DOWN THE ALLAGASH

byHenry L.Withee

An Edition de Luxe of two copies, ofwhich this is Number 1 of the series.

To H. A. B. Competent Woodsman, Cheerful Dishwasher, Willing Worker and Agreeable Companion, this book is heartily dedicated.

[PHOTO]

The Start –– Blanchard Station.

DOWN THE ALLAGASH CHAPTER I. Off To The Woods

A highbrow named Darwin once putforth the theory that the human race hasevolved, through successive stages of savag-ery and barbarism, from the ape and from evenlower organisms. Since that time, almostevery "natural" habit, desire or inclinationhas been laid on our savage or bestial ances-tors. Whether the theory is true or not, al-most everybody, except a few abnormal unfor-tunates, has a natural love of living in theopen, of the woods, and for the wild thingsthat inhabit them.

[PHOTO]

Woodsmen, Moosehead Lake.

Horace and I probably have some ofthat monkey stuff in us, for, in the spring of1911, after having been disappointed two orthree years in succession, we determined thatwe must cut loose from the city and take a longcanoe trip through Maine. Following Lord Bacon's advice, wechewed over the alluring literature sent outby the railroads, swallowed catalogs of sport-ing-goods houses and digested all the books oncamping and woodcraft the public libraries ofBoston and its suburbs afforded. No matter howmuch experience one has had in the woods, hecan learn something useful from almost everyperson who has been there. We made a dozen different lists ofthe things we thought necessary to take along,putting down everything from tent to tooth-brush, and had got together all the items ex-cept the tent. By a stroke of good luck,just before our departure, we discovered thata large house was selling discarded U.S. army 2

[PHOTO]Mt. Kineo and Hotel.

"dog-tents" or "A" tents, such as were former-ly used in the field. After purchasing one,we went home and practiced a setting-up drill,while our wives and the neighbors sat by andjeered at our efforts to use clothes-pins fortent-pegs. However, we attained a record ofgetting everything up in five minutes, readyfor a prospective shower. It seemed as if we should never getaway from the sun-stewed city, but the momentfinally came when we stepped aboard the trainat Northern Maine Junction and in three hours,after a delightful ride up the Piscataquis val-ley, were set down on the wharf at GreenvilleJunction. There we saw that our canoe and bag-gage were safely stowed on the steamer "Katah-din," then stowed ourselves on the forward deckand proceeded to forget the city, the hot wea-ther, over-due bills, or any other of the careswith which Man pays his debt to civilization. The forty-mile ride up MooseheadLake is, in itself, well worth the trip to 3

[PHOTO]

Kineo.

Maine. The forest comes down, on every side,to the very water's edge, while here and there,miles apart, are the summer cottages of cityfolks who know the charm of this inland sea.Halfway up the lake, in the very center, standsbold Kineo, rising at one side in a verticalcliff six hundred feet and looking as if someTitan's knife had sliced it down. At the baseof the mountain is a narrow neck just wideenough for a driveway connecting it with themainland. At the southern foot extendinginto the lake, is a green slope specificallydesigned by Nature for a summer hotel. Hereis located far-famed Kineo House with its sur-rounding club-houses, guides' quarters, golf-links and charming drives.

We were landed at Kineo Station onthe western side of the lake, directly oppo-site the hotel and separated from it by a two-mile channel. At this point we changed to thesteamer "Marguerite" and were off for the re-maining twenty miles to Northeast Carry. Here 4

[PHOTO]

Str. “Katahdin.”

we stepped from the steamer to the end of thelong wharf which extends far into the lake. Atramway runs along this wharf and upon a smallcar, drawn by a sleepy old white horse, waspiled the baggage going ashore.

Before starting, we had resolved todo the trip as befitted men accustomed to thewoods. We were not to employ a guide, we wouldtote our canoe and duffle across every carrywithout aid of any sort, sleep every night un-der our own shelter and cook and eat our owngrub. We kept all but three of these resolu-tions. But now we began by putting the canoedown over the side of the pier, loaded thedunnage, paddled ashore and, taking everythingbut the canoe, struck out across the two-milecarry to the West Branch of the Penobscot. Wewere really started on the long talked-of trip.

