Day 31 – Little Brassua Lake, ME, to Northeast Carry, ME

T-2016-9-20

Start: Little Brassua Lake

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.

Day 30 (It’s been a month!) – Jackman, ME, to Little Brassua Lake, ME

M-2016-9-19

Start: Campsite on Big Wood Pond, across from Jackman

End: Little Brassua Pond campsite, which is utterly lovely

On the Way:  Big Wood Pond, Jackman, Moose River, Long Pond, Demo Road, Little Brassua Lake

Miles: 23.8 (Milepost: ~542)

Weather:  Cloudy in AM, Now mostly clear but with a warm breeze.  Really warm for the day I pick up my cold weather gear, Harumph.  But no complaints.

Map: 10

Great way to get back on the Trail after my near-Zero Day!  Paddled back into Jackman to pick up my package and replace my disintegrating river socks.  (Gotta love General Stores around here—they have all you need to survive the cold on-hand, like socks and gloves and pizza.)  I sent off some postcards, addressed my post-box for home, and grabbed a cholesterol-laden breakfast sandwich, then hit the Moose River by ~0900. It was a pretty full day, including another (but not the last!) Long Lake, and a doubt-inducing 3-mile portage along dirt roads and rather dubious wood trails.  I was back in mile-jamming mode, though, and it felt good.  I was planning on getting further, but this little gem of a campsite beckoned me to stay rather than try and cram in another 6 miles and skid into camp in the dark. 

And I’m so glad to be here: pebble beach, deep warm lake water where I took my first lake bath in a while, nice warm breeze to keep the bugs away, and a fire hearth built up just right to keep a fire protected from the wind and the heat reflected onto a handy little rock seat on the edge of the ring.  And lots of downed pine to burn.  Ung, that smell.  Easily the best part.

I’m wearing my fleecey pants, just received in the mail today.  They’ll get smelly as soon as they get plunged into my vile sleeping bag, I reasoned, so why not start the stank accumulation early here by the fire?  Besides my new cozy PJs, my drop box had a puffy fleece jacket, fleece and neoprene gloves, a neck gaiter, and some new food.  Cous cous forever!  I think I’m more than set until Ft. Kent.  I’m going to try and make a go of it and see if I can last without any more grocery missions.

The famous Demo Road Gauge.  They say it's scratchy-but-safe to run when the water's between 2-3 feet.  Here, the water's barely touching the rock.  Yuuuup.  Story of my summer.

On the Demo Road portage, I ran into 3 middle-aged gents and 2 kayaks and a canoe in the back of their pickup.  They helped me find the NFCT confidence marker that I needed to convince myself that I hadn’t missed the turn-off.  They were fine fellows—three pals out farting around on the lakes.  It’s so reassuring to run into people out on agenda-less trips.  They offered me a beer, called me “kiddo,” and said, by way of putting me at ease, I suppose, that they had grandkids who were my age.  They also offered advice at getting around the Eagle and Chamberlain Lakes [which I promptly forgot, but got through those lakes just fine, anyway…] They were quite fun: I hope when I’m their ages I’ll have found a cadre of adventuresome pals to bum around Maine with.  One asked if I was on a “solo mission.”  I said sure, why not, but the wittier reply would have been that that was a fancy way of saying “floating around on the lakes by yourself and being way more antisocial than these jovial dudes.”

Things Learned: 

+ I didn’t put the tarp up last night, figuring the conifers would be enough cover, and so had to scramble at ~0100 to throw it up and avoid getting rained on.  Serves me right for my flagrant hubris.

+ I am so not used to coffee.  A few cups of that weak diner-strength stuff at 1300 kept me up all night…

+ Little Brassua Lake was practically undeveloped.  It’s gorgeous: I should come back some day.

Completely lovely spot next to Little Brassua Lake.  Put up an extra line to hold against the wind.  Plus the campsite had a makeshift table build, a nice stone hearth, and abundant, fragrant pinecones to burn!  Mmm, pine...

