Baxter State Park sits nearly in the middle of the state about two hours north of Bangor. The park was the love child of former governor Percival Baxter, who used his family fortune to purchase Katahdin and spent the rest of his life fighting the state legislature to buy the land around it. Today the park is run by his guidelines as a "natural place." There are two entrances and a perimiter road that connects them north and south. The interior of the park is wild and kept that way. Of the 48 peaks only 20 of them have trails. No dogs are allowed and radios are prohibited in the camp grounds. The perimiter road and road to Roaring Brook are rough narrow dirt paths crowded by trees.
Now an explanation about corridor monitoring on the Applachian Trail.
Corridor monitoring is a volunteer activity designed to patrol the boundries of the trail lands. The Appalachian Trail is a National Park without rangers to patrol it, except where it passes through parks like The Great Smokies, Shenendoah, or Baxter. We check the boundries off the trail for incursions such as logging, or ATV trails. We also repaint blazes on trees and search for survey markers that mark the boundry line. These markers are small metal discs mounted on a three foot pole planted in the ground or in a rock. Each marker is numbered like this, ME-103-12 and so on. To find monuments you follow yellow blazed trees till you find witness trees that triangulate the location of said monument. Maps are provided that show monument location and witness tree info, such as type of tree and how far from the monument.
So without further ado.......
Baxter Trip 2004
June 19, woke up feeling crappy, packed the truck which took some creativity. We have an old Ford Ranger with no back seat. We drove to Ellsworth to drop Nick off at the kennel, he balked breifly but went along with the nice lady. Shelly drove, I took Ibuprofin and napped in the passenger seat. We stopped in Old Town at Burger king for bacon double cheese burger meals. Shelly thought hers was small though she didn't finish it. Checked the gas and filled the oil, this truck burned more oil than the Iraquis did in Kuwait during the first Gulf war. It started to rain then, farther up I95 it began to pour. By the time we reached the park entrance at Touge Pond gate it had stopped.
Our site at Katahdin stream campground was muddy, we put up the tarp and dragged the picnic table underneath. At the campground we had a three sided shelter with a roof called a leanto. The Appalachian Trail goes through here on its' way to its terminis on top of Kahtadin. In June most hikers are leaving from here heading south towards Springer Mountain in Georgia, the other end of the Trail. We have watched many walk by our shelter over the years starting their five month journey. That night it rained hard but we were dry, one sleeping pad had gotten a little wet on the drive but that was all.
Spent a restless night, feverish and sweating, had to pee about six times. The wind was cracking the tarp so even when I managed to get to sleep that woke me.
June 20th, My fever is gone, a sunny windy day, class 3 on Katahdin. Days are classed from 1 through 5, 1 being the best and 5 the mountain is closed. We had bagels and cream cheese in the field. I napped for three hours, woke to find Shelly gone. She had hiked down to Tracy Pond to read her real estate literature, we are trying to find a house to buy.
Phil and Linda showed up around noon soon followed by Dawn , Joe, and Tyler. Linda is Shelly's mom and Phil her step dad, Dawn is her sister, Joe her brother in law, and Tyler is their six year old son. I went to help them unpack, Phil and linda came by for drinks later. After dinner the four of us went down to Tracy Pond and saw a young bull moose feeding by the island. Went further to Elbow Pond and saw a cow. On the way back met up with Dawn, Joe and Tyler on their way back from fishing Grassy Pond. Tyler had caught a ten inch and Joe a twelve inch trout. Both fat native fish, later while cleaning them Joe found frogs in both their stomachs.
Visited at the inlaws campfire for a while then went home to read. Before long it began to rain, a real turd floater, Shelly came running back through the raindrops. It rained most of the night, and was very windy. In the morning we climb Katahdin, I'll have a new defintion of tired tommorow night.
June 21st, Katahdin is a 5,267 foot wedge of granite that rises from the lake country of central Maine. Of the five peaks that make up the mountain Baxter is the highest, Baxter Peak is also the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. Maine is not known for its' tall mountains, there are only four that reach 4,000 feet. What they are is steep and rugged, I once read a story written by a man who had climbed to the highest spot in every state. Mckinley in Alaska was the toughest, 20,000 feet and it takes an expedition just to get there. He said the 2nd hardest by far was Katahdin. This is not a mountain to be taken lightly, the climate above the tree line is equal to northern Labrador. It can snow any month of the year. The elevation gain to reach the top is greater than most mountains in the Rockies. To thru-hikers on the Appalachian Trail Katahdin can be seen from 30 miles away filling the horizon singing its' sirens song, "come to me and your journey will be over."
After breakfast I made two sandwiches, packed two apples, two oranges,three bottles of water, bandana, headlamp, rain gear, hat, gloves. Ready for Katahdin. Tyler, Shelly and I climbed into the back of Joes' truck and followed Phils' jeep to Abol campground. We had decided to use the Abol Slide Trail for the ascent because it was the shortest route to the top. We could use the Hunt Trail to come down because it ended at our campground.
