Friday, August 21

12 PM

Months went into the planning of this trip. Being prepared and having everything well thought out always makes for a better experience.

However, there were times when things don’t go according to plan. It’s those times that experience; creativity and the will to find a way make all the difference.

In an article for the Maine Scholar, David Rothenberg wrote of the North Maine Woods, “The wild is more than a named place, an area to demarcate. It is a quality that beguiles us, a tendency we both flee and seek. It is the unruly, what won’t be kept down, that crazy love, that path that no one advises us to take–it’s against the rules, it’s too far, too fast, beyond order, irreconcilable with what we are told is right.”

It really is all those things and more. We set out to experience what the North Woods had to offer. Places like this are disappearing and possibly within Chris’ lifetime, they will be no more. This remote section of Maine is arguably that last place even close to wilderness on the east coast of the United States. It is not untouched by man. Like someone said, “the hand of man can be seen in the footprints left in even the most remote places.”

Nature and all her bounty is there to see and appreciate. It’s a place like no other where you can experience a wide open sense of unbound freedom, while at the same time feel the risk of the wild.

It is a place where it is possible to drive, canoe or walk for miles and miles, days and days, weeks and weeks and still see no sign of what we call civilization. You can still camp under a blinding array of starlight and listen to the loons or the pure silence of the woods. You can canoe the many lakes, ponds, river and streams with only the blue water as your roadmap. Or you can step off the beaten path into the woods and stroll for as long as the mood lasts among the rocks and trees. And you can cast a line into the water anytime the mood strikes, and as Chris did several times, hook dinner.

We were very fortunate to have had this chance to venture into the woods and to have been able to do it together.

Many people have journeyed into the North Maine Woods, none more famous that Henry Davis Thoreau. He left a record that may never be surpassed for its descriptive originality and poetic prose. What Thoreau did in the mid 19^th century, his travels and adventures, have set the bar for generations, No one will ever duplicate what he did,  it would be impossible. But in the spirit of what he left behind, we can each in our own way, venture into the woods and take from our experiences everything we can and use what we learn to improve our own lives.

A river less fished

Near the end of our trip a stooped, old gray-haired man stopped me along the shore of a lake where we had camped.

“Tell me about your trip,” he said without introduction. His large eyes were bright with curiosity and perhaps a bit of sadness. I had been staring out at the water; maybe knowing our journey was coming to an end. I hadn’t seen him approach and was surprised.

“We’re just wandering around,” I said.

“Where are you going tomorrow?” he asked.

“I really don’t know,” I answered.

He patted me on the arm, “That’s wonderful,” he said slowly turning around and walking away.

A Road Less Traveled

Sunday, August 16

8 AM

I’m back in the tent sheltered from the bugs. I made breakfast, eggs and potatoes with coffee and juice. The bugs are very bad. We are just a mass of mosquito bites. The only way to eat was to walk along the lake while eating. That way fewer bugs were able to land. The bugs were in my eyes while I was cooking.

The loons had quite a chorus out on the big lake last night. They sang us to sleep. About 6:30 this morning a loon was calling only to be answered by its echo. It kept this up for about 10 minutes.

The heavens were glorious last night, what a show with the stars reflecting off the water.

Chris has a smudge fire going so that we can take down the tent. It’s hot and very humid this morning, but there isn’t a cloud in the sky.

Sunday, August 16

7:30 PM

Another long day of exploring. We got on the road a little after 9 am. We stopped at the campground office and bought cold drinks and talked with the woman there in the little store. Apparently nothing momentous has happened in the world lately.

We had no plan, other than to continue our trek along the Golden Road.

After was crossed the Seboomook Dam I pulled over and asked Chris to run down the portage trail to the backside of the dam and take a picture. While I sat in the truck an old man walked up.

“Can you help me? I’m old, in my 70’s and so is my friend,” he said pointing over to a truck backed into the woods. I hadn’t seen it when we pulled up. “We can’t get our canoe back on our truck. It’s heavier than we thought. Could you help us lift it?”

There in the woods behind the second old man I could see a white canoe.

“Sure,” I said. As soon as my son comes up from the dam we’ll be over to give you a hand.”

The old man thanked me and slowly shuffled back to the black and red pickup truck. When Chris returned he hopped into the passengers side of the track.

“Got it,” he said of the picture. “Let’s go.”

“We’re going to help those two old guys first,” I said pointing at the pickup. “They can’t lift their canoe onto their truck.”

Together we walked over to where the two old guys stood behind their truck.

“It’s much heavier than I remember,” the first guy said.

“And we’re older than we were the last time we put it up there,” the other added with a sorrowful smiled. “It’s hard to get old.”

I knew exactly what he meant after my Gulf Hagas experience.

Their canoe was a 20 foot long wooden boat.

“I built this canoe 30 years ago,” the first guy said. “I could lift it then.”

Chris walked around to the back of the boat and I grabbed the front. Each of the old men grabbed a side.

“We can get it guys,” I said.

The second guy released his grip, but the first one held on.

“We want to help,” he said.

Together we put the boat up on the racks and slid it forward.

“We’ll tie it on for you,” I said motioning to Chris who was in the back of the truck.

“We can take it from here,” the first old man said as he walk up to me and extended his hand. “Thank you. We’ve been sitting here wondering what we’d do.”

“Our pleasure,” I answered. “How was the fishing?”

“Oh,” the old man paused. “We haven’t done any fishing. You see, for a long time we’ve been taking these summer fishing trips, just the two of us. We’re getting up there in years, but we figured we’d keep it up as we really love it. Maybe its time we reconsidered. You see, once we got the boat off the truck, we knew it was too much for us to get down to the water. We set up our tent and we’ve just been sitting here wondering what to do.”

There was real sadness and pain in his eyes. The second old man reached out to shake my hand. “Thank you very much,” was all he said.

Chris hopped off the truck tailgate. Each of the old men shook his hand.

“Done any fishing?” the first guy asked him.

Chris nodded that he had.

“Catch anything?” he asked as the second guy moved closer to hear.

“Mostly trout,” Chris answered.

“Did you cook ‘em up? They’re good eating,” the old man asked.

Chris nodded again.

“What are you two doing up here in the woods?” he asked turning to me.

“Just wandering around, camping, hiking and doing some fishing,” I said.

He just smiled at me and then looked at Chris.

“Thank you again,” he said, nodded at us and walked over to the side of the truck and began tying on the canoe.

Western end of the Golden Road

I drove out to the Golden Road and turned the wheel over to Chris for the next 34 miles. Within three miles we passed the intersection of the 490 Road where we had turned north back on August 2.

We crossed over the West Branch and it looked like the water was slowing down. It hasn’t rained hard for a few days now. At the Caribou Checkpoint it was the same guy who was there when we had first gone into the woods two weeks ago. He remembered us. He asked about Lost Pond and we told him our story about the washed out road coming down off Little Russell Mountain. It was the first he had heard about it. There are not too many people out here and probably no one has been out that way since. He asked what else we had done and we gave him a quick synopsis. He didn’t say anything, just looked down and shook his head.

“That’s wonderful,” he finally said looking up with a smile. “You covered a lot of ground and probably have some great memories.”

He shook our hands as we left. Chris climbed into the driver’s seat, so I walked around to the passenger side.

Chris on Abol Bridge on the Golden Road taking a last look at the Mountain

We stopped along the way to pick more blueberries. Katahdin was once again majestic to our left as we drove across the Abol Bridge. I wanted to stop at Katahdin Air and see Jim Strang. He was the one that flew us into Johnson Pond last summer for our canoe trip on Allagash Lake, but the Cessna 206 wasn’t there. It’s Sunday and he’s probably busy.

We say goodbye to the Mt. Katahdin and the North Maine Woods

We stopped again at the trading post across the road and poked around. I bought the Sunday Maine Times newspaper. Chris and I talked coming down the road and Tuesday is my wife’s birthday. We’d both like to be home for that.

