The nights grew warmer after our 40 degree evening at Umsaskis Thoroughfare. We slept late at Big Brook as we only had about nine miles to paddle to Allagash Village where we’d take out. Around 8:30 that morning a lone yellow kayak slipped below the bluff. We watch as she worked her way through McGargle Rocks. They would be our first challenge of the day.

Approaching McGargle Rocks

By 9:30 we were on the river and were quickly into McGargle Rocks. In years past logs driven down the river would often get caught on the rocks creating jams. When that would happen, river drivers would climb out on the logs to push them loose. It was a dangerous job and once the jam broke the men would often have to run across the rolling logs for their lives. McGargle Rocks was named after a driver whose luck ran out after breaking up a jam. He was killed when the jam broke.

We hugged the left shore, following the channel as we worked our way through the rocks. McGargle Rocks is a mix of quick water and shallow stone beds. One minute you might be running fast between rocks, only to find yourself suddenly beached on a rock bar. Chris did a nice job of taking us through.

The Allagash below the falls is low in late summer, but even during the spring drives it is easy to see how the logs would jam on the rocks and become stranded on the bars.

The beginning of Depot Bar on the west bank

A couple of miles below McGargle Rocks we came to Depot Bar and immediately after that Ghost Landing Bar. Both are high bars of melon size rocks and larger that, like a sand bar, rise in the river.

Ghost Landing Bar ahead on the right

In a logging accident a man was killed at Ghost Landing Bar when he was crushed by the tree he was cutting. For years after the incident people passing the bar reported seeing the ghost of the dead man sitting on a rock beside the river.

The next mile leading up to Twin Brook Rapids was splashy as we found rips and class I where none was shown on our map. It kept us busy as we approached the last of the class II water on the river.

Twin Brook marks the official end of the Allagash Wilderness Waterway, but the river continues for about another four miles into Allagash Village. Twin Brook was chosen as the end of the waterway in 1966 because of a proposed hydroelectric development which would have included two dams on the St. John River that would have flooded the lower Allagash. The plan was cancelled in 1985.

As we drifted closer to Twin Brook Rapids Chris bent forward on his paddle studying the river. I sat in the stern and kept the canoe headed straight up the river. Once he decided on a course of action, he turned to me and said, “Lets get over to the left, then paddle hard past those first rocks. Once we clear them we’ll paddle across to the right until we get to the biggest boulder, then we’ll swing left and paddle as fast as we can to where the two big rocks are and head between them.”

It seemed to me like a lot of things were going to have to go right in order to pull that off. Looking ahead I watched the water kicking and boiling amid a field of big rocks. The river appeared to end and then begin again further down stream. There were some fishermen on the bar below and as I could only see their heads and shoulders it was pretty clear that the river dropped off.

We were getting close.

“Let’s go!” Chris shouted back to me. He seemed pretty sure of his plan. I only hoped we could pull it off. If not the fishermen below would get a show as our canoe and it’s contents and Chris and I tumbled over the rocks and down the river.

It was the final day of the Fort Kent Muskie Derby and as we got closer I could see there were more than just a couple of guys fishing. There were about six people and a woman with a video camera. She was pointing it at us. I thought, “This could get very embarrassing.”

We slipped left and around some nasty stuff and then put all we had into crossing to the right. I had thought we’d be fighting across the current. Chris had found the channel and while we did drift a bit down stream, the river had us in its grip and we were being rushed to the right.

“Hard left!” he shouted. I immediately brought the canoe around the big boulder and we shot to the left. We were precariously close to where the river had earlier disappeared from sight. Now I could see. It dropped off quickly with water flying off boulders. Clearly it was not the spot to be in with a canoe.

When we reached the spot Chris had pointed out between the two big rocks he shouted without turning, “To the right now!”

Again I swung the canoe hard over on its side and aimed for the slot between the rocks.

The river was in control now and we were along for the ride. We were swept between the rocks and sluiced down a chute of white water and into a calm pool beyond the rapids. We had gotten through without a bump. The woman lowered her video camera. Maybe she was disappointed. We paddled past the fishermen acting like we knew what we were doing.

At Three Mile Island we watched an eagle soar overhead. Eliza Hole Rapids were next and we slipped through them without a problem. We ran some minor rips the rest of the way pulling up to Kelly’s Landing about one o’clock. Across the road was the only restaurant in Allagash Village. We were both looking forward to someone else’s cooking.

Approaching Kelly's Landing with Two Rivers Restaurant across the road.

My truck was parked along the side of Two Rivers Restaurant. While Chris unpacked our gear I ran up the bank and across the street and got it. We began carrying our equipment up the hill and throwing it in the back of the truck when Sean Lizzote came by. We talked for a bit about the trip and while we did a big bull moose walked into the river about 200 yards up stream and began to browse.

Sean asked some questions about the river and we talked about the Big Black River as Chris and I were hoping to stop to fish on our way south. After Sean left Chris and I changed in the truck on the side of the road across from the restaurant. We were hungry and once we had more suitable cloths on we pulled across the road.

We have had at least one meal at Two Rivers each of the past four years while canoeing, hiking or camping around the Allagash area. There fare is simple, the portions are large and the price is right.

Inside Two Rivers Restaurant

Inside Two Rivers Restaurant

The woman in the little yellow kayak was at the landing when we arrived and she was in Two Rivers Restaurant when we went in having something to eat. We could see that she too had spent some time on the river.

Her name was Cathy Mumford and she was on her way to Fort Kent, where, once she arrived she would be the first woman to paddle the entire Northern Forest Canoe trail from Old Forge, N.Y. alone. It took her 58-days to complete the 740-mile trek.

After we ate, Chris and I drove to Fort Kent to catch the end of the Muskie Derby. The three-day derby that opened at 9 am the Friday before was scheduled to end at 5 o’clock. When we arrived in Fort Kent we stopped at a store and bought a bottle of aloe for our sunburns and sat and watched a very long train loaded with long logs and pulp roll by. At 5 pm they announced this year’s overall winner Kevin Bosse who had caught a 40.5 inch long fish that weighed in at 18 pounds 15 ounces. Most of the fishermen are from the local area, however, every year they offer a $500 prize to the fisherman that has traveled the longest distance and caught a muskie. This year the person winning that was a Maine resident. If we get up there again, we’ll have to try harder to catch a fish.

Sign in front of Muskie Derby check-in station.

Derby leader board

The winning fish is at the top of the picture.

The derby awards $35,000 in prize money.

The northern end of US Route 1

That night we stayed in a motel at the northern end of Route 1. The other end is in Key West, Florida.

Six summers ago when we first went into the woods, Chris was an 11-year-old who had complete faith in what his father was doing. Since that summer he has grown older and wiser. He’s gone from never having been in a canoe, to running rapids, from never having been in the woods, to finding his way at night in a pathless forest. He was once frightened by noises in the night. Now he roams the woods, fishing pole in hand at dusk seeking out spots to float his fly and coming back into camp after dark with his dinner already filleted. He has grown up and some of the most important lessons he has learned didn’t come from a book.

Over the past six summers he has assumed more responsibility. No longer do I make all the decisions. More and more I defer to him and we’re usually in agreement with his choices. Even when we’re not, I’ll go with his decision on something just to see how it turns out.

The point is that he is confident enough to make the decision in the first place. With the canoe rushing toward loud, splashing, white water, he’ll pick a course, quickly point it out and then lay into his paddle. There is never a chance to change your mind. You have to make a choice and then live with it. For the most part when it comes to the rivers and the woods, he makes good decisions.

Last year I thought might be our last summer together as he was growing up and would want to do other things. No, he made it clear; he wanted to go back to Maine.

Our third night on the river was another cold one. By 6 o’clock I was up cooking breakfast. I woke Chris at 6:30. It was chilly enough that we could see our breath in the still air. A big breakfast, hot coffee and hot chocolate and we were ready. We carried our gear down off the bluff to the canoe and pushed off the rocks from our Five Fingers campsite.

When we paddled the six and a half miles between Five Fingers and Michaud Farm three years earlier it was shallow and boney. We ended up dragging our canoe far too much. As we had expected the water was again low, but this time we did a much better job of following the channel.