+ Operation Dry Bean Soak was indeed a success, but I need to remember to crunch the bottle a bit before putting in more dry beans in the future.  As I discovered when I opened the bottle to make my soup this evening, I’ve been carrying around a veritable pressure bomb all day.

Trail Magic: 

+ Saw 2 Bald Eagles on Long Pond!

+ Fun Old Guys giving me a lift and spotting my markers.

Day 29 – Attean Pond, ME, to Jackman, ME

U-2016-9-18

Start: Campsite on Attean (At-TEE-an) Pond.

End: Campsite (a generous term) on Big Wood Pond, near Jackman, ME

On the Way:  Attean Pond, Moose River, Big Wood Pond, Jackman

Miles: ~(-2).  Milepost: ~520.5

Weather:  Rainy and cloudy in AM, cleared up by sunset, which was cotton-candy pastel.

Map: 10

Whelp, the best-laid plans.  My Zero-Mile day (technically a negative-mile day since I’m camping off the Trail) wasn’t nearly as productive as my time in Island Pond.  That was a hard day to beat, though, plus it was a weekday.  Sundays are tougher for getting things done.

Jackman styles itself the "Switzerland of Maine."  In that it's close to stuff, I guess.

Jackman’s wee library, literally a shed in front of the High School, is only open Wednesday and Saturday 1200-1600.  No chance of visiting it today.  But I did stumble into the Historical Society Museum, where I made insta-friends with Mike the friendly curator, an old-time Mainer with a predilection for military paraphernalia.  He was extremely excited about a recently-donated WWI trench knife, and he had great stories about catching trout with his bare hands in Attean Pond.  He also told me that I camped right across Spencer Lake from an old POW camp.  Creeeeepy.  Anyway, this museum was a gem of a find, and Mike let me use his Internet and print off some trail updates, and check email.  He also had what can only be described as a “fan binder” of previous Through-paddlers who had passed through, most prominently the Read Family that he’d spotted toting their canoe up the road earlier that summer.  He scanned my maps, and I owe him a thank-you note and link to this blog.

The fabulous Historical Society, a High School turned firehouse, then high school again, now stuffed chock full of fascinating local artifacts.

A model trapper/hunter's hut set up outside the museum.

It was cozy inside!  I'd live in one.

I called my friends at Ecolablahblah in Rangely.  My oatmeal pal picked up.  Turns out I remembered incorrectly, and they don’t actually stock The Book.  She had a 1^st edition copy that Katina had sent her for perusal.  She was eager to gift it to me, but I declined, saying it wasn’t going to be immensely useful.  Then my pay phone minutes ran out.  I must send her a follow-up email to explain how grateful I was for the offer, and that I made it through alive.  The mail logistics would also have been tricky: They’d have to get it to Rockwood in less than 2 days at my current pace, and there’s no other convenient Trail town for at least 2 maps.  Ah, well.  As I wrote in my postcard to [my pal in Cambridge and former roommate] dRachel: Fuck it, we’ll do it live!  Sir Ernest Shackleton didn’t have guidebooks!  NEEEEW GOAL!

So tomorrow will entail climbing out of this mosquito-ridden little ATV bog trail where I’m camping for the evening across Wood Pond (where the map listed a campsite, but it either lied or I got there too late to find it), paddling the ~15 minutes back into town, visiting Bishop’s Motel and perhaps the general store for new socks (mine are disintegrating—this evening I put my foot through one of them like it was made of a wet paper bag instead of wet merino wool) and breakfast.  The Motel is where I shipped by box, so I’ll repackage it and send it off at 0900 at the PO, along with my postcards. 

Altogether, today was a day of gluttony, some humdinger mosquito bites, looking at history, and a pleasant read with a pint of local ice cream down by the section of the Moose River that I’ll be blazing down tomorrow.  Last day of Zero-Miling: Now we fly on to Fort Kent!