On the trail at 8:00 we climbed through the forest till Abol slide is reached. Here is where the true ascent begins steeper and steeper over boulders and loose stone. Phil and Linda have climbed the mountain many times, they were along to take Tyler back to camp when he pooped out. Dawn and Tyler turned back half way up the slide, leaving Shelly , Joe, and I alone. Here the trail really begins to climb, hand over hand rendering my treking poles useless.
It was a cloudy windy day, down on the slide we still had a view, from Pemadumcook to Nahmakanta, to Rainbow, and the Penobscott all the way to Chesuncook. Up we climbed strung out on the trail till the table land is reached, a large boulder strewn plateau. At Thoureau Spring we had reached the end of the Abol Slide Trail, the Hunt trail is used to climb the last mile to Baxter Peak. The top of the mountain was hidden in the clouds, we all had our raincoats on and the wind howled around us. I was the slowest so I watched Joe dissapear into the blowing mist. Downbound hikers appeared like apparitions from a nightmare. At one point Shelly stopped high above looking back to see if I was still coming, I had a bad knee and was grossly overweight which was why I was so far behind. Silhouetted against the sky with her poles strapped to her pack she looked like a warrior guarding some forgotten mountain pass. Once inside the clouds the outside world ceased to exist. I trudged upwards seeing only the ground beneath my feet, at times the clouds would blow by revealing the outer world for 50 miles in every direction, then back into the clouds.
At the peak we posed for obligatory pictures, took photos for other hikers. The clouds parted showing a brief view to the north, I thought I could see Upper and Lower South Branch Ponds. Joe and Shelly had victory butts then down we started. My legs had begun to cramp on the way up but were fine going down. I was hiking alone again, Shelly waited for me at the spring but soon left me behind, Joe was long gone.
The table land looks empty but all around I could hear birds, and at one point a raven flew by riding the hurricane wind. The Hunt trail [I had a new name for it that began with C by the end of the day], descends over a narrow serpentine ridge exposed on both sides. The views are amazing, so however was the 40 MPH winds whipping across the trail. I could see Joe a half mile and Shelly a quarter mile ahead. I stopped watching because it scared the shit out of me and besides I had enough to worry about keeping myself from not blowing over the edge. I used my upper body as much as my legs going down. Many places required much thought and steeling of the nerves before descending. One spot had an iron bar then an iron hook two feet below then a five foot drop. I think my exact thoughts were something to the effect of "fuck."
By the time I finished I must have looked like a geriatric with a walker, even the smallest drop required a stop then both poles down in front then lower self over precipice. I reached the sign in station at 5:45, nearly 10 hours on the trail. Joe was done two hours ago.
I don't remember much about the evening, I know I cleaned up and cooked steak and rice which I barely touched. I only cramped up once during the night.
June 22nd, Wanted to sleep in however the skeeters had other plans. Walked around like Frankensteins' monster all day. Shelly is a tough guy however, she went for a five mile hike. I finally drove down to Tracy to fish. The hike in nearly killed me. It was two days before I could walk without pain.
After dinner we were invited to a grudge rematch wiffleball game, men vs. women. The game went till dark with much hooting and hollering, and even more laughter. Amazing to see how competitive such a game could be, in the end the men [boys really] reaserted their supperiority in a meaningless game and we all retreated to our campfires.
June 23rd, Today we are going into the big city of Patten. The trip is 50 miles most of which is on the perimiter road. On our journey we came upon a truck pulled over to the side of the road. Next to the truck was a young lady puking her guts out while her man looked nervously on. Ah young love and alchohol.
Patten is a small sleepy town woken intermittently by the buuurp of logging trucks down shifting. we had lunch at a diner with many wonderfull pictures of people with their murdered bears. I'll never understand how someone can lok at an animal alive and vibrant and think it would look better dead. If I was starving however it would be ,"adios Yogi", and I'd pull the trigger.
We got beer and ice at the IGA, what a contrast to the store we use in Bar Harbor. Quiet, well stocked. Pleasant efficient adults to serve you, they even offer to carry your bags to the car. If it wasn't for the six hour round trip and the fact that my ice cream would melt, I'd do all my shopping there.
Shelly was buying cheesy gifts for her family. She got Linda an "Ayuh" shirt, and Joe an ugly purple "Katahdin, been there, done that" shirt. The nastiest looking store imaginable was closed till 2:00, but it advertised "GIFTS" so we went to the Crossroads Takeout. I had a bannana boat while Shelly had a clam roll.