Rather than take the road back into Millinocket, we stayed on the Golden Road bearing to the right at Ambajejus Lake. Not far down the road was a sign forbidding anyone from continuing without the permission of the landowner. This is Pelletier land. They are one of the larger logging operations in the area and their main facility is on this end of the Golden Road. They also have an operation at the Telos checkpoint.

It was Sunday and the loggers were off. I wanted to drive the full length of the Golden Road so on I went.

This end of the road, even though close to Millinocket is forested like the rest of the Golden Road, with the exception of the Pelletier buildings. There are a few sites that have been cut within the last few years but not much else.

There is a set of railroad tracks that cross the Golden Road just to the west of the Pelletier facility. Here in 1979 occurred what people around Millinocket still refer to as “The Great Train Wreck.”

A heavily loaded single trailer pulp truck delivering its load to the Great Northern Paper Company was traveling east towards Millinocket when its driver was blinded by the morning sun as he approached the train tracks. At the same time a Bangor and Aroostook Railroad freight train was about to cross the road. Shortly before the impact of the truck and the train, the driver of the truck jumped out his door and escaped major injury. Both engines and several of the cars derailed. The truck was destroyed and its load of pulp wood scattered.

We reached the end of the Golden Road without incident and exited onto Route 11 at the small Millinocket Hospital.

I turned toward town as we need gas. We really didn’t say it, but we were thinking the same thing. It was time to go home. I stopped and filled the tank. Chris checked the canoe and everything in the back to make sure it was all secure and then climbed back into the truck.

“Should we get on the highway?” I ask.

“Okay,” he answered.

We headed south. It took two days to get home, but we made it in time for my wife’s birthday.

Our Journal

Saturday, August 15

7:30 PM

This is the first chance I’ve had to write all day. I’m sitting on my rolled up sleeping bag inside our tent in a campsite in Northwest Cove on Moosehead Lake. It’s far too buggy outside to write. We’re told the weather should be nice tomorrow, but that rain is expected Monday.

Little Lyford was once again great. We met some very nice people. Joe made pancakes with real maple syrup and sausage along with coffee and juice for breakfast. He also cooked the latest fish Chris caught.

We ran into another moose on our way out to Greenville. I think that makes nine moose sightings so far.

We decided to skip doing more laundry while in Greenville. I think we have enough clean stuff to last a few more days. Our trip is winding down and while I’ve recovered from my near death experience at Gulf Hagas, I think we’re both a little tired. I know we’re spoiled after sleeping in a bed and having hot showers. We stopped by the Indian Hill Trading Post while in Greenville. It’s just a nice place to poke around. Chris ran right downstairs to the fishing department, while I found a couple of books on Maine life that looked interesting. We picked up more ice and grabbed some soda and beer.

We topped off the gas tank at the trading post and shortly after noon we headed up Route 15 toward Rockwood. Our plan, as it stood, was to enter the North Maine Woods at the 20-Mile Checkpoint and see where the road took us. At the gate I showed our season passes and the guy asked where we were going. For a lack of any better answer I said Hurricane Pond, so that’s what he wrote down.

Not too far inside the North Maine Woods gate we came to a turn for Canada Falls. We drove done the side road and took a look at the stream and the falls coming down from the lake. It all drains into Seboomook Lake and eventually the West Branch of the Penobscot River.

Looking up the South Branch of the Penobscot River

South Branch of the Penobscot coming out of Canada Falls Lake

We cruised up the 20-Mile Road to Pittston Farm located at the confluence of the North and South Branches of the Penobscot River, with shore frontage on Seboomook Lake. After nothing but trees it was a surprise to find this little village sitting down in a field over a hill. There was a lodge, small store, a restaurant, campsites, a museum and even a chapel along with a couple of houses.

The Great Northern Paper Company purchased the entire township of Pittston Academy Grant, including Pittston Farm, in 1906 and began building what is now the present farm.

These farms, and there are several throughout the north woods, but none as extensive as Pittston, were established to support logging operations. The supplied nearly everything necessary, from food and equipment, to a place for weary loggers and company executives to gather. Pittston Farm operated until 1971 when the end of the great log drives ended its usefulness.

While we didn’t see a lot of people, there were too many buildings, so we cruised in and right back out.

I’ve always wanted to drive the Golden Road from end to end. It’s the main road in the North Maine Woods and probably the best known running from St. Zacharie, Quebec to the hospital in Millinocket at a length of 98 miles. There are parts of the road near Millinocket that are paved, but for most of its length the Golden Road is a dirt drag strip dominated by 22-wheeled, 200,000 pound trucking behemoths with logs stacked high traveling at frightening speeds.

Between the years of 1901 and 1971, the easiest and most economical way to get the log harvest to the Great Northern Paper Company mill in Millinocket was to cut the trees into four foot sticks of pulpwood during the winter months, haul the wood onto the ice with teams of horses and tractors and then wait for the ice to melt in the springtime. At that time the spring pulpwood drives began and the wood then was sluiced down the many streams and lakes feeding into the West Branch of the Penobscot River.

The wood usually entered the West Branch Watershed north of Chesuncook Lake. Once it reached Chesuncook it was boomed and towed down the lake to Ripogenus Dam. From there it was sluiced down the West Branch of the Penobscot River.

This practice was ended during the early 1970′s and all the wood was then transported to the mills in tree-length logs primarily by truck on a privately constructed road called the Golden Road. This road became the aorta of the North Maine Woods logging road system.

We continued up the 20-Mile Road and hooked up with the Golden Road and turned west toward the Canadian border. We checked out a couple of spots to camp and fish along the way, but nothing seemed right. I had turned the wheel over to Chris once we hit the Golden Road as it’s a weekend and there are no logging trucks running.

A deer on the Golden Road

We stopped for a close look at potential fishing sites along the North Branch. As we got closer to the international crossing we began to notice a sharp increase in the number of sugar shacks. There is a large maple sugaring operation in the woods of northwestern Maine that exists right alongside logging. For miles we found shacks and some fairly well built structures sitting off in the woods with miles of plastic piping running throughout a network of trees. Everything was shutdown. The sugar in maple sap only appears where warm, sunny days and below-freezing nights follow each other for days on end, as they do in Maine’s long, slow spring.

The art of making sugar and syrup from the sap of the maple tree was developed by Native Americans of the Northeast. For them it was the all-purpose seasoning, used as we might use salt today. Sometimes the syrup is dark and rich, sometimes pale gold and delicate. It all depends on the soil and terrain, the wind and the weather, just like wine.

When we reached the border it was closed. The St. Zacharie gate doesn’t operate on weekends. We didn’t have passports so entering Canada wasn’t an option. There were no people and if we had wanted to park the truck we could have walked around the gate and into Canada.

There is a scale for weighing the big trucks on the US side of the gate and a house like you might find on any modern suburban street in America that is home to the US Customs Agent. We drove to the closed gate and turned around for our run down the Golden Road. We hadn’t stopped for lunch, but were munching on our more than adequate supply of food in the backseat.

We still didn’t know where we were going to spend the night. We found the entrance to Hurricane Pond, an unmarked path of two tire tracks leading off to our right. We drove in about a quarter mile with branches taking swipes at the canoe on the roof racks. The overgrown path opened up to what was an obvious camping spot, but tracks continued off to the right. We still hadn’t seen the pond. It looked muddy, so for the fourth time on our trip I put the truck into 4-wheel drive and carefully nosed it down the path. It was tight with the bushes closing in. The mud was deeper than I had expected and to top everything off the road was a dead end, only about 100 yards long. From here we could finally see the pond, what a disappointment.

Chris at Hurricane Pond

A small log-driving dam that had been placed across what was probably little more than a meandering bog section of Hurricane Brook formed the pond which still exists only because the old, decayed dam sluice was plugged by beaver. The dam itself has long since gone and apparently the beaver has moved on.

What there is left of the dam at Hurricane Pond

At its deepest the 54 acre pond is just seven feet, but does have a limited population of trout. Getting to the water was going to be a problem as the shoreline is former pond bottom and very deep mud. It might have been nice for Chris to cast a line in here as the pond probably hasn’t been fished in quite some time.