Sign marking Cunliff Depot

About 10 o’clock we pulled our boat ashore at Cunliffe Depot on the east side of the river. The only marking visable today from the river of the once thriving depot is a small sign at the top of the bank. We pulled our canoe ashore and climbed the bank. Even though nature has reclaimed the site, there are still reminders of the past. Scattered and rusted old machine parts litter the ground. A walk to the right along wooded trail leads to a small log stream crossing. On the other side are the remains of Lombard Log Haulers.

Logs across a small stream at Cunliffe Depot

One of the log haulers was powered by steam. In this earlier version the driver sat in front of the engine as he hauled a train of sleds piled with logs. This was particularly hazardous going down hill on icy roads.

Boiler and remains of steam driven Lombard Log Hauler

The other Lombard was a later gas powered machine that allowed the driver to steer from behind the engine. The Lombard which ran on metal tracks was the forerunner of the bull dozer and the army tank. Only a few scattered sections of track remain scattered in the woods.

Remains of gasoline powered log hauler

In some places are scattered an array of parts, possibly the site of a storage shed or machine shop. Beyond the Lombards there is evidence of what was once a clearing where possibly the residents kept animals or grew vegetables.

Remains of log hauler in the woods at Cunliffe Depot

Another engine part found in the woods at Cunliffe Depot

Machine parts scattered in the woods at Cunliffe Depot

The river remained boney all the way to Michaud Farm. In a few spots we were forced to drag the canoe. There is a rock bar that stretches in front of the landing at the farm, but if you paddle along the left shore the water remains deep.

Michaud Farm comes into view

Our canoe at the Michaud Farm landing

Throughout the 19^th century and into the early 1900’s several small communities were established along the river to support the logging industry. A lumberman named J.T. Michaud built a farm on a bend in the river above the falls shortly after the Civil War. By the mid 1920’s Michaud’s Farm became a base camp for lumber crews.

Ranger station at Michaud Farm

Michaud grew grain for the workhorses and vegetables for the crews. He kept animals and ran a store. Attracted by Michaud’s farm, others moved to the area and by the end of the 1920’s there were as many as 13 families living in the area around the farm.

In the 1930’s the St. John Lumber Company failed, so did Michaud and the farm fell into disrepair. All the buildings, which even included a small hotel for travelers, with the exception of one are gone now. The lone remaining building is used as a ranger station where all travelers along the river are required to stop and sign a register.

The river from Michaud Farm to Allagash Falls is flat water. Islands fill the river leaving paddlers a choice of route. We floated along enjoying the scenery and let the river take us. About halfway through the maze of islands, we chose to paddle down a back channel. Here to our surprise we found a beaver dam in the process of construction. The dam stood no more than six inches above the river’s surface and stretched about 40 feet across the channel. Left with no other option, we paddled hard toward the lowest spot and floated easily across the dam.

Our plan was to camp at the falls somewhere along the portage. Arriving at the portage trail, we elected to carry light loads and find a spot before hauling the canoe. We hiked about two-thirds of the way along the 150-yard portage trail. The trail is wide here as horses and wagons were once used on it to portage large loads of supplies headed up river, a relic of the towboat days.

Beginning of Allagash Falls portage trail

We chose a spot as close to the far end of the portage as possible. We then went back for the canoe and carried it the length of the portage and put it into the river on the far side below the falls.

Allagash Falls is about 40 feet high. Large rocks guard the entrance to the falls offering the only chance to stop for anyone who may miss the portage. The swift water would make it difficult to grab one of the rocks and a tumble over the falls has proven not to be survivable.

Rocks above Allagash Falls

We explored the falls, climbing out on the rocks above and following a trail that led to the foot of the falls.

Allagash Falls

I started to set up camp while Chris pumped water from a spring he had found running out from beneath some rocks on the side of a hill. I unpacked a late lunch and laid out the tent. It was only 2:30. We had completed the portage in less than 30 minutes. It promised to be a beautiful afternoon. When Chris came back with two full water bottles, I suggested that rather than camp there, we continue on the river for a few more hours. He wasn’t ready to stop for the day either.

Below the falls we noticed an old man sitting on a rock near a canoe, eating a sandwich. We walked over to say hello. He had a large belly and wore a stained white t-shirt, and bib overalls and had a massive white beard. His baseball cap was dirty to the point that I couldn’t read what it said over the tattered visor. He explained, as he chewed on his bologna and cheese sandwich on white bread, that he was 70-years-old and was going to do some fishing. But his grandson, who had carried all their gear and the canoe across the portage, needed a rest. Lying on his back in the bottom of the canoe was a boy about 12-years-old fast asleep. He said the river below the falls was low and rocky. We talked about muskie fishing and the weather for a few minutes, and then wished him luck before saying goodbye. We were back on the river by 3:15.

Below Allagash Falls paddling away

Boulders littered the river and staying in deep water proved to be difficult. Whenever we saw the splash of white water we aimed our boat for it hoping for a push. Sometimes we missed the channel and ended up dragging the canoe.

After an hour of paddling among the rocks, we reached Big Brook and decided to camp on the bluff on the eastern shore. We were more tired than expected. There was a small spring running down the bluff into the river and we took turns pumping drinking water and water for dinner. It was cold and refreshing.

Chris pumping water from stream near Big Brook

Chris walked up the river about 100 yards to some rocks and took a bath. He found a spot where the water was too fast for leeches. I was next and splashed my way over to the same spot. Our biodegradable soap is in a squeeze battle. I positioned myself with the rocks behind me and squeezed out a handful of soap to wash my hair. As I was raising my hand to my head, my foot slipped on a rock and as I stumbled I slapped the handful of soap into my eye. The burn was fast and my eye was stinging. The bottle of soap was floating away. I crashed between the rocks into the river chasing the soap, all with one eye. My water shoes continued to slip on the rocks as I made my naked dash down river in about three feet of water.

Finally catching the soap, I washed out my eye as best that I could. It burned really bad. I gave up on the bath and with blurred vision headed back to camp. That eye still burned a day later.

After dinner we were standing on the bluff watching the sun set to the west and were startled by a shattering crash. Somewhere on the opposite side of the river a large tree had fallen. In the stillness it was very loud.

We watched the sun set and sat as the stars slowly began to appear. The heavens filled and we sat for just a short while longer before heading into the tent for the night.

The north Maine woods were once the home of Native American tribes. It is believed they first appeared in the tundra-like environment left by the last Ice Age about 10,000 or more years ago.

Groups of Paleo Indians traveled through region between 12,000 to 9,000 years ago. A larger population during the Archaic period from10,000 to 4,000 years ago followed. These people were generally nomadic, using nets for fishing and stone or wood tools. Artifacts discovered from these periods include arrow and spearheads, scrappers, stone cutting tools, stone axes and gouges for woodworking.

The Ceramic Period from 3,000 to 500 years ago is named for the emergence of the use of pottery. This enabled cooking directly on the fire, rather than heating stones and placing them into a bark or wooden container. Archaeologists have found pottery in the Allagash region at least 2,000 years old.

The arrival of Europeans slowly forced most of the Indians to move away from the Allagash area. By the early 1800’s, after thousands of years of Native American occupation, the area was ripe for the lumberman’s axe.

As the story is told by historians at Maine’s Department of Conservation, about the time Maine became a state in1820, a businessman from Salem, Massachusetts, named David Pingree, inherited large tracts of land in the Allagash region. His keen eye for commerce eventually gazed upon the seemingly unending tracts of timber-covered land in the northern half of the state. Basing his new enterprise in Bangor, a town that hosted more than three hundred sawmills by the mid-1830s, Pingree, under the guidance of his partner Ebenezer Coe, began to profit handsomely from his operations, wresting mighty trees from the wilderness, running them down river to Bangor where they were milled into lumber and put aboard ships that could carry them wherever a market beckoned.

In 1837, the first of several financial panics struck the region, and though Bangor’s lumber interests suffered under competition from states to the west, Pingree expanded his holdings and pressed on. In time, he owned more than one million acres of Maine forestland, was the state’s largest taxpayer, and held more land than any other private entity in New England.