The gift shop lived up to expectations, the only thing dustier than the inside was the gravelly voiced guy running the place. Some of the stuff had to date back to the Civil War and that was just the candy bars [ the Abe Lincoln crunch bar?]. It was like shopping in the rural south, Nascar shit everywhere, defiant patriotic t-shirts, dead animals mounted. Shelly perused the t-shirts while I poked around the $ bin. A garbage barge would have been ashamed of this stuff. One thing stood out, a cliff notes book for the movie Catch 22, that was as out of place as a cactus. Shelly bought two shirts and an Easy Rider magazine for Phil. The magazine was a big hit everyone had to take a look even the women. Shelly kept saying the scantily clad woman on the cover was ugly,"just look at her face" to which the men just shook their heads.
On the way back from Patten we checked out Trout stream farm. The campground was deserted except for two familys of geese. The youngsters were quite adorable, fuzzy grey. The adults kept their eyes on us but we kept our distance.
That night my feet and legs were not so good so I umpired the game, more fun anyhow. Despite the absence of Joe and I the men prevailed, but they were good sports about it reminding the women it's not whether you win or lose that counts, as long as we win.
Later by the fire a chunky guy with a blonde goatee walked into our camp. The campground has two shelters reserved for Appalachian Trail hikers, he and his companions were heading south in the morning. He asked us in his southern accent if we had any beer to sell. We gave him our last beer and the rest of the tequila with a pepsi to chase it with.
Awoken by the bug alarm at dawn, rigged a net from a towell and slept till 10:45. Shelly went with Phil, Linda, and Tyler for a hike. Joe and Dawn have left, passed their empty shelter on the way to the outhouse. Why does a place emit life so strongly after it is empty? Just last night we had sat at that picnic table in front of the fire and drank beer till late in the night. The only other sign of life in the campground was an older couple across the parking lot. Their liscence plate said New Hampshire. He was obviously beggining a thru-hike, his pack and poles were laying against a tree. She was hugging him so tight I thought his ribs would snap. She carresed his beard and kissed him for a long time. I couldn't see but I know she was crying, I went back to camp and left them to their goodbyes.
Got bored and thirsty, drove to Milinockett for beer and lunch at McDonalds. Now at about seven PM we are sitting in front of our fire reading. Shelly ,in her ash covered hat, is near the end of a forensics book. Since arriving I have read The Log From the Sea of Cortez, Travels with Charlie and Blue lattitudes.
The campground is quiet. I was just informed by Shelly we are not melancholly. I think everyone is a little reflective tonight. Last night in town. We haven't been invited to a moose hunt or wiffle ball game. There are five different groups of people here that come every June. Some have been coming for 28 years. I feel like I'm in the Catskills in the 60s except here there is a younger generation wanting to continue. Joe and Dawn have a tradition of taking their sons picture at the painted rock every year. Clearly it is important to them to keep a record of their sons growth with the Baxter trip as a yardstick. So important that this morning they drove the ten miles out for the photo op they forgot on the way in then ten miles back to leave Tyler with his grand parents. They have to be back to Bucksport today for a wedding rehersal.
As I write this the entourage is going by making it's second loop. One of our group staying here is a gregarolous old gentleman named Harry who went into a diabetic coma last Thanksgiving. The loop walk is part of his mandatory exercise, 3 loops equals 1.3 miles. Nearly everyone accompanies him, tonight we were sucked in. Later after the moose hunt there will be one more wiffle ball game. Shelly was right after all.
Baxter trip 2005
June 18th, Packed in an intermittant rain storm. Our new F150 swallowed the gear right up. The drive up I95 was uneventfull, we leave from Bucksport now since we bought a house there. We stopped at the rest area before the Medway exit. I had a problem with a soda machine but we came to an agreement. Every year when we get to Togue Pond Gatehouse we are met by a beautifull young woman. They probably have some dirty old man doing the hiring, hope he doesn't retire soon. Our site at Katahdin Stream #4 was clean and the rain held off till we were set up. The tarp went up easy and we stayed up till 11:30 drinking beer in front of the fire. Beef stew for supper. Shelly has this futon she slept on at U-Maine we've nearly thrown it out about five times. When we moved I showed up with it in the back of my truck, she said "I thought we were throwing that thing out." We didn't and it is here now, fits perfectly in the shelter. Just like the Hilton only better.
June 19th, A few mosquitos in the morning but nothing like last year. The sun is out, I thought it was against the law for the sun to shine here. We just saw a couple hikers start south, as usual they have packs that would kill an elephant. They either learn or quit.
We walked up to the trail register to see who was on the mountain. On the way back encountered a group on the way up, ten kids and two so called adults. The "adults" were on opposite sides of the parking lot, one yelled "I couldn't find Scott," the other replied, with a frontward motion of his upper body like the flex of a body builder, "let's go". "Iwanted to wait but..... "LETS GO, LETS GO." He sounded like a soldier about to leap from a landing craft on D- Day. I guess Scott is not important, hopefully he's not in any trouble.