By this time, the spell of the bigwoods was upon us. With the city only two daysbehind, it no longer seemed strange to see menwith beards, flannel shirts, moccasins, and 5

[PHOTO]

Seboomook –– N.W. Carry.

carrying on their backs food, shelter and clo-thing sufficient for a week's journey awayfrom the nearest habitation. The infernalsmell and noise of automobiles, the rattle ofdrays on stone pavements, the black breath oflocomotives, had given way to the silent canoe,the rustling of leaves, the sweet woods sounds,and the fragrance of fir and spruce and pine.

At about six o'clock we reached thebank of the West Branch, selected a levelgreen spot and made ready to get supper. Justthen, a sudden shower came up and we put intopractice our drill for setting-up tent. Infive minutes it was up, the dunnage inside, andeverything ready for rain, but the shower pas-sed. After supper, we started back to the lakefor the canoe. On the way, we saw two deerfeeding beside the road, but they paid no atten-tion to us.

We arrived at the lake at seven,took the canoe on our shoulders and startedback, replying chestily to some drummers who 6

[PHOTO]

Str. “Marguerite” at N.E. Carry.

sat on the store steps. Our gait was brisk un-til we got into the woods out of sight of thestore – then, with perfect accord, we cast thecanoe from us and sat down by the road. Thatcraft was scheduled to weigh sixty-five pounds.It deserved excess baggage charge of two hun-dred pounds more, in our opinion.

It was now pretty dark, so we pickedup our burden and staggered ahead, at everystep a new muscle we had never known about be-fore, waking up to register a protest. We re-peated the unloading process many times on thattwo miles, but of course we pulled through andarrived at camp, too tired to sit up and enjoythe evening. We spread the rubber poncho onthe bare ground, rolled up in our blankets andturned in for sleep.

Until that night, I never fullyrealized the power of the mosquito. They camein swarms and, in site of netting and dope,sunk their artesian wells through the blanket,a flannel shirt and a woolen undershirt and 7

[PHOTO]

Unloading at N.E. Carry.

took their bloody fill. We slept about twohours in all and at 2:45 o'clock arose, col-lected wood, ate breakfast, packed up, and atfour o'clock slid the canoe into the water forthe first real day of our journey.

[PHOTO]Store and Hotel, N.E. Carry

[PHOTO]

Logjam, West Branch

CHAPTER II. Hard Day

The morning was all that a perfectsummer's morning can be and as we paddled qui-etly down the glassy, forest-margined river wehad in our hearts that peace that "passeth un-derstanding." Our enjoyment was brief, how-ever, for about three miles below, near theoutlet of Lobster Lake, we encountered a logjam. We worked our way among the loose logsfor a short distance, found we could not getthrough, so unloaded the canoe, dragged it upthe steep banks and carried it around the jam.Since we were not yet hardened and had consid-erable lugggage, we had to make two trips oneach carry –– one with the dunnage, the otherwith the canoe. Briefly, we made four long carriesaround jams that forenoon in the broiling sun 9

[PHOTO]

Tote Road, North East Carry

(the date was July seventh) each carry from aquarter mile to one mile long. Then we cameupon three river-drivers who told us the nextjam was four miles long! They further toldus that the driving contractor had left ordersto haul canoes around the jams with the teamused to tote supplies for the drive. Hod a-greed to go down to meet the teamster and askhim to come after us, while I was to gatherour stuff, get lunch and wait.

