woods
themselves were lovely, with lots of moss and shafts of light and signs of
moose. What the books didn’t mention,
however, was how much you’ll ignore the gorgeous scenery because of the long,
monotonous periods where you’ll be stuck inside a boat, watching your feet to
stay on the trail and praying your prow didn’t get caught in the branches
overhead. The distance is 1.8 miles,
right on the cusp of a distance I can accurately gauge off the cuff while
walking it, and this being private land, there were no markers, no milestones,
no way to know how close you were to the end except how thick the alders were
getting. The water wasn’t that bad,
everything being low and dry, but there were still some spots of considerable
loam and moose poo. I was made more
grumpy than usual not because of the mud, or getting banged up by fallen trees,
but by the facts that:
I was
going solo, which means doing the damn portage actually three times (once with the gear, scouting for low branches and the
best path through the mud, second time backtracking, then third time blind with
an empty boat on my head).
My
shoulder had really started to complain.
It probably took me four hours, at least: it was sunny and
lovely to start out with, but then rather gray at the end. I ate my last Clif Bar, a chocolatey minty
mess, to make myself feel better.
BUT THEN, as I’m sure any decent guidebooks would have told me, I had to cross Mud Pond, a
nasty little weed-choked puddle with not so much of a shallow bottom as a
miasma of hard-to-paddle pudding, just under the boat. Then, you exit to Mud Brook, “I’ve been carrying all day!” says I. “I haven’t come across a stream yet that I
could line up if I wanted to.” Today, I
found that stream. It was a rocky, buggy
trickle—pretty in its own way, so that I didn’t want to ruin it by dredging it
with my giant hunk of ABS plastic.
Fortunately, true to what my innkeeper pal said, there was a
snowmobiling trail off to the side that I could scramble onto, although not
nearly as wheelable as the book said. So
it was back to hoisting it overhead and carrying, and an extra-grumpy
Rosser. With no Clif bars, to boot.
No surprises, then, that that little track spit out onto a
nasty, dank mudflat. It is the place
where, along the Trail so far, I would most expect Orcs to live. As I paddled through the congealed gravy
bottom and the eff out of there, I passed the Mud Brook campsite. For a flash I considered stopping there, then
I laughed. Never again, Mud X. Never again…
That said, Chamberlain Lake is lovely, but that might have
just been from the side-by-side comparison.
I had a choppy, stormy crossing of Eagle Lake as the rain that had been
threatening all through the Mud Stream Carry finally hit. Once I reached Lock Dam, I decided to
stay. The campsite’s pretty swank, and
after doing some research tonight, it looks like I can do a 0.1 mi portage in
the morning from here, rather than humping it to the end of this windy lake to
do a mudstrewn 0.75 mi carry. This is
the famous Tramway Carry, which I’m jazzed to see, but I can always come at it
from the other side and spook around tomorrow, no boat in tow. But I am DONE with boggy, non-wheelable
portages for now. The idea of a muddy
carry right now is, to quote A Bit of Fry
and Laurie, “limp-making, in a sexual sense.”
I really ought to get in touch with Hannah and Zach, my
rides out from Ft. Kent, soon. My last
email was kind of frantic and vague, since I was scrambling to get back on the
water. They deserve a more committed,
concrete answer. I’m definitely going to
be on to the Allagash no later than Saturday morning, done with Map 12 by
Saturday night, and blazing through Map 13 by next week. I’ll for sure be done and having my library
vacation by the 1st. It’s all
pretty certain—now I just have to relay that.
Things
Learned:
+ Nothing beats a Lake bath. At the end of the day, at least at this time
of year, the lakes have soaked up the sun and are good and warm, at least up to
a couple feet deep. Chamberlain was like
a tub this evening, and the rocks were smooth and warm.
+ I have a “smoke ‘em if you got ‘em” approach to
rations. This might not be a good thing.
Trail
Magic:
+ I did that infamous Carry, just like Thoreau back in teh day. Everyone along this Trail segment is enamoured with Thoreau because he passed through here that one time a hundred years ago. I guess I'm spoiled with my Thoreau exposure, living down the street from Harvard and within biking distance to Walden. Also, the romance is kind of lost when you're thigh-deep in a moose-tracks sundae made literal.
+ I'm into the very charming Allagash Wilderness Waterway campsites, which are each equipped with privvy, spacious picnic table, fire ring, and over-table hang bar for easy tarp pitching. It's a very Maine setup, and I like it a lot.
+ I had a solid poop today!
Go me and my revised fiber intake!