Not being Scott or having any children on that expedition we shook our heads and headed for Burnt Mountain. According to our outdated trail book Burnt Mt. has a fire tower at the summit. The tower is not at the summit it's on the ground right next to the road. The hike up was easy, some steep slippery sections but mostly easy walking. We had lunch on the top with a nice view of the North side of Katahdin. Back at the truck Shelly wanted to know when the last hikers had been on the trail as it seemed little used. She took a swiss army knife and unscrewed the sign in box, the last two parties were last October and January of this year.
We then drove to the road to McCarty field to find out it was now the trail to McCarty field. What was once a picnic spot was now a hike in camping site with two brand new shelters. There was lots of bear scat on the trail, and at one point we could detect the sour smell of a carcass in the woods. We hoped mr. bear wasn't guarding a kill. The field used to be a farm to feed the loggers, there were blackberry bushes all around and rhubarb at one end. The south branch of Trout brook borders the field on the east.
The inlaws stopped by before dinner, Joe and Tyler had caught a bunch of small trout. Tyler had some moose bones he claimed were human, the bear ate him. Phil told a story about the time Harry was caught on the perrimiter road with a beer. When the ranger told him he'd have to pour it out Harry handed it to her and sadly said, "You do it, I can't".
After drinks by the inlaws fire, came home to read. Our lantern attracted a lunar moth only the 3rd speciman I'd ever seen.
June 20th, Last night was a little cool but we stayed warm. Right now Shelly is drinking her ground filled coffee and reading Lonesome Dove. The smell of bacon is wafting down from another shelter making me reasses my decision to bring bagels for breakfast. Off to climb Sentinal Mt., drove to Tracy Pond to find yellow tape across the trail head and a sign explaining that the bridge over Nesowdahunk Stream was dangerous. It's a good thing they told me 'cause I never would have figuered it out myself. The bridge looked like a train wreck. Oh it was intact just not connected to either bank anymore, and it was about a hundred yards down stream. About 10 tons of dead wood smashed into it during spring run off. As I write this in 2009 I can say it took them three years to repair it, that's how low the budget is. Anyhow we backtracked and found another route, nice trail with amazing views of Katahdin and the Penobscot.
Back at camp Shelly polished off the booze while I cooked chili for the last supper. Short stay this year. Someone at the walk in sites across the stream is entertaining us with a poorly played guitar. Shelly's step father Phil has a step daughter, Mary Ann who is here with her step son. (My my, any more steps and we'll be doing the Fox Trot.) He is from Florida and is getting his first taste of the north woods. Mary Ann is from Maine and hates the woods so they are going to try to scare her tonight. I don't think this is a good idea since she is married to a Marine who makes sure she is heavily armed. She sleeps in her SUV with the doors locked and a pistol under her pillow.
After wiffle ball we gathered at Phil and Lindas campfire. Mary Anne had brought the ingrediants for campfire dough boys. Bread dough wrapped around sticks, cooked over the fire, then sprinkled with sugar and butter. Linda buttered a pan and put the left over dough in it to make campfire bread in the morning.
June 21st, Neither of us slept well, woke with dawn starting to show. I packed while Shelly made coffee. Joe had left to fish but no one else was up yet. We hung out and read till Dawn showed her face, followed soon by Phil and Linda. We went to visit. Shelly bummed some coffee, though we had to drive to Ellsworth to pick up Nick at the kennel we didn't want to leave. The goodbyes always linger. We talked of many things. Mary Annes step son wants to be invited to next year, he was bitten by the Baxter bug. I understand how he feels this place really gets inside you, but it's not just the place it's the people too. All these families gather here every June to fish, hike, moose hunt, play wiffle ball, tell stories about years past. Some have been coming here for nearly 30 years. Dawn and Joes' son Tyler can't wait to get here every year. his grandparents have many photos of Katahdin on their walls, he has heard stories all his short life. To him Katahdin is a mythic destination.
Later; Dawn and Joe took seven year old Tyler on his second assault of Katahdin. Up over Abol slide to Baxter peak, down the Hunt trail he made it. At rest stops when it seemed he was done Tyler would pop up and say "let's go." The bread dough Linda put in her camp kitchen ate up half the space inside.
Backpacking trip, Baxter 2005,
September 10th, Sitting in front of my campfire at Little East Branch leanto. I can see my breath, it is supposed to get down into the 30s tonight. We left Bucksport at 10:30 this morning, Shelly in her car me in my truck. We drove to the Mattagamon gate house, the northern entrance to Baxter. The ranger was cute but not the beauties they have at Togue pond. Twenty three miles later we reached Nesowdahunk field where I left my truck. The ranger there had the Sox game on his radio, they were beating the crap out of Texas 8-0. Shelly drove us at breakneck speeds [35mph] to Trout brook campground where I checked in with my third ranger of the day. Hugged Shelly who then took the "last known photo" and I was off.