Before long depots or small villages associated with the lumber industry were scattered throughout the region. Farms sprouted to provided food and forage for the many villages and logging camps. At one point the 3.5 million acres that is the North Maine Woods today, supported seven softball teams among the villages that traveled the rivers and roads to play against one another.

By the mid 20^th century the logging boom was past. By the 1970’s the big river drives had ended. New building materials replaced wood and big lumber operations in the west claimed a large share of the market. The camps were abandoned, as were the depots and villages. Small logging operations remained, but for the most part, the woods were turned back over the nature. The Allagash Wilderness Waterway was established in the 1960’s to preserve the river corridor. Conservation organizations moved in buying and preserving land. Today organizations like the North Maine Woods oversee the land managing recreation alongside lumbering.

Before dawn of our second day on the Allagash, we awoke to what sounded like an angry loon. There was plenty of commotion going on at the water’s edge. It seems we had pitched our tent in a spot popular with the pond’s loons, ducks and geese. It might have been one of the few grassy spots, and the amount of bird poop we found when we arrived certainly did suggest that this was a gathering spot.

Some creature, be it bird, rodent, or other actually bumped our tent several times letting us know we were unwelcome. It was barely daylight and too early to get up and shoo whatever it was away. It had not gotten as cold as the night before, but it was still chilly and it was going to take something a lot bigger banging on the tent to get us out of our warm sleeping bags.

The commotion outside the tent finally stopped, but the angry loon splashed a bit more then continued to screech as it paddled off. It was loud in the otherwise still morning silence. We listened for about 10 minutes as the bird’s voice grew fainter as it swam away.

At 6:15 we poked our heads out of the tent and the pond was wrapped in fog. By 7 o’clock we could see patches of blue sky overhead and figured it wouldn’t be long before the fog disappeared.

I cooked pancakes with hot maple syrup, bacon and some fried potatoes in onion and garlic for breakfast and made coffee while Chris packed our gear. As he gathered our equipment a hawk swooped down to the water’s surface and with its claws caught a fish for breakfast. As we ate our breakfast a cow moose and her calf popped out of the woods next to our camp. She took one look at us and pushed her little one back into the woods.

While we waited for the fog to lift we washed up a bit and each took the soap to our hair.

We were on the water by 10 o’clock

It was a still morning, the water surface was smooth, the air cool, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. A cow moose and her calf wadded into the water to our right as we paddle toward the rips where the pond met the river.

Cow and calf moose before Round Pond Rips

Long before we could see it, we heard an airplane. Behind us on the pond with his pontoons just out of the water a seaplane raced toward us. He must have been on the pond at the far end. We had not heard him arrive. The plane broke free of the water’s grip and flew along the surface gaining speed. It began to climb slowly and was less than 100 feet when it flew over us. It was Jim Strange and his Cessna 206. We had flown with Jim two years back. Jim dipped his wings to say good morning as he passed overhead. I’m sure from his perspective we were just two canoeists alone on the water.

Round Pond Rips is a series of class I rapids. Chris continued to find the channel and we got through the first few spots easily. There were areas in which, because of the water level, we found ourselves among a closely gathered collection of rocks and bounced off a few as we splashed our way down the river.

Once past the rips, it was off and on quick water all the way to the Musquacook Deadwater. The Deadwater was a favorite place for the Native Americans to gather birch for canoes and shelters.

The Deadwater begins about two miles before Musquacook Stream. This section of the river is like paddling on a lake surface.

Chris enjoys the ride while I paddle on the Deadwater

A string of about eight small ducklings raced back and forth in front of us as we slowly paddled. They were all web-feet and wings as they splashed in perfect chorography from left to right squawking at the top of their lungs. When they had had their fun, the entire line took off in unison down the river out of sight.

A sandbar stood at the entrance of the Musquacook. We could see a large beaver dam about 50 yards up the stream. We paddled around the bar and pushed our way up the Musquacook as far as we could, then stepped out of the canoe and walked in ankle deep water up to the dam. What a marvelous piece of engineering. The dam spanned the river, which here; near the mouth, was about 40 yards wide. On the other side of the dam the water was in some spots six feet or more deep.

We left our canoe on a sand bar at the entrance of the Musquacook

Beaver Dam on Musquacook Stream

We would have liked to paddle up the Musquacook for a mile or more. It runs into the chain of five Musquacook lakes, but the river rapids a half dozen or more miles down, before First Musquacook Lake, are pretty challenging and we would have had to portage back.

Musquacook Stream behind the beaver dam

Lifting our canoe over the dam would not have been a problem; however, we chose to continue on the Allagash.

Back in our boat, as we exited the mouth of the Musquacook, we ran into another moose and a calf casually browsing along the shore. She watched us for a while and apparently decided we were not a threat as they continued their lunch.

We ran into a few more spots of quick water, which Chris guided us through. Rounding a bend we notice another moose ahead browsing on the left bank. We let the canoe float, carried forward by the current. Every time the moose stuck its head beneath the water’s surface to browse, I slipped my paddle over the side to steer us closer.

Moose browsing on the Allagash

We drifted to within about 30 yards and I was about to take a picture when loud splashing and grunting interrupted us. We turned and another moose had entered the river behind us and was aggressively high-stepping its way across. Neither one seemed to care that we were there. We gave them their space and as we floated down the river we watched as one joined the other for lunch.

Another moose splashes into the river for lunch

We slipped past an area known as Hosea B. Three years ago further down river at Michaud Farm a man arrived on the shore, just after Chris and me, in a kayak. He was bloody from the knees down. He wore sandals and even after stepping out of the water, his feet were still bloody.

“You’re hurt,” I recall saying as I pointed at his legs.

“Oh no, I’m okay,” he answered. “Last night I camped at Hosea B and wadded into the river up to my knees for a bath. When I walked out I was covered with leeches.”

We may have paddled a little faster past Hosea B.

There were a few more spots of quick water as we approached our intended campsite for the night. Three years ago we camped on a bluff called Five Fingers North. It was Chris’ favorite spot. The bluff overlook a westward facing bend in the river and had a nice view to the north.

Five Fingers Brook enters the Allagash from the east at this point, but years ago beavers built a dam across the entrance. It’s easy to miss Five Fingers Brook today as the dam has come to resemble the river bank.

It was only 2:30 in the afternoon, but we liked the spot and decided to camp for the night. Chris immediately got out his fly rod, but didn’t have any luck. We pumped some water for lunch and for supper and got our tent set up in a nice grassy spot on the edge of the bluff about 25 feet above the water.

Chris fly fishing at Five Fingers

With the canoe pulled out of the river and up onto the rocks and everything hauled up to the top of the bluff, we sat down for lunch. I made some ham sandwiches and we had potato chips and dill pickles, all washed down by cool Allagash river water.

The river below our campsite at Five Fingers

I remember three years ago camping here soaking wet and cold. It rained most of the time. This year was the complete opposite. We didn’t have any sunscreen and while on the water we were burning up. We both had sunburns after two days of paddling under cloudless, bright blue skies.

Chris went for a swim and while in the water came across another moose. He climbed back to the campsite and handed me the binoculars. Just down river about 100 yards a cow moose was browsing for supper. We sat and watched for a while.

I hiked down our side of the river to where I was across from the moose. I was hoping to take a picture, but the sun was getting low and my shot would have been into the sun. The whole area was balsam pine. The area must have been logged, as all the trees were about the same height. They each stood approximately 10 to 15 feet high. It was like walking through a Christmas tree forest. And it smelled just like Christmas too.

Late day sun shining through balsams

We gathered some firewood and that night we hung a pot of water over the fire and cooked tortellini for supper. With a little butter and parmesan cheese it was just right. The sunset turned the river to a sparkling golden color with bursts of silver where the water splashed over the rocks. We watched the sun set behind the pines and then played cribbage while we waited for the stars to come out. There was another breath-taking display in the heavens overhead as we climbed into the tent and got into our bags for the night.

