At last, rain

My location? McDonalds in Greenwood. Tal's location? The Imaging Center next door. Since midway through our canoe trip on the Allagash he's not been feeling well, moving between two worrisome extremes: something not quite right to deathly ill. That he went to the doctor is all the information I have to have; we need to take this seriously. Needless to say, I am not at the clergy retreat today ...

It is pouring. I drove home from Pawleys yesterday under darkening skies, and after Santee, sporatic rain. By dark it was raining hard enough that the DirecTV signal was lost for a time. (Horrors) After going 30 days with no rain at all and now with two inches over night and continued heavy showers this morning, I am seeing smiles on almost every hungry (and wet) face that passes through the door -- a phenenomenon that will be short-lived, I realize, should the rain persist more than today.

As for me, I have twitching hands. Where's my paddle? It did this almost every day on the Allagash.

Autumn's arrival

It was two weeks ago today that I mentioned the subtle change in the weather on the Allagash River. The rain on Thursday felt different than it had on Wednesday, just the day before. With the angle of the falling water, with the chill in the steady breeze, with the way the early morning mists appeared in the trees, fall permeated the air, the river, the land. It was holy.

Although here in South Carolina the weather has shown no appreciable change as yet, the leaves littering our lawn have more to do with the month-long lack of rain than they do season change, autumn has arrived officially. This is my favorite time of year, which during my time in parish life I missed for most part, the proigram year in the diocese as well as the parish in full and hectic swing.

This fall I plan to drink it all in with abandon.

Back to the interstate

The schedule between our paddling adventure in Maine and our departure enroute to Utah's national parks and monuments is tight. Not only do we have a mere ten-day turnaround, but I am committed to a York Place board meeting beginning this afternoon through tomorrow afternoon, requiring an overnight in York; appointments with several directees, mid-week; three nights with my mom at Pawleys Island and the fall retreat at Gravatt for diocesan clergy next Monday through Wednesday.

I am determined not to get all jumpy over it, but clearly we were overly optomistic about what we could accomplish in such a short time. (That "we" needs to be translated, doesn't it? The word "I" would be much more accurate.)

This morning Tal left early with a friend bound for a semi-annual, three-day golf outing at Santee. I've enjoyed several hours of desk and house work, and am ready to set out for York with a stop at All God's Creatures to drop Belle and Whitby off at "camp" for the night.

Complicated, but doable.

Reference book

I packed so carefully to go to Maine. And, I did pretty well, using everything I took. But, as I packed twice I picked up my Audubon "Field Guide to Wildflowers" from the bedside table and put it in my suitcase; twice I thought better of it. I was considering the extra weight. I was also assuming, given the time of year, that I'd not actually need it. Too bad.

I spent this afternoon going through images from the trip, using that longed-for reference book as I went. An amazing number of things in bloom in Maine's late summer.

Pearly Everlasting (Anaphalis margaritacea; Aster family)

Orange Hawkweed; Devil's Paintbrush (Hieracium aruantiacum; Aster family)

Spotted Touch-me-not; Jewelweed (Impatiens capensis; Touch-Me-Not family)

Wild Lupine (Lupinus perinnis; Pea family)

Beach Heath, False Heather; Poverty Grass (Hudsonia tomentosa; Rockrose family); a tiny yellow flower rather overwhelmed by the gorp bag

Virgin's Bower (Clematis virginiana; Buttercup family)

Blue Vetch; Cow Vetch (Vicia cracca; Pea family)

Harebell; Bluebell (Campanula rotundifolia; Bellflower family)

Bunchberry (Cornus canadensis; Dogwood family)

Calico Aster (Aster lateriflorus; Aster family)

We're leaving for Utah at the end of September. Will I take my field guide this time? I'd like to say yes, but it's the eastern edition.

Oh well ...

Pull outs, drop offs, arrivals

We made great time this morning. Up earlier than normal and working toward a 7:30 departure from our East Twin Brook campsite, we were intent on getting to our pull out point just past Allagash Village, where the Allagash joins the St John River. Although we were almost 30 minutes late leaving camp, we more than made up for it on the river, arriving at the pull out before 10:30, a full hour earlier than expected. Alana had us threading the needle rather neatly -- finding the best running water and dodging rocks, most of us hanging up only once or twice and then not significantly.