We climbed down to the broken old dam and then walked back to the truck. Just getting into the doors was hard with the bushes so close. I put it into 4-wheel low and blindly started to backup. There was no chance of turning around.

Backing out of a tight spot at Hurricane Pond

The tires did some spinning in the deep mud even though I was moving very slowly. Still it dug its way through the mud and got us back to the campsite without incident. There we were able to turn around and head back out to the Golden Road.

Chris was doing the driving now. We crested a small rise in the road and saw a bear standing there. Why he didn’t hear us coming I don’t know. The standoff didn’t last two seconds before he bolted into the woods. No time for a picture. A little further along we came across a second bear. This one stared at us for a few moments before running off.

About seven or eight miles down the Golden Road we took a right onto Norris Road at a homemade, weather-beaten sign that said, “Dole Farm.” We had no idea what it might be, but since we had no real destination in mind, we decided to take a look. Two miles down the road we came to a sizable sugaring operation, but out of season and shutdown. We continued down to Dole Pond to look for a campsite. We crossed a very questionable bridge over the 704 acre pond where I think we both actually held our breath. The old, worn planks were the width of the truck and no more. Dole Pond is very pretty, but we kept rolling along a back road until we came to Long Pond. There are eight Long Ponds in Somerset County Maine. This was the one in Dole Brook Township, T3 R5.

View from the dam at Long Pond

Here we found what I thought might be our campsite for the night. There is a dam with a large grassy area at the foot of an 845 acre pond framed in mountains. It still amazes me that we can stand at the shore of these lakes and ponds, with such wide and beautiful views in perfect silence and be the only people.

We had made the decision to spend the night here at Long Pond and Chris started walking the shore looking for fishing spots. But then for whatever reason, maybe the urge to just wander, we put the tent back in the truck and continued on.

Back out on the Golden Road with Chris still behind the wheel we cruised down the north bank of the North Branch of the Penobscot River. There are small hills and long straight stretches of road along this section where you can see ahead for miles. There was no one else in sight. Some of the old timers up here told me that the Golden Road has seen its share of smuggling out of and into Canada over the years. In the 70’s it was apparently used to smuggle illicit drugs into the country. I can certainly see why. There is nothing out here and with the spider web of old logging roads, many now overgrown and under a canopy of trees; it would be easy to disappear. I also learned from a couple of locals that you can camp anywhere out here as long as you don’t have a fire. There are planes that patrol the area watching for smoke. They say that if the North Woods people, the landowners or their managers find you, they’ll probably just ask you to move on. But still, if you’re prepared and equipped to stay in the woods, this is the place. The odds of being found are unlikely.

I think it was former Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas, an advocate of wilderness, who described this place as, “eastern America’s last natural frontier.” It is a land of pristine beauty, rugged and remote.

A few miles past the 20-Mile Road, which some refer to as the Northern Road, we arrived in the area of Seboomook Lake. This 6,448 acre lake we’re told is a fisherman’s paradise. Like so many places here the lake gets its name from the Abenaki. It means “big lake” or “at or near the large stream.” Both possible definitions fit as it is big and the North and South Branches of the Penobscot run into the western end of the lake and the West Branch begins at the dam on the eastern end.

Seeboomook Dam

About four hundred million years ago this part of North American was part of the ocean floor. Today around the western part of Seboomook Lake there are still some volcanic rocks visible which were formed when fissures opened in the ocean floor and the molten rock spewed onto the bottom of the sea.

The lake is manmade, created when the Penobscot River was dammed to create a sluiceway to carry logs downriver in 1893. From Pittston Farm and the confluence of the North and South Branches and the dam the lake is approximately 10 miles long. At its widest near Nulhedus Stream it measures approximately a mile and a half.

When we reached the turn to Northeast Carry we turned right. This was also the route to Seboomook Dam. Again we though we had found a campsite, but the open area that we pulled into had a large white cross indicating to us that it marked a burial spot, not where we wanted to spend the night.

We just kept driving. It was getting late and we had been in the truck all day. The road ended at Northwest Cove on Moosehead Lake at Seboomook Wilderness Campground.

We found a nice spot on the water and set up the tent. Once again the bugs tore into us like banshees hell-bend on our blood.

Chris built a fire as a smudge to ward off the bugs while I cooked up some macaroni and cheese. Once he had the fire smoking, Chris got out his pole and had a few casts.

The view to the southeast is spectacular. It’s hard to believe that this is just a cove. Moosehead, the largest lake in Maine, is 74,890 acres in area and approximately 40 miles long by 10 miles wide with around 400 miles of coastline. It is the source of the Kennebec River and has over 80 islands.

In the distance through the haze I can see Mt. Kineo, one of the most famous features of the Moosehead area.

View across Northwest Cove Moosehead Lake

Legend says that wicked Chief Kineo was exiled by his tribe and lived on Mt. Kineo. Another says that the great Indian spirit Glooskap killed a moose and it became Mt. Kineo. In Abenaki the names means “sharp peak or rock.”

Native Americans once traveled great distances to Mt. Kineo to acquire its rhyolite rock. The mountain is a geological formation of flint known as siliceous slate, or hornstone. It was once used by Indians to make arrowheads, hatchets, chisels and other sharp objects.

We had hoped to hike Mt. Kineo last year when we were up this way, but the weather didn’t allow it. This year it wasn’t in the cards either.

Tomorrow is Sunday and another day for Chris to drive. We’ll continue our trip along the Golden Road to the east and see what we can see.

Friday, August 14

12 PM

I’m not dead, although I still feel close to death.

My feet are feeling better, my knee isn’t so bad, my back is in knots and I can’t move my neck. The Ibuprofen isn’t making a dent in what’s going on here. If I go canoeing today it will only be for a burial at sea.

Thankfully Chris has been very involved in fishing. Joe cooked up last night’s trout for him for breakfast. He was very proud of it and enjoyed being the center of attention as he ate it this morning. We also had scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and coffee.

It only took him about a half hour and he was back with a nine inch trout. He dropped it off at the kitchen. He sat across from me as I lay in bed and told me about the fish. Chris then ate a sandwich, had some chips and a cookie and was out the door for more fishing.

One of the trout Chris caught at Second Little Lyford Pond

I can move from this bed, but only with great pain. I’m having more Ibuprofen for lunch. I don’t care that it says to take only one tablet every four to six hours. It also says to take as directed. No one has come through the door and directed me otherwise, so four every couple of hours sounds good to me.

The past two nights the sky has been awesome. The weather has been clear and before the moon rises, the stars are just incredible. Last night Chris watched a meteor shower. He woke me to see, but all I wanted was for a meteor to hit me and put me out of my misery. I did go outside so the meteor would have a better chance of getting me, but no luck. As soon as I crawled back into bed he said it started to rain meteors.

There will be all new people at dinner tonight. This morning I checked again with the guy that had given me the trail report on Gulf Hagas and he said that they had gone only as far as Buttermilk Falls. I must have missed that part.

We are leaving tomorrow morning. Our plan is to go to Greenville for supplies and then head to the northwest. Chuck, the manager here, has lived in the area for his whole life. He knows the country. He suggested some spots and had a lot of good stories to tell. He is a wealth of information about the North Maine Woods. He has been a Game Warden and was a Millinocket police officer for more than 20 years.

Right now I think we’ll take a look at the North Branch of the Penobscot River. The fishing is supposed to be good there. I’d like to visit Hurricane Pond, which appears to be one of the closest bodies of water to the Canadian border.

I hope I feel better tomorrow. I’m not recovering very quickly.

I never worried about being in the woods,  Chris was always on edge and very careful. That isn’t completely the case any longer. Now he’s at home being in the woods and I really don’t have to worry about him. I know every year that he becomes more than capable of taking care of himself out here. Right now he is somewhere out on a pond in a canoe fishing. He’s old enough and knows what he’s doing. All I could say was “be careful.” Be he knows that.