Our tent at Five Fingers on the Allagash River

The thermometer read 44 degrees at 6 o’clock this morning on Cape Cod (September 21, 2010). It brought back memories from just over a month ago when Chris and I were camped along the Allagash Wilderness Waterway and the overnight temperature dropped to 40. When you’re in 40 degree sleeping bags, which are realistically more like 50 degree bags, it gets a bit uncomfortable. We had our mummy bags zipped over our heads, but it made little difference. By 5 o’clock we were up just so as to move around and try to get warm.

We were camped at a spot we had stayed at in 2007, the last time we paddled the Allagash. It is one of our favorites. The spot is called Sandy Point and is on the thoroughfare between Umsaskis Lake and Long Lake.

Our canoe at Umsaskis Thoroughfare

That morning, because of the temperature difference between the 40 degree air and the relatively warmer water, the fog was very thick. From the reeds on the sand beside our canoe, looking out over the water we could see about 20 feet. We were in no hurry, so we built a fire and started to warm-up.

I didn’t feel much like cooking. It was cold and damp. We just kept tossing wood onto the fire. Finally, I made some coffee and we had some breakfast cereal and broke camp.

We packed our gear as best we could; everything was soaked in the cold, morning dew. We put on three shirts each, but we both wore shorts and our water shoes. The thoroughfare was still blanketed in fog, but it had improved some and we figured once the sun got to work, the fog would disappear.

Fog at the thoroughfare at 7:30 AM as we prepared to go.

At 7:30 we slid the canoe off the sand and paddled out into the thoroughfare. It only took us about 30 minutes to reach Long Lake, and while we couldn’t see across the lake, the visibility had improved. With the visibility still limited, we followed the western shore. About a half mile up Long Lake the sun broke through and the fog vanished. The warm sun felt very good.

The lake was calm. The last time we had paddled Long Lake we had a tail wind and about one and a half to two foot seas that broke over the back of our canoe. The quiet and calm water made for a pleasurable paddle.

The lake is about five miles long. At the outlet the land squeezes the water into another thoroughfare of about a mile. This is where Chemquasabamticook Stream meets the Allagash. The last time we were here we paddled around the maze of reeds and inlets at the foot of the stream. This time we kept paddling on into Harvey Pond.

About two miles long, Harvey Pond is big enough to bounce you around in windy weather, but it was still early and we were enjoying our leisurely morning paddle. Some minor riffles at the end of the pond indicated that we were approaching Long Lake Dam where we’d have to portage.

Long Lake Dam was built in 1907 by the St. John Lumber Company to manage log driving in the late spring and early summer. The timber crib structure was made up of huge pine logs and cost a total of $50,000 to build. Original it was 700 feet long and held a 15-foot head of water. Each of the 18 gates was eight feet wide and when they were opened the force was felt more than 100 miles away at Van Buren.

Long Lake Dam today

The dam was remodeled in 1926-27 by Edouard “King” Lacroix raising the head to 17-feet and removing some gates near shore. By the late 1920’s its use was discontinued. Today, the dam is almost completely washed out.

It is still necessary to carry around the dam site, although some canoeists will line through the remains of the dam. There are still spikes just beneath the water that can damage a canoe.

Chris takes a break at the portage at Long Lake Dam

By 10 o’clock we were at the portage and carrying our gear up and over. We didn’t have as much as the last time we were here as this was just a four day trip. On the third and final carry, which isn’t much more than 50-yards, we hauled the canoe across and reloaded it. Within 15 minutes we were back on the water.

There were some riffles and a bit of class I water to negotiate. About two miles down river we passed our old campsite at Sweeney Brook. This place we remembered for the great tasting water and the moose that walked into our campsite a few hours before dawn.

The part of the Allagash between Long Lake and Round Pond is remote and beautiful. We saw Blue Herron, a myriad of ducks and geese, some moose and could watch the fish swimming along beneath the water’s surface. In several places the water got quick requiring our attention. I was noticing that Chris was studying the river. As we would approach quick water, he’d haul in his paddle, put it across his knees and leaning on it reading the river ahead. Maybe he was thinking of three years ago and the way we would bounce off the rocks as the river tossed us around. It appeared that he was having none of that this time.

Before we ever got too close to quick water, he’d have our route planned.

“Let’s enter on the left near shore, and then cut quickly to the right,” he’d say. “When we get next to that big rock we’ll make a quick left and ride the white water down the middle.”

The first couple of times he’d plot a route like that I’d think, “this ought to be interesting.” But by about the third time I was looking to him to decide how to negotiate every stretch of quick water.

There were also a few stretches where the river got real boney. Chris managed to keep us in the channel most of the time, but every once in a while we’d grind to a stop in the shallows on the rocks and have to get out and drag the canoe.

There is a bend in the river along this stretch where on the left bank stands a majestic old elm tree. It survived the Dutch elm disease that raged through the Maine woods in the 60’s and 70’s due to its remote location. Today this tree stands alone along the bank of the Allagash a testament to the area’s rugged individualism.

Lone elm tree on the banks of the Allagash River

Just after passing the elm we met Trevor O’Leary, one of the waterway rangers, headed up river. Trevor was standing in the back poling his canoe against the current. I reminded him that we had met three years earlier at Michaud Farm. He remembered that night we sat in his cabin and talked about fishing and the Red Sox. I told him that another ranger, Kevin Brown, had said that friend Mike Hafford had passed away that winter. Trevor said that it had been sudden, an apparent heart attack. He wanted to know if Chris was going to fish for some muskie below the falls as the Muskie Derby was going on in Fort Kent. Chris said he’d probably try and Trevor mentioned a few spots where he might find some fish.

About one o’clock we reach Round Pond and paddled up the west side. Round Pond is about three miles long and a mile and a half wide. It is remote and peaceful. The pond was fairly smooth, although we could see some white caps near the middle. The last time we paddle here we stopped for lunch at a pretty spot and thought we’d head there and eat again.

Near the rips at the lower end of the pond is a spot known as the Outlet. Here we landed and dragged the canoe up on a small sandy area that cut between a low bluff of about four feet. The flat area above was grassy and warm in the sun. We made some sandwiches for lunch and sat watching the sun reflecting off the water. The only people that we had seen all day, beside Trevor, were back at the thoroughfare below Umsaskis. We had all this to ourselves.

After having frozen the night before, we couldn’t resist naps in the warm sun. After we ate we took out our still soaking wet tent and set it up to dry. Then we laid down for a snooze.

Our tent at the Outlet at Round Pond

Later Chris took a few casts off the shore, but the water is too warm and the fish are deep.

We had already paddled for nearly six hours, and after all our tent was set up. We decided to spend the night.

Looking east from our campsite on Round Pond.

Refreshed from our naps, we were playing a game of late afternoon cards, when two jack rabbits raced out of the woods right to our feet. They were moving so fast neither one of us had time to react. The big jack was chasing the smaller rabbit and they didn’t look like they were playing. They ignored us and continued to race around the open area. Every now and then the larger rabbit would catch up to the other and they’d flip over on top of one another, rolling on the ground. This was a serious fight. All we could do was stay out of the way.

They eventually spilled into some bushes along the top of the short bluff that dropped off to the water. The thrashing around was intense. After a few minutes the big rabbit popped out of the bushes and looked at us. He then turned and dashed into the woods.

Chris climbed down the bank as I gathered up our playing cards.

“Hey Dad,” he said. “Come here and see this.”

At the bottom of the bank near the water was the smaller rabbit. It was terrified and possibly in shock. One ear was torn off and there were large tears in its side, where the other rabbit had bitten it. The rabbit tried to move, but fell over on its side. We knew there was nothing that we could do for it. We figured that our presence and our fire would keep predators away for a while, maybe giving it a chance. But from the condition of that rabbit, the future looked bleak.

We got our fire going and ate an early supper. At dusk the loons began to sing. To sit on the shore of a remote lake in the remaining warmth of the day, the only people, with the music of the loons as the sun sets is truly peaceful. We could see the large black and white, red-eyed bids floating on the shimmering surface of the pond and watched as they prepared for their nightly ritual.