During the time Hod was gone, Itried without success, to get a trout in anearby brook. I was interested, also to ob-serve the birch-bark lean-to erected by thedrivers. This was built by leaning poles a-gainst a horizontal pole, about eight feethigh, and laying on wide strips of white birchbark, weighting them down with other poles.The ends and front were entirely open, butbeneath this shelter three men would be comfort-ably housed for a week or more, until the rearof the drive should come by. 10

[PHOTO]

First Camp, West Branch, N.E. Carry

When it was nearly time for Hod toreturn, I started a fire in the tote-road,fearing the dryness of the outside turf, puton the stew-pail and in a few minutes hadready two quarts of delicious erbswrust soup,biscuits and hot tea. Just then, Hod came insight, dirty and haggard with his six-miletramp in the fierce heat. His face lightedup when he saw the soup and he sat down whileI started to lift it off the cross-stick. Atthis instant one of the supporting sticks gaveway and there in the tote-road lay every lastdrop of the erbswurst! It was a moment of pro-found sorrow. The matter was too serious forus to laugh about it, as we can now with fullstomachs. If a painter could have caught theexpression on Hod's face, the picture wouldserve as the classic portrait of Gloom. Wemade a lunch on tea and biscuits, named theplace Camp Disappointment, and sadly hit thetrail.

In the tote-road, we met a man about 11

[PHOTO]Along the West Branch

fifty years of age with a leather pouch on hisback. We learned that he was the mail carrierwho took the mail from Northeast Carry to thesettlement at Chesuncook, a forty mile roundtrip, twice a week. The trip was usually madein a canoe, but owing to the logs, he was nowmaking it on foot. He obligingly posed whilewe took a snapshot of a carrier on a route thatcould really be called rural free delivery.

Two miles below, we met the horsesdragging a tote-sled and accompanied by threehusky river drivers. They informed us thatthey were going up after the driving company'scanoe, but could not take ours. Hod, whoselost of dinner had not improved his temper, al-lowed that they would take ours, too, and wecame back with them to where the canoes werelying. Ours was loaded and taken along.

On the way, we passed a deer stand-ing near the tote-road. She took no heed ofthe noise of the team nor of the appearance ofthe men. After we had passed some distance, I 12

[PHOTO]

River Drivers’ Birch-bark Lean-to

saw her still motionless, so I ran ahead, dugthe camera out of the pack and found, as isalways the luck, that the film was used up. Ireloaded the camera and went back, to find thedeer in the same place. I then began stalkingher, keeping behind bushes and trees. Shetook no notice of me, but began feeding andgradually moved toward the swamp. I waitedfor her to reach an open space where the lightwould strike her better, but she stepped intosome low bushes to brush off the flies and theopportunity was lost. I was at no time overfifty feet from her. As I stepped into theroad to hasten after the team, she got my windand snorted away into the woods.

When we reached the foot of the longjam, we again put into the river and had goneabout a mile when we came upon still anotherjam on Kennedy's Rips. It was about six o'-clock and we were nearly played out. The ter-rific exertion in the heat, the lack of sleepthe previous night and the small amount of 13

[PHOTO]

Where we lost the Erbswurst.

food eaten since early morning, all told on us.We crawled ashore, held council, decided towalk to Half-way House, a mile below, and thereget fresh water.

On our arrival we sat a few momentson the shady piazza which overlooked the farmcleared here in the heart of the woods, tenmiles from the nearest opening. We noted themen lounging about contentedly, looked at eachother, and together made a dash for the dining-room.

What we did to that food is almostbeyond belief. I should be ashamed to tellhow much we ate, but it was a mighty good sup-per. The hospitable woman who furnished itcould not feel hurt by reason of our failureto "take right holt." After we had extendedour belt lines to the very frontier and hadrested a bit, we tramped back up the trail,,heavier in the flesh, but lighter in spirit. Just as we arrived at the canoe,the men working on the jam at the rips opened 14

[PHOTO]

Getting hauled around the jam

a channel down which the logs rushed. Weshoved in and a moment later were shooting therapids with the speed of a race-horse. Withevery nerve alert to escape being rammed by thelogs, dodging boulders with quick paddle-strokesand yelling at the excitement, we ploughedthrough the chop at the foot of the falls, rana few rods below Half-way House and when anopening presented itself between the glancingtimber, we swung in the opposite shore anddrew up for the night. In a short time thetent was up, a thick bed of spruce and firboughs was ready, a cheerful fire was blazingand, with pipes aglow, we sat and watched thefull moon rise above the trees, heard thenight-sounds of the wood-folk and the rushof the river. We reviewed the events of the long-est and hardest day we had ever spent, thenwhen our pipes were out and the fire extin-guished, we drew the blankets about us and laydown to perfect sleep. 15