+ Just as I was hopeless and sad at the end of the Mud
Brook psych-out snowmobile track, out in the mudflats and thinking I was about
to be set upon by Uruk-hai, I spotted some motion about 10 meters away. Fortunately I had my deckbag handy and could
dig out my binos: turned out to be a family of three river otters. I found a rock to perch on and got to watch
them for about half an hour, sliding between the rocks, rolling in the mud,
play fighting, and having a grand time.
It was just the pick-me-up I needed, and it was good to see that someone
was enjoying that cesspool.
Start:
Northeast Carry (Milepost 566, according to Raymonds!)
End:
North Woods campsite at start of Umbazooksus Stream
On the
Way: Northeast Carry, W. Branch Penobscot River, Chesuncook,
Chesuncook Lake, Umbazooksus Stream
Miles: IDK,
~25. Milepost: ~591!
Weather: All clear!
Map: 11
A lovely, highly social day!
My arm started getting pretty ornery, but quick rests and
splashing it with cold water seemed to do the trick.
Went and said hi at Raymonds, like I planned to last night,
and it was well worth the mile-long jaunt there and back and the half an hour
of chatting. It’s a cute little
camping/general store run by an old couple—well, she was dashing around baking
bread, mowing the yard, tending the garden, and helping an elderly neighbor
move a tractor while he rang me up in the store then kept me busy with a jaw
session. Partnerships come in all
shapes, sizes, and labor divisions, I suppose.
He was a fascinating guy to talk to over my buttered muffin and coffee
and pickled egg. He remembered when
someone still worked as a gear toter on the Northeast Carry—back when it was
popular enough to make a living off such a venture—and he said he did some
hauling himself. I asked about the
famous tram system that once carried canoes along (hence why the road is so
perfectly straight), but it was apparently gone for 100 years before he showed
up. He got good-naturedly insulted when
I asked, though. His backyard and
snowmobile cabin area doubles as the only life-flight helicopter landing pad on
that side of Moosehead Lake. It would
take three hours one way to drive to the nearest hospital in Bangor, he said,
but by helicopter you could make it in two.
The West Branch of the Penobscot was flat-out gorgeous and
a blast to paddle. By far, it’s been one
of my favorite parts of river yet. It
has a famous, unique strain of landlocked salmon, and it was spawning
season. This was clearly indicated by
the fact that all the lovely free campsites along its length were filled up
with old fisherman. They mainly had
canoes with a plywood platform rigged at the stern for mounting an outboard
motor, as well as an anchor, so they could paddle out mid-current (which was
swift and—thank goodness—in the same direction I was going), drop anchor, fly
fish, then scoot back upriver to fry up their catch for dinner. It’s the kind of place I should take Dad
sometime, especially since you can easily drop in at Moose River. I had to warn the fishermen when I was
paddling up behind so that I didn’t get a hook backcast into my eye.
Then there was Chensuncook Village and Lake. The Village was underwhelming. The stupid flowery official guidebook, damn
its pages, got me all amped for it by saying that the store sold homemade fudge
and root beer, and that 12 residents lived there full time, and that there was
no way to reach the village by road.
Some of those things—the most disappointing parts—were true. I parked Dieter at the ominious-sounding
graveyard point, then followed the twisty logging roads into what I presumed
was the center of town. There was a
church—empty, but with some nice ripe apples on its trees. The only building that looked occupied was
the Inn, which was impressive not only for its views of the lake and of
Katahdin looming on the horizon, but for a strange assortment of vintage Army trucks
strewn among the outbuildings.
Katahdin from Chensuncook Village
Spurred into action for want of fudge (how frequently this phrase pops up in my life...), I knocked on the Inn
door, and the innkeeper, clearly in off-season mood, answered the door and
chatted. Turns out that he’s the one who
maintains the snowmobile track next to the Mud Pond Carry (which is coming up
tomorrow). He said I should use it if
the alders have grown in too thick. Good
to know—that might come in handy real soon…
I pulled into camp on Umbazooksus Stream (now resembling a
branch of the lake, since it was widened out for logging). There was just enough light to set up camp,
which is just how I like it. I saw one
RV staking its claim for the start of Moose Hunting season in a few days, but
no one was around. Then, just at dusk, 4
very off-road-ready jeeps pulled in with trailers. Oh, no, I thought: irksome townies for sure,
but they turned out to be a set of friends with bitchin’ safari tents that
popped out of their rooftop cargo areas and trailers. They built a mean fire and were happy to feed
me beer and salad and expertly-prepared steak.
One of them was from Boston, and works with quantum LED displays. It was enough to send me into a veritable
meat-and-meeting-people coma…
Sunset over Umbazooksus Stream, with my safari-worthy friends. As you can tell, it's not much of a stream: it's been long since widened for the log drives of old.