5.9 miles to my shelter, started hiking at 4:30 arrived at 7:30. Nice level hike through dense woods. The last two miles had views of Mattagamon Lake. There used to be a saw mill on the shore, it is gone but there is a half acre sawdust pile left. The saw dust is packed down, it is very springy to walk on. It has to be 20 feet deep in the midddle.
I am camped on Webster stream, the east branch of the Penobscott enters directly opposite the shelter. The people I work with at the Jackson Lab will never let me live it down, a mouse just scared the shit out of me. I am sitting at a picnic table writing, it is completely dark, the only light is from my flashlight. This mouse walks right onto my notebook and looks up at me. I jumped and the last I saw of him was his tail going over the tables edge. On that note it's time I went to bed.
September 11th, Woke at 7am to find I had a pounding headache, vitamin I and back to bed. After that long stressfull drive and late start I pushed too hard last night. Six miles with only one rest stop, even Stonewall Jackson stopped his famed footcavalery for 20 minutes every hour. I lay in my bag watching the low sunlight slanting through the mist flowing downstream.
Later hiked to Webster stream leanto, Webster is more like a small river, and Grand Pitch is a major waterfall. This leanto isn't as nice, and there is no picnic table. I spent the afternoon reading and napping. This part of the park is pretty remote, not as heavily used as the southern section. I haven't seen a soul all day. At dusk I could hear a moose splashing in the stream but couldn't see it. Had Ramen and tuna for dinner and burned my tounge on it. The last people here left a half melted bottle of KC Masterpiece bbq sauce in the fire pit, there is still some sauce left. I didn't have a fire.
Woke late in the night to the sound of lapping, shined a light to find a rabbit licking the sauce.I also had a neck ache, more vitamin I.
September 12th, Got through the 11th without a terrorist attack, just one bbq eatin rabbit. My neck doesn't hurt but is stiff. While I packed a coal black fisher padded through five feet away. The fisher is the largest member of the weasel family, this one was three feet from head to toe. I froze but he never looked at me, he had his nose to the ground. Probably tracking bbq bunny.
11am, sitting in the Blunder Bog shelter which is not on my map. Neither is the well maintained logging road in front of it. I've come five miles, ten to go.I followed the Wadleigh brook trail south. You would think with the word brook in the title there would be water but you'd be wrong. There was plenty in Hudson pond but I didn't fill my water bottles because you know, brook. There was plenty of water in Wadleigh bog but there was no way to get to it. I ran out of water two miles from the road on a very hot day. When I reached the road it was two more miles to Trout brook, then two more miles to the campground.
When I got to Trout brook I was dehydrated, shoulders sore, legs cramping, it was appropriate that this was a monday. As I filtered water,[Homer Simpsons' voice:sweet precious water], a fisherman came to talk to me. His name was something, and he was from somewhere, all I heard was "ride."
The fisherman dropped me at South Branch Pond campground. This campground sits on Lower South Branch Pond, it has 12 leantos, 21 tent sites, and a bunkhouse. It is the starting point for many of the hikes in this section. The pond is flanked by North Trveler mt. and South Branch mt. My leanto is right on the pond facing south. As I unpacked I realized that hiker are like homeless people, they walk around with all their possesions in a bag, always need help, and smell awfull. I went to the dock to filter water and soak my feet. As I sat there a beaver swam across the pond, a loon called, the moon rose over the Traveler, and I felt like shit.
As I cooked my supper I felt like crying, or puking, possibly both. The people next to me were cooking burgers while I had noodles. I hate them even though they were old EPI customers from Bar Harbor. Then he said "vegi burgers done" I don't hate them anymore. but it figures that some crispies from the Harbor are eating soy burgers in the woods. Pork and beans damn it.
Ever since I got here I've been scheming how to get to my truck 25 miles away on seldom used roads. Pay someone? Fake a stroke? No that will get me to a hospital. Steal a car? Hard to escape at 25MPH on park roads. Now that I've eaten and rehydrated I don't feel so bad. Went to bed around seven. Read the Virginian for a while. I could see the pond lit by the moon, the dark mountains rising above. Thoughts of going home vanished.
The wind blew into my shelter all night , wonderfull. Tomorrow I hike Pogy Notch, but today I rest. Walked around the campground, we have visitors from Florida, Arkansas, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachussets, and Maine wherever that is. Conneticutte just joined the union.
The rest of the day just slid by. Ate , read, napped, ate, read, canoed the pond, didn't catch anything. It's about 5:30 the wind blew my cards all over, no more solitair for now. Had a campfire and burned all my garbage.
On the Pogy Notch trail by 6:00, 9.3 miles to Russell Pond. Nice cool day at the start. Strange to walk this trail and find no moose droppings. The ponds are rocky and have very little vegitation, no food, no moose. Stopped at Pogy Pond leanto for lunch. The user of the leanto has their own private canoe. I stayed for an hour eating and playing cards. Ate a power bar before leaving, tasted like cocoa flavored sawdust, but it did the job.