Last night while I suffered, he was out kicking around in the woods. A family of four had come into camp and after seeing Chris’ fish asked him to take them fishing. After dinner he grabbed his pole and with them following traipsed off toward second Little Lyford. They didn’t catch any fish, but they ran into a moose and he took them to a beaver dam where all the attention made the beaver angry. It slapped its tail on the water a couple of times, which seemed to make everyone happy.

Even as recently as last year if he had run into a moose at night in the woods it would have spooked him. Now it’s just another moose. One of the guys we ran into up here last year told us that a moose is going to do one of three things. It will either stand there looking stupid and continue doing whatever it was doing, look stupid and run away, or look stupid and try to kill you. Usually it’s only the males during the rut that have murder on their minds.

Friday, August 14

3 PM

I walked out to second Little Lyford Pond where Chris was fishing. It hurt, but I had to move. He had a nine and a half inch trout on his string and caught a couple more while I was there. But he decided to let them all go, even the one he had in the water on the string. I asked why he was releasing the big one and he said, “She’s going to be a mother Dad. She’s loaded with eggs. If we come back again, they’ll be even more fish to catch.”

Second Little Lyford Pond

It is a beautiful day, but humid again. Since we’re leaving tomorrow, I expect rain. Chris started back to the cabin with me, but about half way decided he’d try his luck in the river and bounded off through the woods.

Chris fishing from the bridge at Second Little Lyford

Friday, August 14

8 PM

We had chicken casserole for dinner. It was very nice. Joe and I played chess and I lost. Chris not surprisingly went fishing. When he returned he sat on the bed and drew in this book as I continued my chorus of moans. I think a good night’s sleep tonight and I’ll be ready to go tomorrow.

Chris' drawing of a Fish

A Wulff Dry Fly. Probably his most successful fly.

Friday, August 14

9:46 PM

Entry by Chris

Fish for breakfast tomorrow. The sky is amazing. There are stars like crazy, because there isn’t much light pollution like there would be back home. I’m going to wait until 10:30 when I’m estimating the meteors will be more visible.

There is something out in the woods, just sitting there watching. Plus the bats are out and come within six inches of your head. I’m hoping that wherever we go tomorrow there will be fish. This cabin is nice, better than I first thought.

Thursday, August 13

9 PM

I think I almost killed myself today. I may still die.

We were up early and on the trail immediately after breakfast. Joe made French toast, with homemade maple syrup and sausage for breakfast which is one of Chris’ favorites.

We decided rather than drive the mile to the bridge that we’d hike right from camp. It would add just under two miles to our hike, but we had the time.

Gulf Hagas, sometimes called the Grand Canyon of Maine,  is awe inspiring to see. Photographs can never do justice to the beauty of the falls and canyons. But, be prepared to hike.  Something this beautiful doesn’t come free.

Posing on a lower ledge near the Head of the Gulf

We hiked down to the plank bridge and crossed over the Pleasant River which is about 40 yards wide at this point. From there we hiked another mile and a third to the Head of the Gulf. We were 2.2 miles into our trip before reaching Stair Falls. But as we had been told, the hike was relatively flat and easy to walk.

Billings Falls near the Head of the Gulf

We began the Rim Trail at Stair Falls at the Head of the Gulf and it was clear that this was a special place. There were no other people around and we just stood for a moment and stared at the way the water pushed its way past the rocks. Next came Billings Falls with the river putting on another spectacular show as it jumped over ledges and tumbled over rocks rushing into the gulf below.

A look up the river at Stair Falls

It was nearly a mile to Buttermilk Falls, but all along the way there were tremendous views, outcrops of ledge on which to sit and swimming holes. Buttermilk Falls was another magical place. We stopped for a while to watch the river pounding over the rocks. But this is where the Gulf began to show its teeth.

Chris taking a break on the rocks overlooking the Pleasant River

The 1.3 miles from Buttermilk Falls to the Jaws, was breath taking in two ways. The views were incredible. The way the river has cut its way through the rock is amazing. We could stand on ledges hundreds of feet above the boiling water and look straight down. The sense of height is palpable. While I was cautious, Chris had no problem walking right to the edge.

A long way down

But the trail had changed. As we had been told it was easy and flat, but at Buttermilk Falls that all changed. The trip along the Rim to the Jaws was all up and down, at times vertical requiring hand holds. Most of the ledge was only about 20 or 30 feet at a time, but it was straight up and straight down, over and over.

The Rim Trail

I don’t know how many times we went up and down, but it seemed to me to be several dozen times. I was feeling like I had done enough vertical climbing to have actually climbed a mountain. The temperature was in the 80’s and it was very humid. I was sucking on my water bottle like a dying man in the desert. Of course none of this fazed Chris. He just bounced up one wall and down the other side. Sometimes he’d climb over and come back for me. I was taking frequent breaks.

Finally I could go no further and had to rest. We stopped on a ledge over looking the Jaws, which is astounding to see. Chris sat and ate a ham sandwich.

Looking down to the river below at the Jaws

I just laid down on the rock trying to catch my breath, sweat pouring off my face like a river, my shirt was soaked. Looking at the map I figured that it would be quicker and easier if we just pushed on. There was no way we could turn back. It would take me forever to get over all those ledges again. By going forward, climbing who knew how many more ups and downs, we hoped to hook up with the Pleasant River Tote Road Trail which looked flat. The intersection was still a half mile ahead, but from there we’d have just under four miles to cover back to camp.

I had had it with rock and root climbing, but every time I’d pull myself up and raise my head over a ledge there would be another. The only benefit was the views; it made the pain worth it. Then, just to add to my misery, I fell over a log and hit my knee hard. At first it didn’t seem to be more than a bump and a scrape, but it didn’t take long before the pain was causing me to limp. I popped a couple of Ibuprofen and it seemed to help, but now I was moving even slower.

The climbing continued and with my free hand I managed to take plenty of pictures. The Rim Trail remained horrendous. Chris took my pack and carried both as I continued to fall apart.

Chris at Gulf Hagas

Finally, below the Jaws we found the connector path to the Tote Road. From here I hoped for just a pleasant walk in the woods. We had left Little Lyford at 9:30 am. It was 1:30 when we made the turn back toward camp.

On the Tote Road we came across another father and son. They had started at the other end and were also on the homeward leg of their hike. I asked his opinion of the Rim Trail between the Jaws and Buttermilk Falls and if he though it was tough. The guy stood there for a moment before answering. “You think!” he finally said the pain of his passage etched on his face. “It dam near killed me.”

“Me too,” was all could say. I wasn’t the only soldier in wimpland.

Of course our sons were getting a big kick out of our suffering.

The trip back took half the time, but I was wasted. I staggered back into camp at 3:30 looking like I had fallen into the river and drown. I think I was actually near death.

Chris made sure that I got into our cabin then dropped the backpacks and grabbed his fishing pole. “I’ll be back for dinner,” was all I heard, the last words muffled by the sound of my head hitting the pillow on my double bed.

At 5 pm I staggered up the hill behind our cabin to the shower looking like I had just knocked off a 12-pack. The hot water felt good, but wasn’t enough to mask the searing pain. My whole body was screaming at me.

I stumbled back to the cabin and fell back onto the bed. Chris rushed in about 20 minutes before dinner and grabbed some clean clothes and ran up the hill for a shower. I really couldn’t hear what he said with all of my moaning.

He had hiked another two miles into the woods, caught another trout, cleaned it, and brought it up to Joe, who agreed to cook it for Chris’ dinner. I came out of my coma long enough for hear his story of how while running along a trail he bumped into a big moose. The animal apparently refused to move, so Chris just stood quietly and waited. After a while the moose gave a loud huff and walked up the trail. Chris continued on to his fishing spot like nothing had happened.

I had five minutes before dinner and slipped back into the coma.

Joe cooked pork loin for dinner with mashed potatoes, green beans, homemade bread and cheese cake for dessert. It might have even hurt to chew. After we ate Joe and Chris played chess while I just prayed someone would shoot me.

Chris wants to go canoeing tomorrow. They may have to bring me down to the water on a stretcher.

Wednesday, August 12

12 PM

Soaked, cold, tired and suffering with bug bites, we stayed inside last night. The guy at the Telos Checkpoint recommended a place in Millinocket and we had a chance to get our laundry done.

