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.

Into the water

No, we did not end up in the water with an overturned canoe. But, yes, I have wet feet all day every day, the "Chewonki way" of loading and getting in an out of a canoe requiring wading in ankle-to-knee deep water. And, yes, the rain continued through the day. In addition to all that wetness, it also seems as though fall has come to the Maine North Woods -- couple of weeks before the equinox. This has been out coolest day yet; I wore my wool knit sleeping hat all day.

Paddling ten miles in the dreary chill, however, was not without its beauty. In fact, the entire distance was in the river (no lakes or ponds to traverse), a narrow, meandering ribbon with stretches of serene flat water breaking up the more challenging shallow water with its rips, rocks and rapids. Tal commented more than once through the day that "this" is what he came here for.

Our lunch stop was at the new and controversial Henderson Brook Bridge on the Blanchet-Maibec Road. Seems it replaced a 39-year-old temporary bridge and many objected to a permanent structure. It's beautiful in its simplicity and I must say, since leaving I-95 on Sunday, I have been surprised by every bridge (not very many, I hasten to add) we've crossed over or paddled under. They may have a steel superstructure, especially the newer ones, but the rails and decks are of wood -- very large wood -- held together with huge bolts.

As we neared the inlet to Round Pond, the river braided and slowed. At that point we were treated to the sight of large, elegant elms on either side of the river (the first of which is shown here), having survived Dutch Elm disease because of their isolated location.

It is mid-to-late afternoon as I write this and our camp on Round Pond is set up, again the rain abating during that process. Several of us have been in the water. Including me! And, how was it? Cold? Bracing, breathtaking, brutal. But, refreshing. I am grateful for having brought both the bathing suit and the felt-like microfiber camp towel. Though we cannot actually bathe, I did with biodegradable camp soap manage to wash my slicked-to-the-head dirty hair. The rinse had to be done on the shore in a water-filled bucket, the rinse water then poured out several feet up inland so it would filter through shrubs, grass and rocks before returning to the Allagash.

And, now, at the moment we're all gathered around the table -- warm drink in hand and warm fire nearby. Supper (of mac'n cheese) is underway with the chocolate cake having been put on the fire first. Colin and Tal definitely have the best seat in the house.

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.

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 ...