[PHOTO]

The Chesuncook Mail Carrier

CHAPTER III. From Halfway House to Umbazooksus

The next morning we were up early,struck camp and were off, hoping to have aneasy day. A mile below, we came to the logsagain. But a lesson had been learned from theexperience of the day before. Getting out uponthe logs, one at each side of the canoe, wesnaked it across the surface of the jam, some-times stepping on a loose stick to sink to ourhips in water, working fiercely with the ideathat the drive must be passed before reachingChesuncook Lake. Several other jams were cross-ed in the same way. The work was hard and ex-citing, but far ahead of carrying along thebank, which had only a narrow, winding foot-path made by the drivers. At the last the finaljam, three miles long, on which drivers were at 16

work trying to pick out a channel, came insight. Encouraged, we toted our dunnage to thepoint where the cannnel was open and preparedto carry.

On the way back, we were amused bya tall, well-built cookee, evidently a greenhand on the drive, who looked like some collegeyouth out for cash and exercise. He was plain-ly worried as he asked us about the logs andthe location of the men and their camps. Hehad on each arm a huge wooden bucket filled withfood sent out by the cook for the men's luncheon.We told him some of the men had a camping placeacross the river. He started to cross the jam,which was here pretty solid, but he must havebeen more accustomed to brick sidewalks for weheard a splash and a grunt and looking back sawhim sitting disconsolate astride a big log, hislegs in the water and the buckets still hangingfrom his arms. The sight was so comical that welet out a yell that brought a driver up to therescue 17

[PHOTO]

Half Way House.

Now we snaked the canoe across tothe open channel, gritting our teeth at thethought of what was probably being done to thecanvas bottom. The water was running swiftly,the logs were being pulled in by the currentand were dashing down the frequent rapids. Ourexperience at Kennedy's Rips was often repeatedduring the next four miles. I think it safe tosay we had an hour which would satisfy the heartof any man who loves action and excitement. Itwas dangerous sport, however. Once we pulled tothe shore, jumped out, and picked the canoeclear from the water just in time to escape anenormous spruce which had pursued us down thefalls. Only the thought of delay would haveforced us to take such risks.

Fox Hole and the mouth of Pine Streamwere passed and having at last outstripped thelogs, we came into the dead water and pickedour way through a mass of open logs into the openChesuncook.

About a mile down the western side 18

[PHOTO]

Camp at Half Way House.

we came to a picturesque settlement on a point,tipped with a clump of handsome firs, whichjutted into the lake. The settlement consistsof five or six houses, a store, and a school-house. At one of the houses, a modern and thor-oughly comfortable cottage, we found the postoffice in charge of a pleasant-faced woman whotold us we were fortunate to find a post office,as it is a periodic affair, being discontinuedfrequently, then restored on petition by thepeople. We wrote messages to our families,purchased some excellent home-made pastry, thenwent directly north across the upper end of thelake toward the mouth of Umbazooksus (pronouncedAm-zux'-us) Stream.

Right here is where a guide couldhave been useful if one had been with us. Asour imperfect map showed it, the stream was nar-row, about nine miles long. Owing to the backflowage of the lake, we paddled four or fivemiles up a broad arm of dead water a mile wide,in one place. Thoroughly puzzled, we decided 19

[PHOTO]

Chesuncook Lake

we were on the wrong trail and were about to goback to the settlement for information whenHod's keen eye discovered a canoe hauled up inthe woods. This proved to belong to a fire-warden, or forest ranger, who with his familyoccupied a set of fine camps near at hand. Theyvery kindly told us how to go and gave us a bot-tle of cold water from a splendid spring whichserved them also for a refrigerator. They in-vited us to spend the night at the camp, butour time was limited so we looked regretfullyat the soft beds in the auxiliary tents, thankedthem for their genuine hospitality and set ourfaces to the north.