At 6:30 this morning we took showers and went over to gas up the truck. The Irving station happened to have a Dunkin Donuts, so Chris had some breakfast. We stopped by the market for ice and a few items we thought we’d need and then headed for Little Lyford.

Back in the woods, but not North Maine Woods land, the Appalachian Mountain Club has a couple of lodges. Little Lyford is one of the three they maintain in the KI-Jo Mary area. We had spent three days here last year and really enjoyed it. This year we thought once again we’d break up our trip with a three day visit, sleep in a bed in our own cabin, take hot showers and eat someone else’s cooking.

I wanted to do some exploring before heading for Little Lyford, but Chris was tired of wandering and just wanted to get there and get settled. It was a nice ride down Route 11 to the Katahdin Iron Works Gate. A paved road, after all those logging roads felt nice. There was very little other traffic and we were back in the woods by 10 am.

I had wanted to hike Gulf Hagas last year but because of the weather wasn’t able. I’m looking forward to it this time. There is an old logging road bridge over the Pleasant River that we were told about last year that I think we’ll use to cross. Rather than drive back to the usual starting spot from which most people begin the Gulf hike, we’ll do it backwards. That way we won’t need water shoes or sandals to cross the river.

We entered the KI-Jo Mary area through the Katadhin checkpoint, the site of the old iron works.

Furnace at Katahdin Iron Works

At 11:30 am we pulled into the camp. All was quiet. The staff takes the middle of the day off and there was no one else around.

Chris seems to be in a bad mood. I think he’s tired. While we wait for someone to show up, I’m doing this writing. No hurry on my part. For a change the sun is shining and it’s a beautiful day.

Wednesday, August 12

3 PM

Joe is a big man. He is the cook here at Little Lyford. He got us settled in our cabin which is called Red Quill. Joe likes to talk. It seems he has been all over the world cooking. He began as a mess sergeant in the Air Force and then in the 70’s went to Alaska and traveled the length of the pipeline cooking for the work crews. When he mentioned Alaska he had Chris’ attention.

Joe is originally from Massachusetts and wears a Boston Red Sox cap. It seems everyone in the woods is a big fan of the Sox. Chris was wearing an identical Red Sox cap and between Alaska and the Sox, they became big buddies.

We three talked for quite a while and Joe made us some ham sandwiches for lunch. While eating them two foxes strolled past the window. Joe says it a father fox and his female kit. They stopped to play in the grass beside the kitchen building. Just beyond where the foxes frolicked, Joe has a garden when he is growing vegetables for the camp. Chris and I hung out all our wet gear to dry. He is still in an ugly mood, but I think he is intrigued by Joe. We put our gear in the cabin and Chris just went out for a walk.

Little Lyford Pond

We have covered so much ground that our plan after dinner tonight is to highlight our travels on our DeLorme map. That way we figure we’ll remember it all better. Dinner is at 6 pm.

Joe told me he is preparing Italian food for dinner tonight. That sits well with me, but Chris won’t eat tomato sauce. I stopped into the kitchen and got talking again. There are only five people for dinner tonight. Joe said that he has cooked for as many as 3200 people before and that five can be more of a challenge. I took the opportunity to mention that Chris wouldn’t eat tomato sauce and Joe said no problem. He’d save some spaghetti and make it for Chris with either butter or cheese.

Red Quill Cabin at Little Lyford

Wednesday, August 12

4 PM

George, the other guy that works here at Little Lyford returned from Greenville a little while ago. He had to bring the AMC truck in for repairs. George is a fisherman and has fished all over these woods. Joe told him about Chris and George sat down with him and drew a map of his fishing holes, told him where his canoe was stashed on Baker Pond and gave him all kinds of tips. Chris has been up at the kitchen cabin talking with George since 3:30 pm. He just came running back and grabbed his fly rod. He said he’d be back in time for dinner, that he was going out to second Little Lyford Pond and that he might also try fishing the river. He took his backpack and rod. I asked if he’d like me to come along or walk out and find him later. I’ll be back for dinner was about all he had to say and he was gone.

Hopefully he’ll catch something and his mood will improve. Right now I’m the bad guy, but I suppose I’m the only guy. He say’s he doesn’t like our cabin that he liked the one we stayed in last summer better. Nothing is going to make him happy right now. He’ll come around, especially if he catches something.

I guess I’ll read his book while he’s gone.

Wednesday, August 12

5 PM

Chris was back within an hour with two trout. He took the up to the kitchen to Joe, who has said he’d cook them up for dinner tonight. Chris now has a big smile on his face. He explained to me that after cleaning them he ate the heart and liver from one. It sounds like he has been watching too many “Man vs. Wild” reruns. Joe wants him back in the kitchen by 5:40 to show him how to cook the fish. He just ran up the hill to take a shower.

Chris with his first trout in the kitchen at Little Lyford

I took the tent and other items in. They’re dry so I folded them up and packed them away.

Wednesday, August 12

10 PM

Chris is asleep. I forgot that Little Lyford is a bring your own bed linen place. I’ll get the sleeping bags out of the truck tomorrow. Tonight we’re just happy to be in warm and dry beds.

Another person came in late this afternoon so there were six of us at dinner. Joe served spaghetti and meatballs and Italian sausage with salad and homemade bread. It was all very good. Chris ate his two trout and had a big bowl of spaghetti with butter sauce and cheese. He was a big hit at our table of six with those two trout. Joe cooked them in bacon grease and corn meal and Chris pronounced them excellent. Unfortunately George has the next two days off, so he won’t be around to go fishing. Joe and Chris have become friends. Joe is about 55 and loves kids. He is married, but doesn’t have any kids of his own. He and Chris have become buddies. Joe is telling him about his travels around the world, especially about his time living in Alaska.

We sat for about a half hour after dinner just talking. Two of the people at dinner had hiked Gulf Hagas today and gave us a trail report. Back at the cabin I read for a while. Tomorrow we hit the Gulf. It should be about an eight mile hike and will take most of the day. Chris was more interested in when we’d be getting back so he can do some more fishing.

Tuesday, August 11

2:15 PM

We were up at 6 am this morning and the sky looked like more rain. We skipped breakfast and broke camp before the rains came. The bugs were again relentless. They were swarming and in our eyes and ears. We did have a few mosquitoes for breakfast.

With the truck loaded Chris took us on a last run down the runway and then out to the Realty Road. It is a weekday and the logging trucks are running, so I took the wheel after a while.

I remembered that I had left our saw hanging on the canoe rack and it was gone. We turned back to Red Pine and found it lying on the runway. I guess you could say that that wasn’t the first time I’ve been a hazard to aviation.

Just before reaching Clayton Lake we came across a young moose standing in the road. We stopped and she stopped. It was a stare down. I let the truck roll forward and she turned and trotted down the road. After a while she found a break in the brush and jumped into the woods.

Young moose on the American Realty Road.

Chris navigated. We crossed the Allagash Wilderness Waterway on John’s Bridge which runs between Eagle and Churchill Lakes. We passed through a very active logging area and ended up weaving between trucks, skidders and loaders. Those guys must really hate the tourists getting in the way. Luckily for them there aren’t many of us out here.

The logging truck traffic was heavy today and we found ourselves spending a lot of time sitting in ditches eating clouds of dust. The sky looks threatening. Maybe it will rain.

We saw a pair of good size moose on a side road off the Telos Road bringing our moose total to six. We’ve also seen three bears, two deer, a mink, a partridge (without the pear tree) and a nasty jack rabbit. To quote Monty Python, this was not “but a bunny.”

We turned in our paperwork at the Telos Checkpoint, had a nice chat with the guy at the gate and continued down to the Golden Road. Once on the Golden Road we had completed a loop that took us up the east side of the Allagash Wilderness Waterway to Fort Kent and back down the west side. Of course we were crossing back and forth covering 657 miles of the 3.5 million acres of the North Maine Woods.