We stared out at the water as the sun sank over the trees behind us. Every night we’d compete to see who would spot the first star. All was perfectly silent, and then suddenly we heard a large splash. It continued as if something big was wrestling about in the water. Chris walked to the water’s edge and looked down the shore. He waved for me to join him.

A cow moose had come out of the woods about 50-yards to our right. She was walking in the water up to her knees coming our way. Neither of us moved. When she was about 30-yards away she gave out a big snort. She had seen us. The moose stared at us. We didn’t move and neither did she.

Cow moose stops to have a look at us.

But it was supper time for her and she wasn’t about to waste time in a staring contest with us. Slowly she resumed her course, splashing, snorting and grunting as she passed. About another 50-yards in the other direction she stopped in an area of pond grass and began browsing. Occasionally, she would lift her head while chewing and look back in our direction, probably hoping we had left.

Moose splashing past us on Round Pond

Just after dark she passed us again, still upset with our presence. She splash loudly, grunting and snorting the entire time. We knew the area was frequented by moose, as we had found tracks in our campsite.

With supper done she heads home.

The stars came out and it was another unbelievable show. Chris saw the first star. We spent hours looking at the sky wondering aloud at such a grand sight. Later we read by our lantern in the tent. Nestled in our sleeping bags, fully clothed, we were not looking forward to another cold night.

Vacations are supposed to be restful, a time to recharge. This August my son Chris and I headed into the woods for our sixth summer. We hiked, canoed, fished, and camped in the north Maine woods for the fourth straight year and added to our life-long list of memories.

We roamed the 3.5 millions acres of woods, and paddled for four days on the Allagash River. We met some new people and hooked up with some old friends. One thing about the area is that it is so sparsely populated, when you do meet someone, the chances are that you know them. That’s what happened this summer as we ran into Allagash Guide Sean Lizzote at Churchill Dam one afternoon. We hadn’t seen Sean for three years. We also met Ranger Trevor O’Leary on the Allagash River one afternoon as he poled his canoe against the current. We hadn’t seen Trevor since 2007.

We had a chance to renew acquaintance with Ranger Kevin Brown. Kevin is now the head ranger. We met him one windy day a few years back on Eagle Lake. At the end of a long day of paddling, Kevin stopped at our campsite and gave Chris and me some candy. It may not seem like much, but at the time, that was the best candy either one of us had ever had. Kevin informed us that old friend Mike Hafford had passed away that winter. We had met Mike at Michaud Farm in 2007 and had the chance to talk again last year at the St. Francis gate to the North Maine Woods. Like Trevor and Kevin, Mike was an enthusiastic Red Sox fan. Even deep in the woods they manage to keep up with Red Sox Nation, usually by using their two-way radios to call out and get the scores.

Neither one of us was ready to leave when our two weeks were up. There is a quiet comfort amongst those tall pines and clean waters. There was meaning to everything and the solitude and complete silence that surrounded us was near spiritual. To sit by a nameless stream, watching fish jump and listening to birds sing; or watching as the wind drifted over a lake surface in soundless, lacy patterns; was our entertainment. There are more animals than people, and they ask nothing from you, just a look, a visual connection, and they continue on their way.

A few days after we got home I sat in the hospital waiting room with more people than I had seen over the course of those two weeks. Life in the woods may not be for everybody and that’s a good thing. We each find peace in our own way, but for us, this year getting back into the woods as deep as we could and riding the lakes, rivers and streams and sleeping under the most amazing heavenly light show Mother Nature had to offer, was literally, just what the doctor order.

Allagash Lake & Johnson Pond

Those cool August nights under a northern Maine sky lit by a breath-taking array of glittering stars had captivated us. The people of the North Country have a secret. They live in a magical place of tall trees, deep green forests, fickle crystal clear lakes and fast flowing rivers.

In 2008 Chris and I returned to the Allagash in August. This time we had found a place with no roads, a place accessible only by air, canoe or a long portage and again, a place where for the duration of our trip we knew we’d encounter more moose than people.

On a Monday morning we climbed into Katahdin Air’s Cessna 206 float plane on Ambajejus Lake eight miles northwest of Millinocket for our trip into Johnson Pond; a small body of water that offers a shallow, overgrown stream that leads to Allagash Stream and from there to Allagash Lake.

Chris in front of Katahdin Air's Cessna 206 as we head toward Johnson Pond

Our flight was 30 low-level minutes of some of the most glorious and exciting scenery imaginable. From just above the tall green pine treetops and even lower over the mirrored blue surface of some of the big northern Maine lakes we flew with the majesty of mile-high Mount Katahdin standing sternly off the right side. As Maine’s tallest mountain faded, the lakes, rivers and hills of the Allagash country took over.

From the air we could see that we were about to splash down into an area where people were certainly in the minority. Once on the pond we quickly unloaded our gear onto the shore. Jim, our pilot, waved goodbye and promised to meet us at the same spot in five days. The plane took-off and banked sharply to the right to avoid Poland Mountain. As the engine sound faded and Jim disappeared beyond the tree line, Chris and I looked at one another and smiled.

After loading our gear into the canoe we headed for Johnson Pond Stream which turned out to be about a half mile or more of crooked water never more than five feet wide, often less and at most a foot and a half deep. The entire way it was overgrown with alders that ripped the paddles from our hands, at times forcing us to pull our way along from branch to branch. About 100 yards from where Johnson joined Allagash Stream we portaged over a

Leading the way up Johnson Stream

well-built beaver dam, solid enough to walk across carefully leaping from slippery log to slippery log.

Some quick water at the confluence of Johnson and Allagash Streams we navigated without any problem and began about a two mile paddle into Allagash Lake. With the current pushing us along we slipped into Allagash Lake in just under two hours from the time we left Johnson Pond.

Opening up in front of us were 4,260 acres of deep cold water closely guarded by the State of Maine which prohibits any motorized transport of any type. Canoes and kayaks are the only mode of transportation and there were no other people. Having faced four foot swells and 25 mile-per-hour winds last summer we were prepared for the worst. But, unlike last year when we faced big water on Eagle, Churchill, Umsaskis and Long Lakes, this year we were greeted with calm water as we enter Allagash Lake and we had it all to ourselves. With dark thunder clouds on the horizon we found a campsite and set up our tent. Our first dip in the lake landed us back in our tent as I shaved leeches off my feet with my knife.

Allagash lake opens up before us

The next day, after a night of rain, we explored some nearby ice caves, about 70 feet or more down through a tight crawl space over rocks and mud as strong thunderstorms raged overhead. That night more thunderstorms passed with one frightening thunderous concussion nearly clasping our tent. In the darkness the violent storm raged hurling lightening bolts all around us. We were careful to stay on our self-inflatable rubber mattress pads.

The next day we explored our end of the lake before more rain sent us scurrying for the tent. On our third day at Allagash Lake the sun finally chased away the clouds. We hopped into the canoe early and paddled about three miles to the foot of the lake and the trailhead for Allagash Mountain. There we talked with the ranger and found we had friends in common from our trip the year before. The one-mile climb up the mountain was muddy, slippery and the last quarter mile

Some of the glacial ledges found at Allagash Lake are estimated to be as much as 400 millions years old

rocky and steep. Once on top it was clearly worth the effort. The views were stunning in all directions, from Mt. Katahdin to the south, the low rolling mountains of the Province of Quebec to the west and to the north and east the Allagash River and Chamberlain, Eagle and Churchill Lakes. It was nice to see these lakes again even though they had handled us so roughly a year earlier.

Chris atop Allagash Mountain overlooking Allagash Lake

The next day we raced thunderstorms back up Allagash Stream and along overgrown Johnson Stream into Johnson Pond. That night we passed up a level gravel beach to camp on an island where we had our first good campfire in four days.

The next morning, after another night of rain, the fog was in the trees and the visibility was less than an eighth of a mile. Jim was supposed to pick us up at 10 AM. At 7 AM we ate our pancakes and the last of our bacon in the rain wondering if we’d have another long wet day and night ahead of us. We had food for two more days, but we and our gear were soaked and we hoped to get into Millinocket and find a laundromat to wash and more importantly dry our clothes.