At the head of the dead water wefound an immense area of floating "dry-kye" –dead trees killed by the flowage. It took halfan hour's search to find the narrow passageboomed-out through the stuff, but even then abroad strip of it lay between us and the pas-sage. The wind was pretty stiff, so that thetask of getting the dry-kye out of the way was 20

[PHOTO]

At Gray’s Camp, Chesuncook

difficult, not to say ticklish. But we finallygot through and after half a mile through aforest of standing dead trees, came to the mouthof the stream.

Owing to the dryness of the season,the water was very low. The fire-warden hadpiled rocks from the bed of the stream to makea channel just wide enough and deep enough tofloat a canoe. The stream came down a steepincline with the big trees forming an arch over-head. We got out, hitched a long line to thebow of the canoe, each took an end and on eitherside we walked up, towing our freight. A mileof this brought us to deeper water where weclimbed in and paddled through a natural parkof lofty trees, patches of green meadow andoverhanging ferns and shrubs.

It was now between five and sixo'clock and the shadows were beginning to lieacross the water. As we noiselessly rounded acurve, we came face to face with an enormouscow moose not over sixty feet from us. We 21

[PHOTO]

Dry kye, entrance Umbazooksus

stopped paddling, snapped the camera and waitedwhile she waded ashore with great dignity andstood on the bank watching us. Then she step-ped slowly into the woods. We now went ahead cautiously andwithin five minutes came close upon another cowmoose, slightly smaller than the first. Shesurveyed us haughtily, then walked up the mid-dle of the stream with the canoe at her heels.We followed her in this way some distance. Theshadows were now so deep that it seemed impos-sible to get a picture, but Her Majesty walkedto a place in the water where the sunlight camethrough the trees and shone on her sleek sides.There she turned side to and posed while Ipressed the button, then obligingly let us pass.

Now we hastened on until we came toa place just below the dam at Umbazookus Lake,where a giant pine kept guard over a littlepatch of meadow, and there set up camp for thenight. We had hurdled log-jams, raced rapidswith the big spruce, played tag with the mon- 22

archs of the forest and covered twenty miles.It had been a great day.

[photo]

Up Umbazooksus Stream

23

[PHOTO]

Working through the Dry Kye

CHAPTER IV. Umbazooksus to Eagle

Toting a carry is not an easy matterunder any circumstances, but our hard experienceon the West Branch had taught us something. Afterwe had crossed the lake the following morningand had landed at Colby's Camps, where the two-mile carry to Mud Pond begins, we carefully up-holstered the thwarts and gunwales of the canoewith our blankets and made the trip across withcomparative ease. It was such an improvementthat we almost regretted that this was the lastlong carry of the trip.

Mud Pond is about a square mile inarea, shallow, with a bottom of light mud no-body knows how deep, full of lily-pads and afavorite feeding-place for deer and moose. Theoutlet runs down under handsome old hardwood 24

[PHOTO]

The first Moose

trees, at a pretty steep pitch, to ChamberlainLake.

A considerable breeze was blowingdown the lake as we paddled up the west shoreto an old logging camp. Running back from thelake is an old road and five minutes' walkbrought us to another set of old camps in frontof which is an excellent spring. Although thewater in the lakes and rivers is equal to thatof most metropolitan systems, in summer it iswarm and flat. The initiated prefer cold springwater which, in ordinary seasons is everywhereabundant in the Maine woods. The unusual drou-ght of this season, however, had dried upstreams and springs except those cold, never-failing veins that come from far under-ground.Consequently, the water supply became an im-portant matter to us and as far as possible welearned the location of these places. Thethirsty man who has refreshed himself withnatures' wine at one of these springs can neverthereafter find complete satisfaction in any 25

[PHOTO]

Queen of the Woodland

manufactured drink.Near the shore we met a second fire-

warden. With the same hospitality one meetseverywhere in these regions, he insisted on ourcoming over to the splendid set of warden'scamps a few rods away, where he gave us fresh-fried doughnuts and information about the coun-try ahead, as far as he had gone. After lunch,we again started up the lake.