We stopped at a place off the Golden Road where we had picked blueberries last year, but there weren’t very many. We picked what we could and then drove further up the Golden Road to another spot we knew. Here we found plenty. Chris filled half of one of our water bottles with blueberries that he planned to bring back for his girlfriend’s family. They were nice enough to give him a bag of goodies when we left.

Picking blueberries

We stopped at the store at Abol Bridge for a cold drink. We also stopped at the Trading Post across from Katahdin Air and I bought a book on the origin of Maine names.

We were looking for a place for the night that was mosquito-free and that didn’t leak. The sky is dark and Mt. Katahdin is wrapped in angry black clouds, but no rain yet.

Chris struckout on the St. John. He says there are no muskies in the river anyway. Tomorrow we head for Little Lyford where he can fish the ponds and the Pleasant River. Hopefully the weather will cooperate.

Monday, August 10

1 PM

It rained last night and we slept late. The Achilles tendon on my left ankle for some reason is very sore. I don’t know why, but it kept me awake last night. Ibuprofen didn’t help.

It didn’t get cold last night, but we were ready with our wool blankets. I had mine spread on top of my sleeping bag and Chris put his inside his bag.

We played Yahtzee and Chris won. I then read a bit before trying to sleep.

About 9:30 this morning Frank and Joey pulled into camp. What a small world this 3.5 million acres is. This is the second time we’ve run into them. They were checking campsites and cleaning fire pits. I invited them to breakfast and they were quick to say yes. While they finished their work I cooked up some eggs, bacon, home fries and made a big pot of coffee. We hadn’t seen each other since Chris and I were camped on the Machias River. There was some catching up to do. Joey wanted to know if Chris had tried out his fishing hole on the Mooseleuk River and wanted to see the new fly rod. They asked about Deboullie and what we had done after that. Frank, who is maybe somewhere between 50-60 years old with a full gray beard and bright orange suspenders, a hat with a wide 360 degree brim and a constant smile, gave me today’s newspaper. He gets up at 2 am every morning to deliver the Bangor Daily News in Presque Isle.

“You do what you can to get by,” he smiled. “We don’t work here for the money. It’s a way of life.”

We talked about life in the North Maine Woods, winters, summers and all the things to do. Joey grew up in the woods. When he heard that Chris was driving on the runway, he remarked that he had been driving up here on the logging roads since he was six. He also canoed 54 miles of the St. John River when he was 10 years old.

We talked together for about an hour, but they had to get back to work. We topped off their coffee cups and they thanked us for the meal. Then they got back in their silver Chevy pick up truck and headed out to the runway and back into the woods. There is something to be said for the simple things.

It was great to have a newspaper. At home I’d toss it on the kitchen counter and maybe read snippets here and there over the course of any morning. This was a treasure. I didn’t bother cleaning up the breakfast mess. Chris grabbed his pole and headed for the river. I retired to the tent with my newspaper and did something very rare for me. I read it front to back.

I was still in the tent reading when Chris came back from the river, empty handed again, and said as he walked by the tent, “I’m going to the store Dad, need anything?”

Someday he will and I’ll have him pick up milk or something.

“I’m all set,” I answered.

He climbed into the truck and was off speeding up and down the runway. He claims that this time he hit 73 mph.

Chris got the fire going because it helps with the bugs. It’s cool and humid and the sky is overcast. It’s just a yucky day.

Kepping the fire going in the rain helped keep the bugs down

Monday, August 10

2 PM

Chris has gone down to the river to do some more muskie fishing. Last weekend was the big muskie derby in Fort Kent and there was a picture in the newspaper showing the fish’s sharp teeth. It also mentioned a girl named Hafford that caught a prize winning muskie. I’ll have to find out if it was Mike’s daughter.

Casting for muskie on the St. John River

I’m trying to stay off my sore Achilles. I can’t imagine why it hurts so much.

The newspaper weather forecast says it should be nice during our stay at Little Lyford so maybe this year we’ll get to hike Gulf Hagas. Last year while we were at Little Lyford it rain the entire time and we were advised not to hike the Gulf because of slippery footing.

Frank told us this morning that the Katahdin Ironworks-Jo Mary area is very popular and that if we go there as I told him we might after Little Lyford, that we might find a lot of people. Apparently it is the Millinocket Riviera. I don’t think we’ll be going there. We’ll check with Chuck at Little Lyford and see what he recommends as far as a destination when we leave.

We’ve had a couple of rain showers go by in the last hour. It’s not a very nice day. Maybe we won’t climb Ross Mountain. It is supposed to be steep near the top with a lot of rock scrambling. We’re pretty far out in the woods and we probably shouldn’t take any risks. But it would be cool to make a phone call from the top.

It’s raining again, no big deal.

Monday, August 10

3:30 PM

My Achilles still hurts. The Ibuprofen isn’t helping. Chris’ ankle is swollen purple from bug bites and bleeding from all the scratching. The mosquitoes also seem to like his face. He has a couple of large welts, one on his forehead and another on his cheek. The little buggers are adding to my torment by biting me on the back where I can’t scratch. Chris also has a large bite in the back of his neck.

We’re spending most of the day in the tent. Chris runs out to cast a line in the river every once and a while and continues to drive up and down the runway. At least in the tent the bugs can’t get me.

Last night just before we fell asleep he turned to me and said, “Nice surprise Dad.” He was referring to the chance to drive the truck for a couple of days on this abandoned airstrip. He’ll be a pro at the takeoff roll by the time we leave tomorrow.

Chris on his runway

Monday, August 10

4 PM

The overcast is thinning out; we can see a few hints of blue sky. Chris has the fire going. We’re hoping the smoke will drive off some of the bugs. We’re both in long pants with bug nets over our heads. Chris also has a long sleeve hooded shirt on. It is 74 degrees.

Maybe we’ll be able to see some stars tonight.

Monday, August 10

5 PM

Chris is going to be pretty unhappy when he has to return the truck tomorrow. He is out buzzing up and down the runway again right now.

There are more dark clouds to the southwest. They’re coming this way and look like rain.

I just did the breakfast dishes; the coffee pot, two frying pans and two spatulas. Even standing in the smoke from the fire the bugs are relentless. They swarm as I try to clean the pans. I finished up as quickly as I could and jumped right back into the tent.

Monday, August 10

7:30 PM

We started to make dinner, but rain clouds arrived and we climbed into the tent for about an hour and played UNO. Small patches of blue sky were visible after the rain, so we got back to work making dinner.

We got out the oven and made a couple of pizzas. What a treat. I had two beers left and had one before dinner and another with my pizza. Chris drank his last 7UP.

Pizza for dinner and Labat Blue in honor of our proximity to Canada

After dinner with the oven still hot, Chris made a lemon swirl cake. It came out nice.

Chris shows off his lemon swirl cake

I have cleaned up and have everything ready to load into the truck for the night. It’s not hot, but it is so humid that everything is wet. Our wool blankets are getting pretty heavy.

We haven’t decided on what we’ll do tomorrow. We know that after breakfast we may try to climb Ross Mountain. If the weather cooperates and we can get up there, we’ll use the signal out of Canada and call home.

If we get some early sun tomorrow and the ground dries out, we’ll try to camp somewhere between here and Millinocket. If it stays wet we may pull into a sporting camp for a night. Maybe we’ll go into Millinocket. It’s getting uncomfortable with wet clothes, blankets, sleeping bags, pillows – just everything. We need a sunny dry day to get back on track. Laundry is mounting up so if we have to hit Millinocket a day early we can make use of the time and wash our clothes.

Chris is really getting comfortable and confident in the woods. Five years ago he wouldn’t leave my side. I just saw him run into the woods on the far side of the runway. It’s dusk, the time of day for moose and bears around here. He has really learned to understand better the nature of the woods and wildlife. Staying smart, thinking and keeping a clean camp gives the animals no reason to bother us.

Monday, August 10

8:30 PM

With the cloud cover it is very dark tonight. Our fire is down to embers and we’ll let it go out for the night. Everything is soaked, if not from all the rain, then from the heavy humidity. The temperature is in the low 70’s and it could get cold tonight. If it does in this dampness it will be really uncomfortable. We’ll go to bed early and hope for sunshine and drier weather in the morning.