Here are Dave, Kathleen and Eric with an array of our stuff while waiting the van and trailor's arrival from the local outfitter who moved it from Churchill Dam to Allagash Village.

And, here (in a photograph by Colin) is the entire group, flanked by our guides, Colin and Alana, at the end of our 75-mile paddle and the beginning of a 300-mile ride back to Wiscasset.

With a stop for fuel and a trailor-side picnic lunch in Fort Kent, van trouble requiring a stop at Midway and a stop once again in Bangor to drop off two of our new friends meeting their ride to Bar Harbor, we arrived at Chewonki at 6:30.

Irish melody

As I sit writing in our tent at the end of this lovely, rainy day, I can hear the crackle of the campfire as it dies down and the sweet strains of Irish-sounding melodies.* Colin is sitting at the water's edge below our camp playing his fiddle, a soothing end to another day on the Allagash River.

We paddled a rather short distance today from Allagash Falls to a campsite at East Twin Brook, located at a bend in the river -- perhaps eight miles. Three factors made today's course particularly memorable:

More rain: Yes, we've had another overcast day. Even Alana and Colin have been surprised by the constant rain. Generally, September in Maine is clear, though cool at night.

The waterway itself: After Allagash Falls the river narrows a bit, winding luxuriously, with silver maples lining long sections of the bank. I can only imagine what it will look like in two weeks, since -- clearly -- fall is here. The river's course is not all tranquility, though. There are rips and slight rapids to negiotiate. Today's section of the Allagash is referred to as "bony." Paddlers have to pick their way through the challenging sections.

The afternoon in camp: Today's paddle ended in a steady rain. By the time we unloaded the boats, Alana and Colin had the tarps over the table and fireplace erected, had built a fire and put lunch out, though, the rain had stopped and stayed stopped until now -- just moments ago (about 20 minutes after Colin finished playing the day to an end). For nearly three hours the camp was still, with quiet conversation, napping, catching up journals, sitting by the fire the primary activity. It was a lovely last encamped afternoon.

It's time to put the writing materials away and turn off the flashlight. I can still hear soft fiddle music even though the instrument's safely back in its dry case and Colin has gone to bed. Enough for the day. That distant music and the strengthening rain will bring on satisfying sleep, I hope.

Two of the three pieces Colin played have names I can remember. One is "Going Up the Allagash," written by Colin himself and the other "Ashokan Farewell" by Jay Ungar. It was written in 1982 and used as the theme for the PBS miniseries "The Civil War." Very delicate and sweet. The link will provide both information on its origins and a very nice rendition to listen to.

To the falls

Today's paddle featured heavy skies and rain, innovative old machinery and a former farm, dreamy stretches and "boney" water, another icy plunge and another birthday cake. It couldn't have been a better day. I confess to deep weariness, though, and no desire to write anything tonight from our campsite halfway through the Allagash Falls portage.

But, there are photos ...

Along our route today we took a break at the Cunliffe Depot campsite to see the remains of two Lombard Loghaulers, steam-powered tractors invented by Alvin O Lombard in the early years of the 20th century.

One of the interesting things about the loghaulers is that they, with their caterpillar tread, are the precurser to the farm tractor and the modern-day military tank.

A week ago we stopped at the Telos checkpoint to register our presence in the North Maine Woods. We enjoyed our lunch today at Michaud Farm, where we identified ourselves to the ranger on duty, signing out as it were. This photograph was taken from behind the Michaud Farm Sign, which has an old saw blade decorating the top.

Allagash Falls is a beautiful, 40-foot waterfall requiring a 150-yard portage. It is difficult to photograph without employing more daredevil tactics than I was willing to risk. This shot is from the bottom looking back. The photo's extreme foreground is the bathing pool -- and the coldest swimming water yet.

The cake

The cake, chocolate with chocolate icing, with which we observed Colin's upcoming birthday, was a stellar success. We crawled into our tents once again well-fed as daylight faded.

Chicken of the woods

After the four-mile-long Chase Rapids and some additional fast water the Allagash opens into slack water and meanders through a large meadow. We stopped for the night at the Chisholm Brook campsite located a short distance from where the river then opens into Umsaskis Lake. While the rain continued all day, we were fortunate that it stopped while we established camp. And, we were treated to a couple of hours of late-afternoon sunlight making our in-camp time at Chisholm Brook particularly lush. Everyplace I let my eyes settle the light falling on the world gave it an enchanting richness.