I got to russell pond about 2:30, it was a very hot hike the last 3 miles. Went to the Rangers station to check in, found a note that said "ranger on duty wendsday the 14th." I had to think for a minute.
The Russell Pond campground sits in the middle of the park, the only way in is to hike, 7.1 miles from Roaring brook, 9.6 miles on the Pogy Notch trail, or 12.8 miles on the Wassataquoik lake trail. Fishing on the many local ponds, abundant wildlife, and access to the northern trails on Katahdin are its attractions. I am in shelter #4, a leanto large enough to sleep fifteen people. The chipmunk and the squirrel come right up to me looking for food, I tell them no as it is bad for them. They go away disapointed.
The two rangers show up about 4pm, till then I was the only one in the campground. Supper was ramen noodles eaten in the company of pheasants.
September 15th, I had a terrible time sleeping, it was too hot. What I didn't know at the time was that a hurricane was pushing tropical air north.I tried to read but my flashlight died, put in new batteries and they died too. The mice were very active all night.
A steady rain has begun to fall, I've enjoyed my hike but it is time to go home. The rain is supposed to be heavy for the next few days.Also I want to be clean, dry and well fed. Last night For the first time I began to wonder about the Sox, I think I'm homesick. I have two nights payed for on Wassataquoik stream and one at Center mountain, but the hiking I had planned is not possible with the storm coming in. Shelly will give me that smirk but I don't care.
Informed the rangers of my intentions then visited the outhouse one last time. When I came back for my pack there was a doe with two fawns in my yard. There was also a cow moose in the pond out front, mournfull sounds arose from the woods behind her. She must have a calf stashed in the woods.
I left at 8:30 hiked the three miles to Green falls, a vertical drop over moss covered granite. The moss causes a rain like pattern, it's the prettiest waterfall I've ever seen. Stopped for lunch at Little wassataquoik lake, the rain has stopped. The ice tea mix works wonders. 9.3 miles to my truck. The ranger had warned me some of the bog bridges in this section were a little mossy.They were more like wood filled moss, I don't know how much actual wood was left. One last stop at Center Mountain leanto, a dark dank spot, glad I won't be here tonight. Filtered water out of the Middle Branch of Trout Brook, mixed some orange drink and ate the last of my peanut M+Ms.
The trail really sucks then, around Center Pond is a mile of bog bridges. It had started raining again so it was wet bog bridges. I hiked the last 6.5 miles in a steady rain, most of it along a ridge with seven foot spruce that didn't block the rain, but did block any view there may have been. The last couple miles are down in a valley beneath mature hardwoods that gave some respite from the precipitation. The last obstacle is reached, the South Branch of Trout Brook. The ford was running fast and deep and the opposite bank was three feet high and all mud. I looked around for an alternate crossing but couldn't find one. I had to brave the ford to get to my Ford so across I waded and crawled up the slippery bank.
Another mile brought me to my truck, a more beautifull site I've never seen. Into an outhouse to change into dry clothes and shoes. I had blisters on both my heels from the soaked socks, other than that I felt fine. Started at 8:30 ended at 5:30, 13 miles on a bag of peanut M+Ms and some ice tea mix. Nobody ever said back packing was nutritionaly sound. The drive into Milinockett seemed to take forever, McDonalds was my first meal of the day.
The drive down I95 was long and foggy, the river road was worse. Got home at 9:30 and was met at the door with warm wet kisses, that was Nick, Shelly was glad to see me too. The shower was orgasmic. Shelly went to bed at 11:00 I stayed up till 2:00 watching MASH including the great Adams rib episode. I didn't want the day to end.
It may seem I complained about the hardships too much, but they are one of the reasons I go hiking. When out there it's just you and the trail. Are you up to it. In the middle of the hike the top compartment of my pack started to rip off. I sort of wanted it to. Could I be resourcefull enough to repair it myself with the materials at hand. When leaving for a trip into the wild we have a saying in our house, when doing a gear check we say "if we don't have it, we don't need it". That is not to say the forgotten items are unimportant, just that we'll make do.
These next three are corridor monitoring trips in April of 2006. It is unusual to be able to do anything in the north woods in April, but we had a dry winter that year. Our section is along Cooper brook in the Jo Mary multiple use forest. Jo Mary is about 60 miles north of Bangor, access is through a gate house just off route 11. Cooper brook is about 15 miles from the gate house on a dirt logging road.