Sunday, August 9

7:30 AM

Camp is empty this morning. Don took Jake and Garry to the Big Black River. They left at 5 am. It’s cool and overcast right now. I hope there is no rain in the forecast. We both took hot showers. Who knows when we’ll be able to do that again?

It was another beautiful night with a big moon over the lake and plenty of stars. We were in bed by 10:30 and slept well. Chris finished his book before falling asleep. I’ve never seen him read a book so quickly. He thinks I should read it. Maybe I will.

We’ll check with Andrea about the weather this morning and see if she has a muskie lure or two for Chris.

Our plan is to head over to the St. John River near Daaquam. We won’t be able to visit Daaquam as Moody Bridge over the St John has been removed. Apparently it was in disrepair for several years and only light vehicles were allowed to use it. It was of no use to the paper companies if the logging trucks couldn’t cross, so they just left it until it reached a point where for safety’s sake it had to come down. Bob has a camp over in Daaquam where his wife stays while he works at Ross. Without the bridge he has to make a 38-mile detour to get home. Since the bridge closed he has stayed at Ross during the week and goes home only on weekends.

We hope to camp on the St. John for a couple of days and see if Chris can land a muskie. Don caught a 12-pound fish recently. Don had mentioned that the current in the St. John is running pretty quick right now because of all the rain. He cautioned us about putting the canoe in.

Sunday, August 9

12 PM

Andrea gave Chris three different lures he could use to catch muskie and told him how to land one. Apparently they have large, sharp teeth. Fortunately, I brought along a pair of work gloves. Andrea also mentioned that if we climbed Ross Mountain that we could pick up a cell phone signal out of Canada. There would be an additional three dollar fee as it would be an international call, but we would be able to call home. We’ll talk about it in a couple of days when it’s time to leave the St. John.

Andrea told us as we were about to leave that there would always be space for us at Ross Camps. She smiled when she invited us to stop in the next time we were just passing through. I guess Don must have said something to her.

I had told Chris months ago that I had a surprise for him while we were here. As we got closer to the river I told him it was time for his surprise. He seemed excited as he’s been waiting for this for some time.

In the spring while I was researching the St. John River, looking for a place where we could drop our canoe in and paddle for a stretch and still make our way back to where we started, I happened to look at the satellite shot. As I scanned the river something appeared off to the right of the computer screen. I moved the curser over and there in the middle of the woods, 11-miles from the Canadian border along the banks of the river was a runway. It was closed, but looked to be in good shape.

I did some online research and learned that in 1965 the paper companies built a 1500 foot grass strip here so as to spray for the spruce bud worm. They initially used World War II vintage Avengers, but they couldn’t carry enough payload. After a few crashes, they chose to enlarge the runway to 3200 feet and pave it. They then brought in DC-3’s and were able to successfully spray.

By the early 1970’s the spruce bud worm threat had passed and the paper companies just walked away, leaving everything behind. Local outfitters and guides found the strip and began flying in customers to camp and fish the St. John. In response the paper companies lined the runway with boulders to prevent aircraft from landing. When informed of the liability by their attorneys, they removed the rocks, but made it clear that the runway was on private land and not to be used. For the most part it has sat empty and deserted since the mid 1980’s.

We drove down the Realty Road to its end at the river where Moody Bridge had been. Only the concrete upright supports remain. Had the bridge been there we could have crossed the river and reached Daaquam, about another five miles away. As it is we traveled most of the length of the American Realty Road, beginning in Ashland and driving as far as it could take us to the missing bridge over the St. John. The trip over from Ross Camps was only about 45 minutes and since it was a weekend I let Chris drive some of it.

I then took the wheel and we turned around and backtracked about a quarter mile after which I took a left on a little used over grown road that was sorely in need of repair.

I told Chris this was the way into the campsite we would use that night. In truth it was. When we came around that last corner, the trees suddenly ended and the thick woods opened up in the sunshine. Another 50 feet and we were stopped on the threshold of the 3200 foot strip looking down the runway.

Abandoned Airstrip along the St. John River at Red Pine

I think Chris was a bit surprised. Here we were in the North Maine Woods, usually deep in the trees, and suddenly everything was wide open. Chris is learning to drive. I got out of the truck and said that for the next two days while we were there, the truck was his.

I expect that normally when a parent turns the keys over to a son or daughter for the first time, they come with advice such as; “Be careful,” “Watch where you’re going,” Keep your eyes on the road,” Drive defensively,” or something like that. When I turned the truck over to Chris I said, “Don’t hit a moose.”

Chris prepares for a run down the 3200 foot strip

I walked off the tarmack toward where we’d camp. He climbed into the driver’s seat and with a big smile was off down the runway.

At the south end of the runway ready to make a run. The yellow X indicates that the runway is closed.

I got him to stop long enough at our campsite to unload our gear before he was off again down the runway. I tried to take some pictures as he sped past; back and forth, back and forth. That afternoon he told me he drove as fast at 65 mph.

Sunday, August 9

2 PM

Chris stopped driving for a bit and helped set up the tent. He then ran down to the river to fish. He was down there for about 30 minutes before coming back empty handed and hoping back into the truck.

Chris on the east back of the St. John looking south from Red Pine campsite

Chris’ driving here was one of the big reasons for bringing all the extra gasoline. But since we had been in Ashland a few days ago and filled up, gas is not an issue. Chris can drive as much as he likes.

It seems the abandoned runway serves several uses. We are finding bullet shells scattered about. We’ve found everything from a 22 caliber to a 30-06, including some sliver 38 caliber casings. After collecting shells for a while, Chris was back in the truck and off again down the runway. There is also a paved ramp area that was probably used for loading the chemicals. We explored it including and old shack we found in the woods.

He waves now with every pass, smiling the whole way. He is practicing turns and backing up as well. I hope Chris is enjoying his surprise. The official name of the airstrip and the campsite is Red Pine.

Andrea gave us a printout of the weather forecast for the next couple of days and it isn’t very good. They are calling for rain beginning tonight and lasting a couple of days. We’ll see what happens.

The bugs here are a nuisance. We have to wear bug nets over our heads just to walk around. There are just clouds of bugs, but fortunately these swarming pests don’t bite. I wouldn’t be able to sit here and write without the head net. There is a cloud of bugs between my face and this notebook.

Self portrait. Decked out in my best bug net atire

It’s past lunchtime, although we’ve pretty much eaten only when we’re hungry. The problem is the food is in the truck currently racing up and down the runway. I guess I’ll just have to wait until Chris gets hungry enough to stop. We’ll probably have to dump one of the 5-gallon cans into the gas tank later.

Andrea told us that she and Don use the runway every once and a while to clean out the engines on their trucks. Knocking around the dirt roads at 20-30 mph all the time loads up the engines. They come over here and blow everything out. I think my engine will be carbon free as Chris looks like he’s blowing it out for me.

It’s a beautiful day right now; cool with temps in the high 60’s, scattered clouds and a stiff breeze. If anyone comes down the river today maybe we’ll have company tonight. Red Pine is a regular stop on the St. John for canoeists. It will be someone to share the bugs with.

Looking north on the St. John. The river carries a lot of ice at break-up and has a wide rocky shoreline

Sunday, August 9

5:30 PM

Chris has had no luck on the river with the muskies, but he has sure been driving a lot. We just dumped a 5-gallon can of gas into the truck which brought the gauge up to three-quarters of a tank. We have one 5-gallon can left. I don’t remember where it was that we stopped to put the 2.5 gallon can into the tank. Yes I do, it was at Caucomgomac Dam.

Oh happy day, the mosquitoes are out. We’re both lumpy from bites. We have a fire going that helps keep them away, but we have to sit in the smoke.

Red Pine camp on the St. John River

We had a late lunch; grilled cheese sandwiches, pickles and chips. It’s overcast with thunderstorms due after midnight. Hopefully it will clear up enough tomorrow for us to dry things out.