While helping with supper I went back to our tent to put on dry shoes and was taken by this scene, looking back into the campsite -- at the water beaded on the surface of the tent fly, of the smoke curling up on either end of the tarps, of the low shaft of light leading up to Ron and Tal talking to one another. I wish the photograph did the moment justice.

And, then there was supper. Chicken of the woods in a Marsala cream sauce -- in the wilderness of the Maine North Woods. I am forever spoiled where camp food is concerned, let me tell you. Chicken of the woods is an edible (thank goodness) mushroom which Colin harvested at Chewonki and dried. It was better than tasty after Alana finished with it.

As evening settled in so did the clouds. Our reprieve from the rain was short, but golden.

Practice

I began writing this while sitting at a table in our campsite at Churchill Dam, but didn't get very far. The sound of the Allagash water running through the dam was loud, but not overly so, and very steady. From where I was sitting I could see the dam and the museum on the east side of the river. The museum (once a storehouse)and another large, now-abandoned, building behind me (a boarding house in the day)are the only buildings remaining from a logging complex on this site known as Churchill Depot, a rather large and thriving community in the 1920s and 1930s.

In addition to the sound of the Allagash, a soft, slow rain made a wonderful noise on the tarp covering the table and fireplace. It was a sound completely different from what I would have been hearing had I been in the tent writing. It had been a busy day to that point with paddling in the morning, setting up camp after lunch and practice on the river before free time.

So, the practice. Colin and Alana presented an overview of how to read fast water, what to do in the case of a tipped canoe (and what they would be doing) and then had us put the canoes in the fast water on the downstream side of the dam. There we practiced ferrying (crossing moving water without losing ground), prys and draws (to turn the canoe quickly), eddying in and out of the current. Most important? Don't follow to closely, if in trouble blow the whistle attached to one's PFD, have fun. Yeah, right. The thought crossed my mind that we won't know how well we learned those techniques during our practice session until we're put to the test in the Chase Rapids tomorrow.

Needless to say, a nap called after all that. Then it was time to begin supper. That activity is well underway in the photograph below.


This is Alice helping with the prep work for our meal of Gado-gado, an Indonesian stirfry, featuring lots of fresh vegatables and a tantalizing peanut sauce. We finished the meal and finished cleanup before dark descended -- no headlamps necessary.

Seems as though practice in camp is paying off. I do hope the same holds true for our pre-rapid practice in the water earlier in the afternoon.

To Chewonki ... and beyond

Tal and I have looked forward to canoeing the Allagash for several months now -- for the legendary white pines, for the challenage of serious physical activity, for getting to know a new group of people -- well, for lots of reasons. And, I like to travel, pretty much for travelling's sake, truth be known. With Hester's death I added another hope after we wiped our tears and waved goodbye to Bill: that the primitive nature of the Allagash Wilderness Waterway and the Maine North Woods will provide space for quiet and memory and for grief and gratitude.

We left Saturday Cove after breakfast this morning for the one and a half hour drive to Wiscasset and to find Chewonki, sponsor and coordinator of our trip. We did the "duffle shuffle" (getting our things out of our own luggage and into dry packs), met and had lunch with our two guides -- Alana and Colin, both from Maine, and three of the five others in our Road Scholar group -- Alice from Williamsburg VA and Kathleen and Dave from near Ashland VA, loaded up and at 2:00 set out in a 12-passenger van with canoes following along behind. (Pictured here is Tal double-checking the canoe straps.)

At a Dysarts truck stop in Bangor we rendezvoused with our final two group members, a father and son -- Ron and Eric, Ron from Maine and Eric from Idaho. Although at a little after 4:00 we were officially together and on our way, it wasn't until we left I-95 at Medway/East Millinocket and headed into Maine's interior that the remoteness of what we were about to do began to sink in for me.

It was dusk before we pulled into Chewonki's Big Eddy Campground on the Golden Road (which runs from Millinocket to the Canadian border and is the most active logging road in New England) and the West Branch of the Penobscot River, just outside Baxter State Park. It was there that we learned to pitch out tents and had our first meal cooked over a fire -- both activities accomplished in the dark. Now I understand why headlamps, rather than flashlights, were so highly recommended on our equipment lists ...