April 22nd, Corridor Monitoring trip #1. We left Bucksport at 7:00am, a cool sunny morning. Stopped at The Restaurant in Milo for breakfast. We've eaten there several times over the years, one year we were trapped by the Memorial day parade after breakfast. Milo and Brownsville are having a patriotic competition. These two towns along with several others are trying to have 100 flags flying from telephone poles, cost per flag $30. Is it more patriotic to wave the flag during war or peace? Also is it patriotic to wave something made in China?
The gate house isn't open yet so we waltzed right in. The roads were firm. We got to Cooper brook about 9:30. Our first job was to go to the cabin site on Church pond. When this section of trail was acquired there was a cabin on Church pond, a relic from the logging days of the 1920s. later it was used as a private camp, it has been vacant since sometime in the 1970s. Structures like this on the trail corridor are considered a liability, and fire hazard. On the first day of the 2004 Worlds Series Dave Field and his U-Maine forestry students tore this cabin down. Dave Field is the head of the forestry department at U-Maine Orono, he is also the overseer of lands for the Maine Appalachian Trail Club, which makes him our boss.
We hiked the seven tenths of a mile to the site. The cabin is not visible from the trail, we followed some orange flagging to the site. We filled four bags of wet heavy insulation. Someone had heaved a rock through some of the windows, Shelly found one that was intact to carry out. We use the windows for picture frames. After the work we went down to the pond to relax for a while. The woods were cool but by the pond in the sun it was quite warm. Our dog Nick went swimming, he was having a grand time. He spent the winter kenneled at a horse farm while we were working. Between running with the other dogs and chasing the horses he was in the best shape of his life. The rigors of the day bothered him not at all.
We left behind one bag of insulation, there is another pile we have to bag next trip. With my two bags'o'insulation I hiked as fast as I could. When I reached the road dropped them and hustled back down the trail, as soon as Shelly saw me she dropped her bag. We rested at the truck for a while then we drove to an old road south of the trail. About a mile in we parked next to a stream that cuts across the road, hopped across and walked to a side trail that leads down to the corridor. we follwed the blazes and recorded the monuments we found. I took pictures until I ran out of film, Shelly pulled out her camera to find her film was at the end also. We ended the day at a very deep ravine with a stream at the bottom. An old logging road follws the corridor and we rested beneath a bridge over the stream. From the road the bridge just looks like more road, sand, gravel, and grass, but from below you could see the enormous logs, lashed together with cables, decaying into the stream.
When we got back to the truck it was about 3:30 and the sun was warming the clearing.We set up chairs and got out the beer cooler. While we drank the sun lowered and a breeze came up. We put on warmer clothes and enjoyed the afternoon. After the beer we drove to Johnston Pond and set up camp. The pond is nestled in an arm of 2904 foot Jo Mary Mountain. Down on the coast we haven't seen ice in three weeks, as we climbed to Johnston Pond at 1364 feet we saw snow banks. The pond is completely iced in.
After steak and fried rice we lazed in front of the fire. Shelly noticed the "puppy perfume" Nick was sporting. He had rolled in deer shit and had it smeared all down his left side from the ear to his chest. I had a bar of soap from the Farmington Motel in the glove box, using ice cold pond water we scrubbed the shit out of him. He wasn't happy but aquiesed to our finicky sanitation. During dinner we noticed quite a few mosquitos buzzing around, we thought the cold would keep them down. Wrong we got bitten a few times.
Went to bed about 7:30 and listened to the end of A Prairie Home Companion then Thistle and Shamrock. Sometime in the middle of the night woke to feel Nicks wet ear pressed against my face, a distict smell filled my nostrils.
April 29th and 30th. Corridor monitoring trip #2. left Bucksport about 10:00, cost $68 to fill the truck. Nick has an inflamed colon. He is on a low stress diet, low stress for his colon, not for us. He doesn't want to eat rice and cottage cheese. We stopped in LaGrange so he could "go." He has the runs, when we got to the stream crossing we found he had squirted barely digested rice all over the back seat. Also hit were the old Coleman sleeping bag, one pillow, and his toy Mr. Cow. We rinsed, shook, and layed out to dry all the offended equipment.
We walked a mile back to where we left off last week. Followed the blazes till we got to monument ME-102-12RR, decided that was enough for one day. We had lunch next to a deep pool on Cooper brook, saw minnows in the shallows, imagined trout deeper. Hiked out on the logging road some of it is quite overgrown. Lots of spent shotgun shells, and one campfire ring.
Back at the truck by 4:30, warm and sunny. While we had a couple beers Nick found a shady spot and slept. He had woken Shelly several times on thursday and friday to go out, by now he was exhausted. Later we drove to Jo Mary Pond but the site was occupied so we camped at Johnston Pond again. The ice is off the pond now.
We set up the five person tent I bought last fall, and had dinner. Nick wasn't happy, he ignored the rice and cottage cheese we gave him. Went to bed soon after supper, Garrison Kieler and starlight. Nick rousted me out of my bag for several calls of nature , we didn't mind, the night was so beautifull. The loons sounded off late in the night. The echo from the surrounding mountains combined with the silence made them sound like giant mutant loons.