Saturday, August 8

6:45 AM

Boy it’s cold outside. The temperature is definitely in the 40’s. What a good decision it was to stay here last night. Chris re-fired the wood stove this morning and it’s nice and warm in the camp.

We walked up to the shower just behind the kitchen at 6 o’clock this morning and got cleaned up. That hot water felt good. It was our first hot shower in over a week and for the both of us our second shower this month. What luxury.

The clouds cleared and the moon over the lake last night was spectacular. I got up and went outside after midnight just to enjoy the view. Chemquasbamtocook, or Ross Lake is big. Chemquasbamtocook is an Abenaki Indian word that means “where there is a large lake together with a river.” Chemquasbamtocook Stream runs out of the north end of the lake through Clayton Lake and over to the Allagash Waterway at the foot of Long Lake.

While I can’t say for sure, the Ross name probably comes from John Ross, a renowned lumberman who worked these woods in the mid 19^th century.

Ross was the leader of an elite group of river drivers known as the Bangor Tigers. This collection of unruly Canadians, Indians, Irish, and native Yankees was known for their ability to get logs down any river in any conditions. In their time they were the toughest  group of untamed bastards going and a close knit band of brothers that took great pride in their ability to do what others said couldn’t be done. Their fame and the name of their leader, John Ross is a chapter of American history similar to that of Robert Rogers and his Rangers, but has yet to be told.

The sunrise this morning was another of nature’s shows. The lake lit up in sparkling white lights in the early sun.

We’re clean and smelling good and I’m about to cook a big breakfast.

Saturday, August 8

10:40 AM

We had a surprise this morning. Jake and Garry treated us to breakfast up at the main camp cooked by Don. The $31 a night per person that we’re paying doesn’t include meals. We have plenty of food and the cabin has a kitchen. But Jake insisted on treating us to breakfast, so why not. It was very nice of him. Don made eggs and sausage, with pancakes and homemade maple syrup. We also had plenty of hot coffee on this cold morning and orange juice.

After breakfast Don took Jake and Garry out on the lake to fish. Chris and I hung around the main camp for a while talking with Andrea, Don’s wife. Andrea is also a Registered Maine Guide. Bob, one of the guides that work at the camp, was heading out to replace the bait in some of the bear traps. Don and Andrea have 1,800 pounds of snack food, cupcakes, donuts, Twinkies, cookies and hundreds of pounds of M&M’s that they store in 55-gallon drums, which they use as bear bait. This is junk food heaven, if I had only known last night.

The bear hunting season begins September 1 and they begin baiting in early August so that the bears get in the habit of returning to the bait to eat often. Don and Andrea have several hundred bait stations out in the woods.

During the season they will bring a hunter out to one of their bear bait stations where he will sit in a tree stand and wait for a bear. They drop the hunter off in the morning and come back at sunset to pick him up. If he has a bear they haul it out of the woods and bring it back to camp where they skin and butcher it.

The only drawback for Don and Andrea is if the hunter misses and wounds the bear. Then they have to track it, following a blood trail, and kill it. This they’re usually doing at night in the woods and the bear is usually very aggressive.

I asked if I could spend the day setting up and replacing bait with Bob, but the location of bait sights is a closely held secret. With hundreds in the woods it is possible and not unheard of that anyone could just climb up into a stand and hunt the sight without the owner knowing. Chris and I had just popped out of the woods the night before with the story that we were just passing through, which however true, never happens. This far out into the woods, no one is just passing through.

Bob was baiting over by Nine Mile Bridge which is a spot I want to visit, so at least I’ll be able to get a road report. Andrea said Bob might be gone as long as 12 hours. That would be far too long to leave Chris.

After breakfast and our talk with Andrea, Chris grabbed his pole and fished right from the small dock where Don keeps his boat. He caught two fish right away. One was nine and a half inches the other six. He released them both.

Andrea says if we’re headed to the St. John we’ll need muskie lures. Chris doesn’t have any, so she said she’d check around to see if they had any extra.

Saturday, August 8

2:30 PM

I tried to take a nap in my big double bed, but Chris was having none of that. So I got up and we spread the tent and the rain fly out in the sun to dry. Andrea put a gallon jug of water in their freezer for us to use in our cooler tomorrow when we leave.

Chris and I went for a walk up the road for about a half mile just to stretch our legs. Don had said at breakfast that there wasn’t a bear within five miles of Ross Camps. We came across a pile of bear scat not far from the camp. It was at least a day old as it had been in the road during the recent rain. We also found a pile of moose scat. I asked Don about this.

Bear Scat near camp. This was before all the rain. You can see the berries in the scat.

“Oh, that’s some big ole bear that hangs around here,” he admitted.

There is a mother fox and her kits living behind our cabin according to Andrea. I mentioned that I had a few pieces of ham left over from the night before and Andrea told me to put them out for the fox. She said she has been feeding them this summer. They got a little rice along with their ham.

The lake is beginning to kick up a little. It looks calm, but it’s deceiving. Out in the middle there are white caps. Don, Jake and Garry came back and have headed over to the St. John River to continue to fish. Jake and Garry had a laugh when they learned that Chris had caught a couple of fish right from the dock and they had spent the morning out on the lake only to return empty handed.

Chemquasabamticook, or Ross Lake, is about a mile and a half wide at this point.

Saturday, August 8

3:30 PM

The woods are so pretty, so peaceful, quiet and so full of life. I’ve been sitting in the sun reading Sig Olsen’s “Reflections from the North Country.” He talks about a oneness and awareness of being alone with the woods. It is possible to quietly sit and listen and hear the commerce of life here. In a peaceful way, everything is all hustle and bustle as birds sing and fly, moose browse, the fox family enjoys their ham and rice, insects buzz around and fish jump from the water chasing bugs.

Chris is reading again. I’ve never seen him sit this long at one time and read. This book has really got his attention.

People pay a lot of money to come to the woods to hunt and fish, or just camp. Our season passes for the North Maine Woods cost us $240. But that’s cheap compared to what the price would be if we spent all our time at a sporting camp or hired a guide. Living in a tent and being your own guide, I think, is more fun.

If we were home right now we would be surrounded by a sea of background noise that has become so constant that we no longer notice it. There would be people rushing around, in a hurry to get somewhere with everyone in hot pursuit of another dollar. There would be a TV going somewhere surrounded by comatose kids. Here nothing moves faster than time, and we seldom know what time it is. It’s wonderful not to see or listen to the news. Things are still happening in the world, but without us and that’s just fine. I doubt anything will occur over the next week or two that will make a difference to us. If something does, someone along the way will tell us. Right now it’s the simple pleasures, the simple life. If I want to take a nap; why not? The problem with taking a nap though is that Chris always seems to have something to ask or tell me and it seems to make no difference to him that I might be asleep.

Saturday, August 8

6 PM

Chris has read more than half of his book. He reads for a while, then runs down to the lake and fishes for a while, before returning to his book. I did manage a small nap. Chris keeps catching fish. I got a picture of him with one.

Chris at Ross Lake with fish

We had tortellini with butter sauce for dinner. Chris had a glass of cran raspberry juice and an ice cream sandwich for dessert. We’re loaded with shelf stable food, even freeze dried ice cream.

We talked with Jake and Garry after dinner. They didn’t catch anything over on the St. John. They think they’re a jinx. Jake and Garry just laugh. Don is determined to find them some fish, but fish or not, they’re having a good time.

Chris got a chance to talk with Bob, the other guide here. Bob guided in Alaska for several years. He’s worked on Kodiak Island, the Keni and in the Wasilla area. He had some stories to tell about hunting and fishing in Alaska; of hundred pound salmon and big grizzly bears casting shadows as they walked by his tent at night. He hunted and shot dall sheep, elk, moose and grizzly in Alaska as well as fished many of the big rivers and small streams. Bob’s advice to Chris was to go. Do it while you’re young and you can. Plan on spending a few years and experience everything Alaska has to offer. It’s like no other place; savage, big and beautiful, a breathless landscape that has to be seen to be appreciated.

Chris listened and didn’t say much. I think he was just in awe of everything Bob said.