Things Learned: 

+ Generally a good idea to stop at local historical societies.  Between this one and the one where I spent a fascinating afternoon in Thames, New Zealand, I’ve seen some really cool stuff.  For example, today I learned out the existence of a device called a “weaning muzzle”: basically a halter with spikes near the nose.  Even the most patient mother isn’t going to let you nurse with that on…

Trail Magic: 

+ Back home, Alice my Warrior Bunnies costuming assistant seems on top of things.

+ I had the hamburger equivalent of poutine today: an open-faced patty covered with gravy and eas.  It was calorically resplendent.  I regret nothing.

+ I set a rough pick-up date with Hannah and Zach: October 1.  I can do it!

Day 28 – Spencer Lake, ME to Attean Pond, ME

S-2016-9-17

Start: Spencer Lake

End: Campsite closest to outlet of Attean Pond.  Windy as hell.

On the Way:  Spencer Lake, Fish Pond, Hardscrabble Road Portage (~6mi) Moose River, Attean Pond

Miles:  ~23.5.  Milepost: ~515.  God, I miss my Book.

Weather:  Mostly sunny, some clouds when it mattered, now in a really windy cover on the pond…

Map: 10

Attean Pond, right before getting into Wood Pond near Jackman.  Via Google Maps.

No dice on the Book being left behind conveniently at the dam.  The official guidebook is such a pale substitution.  It makes me want to hurl it into the fire pit every time I try to get useful information out of it and instead encounter some inane description of paddling on flatwater, or that hateful term “riffles.”  It’s like they told their cadre of editors, “Try and come up with a different flowery, frivolous way to say ‘paddle the damn river’ every time the occasion presents itself.”  It’s so bad.  There’s no other explanation for how we get phrases like “The love-whine of the moose cow in September is a treat you won’t soon forget.”  (That is an exact quote, or at least a very close paraphrase.)  Puh-lease.  Meanwhile I’m sitting here high and dry without mileage estimates.  I’m also wondering if if my short and sweet paddle into Jackman Landing tomorrow will be a nice wide paddle, like the Moose River has been these past 7 miles, or a battle against beaver and bracken, as was the exit stream from Fish Pond with ZERO indication from map or guidebook.

Sigh.  I miss The Book.  I know I only have 3 maps and ~200 miles to go, but I would happily buy a new copy just to have Katina’s advice on hand for those. 

Thus, the gameplan.  I was planning for a zero-mile day around Jackman, anyway, and today’s Sunday, so perhaps this is opportune.  I’ll paddle into town, get there before noon, pick up my box (yay, cozy clothes, GORP, and couscous!), check the library hours, find some power and wifi and get my Internetting done, call home, pack my box up for the last time and send it home, find some postcards and write them, find a PEN [past two entries were written in crumbly #2 pencil], and maybe treat myself to an ice cream.  That way, when the PO opens tomorrow, I can send off the box right away.  Also, I can check the library and any local outfitters to see if they have a copy of The Book to scan.  Otherwise, I could call up Ecolohoohaw, that store I befriended in Rangely, and see if they could send a copy up along further on the trail for me to intercept.  To Rockwood maybe, or maybe the next town along.  Another address to research.  Yay, logistics.  Just goes to show: it’s never just about paddling…

Things Learned: 

+ My wind principle holds, but there was no non-windy site to relocate to last night.  I set up the tarp as a wind screen rather than a dew cover, and it worked like a charm.

+ Wind also made things creepier in general, because you can’t hear, and paranoia turns any little noise into a critter in the night.

Trail Magic: 

+ Two old Maine guys passed me in a pickup truck on Hardscrabble Road yesterday, on my 5 mile portage from Fish Pond to the Moose River.  They offered a lift and water.  Neither called me a “brave girl,” which I sincerely appreciated.