As the fog and mist floated across the remote silent pond we loaded the canoe and paddled toward the gravel beach where we had considered camping the night before. It was gone. Johnson Pond is feed by several brooks and streams that with the heavy rain from the night before, their run-off had raised the water level an incredible six inches. Had we camped on the beach, we’d have been flooded out during the night.

Abandoned canoes found on the island in Johnson Pond

With our gear wrapped in a blue plastic tarp the canoe floated in a grassy area with a loon silently swimming nearby, curious as to who we were. We were near the area in which Jim had said he’d pick us up.

I’ve flown small planes and it was looking like the weather was such that there was no way Jim was getting into Johnson Pond that morning. As I lay in the rear of the canoe staring up into the light drizzle and fog contemplating another wet day, thinking about how wet my clothes and feet were, watching the curious loon and dreaming of a hot cup of coffee, I told my son that there was a good chance we’d have to paddle back to the island for another night. I was explaining Visual Flight Rules, fog, rain, obscured ceilings, limited visibility and such things that might make it impossible for Jim to land, bracing him for another wet night, when he stopped me to say, “Dad, do you hear that?”

There was no wind, so I leaned into the milky-white fog and listened. I sat up. Was it a plane? If so, maybe he’d make an approach, but miss and leave us for another day.

In the absolute stillness, drizzle and fog, we couldn’t tell from which direction the engine sound came. We scanned the whiteness around us and looked at one another. It was a plane, but where.

“Dad, over there,” Chris’ outstretched arm pointed toward the east. As I turned less than a half mile away the float plane burst out of the blanket of fog and made a dive for the pond. In a splash Jim hit the water. He killed the engine and floated perfectly up to our canoe as if he had done it a hundred times; which in fact he has.

Katahdin Air's cessna 206 on takeoff

Without wasting a minute we piled our wet gear into the plane. Jim taxied to one end of the pond while making the understated remark that the weather was a bit poor. Spinning the plane on its pontoons as he applied the throttle he remarked how high the water was and that the beaver dam up a particular creek must have given way as he has never seen so much water flowing into the pond.

From the back seat, as the engine roared all I could see was the white fog. Jim got off the water and immediately banked sharply to the left; the wingtip appeared to trace the water as we race sideways between the shadowy tall pines of the fog obscured island and the opposite shore. Then instead of climbing we leveled off and Jim stuck the floats to the tree tops as we screamed across the pines over to Allagash Lake. Once over open water we had a better idea of where we might slip between the hills. Scud-running as it’s called, we made our way as far as Lake Chesuncook where for 22 miles we cruised beneath the drizzle and clouds down the calm, empty, steel gray lake. From our low vantage point we saw moose and some beautiful rugged, wild remote country.

The weather to the east was better and although we couldn’t see Mt. Katahdin through the fog our approach to Ambajejus Lake was smooth. Jim slid the plane gently onto the water, keeping the power up as we sped toward his dock. At just the right moment he cut the engine and the Cessna stood up on its pontoons and slowly floated alongside the dock exactly where he wanted it.

]]> http://capenews.net/blogs/latitude_somewhere/2009/07/08/flying-into-the-allagash/feed/ 0 http://capenews.net/blogs/latitude_somewhere/2009/07/01/%e2%80%9cyup-betcha-had-a-hell-of-a-ride%e2%80%9d/ http://capenews.net/blogs/latitude_somewhere/2009/07/01/%e2%80%9cyup-betcha-had-a-hell-of-a-ride%e2%80%9d/#comments Wed, 01 Jul 2009 22:36:45 +0000 Dan Crowley http://capenews.net/blogs/latitude_somewhere/?p=89

A Ride On Eagle Lake

In August of 2007 my son Chris and I set off to canoe the Allagash Wilderness Waterway. We put in at Indian Stream; electing to bypass Chamberlain Lake for fear that we would begin our trip wind bound.

Chamberlain is the third largest lake in Maine and with a strong wind out of the northwest; the swells can reach a point that make canoe travel impossible. Some had been recorded as high as 15 feet on the lake. We were eager to get going and I didn’t want to sit out our first days stuck on shore.

I knew there was a very good possibility that we’d run into some big water as the lakes at the southern end of the waterway are big. Having skipped Telos and Chamberlain, we would only have Eagle, Churchill, Umsaskis and Long Lakes to deal with and planning early morning and evening paddles, I figured we’d be fine. We had spent a week on Lake Umbagog the year before dealing with rough water in preparation for Maine’s big lakes.

The four hour ride into the Allagash dropped us in what was in fact the middle of nowhere about mid afternoon. The driver wished us well and began his long trip back to town. Our canoe was loaded and in the water as the beat-up white ford van bumped down the overgrown dirt path leaving us alone.

For the past four hours we had only seen two logging trucks. We were now really alone with what we hoped to be a leisurely seven-day paddle ahead of us north to Allagash Village at the confluence of the St. John River on the Canadian border.

We climbed into the canoe, Chris up front and me in the rear, only to realize our fear that this being August, Indian Stream didn’t have the water flow to float the canoe with us in it. Out we climbed with Chris pulling and me pushing as we walked down Indian Stream, which at its widest was only about six feet. There were spots were it was too deep to walk and we hopped into the canoe and floated along until grinding to a stop. The stream was overgrown, with alders slapping at us, but we were both quietly taking it all in. It was one of the most beautiful places we had ever seen and we were at the beginning of what we hoped would be an adventure.

The sun sparkled through the canopy of birch and pine overhead and soon we could see the water opening up ahead. After a quarter of a mile we were in the boat and paddling out into Martin Cove at the southern end of Eagle Lake.

Chris leads the way on Indian Stream

The weather was perfect, the temperature was in the 70’s and the big lake was behaving with calm winds under cloudless bright blue skies. We were like two little kids. As the lake opened up before us it was obvious this was a big body of water. The far horizon, while land, was at such a distance it was a blur of green across the blue water. We could see for miles in every direction as we paddled out onto the lake, and we had it all to ourselves.

After a couple of hours of paddling we pulled into an open spot on the southern side Pillsbury Island, the northern most spot visited by Henry David Thoreau during one of his three trips into the Maine woods. While the island visit was initially to be just a rest, it was too beautiful to leave. There was plenty of daylight left and the conditions were perfect, but the awe inspiring view of Mt. Katahdin to the south in the late afternoon sun was something we couldn’t help but want to sit in the warm sunshine and admire. Chris got out his fishing pole to make a few casts.

Preparing wood for the fire at Pillsbury Island campsite

We gave in and set up our tent and went about gathering some wood for a fire. Hot dogs cooked over the fire and a breathtaking sunset were the perfect ingredients for a good night’s sleep.

The next morning we were up early ate a quick breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash brown potatoes, coffee and juice. We broke camp and hopped into the canoe. It was only seven o’clock when we pushed off from Pillsbury Island and our goal that day was to reach Churchill Dam at the northern end of Churchill Lake.

We were excited about the trip that lay ahead of us, but when we rounded the point of the island it became apparent that we would have our work cut out for us on this day. The wind stiffened and the lake grew choppy. Fair weather clouds raced by and spray off the lake dampened our clothes.

The impression we had of Eagle Lake being a big lake was dwarfed by what came into view as we rounded the last ledge and pine of Pillsbury Island.

It can be hard navigating a canoe through groups of islands. What looks like an easy passage on the map becomes a maze of channels and inlets at water level that can disorient any paddler. By the same token a broad expanse of water with distant undistinguishable landmarks and nothing with which to gauge distance can be equally as mystifying. It certainly wasn’t where we, with our 17 foot canoe packed with 600 pounds of people and gear and just six inches of freeboard to the waterline wanted to be.

Directly ahead there was no sign of white water, at a distance the swells couldn’t be seen, but once in the open the wind blew fiercely and the water began to splash over the side of the canoe. Our only option at this point was to fight the wind and water for what amounted to just over two miles to a place called Smith Brook and an area we hoped would provide some shelter from the wind.