The next morning we went back to the stream crossing, saw two moose along the way. We went the opposite way this time heading towards the Jo Mary road. As we tracked east we passed through the abysmal swamp, which is the lower part of the stream we always park next to. After that we climbed onto a ridge above Cooper brook. The corridor was very easy to follow here, tall pines and very little undergrowth. We found three monuments the last being 103-ME-10. From there we had a hard time finding anything. We scouted all around, found misleading trails, consulted the maps, we couldn't find the next blaze.
We decided to follow the stream out to the road. we went down the Jo Mary road till we found where the corridor crossed. The woods are very thick , blazes were hard to find. At times we were not sure we were on the corridor, but after much backtracking and casting about we would find a blaze or metal post with a National Park boundry sign . A couple of the posts were bent right down to the ground. The culprit was obvious since we were walking through moose dropping the whole way. Finally we pushed through a dense thicket of alders and small pines to find the clearing where 103-ME-10 was. 103-ME-9 was behind us somewhere in the jungle, mounted on a rock we never found.
May 6th and 7th, corridor monitoring trip #3. Left home at 9:30, $60 in the gas tank. We saw a moose just before the Jo mary road, the gate house still isn't open. We picked up where we left off the week before, found 103-ME-13,13A, 14. After 103-ME-14 we couldn't find anything but swamp and dense forrest. We spent an hour searching before finally giving up. Back at the truck we had several ice cold beers while black flies buzzed our head. They weren't biting but Shelly dispelled them with a ciggarette.
We drove to Crawford Pond and stood on the beach. It was perfectly calm, trout were rising all over. Some were actually leaving the water. as we watched the rain started. We drove to Johnston Pond and set up the tent in an icreasingly steady rain. While Shelly spread out the bedding I warmed chili in a downpour.
Very windy night, the tent held up well, no leaks. The morning was clear and cold, french toast for breakfast. We passed an L.L. Bean van on the way to work. We had heard there was a work trip this weekend. When we passed Cooper brook there was a tent city , they even had a hut set up for a mess hall. L.L.bean maintains the trail from Crawford Pond to Mahar landing, They were working this weekend. we were working north of the trail this day. We hadn't been there since 2003. There is a well mantained logging road north of our section that we use for access. We parked a couple miles in and found where we left off three years ago.
The corridor was hard to follow, the yellow blazes were pretty faded. At one point we could see an L.L. Bean van and a pickup from a lodge in Kokadjo parked on the road above us. We did two tough miles and quit for lunch. We bushwhacked down hill till we found the trail, the bean crew were clearing blowdowns. We followed the trail to Cooper Brook Falls leanto. The falls are much stronger now than they were the last time we were here, no way I'd be standing up there fishing this time. The bean crew joined us for lunch, they said trail work was easy this year, not too many blowdowns. As we ate in the sunshine a trout rose next to us looking for crumbs.
After lunch we bushwhacked up to the road and began the walk back to our truck. It was a warm dusty hike, about half way the pickup from Kokadjo stopped to give us a ride. I thought we would have to pick Nick up to get him in the bed but he hopped right in. He knew a good thing when he saw it. There was a guy in the back with us, he worked at Beans in Freeport. Told us they work in three day shifts on the trail. Somebody has to mind the store.
We hung out at the truck drinking Pepsi and ice tea. I found the Red Sox game and we headed home.
May 14th 2006, Nick and I decided to go fishing at Hot Hole stream, we parked at the gate and walked two miles on an old logging road. Beautifull walk, everything was blooming. We fished from the pond up stream through the rapids and didn't see any fish. Suddenly Nick darts off into the woods, I got a brief glimpse of a large dark ass running away from him. I hoped it was a porcupine.
I was yelling at the top of my lungs, Nick always comes slinking back with his tail between his legs, not this time. He came out of the woods at warp speed, when he reached me he spun around facing the woods, throwing an arc of pine needles behind him. "What did you do?" I asked him. Without a sound a large bear rushed from the woods. Nick began barking, I was trying to reason with her. She stopped and considered us from about twenty feet, her great dark head turning from side to side. All my childhood fears of the woods were suddenly right in front of me. All I had to defend myself with was a 6 ounce graphite trout rod, and I knew Nick could outrun me.After a few seconds that seemed like an hour, she turned to look behind her and we splashed across the stream. Nick is very cautious crossing fast moving water, not this time. He jumped off one boulder into deep water, going completely under before scrambling up the bank.
Once in the woods we looked back, no bear. We followed a faint trail down stream past the abandoned cabin,then forded the waist deep stream. Back on the road I found a baseball size piece of knobby granite to use as an argument if we happened upon the bruin family. We didn't meet the bears, I still have the rock.
No comments:
Post a Comment