Things
Learned:
+ The cold weather gear has officially made my dry bag too
big to fit in the hatch along with my cart and wheels. Cart can ride on top, no problem.
Trail
Magic:
+ Saw a bull moose on the banks of the river. He made an antler display at me, so I was
doing some quick trigonometry to see if I could outpace his swimming if I stuck
to the opposite bank. Before I got too
close, though, he chickened out, ran away, and then a bald eagle swooped
down. ‘Murica. Only in Maine.
Nothing says "freedom" like... Sculpture and photo via Ben Firth.
+ Beer! Meat! New friends, out having a week of
adventure! I am well fortified for the
slog tomorrow.
End:
“Stealth” camp next to sign for Raymond’s General Store near end of Northeast
Carry. (I say “stealth” in quotes
because I’m quite in the open, and 2 pickups, including one with a decal from
that selfsame store, have driven by and seen me. Very stealthy.)
On the
Way: Little Brassua Lake, Brassua Lake, Moosehead
Lake, Mt. Kineo, Northeast Carry
Miles: A
whopping 29! Plus a site hiking trip up
Mt. Kineo. Milepost: ~571
Weather: Cloudy, but very warm.
Map: 10,
11
Map 11
Trail Overview
Tonight’s all about the critters. First, the small. It feels like I have tinnitus, what with the
constant whine of little bastard mosquitos flying around my head and looking
for a gap in my DEET force field. They
started up the moment I stepped out of the boat on the Northern shore of
Moosehead Lake. I had just a moment to
think, “Damn, these bugs are the flying aces of their species” before I was
swarmed upon with the insect equivalent of a squadron of Red Barons. Despite becoming something of a mosquito
assassin lately, I couldn’t keep up, and I had to douse on the DEET while I
walked. They haven’t let up. It’s going to be one of those nights where I
have to fall asleep swatting, then wake up to reapply as the DEET wears off
over time.
Then there were the big critters. I saw my first moose! And I wish it had been in situation where I
could have stopped to admire them. While
I was racing the sun to reach the end of the famous Northeast Carry (in vain,
it turns out), a mating pair strolled out onto the road in front of me. At first they were facing me, so that I
nearly thought the cow was someone in dark clothes walking towards me. But then I saw the bull and his rack, and I
knew what was coming towards me. These
two were on a date, and woe betide those who cockblock a bull moose.
Then I did something that, admittedly, was a little stupid,
and that I’m very, very glad did not end badly.
I banged on the side of the boat and hollered to get them to move off
the road—I had to use that road, dammit!
The cow was easy enough to scare away with a little hollering and
stamping, but the bull was more pernicious, and probably cheesed that I was
interrupting his Twilight-Stroll-And-Chill.
There was a scary moment where he was trotting down the road towards me
(with a very “Bro…WTF?” look on his face), but it turns out he was just
backtracking to catch up with his lady love.
He was still frighteningly nonchalant in that moment when I thought he
was coming my way.
All in all, a lovely pair to encounter, although in less
than ideal circumstances.
Today’s paddle was long, featuring several of those hours
where you look at a far-off landmark on the distant horizon, think “There’s no
way I’ll be able to paddle there in a day!” then let your mind wander to
something else, then boom, you’re there.
One of my mind-wanderings today was a freestyle rhyme/beat poem that
variated on the theme of “I Want a Guy Who…”
It was fun, and cathartic, and past experiences led to the inclusion of
lots of “Doesn’ts,” which can be just as useful qualifiers for the sake of a
working definition. It kept a very
free-form meter, but generally stuck to the beat of “Short Skirt and a Long
Jacket” by Cake.
“I want a guy who knows how to plan ad-ventures, a guy who
likes it when I feel hard-core.
I want a guy who will never say I’m cute when I’m angry; a
guy prone to think in DIY terms…”
You get the picture.
I came up with rhyming couplets that weren’t so slanty, as well,
promise.
Things
Learned:
+ River-bath-clean lasted for less than a day, since I lost
the trail on my lunchtime sidetrip up Mt. Kineo and crashed through some
deadstanding hemlocks. I’m finding
little needles in all sorts of exciting places now…
Moosehead Lake looking north from the top of the Mt. Kineo firetower, at ~1300. By the end of the day, I was on the other side of the lake!
Mt. Kineo Fire tower
Trail
Magic:
+ Moose!
+ Ripe and perfect portage apples on the shore of
Moosehead!
+ A spruce grouse on the way up Mt. Kineo, and a
spectacular view from the fire tower at the top!
+ Raymond’s General Store! I think
in the morning I’ll pack up the boat, backtrack in my camp shoes, and say hi,
just to be friendly. Maybe they’ll even
sell me a spot of breakfast.