Once behind Dunphy Ridge and out of the brunt of the wind we continued our paddle sliding up onto the beach at Smith Brook. Unlike most parts of the Allagash, Smith Brook has a sandy shallow warm water beach. There is a campsite on a small protrusion of land shaded by tall pine trees. The ground just above the beach was a carpet sweet smelling of pine needles.

We seemed to be stranded here, wind bound as it’s called. But what a spot to be stuck.

On the night of August 20, 1976 four men canoed across Eagle Lake and camped at Smith Brook. That night something unusual happened, but it took nine years for the men to learn just what it was.

That night the four friends piled into one of their two canoes to try some night fishing. Before they left camp they built a large bonfire to help them find their way back. As the story goes, when they were about a quarter-mile from shore, they suddenly saw a large, bright, pulsing spherical light rising over the treetops. The object moved silently towards them. They panicked and began paddling for shore.

When they reached shore they watched as the object hovered for a few moments and then winked out.

Their bonfire, which should have blazed for two to three hours, had inexplicably burned down to coals, although they had only been gone for what seemed to be about 15 minutes. What had happened to those two to three hours?.

In 1986 one of the men began having nightmares that slowly revealed lost information and memory about what had happened during those missing hours on Eagle Lake. It is said that his dreams contained the classic abduction characteristics and phenomenon; that the men were lifted from their boat into a UFO by some sort of beam of light, they were undressed and examined medically by beings not of this world, described as being spindly, thin and disturbingly insect-like. Their memories were then expunged leaving no recollection of the event.
Subsequently, under hypnosis all four men recalled the same event with few variations in detail.

Known as the Allagash Abductions the incident is recorded in a book called The Allagash Abductions, by Ray Fowler.

With little alternative we opted for a very early lunch during our unscheduled visit to Smith Brook.

By early afternoon I could wait no longer. I wasn’t eager to spend the night at Smith Brook when our intended destination was Churchill Dam. We expected to make about 20 miles that day, not two. With lunch finished and the canoe tightly repacked we pushed off, clinging close to shore and the cover of the trees.

Once we rounded the rocks of Dunphy Ridge the gale caught us and even fighting it as hard as we could the wind still drove our canoe onto the rocks. The trees grew close to the waterline here and left us no protection. Wading as far into the lake as I could I shoved the canoe off the rocks and together we managed to get back behind the shelter of the ridge.

Chris and I had handled three and a half foot swells before with whitecaps and wind. We studied the water in what we estimated to be a mile and a half stretch across the north of Pillsbury Island to the western shore of Eagle Lake. Our concern was what would we do if conditions worsened? The north side of Pillsbury Island is ledge that drops 15 to 20 feet to the water. There was no place to go ashore. We had to make it.

Frankly, neither of us wanted to go out in that kind of water, but we weren’t going to sit and wait for perfect conditions. Paddling as hard as we could we made a dash from behind the ridge using Bear Mountain in the distant as a guide.

Everything we had for the next seven days was in that boat; all our food, clothing, shelter, first aid kit, ax and matches. If we lost the boat, we’d have to deal with the vertical ledge on Pillsbury Island. If we lost the boat and all our belongings and did make it to the island, what then? As far as we knew we were the only to people for many miles.

The water worsened the further we paddled out onto the lake. The spray from the waves was soaking us and water continuously washed over the side into the canoe. We couldn’t stop to bail; to take our hands off the paddles at this point would certainly be disastrous. At times as we’d crest a wave, Chris was so far out of the water and up in the air in the front of the canoe he couldn’t reach the water with his paddle. In the troughs between swells we were below the water and would lose sight of the shore. We held our course aimed at Bear Mountain. In spite if it all we had to laugh as he’d ride high up a swell and hang in the air until the wave passed and we’d go sliding down the other side. It was like being on the ocean. Had the swells been all from one direction it would have been easier, but the wind gusted from the northwest, north and west making for a dangerous chop and the whitecaps danced all around us. Our intended direction was to the west, but we had to keep the bow in a northwesterly direction or we would have swamped.

At one point the strength of the wind looked like it might push us against the ledges of Pillsbury, but we fought it and managed to put about 100 yards between us and the rocks.

Crossing Eagle Lake, at probably the shortest possible place, in those conditions had worn us out. When we got to the other side, we pulled the canoe up on a small spot of gravel and just collapsed on the ground. We were exhausted. But, as Chris pointed out later that night, all we had done was cover about four miles in about six hours, while in fact at that point we were just a mile from the site where we had spent the previous night.

We rested only about 15 minutes. After bailing and sponging out the canoe we were back in the water. We had hoped for some shelter from the wind on the western shore of the lake, but the wind direction kept shifting. Now we were faced with a paddle up the western shore into the wind and swells and whitecaps that we estimated to be steadily reaching four feet with an occasional rogue wave that would really get our attention.

About a mile and a half up the shore the lake widens and a shallow area with tall grass lines the bank. Into the tall grass we went looking for smooth water, only to find ourselves getting pounded and whipped by the grass. Finally we got in behind Hog Island, a speck of land, but big enough to break the wind. The water quieted to a slow roll in the shelter of the island and there we sat catching our breath.

As soon as we nosed the bow of the boat out from behind Hog Island, the violent hand of Mother Nature once again began to slap us around. Now in the afternoon the wind had finally seemed to have decided to blow out of the northwest, but at the same time had increased. It’s hard to say how hard it blew, but the tarps over our gear whipped about in spite of being tied down with every bit of rope we had. Now we had no choice, we were going backwards. Rather than race across the water backwards, we spun the canoe around, which turned out to be an easy maneuver with the help of the wind, and took off like a shot. There was no need to paddle; the canoe was traveling faster than we could have possibly paddled. I just dipped the tip of my paddle into the fast moving water now and then to steer.

Chris spotted an opening in the shoreline ahead and we worked the boat in that direction never dreaming that we’d found something we had given up any hope of every seeing.

Our planned trip had become an unplanned adventure at staying afloat and making some headway. There were some things we had hoped to do on our way to Churchill Dam and one was to visit the sight of an old logging railroad built to transport logs from Eagle Lake to Chamberlain. Two locomotives, abandoned since the 1930’s remain as monuments to those bygone days.

The wind blew us right to the spot where logs were once hauled out of the water and put on the special rail cars designed to carry them over to Chamberlain, just under a mile away. We paddled behind a man made rock breakwater. The sound of the canoe grinding to a stop on the gravel was a welcome relief.

Less than 50-yards in front of us stood the two huge locomotives. The shed that housed them had long since burned down.

The locomotives and the cars and track had been carried across the ice in pieces and reassembled in the 1920’s. The logging railroad ran for just a few years before being abandoned.

Locomotives abandoned at Eagle Lake in the 1930's

Chris crawled around on the engines and I explored the overgrown track and abandoned log carriers. We took about a half hour rest, stretched our legs a bit and pushed off back onto the lake determined to make more progress.

As the afternoon wore on the wind slowing decreased. Heading up the western shore of Eagle Lake we were taking the swells head-on, but their ferocity had lessened. Whitecaps still surrounded us and for the first time we noticed how sore our shoulders and arms had become from fighting the lake.

For the next three miles we took what the lake threw at us in stride. The worst we knew had to be behind us and having done that, we could handle this. We pulled up at a small sandy beach for another rest and had a granola bar. We hadn’t had time for lunch. Back on the lake we once again pushed out into open water as we crossed the mile-wide opening of Russell Cove. We passed to the north of Farm Island, the lake’s second largest island after Pillsbury. It got it’s named from the fact that the logging companies kept a farm on the island to raise livestock and crops to feed the loggers during the long winters.

The wheels and axles of cars used to carry logs rusting in the woods

Smaller islands approached as we neared the end of the open-water crossing. The lake was quickly calming down as afternoon slipped into early evening.

By the time we rounded a high peninsula of land it became obvious that we were growing tied and we were going to lose the daylight in an hour or two. Rounding the point we approached an area called the Pump Handle with a nice grassy campsite and gravel beach. Without too much discussion we beached the canoe and stepped ashore for the night.