Day 27 – Spencer Stream, ME, to Spencer Lake, ME

F-2016-9-16

Start: Start of Spencer Stream, Unofficial campsite

End: Stealth camp on shore of Spencer Lake, about ¼ mi from put-in.  In other words, the end of Spencer Stream, may it rest in hell.

On the Way:  Spencer Stream, Spencer Lake

Miles: IDK, about 8.  Grrr.  Milepost: ~486.

Map: 9, 10

Weather: All clear

Map 10: Spencer Stream to Moosehead Lake, ME

Trail Overview

Alas and Alack!  Woe and Tragedy!  I seem to have lost The Book.  As if I needed to have any more reason to hate Spencer Stream, which was 6 miles of boulder fields and downed trees that, by the end, I was bull-moosing my way through, dragging Dieter across the rocks instead of navigating them with any sort of strategy.  I usually keep The Book strapped under my front deck elastic, wrapped in 2 sealed Ziplocs, ready to be consulted at a moment’s notice.  And I did consult it: I remember pulling it out for a look today at about 1130.  After that, I don’t recall using it, and only noticing it was missing during my evening gear shake-out.  In the morning, I’ll paddle back the ¼ mile to the horrendous dam I pulled over last and see if I left it there.  If not, I’ll consider it lost to the grabby dead tree-fingers of Spencer Stream, because there’s no way in hell I’m back-tracking there.  Maybe someone will find its pulpy remains during the Spring Thaw.

Goodnight, Sweet Prince.

What will we do without the book?  Make do with the impotent-by-comparison official guide, I guess, and see if I can buy or scan a copy in Jackman, or look up all the Trail updates at once.  But I so liked my copy.  I was keeping notes and updates to send along to Katina…  It was so useful, and the official guidebooks and maps are so obtuse by comparison.

I hate losing important things, both on and off the Trail.  Every now and then, I just get stuck in a rut of mindlessly misplacing important tools for maintaining a responsible life, and there’s nothing that makes me feel more incompetent.  First the paddling gloves, then one of the cotter pins from my wheels (fortunately I have two spares), and now of all thing my Beloved Book of Beta.  I tried doing my beta reading with the official book tonight.  I didn’t even know if it was describing the Trail or a side trip!  It’s so unfriendly for through-paddlers.  At least they point out the map updates: I guess that’s the only critical part of wisdom needed beyond the route.

Summary of the day: I look a late morning to go check out the Hut.  It was as expected.  I bought a $1 muffin and looked up some lyrics I’d been forgetting in their folksong book.  I spent most of the day trudging up 6 miles of a rocky stream, which very possibly might have cost me my guidebook.  I hauled my boat up and over a 8’ rocky ledge with minimal damage.  I made some sumptuous mac-n-cheese with carrots and finished a bag of candy corn to make myself feel better.

The Grand Falls Hut, part of the Maine Huts and Trails system.  It was pretty lush.  Via MaineTravelMaven.com

Pretty damn lush. Via NewEnglandRambler.wordpress.com .

I miss my Book.

Things Learned: 

+ Never again, Spencer Stream.

+ Trying out sleeping with my neoprene socks on.  Feet pretty sweaty already.

Trail Magic: 

+ Folksong book at the Great Falls Hut.  I revised some lyrics, as well as adding some fresh ones, in my internal jukebox.

+ Loons and Beavers carrying on here in Spencer Lake as I drop off to sleep…

My view from my hammock.  Besides one house across the lake, I couldn't see a soul, which is the idea for stealth camping.

The hammock setup.  Had to search quite a bit for some birches that didn't bend in a worrisome manner under the weight of the hammock.

[NOTE- I found out later in Jackman that right across the Lake from where I stealthed was a WWII POW camp for German troops captured in North Africa (AKA, Rommel’s men).  I’m glad I learned that in retrospect—otherwise between the full moon and the wind and my overactive imagination I would have never gotten to sleep.]