Is it Eden?

Tal and I left home on Monday morning, September 30th. The first twenty miles of a 1200+-mile drive to Maine was in the wrong direction -- in order to drop Whitby and Belle at All God's Creatures where they will board while we are away. We have been preparing to make this trip for weeks and weeks, even months -- reading about the Allagash River, consulting maps of the Allagash River, collecting the requisite gear to spend eight days in a canoe and a tent on the Allagash River. I still can't quite believe what we have set out to do.

Over the years Tal and I have been married we have enjoyed travelling together, so the getting ready aspect is not unknown to us. We actually have a rudimentary checklist to ensure that the mail gets stopped and the hot water heater turned off. The process this time, though, was distinctly and pleasantly different in one primary way: I did not experience the usual intense panic leading up to our departure. There was no newsletter to finish; there were no last minute meetings to attend; I didn't have with me as we pulled out of the drive a list of notes to write and calls to make on the first day. I've not been gainfully employed for over two years and it's taken that long for me to clear the schedule and conclude a backlog of expectation.

Now, I didn't leave our home precisely the way I'd envisioned -- all the towels washed and freshly hung, Tal's truck clean (that'll be the day ...), the grass edged, the depleted pantry in order ... It's excessive expectation, I know, but I always want to leave home in perfect order. That's partly so I can walk back in and find it perfect, I realize. But, I also think, at least in part, there is some dim but persistent memory of Eden in all of us. From how I want to leave home as Tal and I depart on a trip to humanity's sense of fairness (and how we think things ought to be along with our restlessness and anger when they are not) -- maybe all that springs from the imprint of Eden on the collective conscience.

Well, I said maybe ...

A sunny day

We are in camp after a not-to-long paddle from Round Pond to Five Finger Brook. The campsite is another beautiful spot, sitting on a bluff overlooking a pretty and fast stretch of water where a number of streams run into the Allagash.

Here Tal and Alice enjoy the bench overlooking the river and some conversation prior to the beginning of supper preparations.

It has been a storybook day. The rains ended after the camp went to bed last night. That campsite on Round Pond was a quiet as all the rest, save the occasional sound of an occasional high-flying jet. And, since I was sleepless initially, I heard an eerie and beguiling chorus of loons. At one point, an owl, way in the distance, joined in. What a privilege to be here.

Tal and I got up at 2:00 to walk to the outhouse and saw the heavens aglitter with stars from horizon to horizon and reflected on the surface of the water. Utterly magnificent. I suppose that sight puts a person as close to pure worship as is possible -- that sudden intake of breath, the whispered, "oh, look!"

By 6:00, when the camp began waking, the place was completely socked in with fog. Only the edge of the water proved that Round Pond was out there. We had breakfast, broke camp and were on our way shortly after 9:00 into a clear, sunny day -- our first since setting off on this journey along the Allagash.

I took this photograph while everyone was breaking camp and the last of the fog rolled away.

Our route took us through the Round Pond Rips and the Musquacook Deadwater. Much of it was tranquil, even serene -- and, again, all river with one emerging view after another around every turn. In addition to memorable vistas, we saw two moose -- a cow and a bull; several eagles, two of which kept their tree-top positions as we paddled by, another escorting us for quite a distance along the river's route; many geese and mergansers. The bull moose gave a memorable performance. His rack was so wide that when he decided he didn't like the looks of five approaching canoes he had to trot a rather long distance in the shallow water at river's edge until he found an opening in the thick growth to get the antlers through. We all watched his every move until he melted into the woods.

The wind -- a headwind -- picked up well into the paddle, turning our transport into work. I am very sore, but am holding my own. The wind caught us once in a tight maneuver and we ended up hung on a rock, a position from which Alana had to free us by physically pulling us backward, lining us up with the water's flow and turning us loose. We ended up riding that rapid very well. The sunshine did help.

I've been in the water since arriving in camp. Cold and moving water. I resisted, trying to talk myself out of the frigid plunge and a freshly wet swim suit, but in the end concluded today likely to be my only chance in this lifetime to swim in the shadow of Musquacook Mountain. I had to decide quickly. Before the glorious sun fell below the ridge. Burrrr and whoo ha!