Unpacking the boat we set up our tent and unrolled our sleeping pads and sleeping bags. Dinner could wait. We were sore from a long day in the canoe and needed to stretch and take a deep breath. What looked to be a trail ran west from the back of the campsite. We could see from the map that we were on a peninsula and that the trail must climb what the map referred to as First Ridge. Grabbing a couple of granola bars each and a water bottle, we headed for the trail. We hadn’t gotten far when it became apparent that a strong storm had ripped through the area in the resent past as trees were down all around us and blocking the trail. Not to be deterred, we climbed over, under and around the maze of broken trees and in about a half mile reached a rocky lookout at the top of the ridge.

It was getting dark, but there was still enough light to see Mt. Katahdin in the distance to the south and Chamberlain Lake to the southwest. We learned later that several tornados had torn through this area of the Allagash earlier in the summer and this one had raced up Chamberlain and across to Eagle Lake striking this small peninsula doing considerable damage to the trees.

We sat silently on the ledge from where we could see most of the lake we had spent the day crossing. The Allagash had welcomed us with a test and a warning. We had passed the test, we were safe. The warning we took as a message to respect the lakes, rivers and the land and never underestimate them. We still had about 80 miles to go.

Chris on the ledges over looking Eagle Lake after a long day on the water

Later in our trip we would crash and tumble down Class II rapids, get hung up on an underwater ledge in quick water that required getting out of the canoe and pushing it off and still being able to diver back in. We paddled though driving cold rain, woke up with frost on the tent one August morning and had a large animal (moose) stumble into our campsite just before dawn and get spooked causing a world of confusion. Some days we carried the canoe more than we paddled and once we were chased up the west side of Long Lake by a single black thunderhead that was packing driving rain and slinging lightening bolts. None of that compared to our day on Eagle Lake.

That night Chris took out the maps after we finished dinner and figured that we had spent 12 long hours covering just seven miles. Sleep came easy.

Later we met a ranger, who in the course of conversation asked if we had been on Eagle Lake that day. When we said that yes we had, he paused, squinted his eyes as he looked off into the distance. Then nodding his head without turning back at us said, “Yup, betcha had a hell of a ride.”

Melville, Herman once said, “I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote.” He wasn’t talking about the TV controller.

My vacation starts in a month, but of course I’ve been preparing for it now since March. Actually, that’s a late start for me. Two years ago I began preparing for my August vacation in October. Last year I started getting ready in January. I must be getting better at this. I’ve got it down to five months of preparation.

Why so long? Well, this will be our third trip into the Allagash in remote northwestern Maine. All the planning is a result of accessibility; as it’s one of those places you can’t get to from here (so to speak). But once there, you’ll never want to leave.

Mt. Katahdin, Maines highest mountain at 5,267 feet, can be seen to the south from a hill at the northern end of Eagle Lake.

Henry David Thoreau said of the north Maine woods, “A lake is the landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature. It is the earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.”

If you ever have the chance, look into the eyes of the Allagash.

Sure you can drive up to Millinocket or Greenville and head into the woods, but unless you spend some time thinking through what you intend to do, and what you might face, you’ll only chip the tip of this wonderful and amazing iceberg.

I began to familiarize myself by reading about the Allagash. I started out with what I’ve found to be the best source on the waterway; Allagash, A journey through time on Maine’s legendary wilderness waterway, by Gil Gilpatrick. He also wrote The Allagash Guide, also worth a read before making the trip.

Lew Dietz penned The Allagash, the history of a wilderness river in Maine, which is another wonderful source on the history of the area. Today one of the foremost authors of things Allagash is Professor Dean Bennett, who wrote The Wilderness from Chamberlain Farm and Allagash, both full of history and information.

Then there were the few books written by those who spent their lives, or parts of their lives, as rangers living in this far off neck of the woods. Many wives penned books as they chronicled the seasons and life in the north. Campfires Rekindled, by George S. Kephart recalls his life in the backcountry as a forester. Dorothy Boone Kidney, who lived in the Allagash for 24 years, wrote a couple of books about her life in the woods of northwestern Maine. Wilderness Journal, Life Living, Contentment In the Allagash Woods of Maine and Away from It All. Both of these are windows on life in the north woods during the middle years of the last century.

Helen Hamlin wrote, Nine Mile Bridge, about her years in the woods near the Canadian border. Nine Mile Bridge was a place on the St. John River. The bridge is gone and so are the few buildings.

Annette Jackson, the wife of a ranger lived on Umsaskis Lake with her husband and children in the 1930’s. My Life in the Maine Woods is a window on another time that also chronicles the history and lore of the Allagash.

In 1882 Thomas Sedgwick Steele wrote Canoe and Camera, about his two hundred mile journey through the Maine woods. More recently David S. Cook came out with Above the Gravel Bar, a book that traces the Native American canoe routes in Maine.

A couple of people have made solo journeys along the waterway, which is roughly considered to be from Telos Lake to Allagash Village, about 100 miles. David Curran wrote Canoe Trip, Alone in the Maine Wilderness and Doug Leland penned Alone on the Allagash, both about their trip along the waterway.

Logging has been a constant in north woods history and two books that bring home the history of the industry best are Tall Trees, Tough Men and Spiked Boots, both by Robert E. Pike.

In spite of the logging that continues today, the Allagash area of northern Maine, in many areas, has changed little from the days when Henry David Thoreau paddled its waters and walked among the old-growth forests. To follow Thoreau’s paths (he made three trips) is not only a walk in the footsteps of history, but with a familiarity with his book The Maine Woods, a walk through time. J. Parker Huber has recently written The Wildest Country, Exploring Thoreau’s Maine, which offers a picture of the poet’s wanderings.

I’ve read them all, some twice. Now you get an idea why it takes so long in preparing to go. But, when I do travel the lakes, rivers, streams, mountains and trails of the Allagash, I have a strong respect for and understanding of the history, the people, nature and what this precious piece of near wilderness resource is today.

It can be argued, but some will claim that the Allagash is as close as man can come to wilderness in the eastern United States. There is probably not a place within the Maine north woods that hasn’t seen the footprint of man, native or European, but through continued efforts the Allagash area has been preserved. The landowners and the State of Maine have worked hard to ensure that the hands of man leave few fingerprints on this pristine wilderness. While it is still actively logged, the days of the river drives are gone. Today trucks haul the logs and many of them head north with their loads.

It is possible to visit, hike, camp and canoe the hundreds of miles of lakes and rivers and because of the remoteness; you’ll find few other people. Two years ago we went five days without crossing paths with another person. The woods are packed with wildlife and it’s quite conceivable to see more animals that people, which we usually do.

This moose joined us for breakfast one morning on the shore of Umsaskis Lake

Common sense plays a big role in any trip into the woods. Two years ago we canoed for eight days, with everything we needed packed into the boat. Last year we spent two weeks canoeing and hiking around the lakes and streams and again carried everything we needed. This year we’ll go for three weeks, again carrying our supplies for the entire trip. It’s amazing what you don’t need.

The lack of other people can make it lonely or to some frightening. But, on the other hand, without other people around you can walk away from your tent and belongings, carrying only what you need, for days at a time and not worry about it still being there when you return. Certain arrangements have to be made to discourage marauders, particularly mice and there are also bears, raccoons, porcupines and the like that would find an empty campsite stocked with food a picnic.

Chris fly fishing the Allagash River

The self-reliance and solitude are invigorating and for a 15-year old there are lessons he’ll find nowhere else. My son will be making his fifth trip into the woods this August (our third into the Allagash) and our last together for the foreseeable future. Next summer he’ll work and I’ll go it alone. The experiences we’ve had together can never be replaced and hopefully someday he’ll take his son on a trip into the north woods that pushes him both physically and mentally.

“I went to the woods to live deliberately,” Thoreau observed, “to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not when it came time to die, discover that I had not lived.”

Maybe there’ll be a night under brilliantly star lit Allagash skies, when the deafening silence on the night is broken only by the loons that my son and his son will sit around a campfire and recall these days and relive the stories of the times we spent together.

The best method of travel.

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