Since it is the second largest bodyof water in Maine and lies in the direction ofthe prevailing summer winds, Chamberlain bearsthe reputation of being very rough and dangerous.The truth of this was soon proved. Big rollersbegan to meet us and not daring to turn, weheaded straight into them. It required all ourstrength to keep the frail craft where it belon-ged and the second mile found us working likesteam turbines. Soon we heard behind us thesput-sput of a motor-boat and felt encouragedas three fire-wardens passed us. The remainingtwo miles across to Lock Dam were hard ones, but 26

[PHOTO]

The Second Moose

we got there, pretty tired, yet glad to feelsolid earth again. The men had landed and satwatching our efforts. After the fashion of truewoodsmen, they said little as we came up, exceptthat it was “a little rough.” Later, in theirquiet, indirect way, they paid us the complimentof having handled the canoe well.

A quarter-mile carry here at the dambrought us into the stream again and half a milefurther, into the dead water of Eagle, or HeronLake. As we sighted the open water, a big baldeagle rose from a tree-top on the bank of thestream and sailed away into the sunlight. Itseemed appropriate that the lake should have itssign "posted in a conspicuous place” above itsdoorway.

We were unprepared for the view whichpresented itself on our entrance to the lake.The water, clear as crystal, lies above a bot-tom of white sand. A narrow, beveled bank ofsmooth, clean rocks surrounds the edge, abovewhich is a narrow fringe of white birch, then 27

[PHOTO]

Colby’s Camps and Umbazooksus Lake

the unbroken forest of various hard-woods slopesup into low hills. Here and there are islands,covered with maple, birch and poplar which standso near the water as to give the islands theappearance of having precipitous sides. Nearerapproach shows the same smooth band of rockyshore and the dainty fringe of birch. From theshores of the lake, jut out long, narrow spitsof white sand, crowned with birch and pine. Thecloudless sky, the sparkling water, and the clean,silent shores gave us the feeling that we had, un-awares, paddled straight into the land of magic.

The fire-warden had told us of a springon Pillsbury's Island, so this was the logicalplace for the night. The tent was erected on asandy point and a fruitless search for the springlasted until nearly dark. Such lake water, how-ever, was not to be despised. This natural res-ervoir of purest water, ten miles long and fromtwo to four miles wide, would be of pricelessvalue to a great city.

At our camping-place, the bottom ran 28

[PHOTO]

Outlet, Mud Pond

out at a very gradual slope. The water was atjust the right temperature for a swim and afterour strenuous day in the hot sun, we spent anhour we shall long remember. As we came ashore,I picked up on the beach a caribou's antler,relic of a noble animal which once ranged thestate in great herds, but now probably forevervanised from Maine.

A little while after we had gone tobed, the impression of an enchanted region wasfurther carried out by the attack of thousandsof evil spirits in the form of "no-see-'ems"which crawled through the fine-meshed screensover our heads. They bit with such fiercenessthat we ran in agony from the tent and soughtrefuge by the camp-fire. Horace later went backto bed, but his skin must be thicker than mine,for after several attempts I gave up and spentthe night walking on the shore. We were wellsupplied with dope, but it seemed to serve forthe little pests as sauce for our meat.

29

[PHOTO]

Eagle Lake

CHAPTER V.Eagle to Umsaskis via. Chase's Carry

At daybreak we followed down theeast side of Eagle, noted on the west shore thesolitary clearing where is situated the tramwayfor carrying logs from Eagle into Chamberlain,then through the narrows to the foot of thelake. Here we crossed the old burnt dam whichremains as a relic of the keen war which onceexisted between the rival logging companies onthese waters, then through the thoroughfare be-tween Eagle and Churchill lakes. All along thethoroughfare were great numbers of ducks withtheir broods and the banks were lined with deerfeeding on the lily-pads.

As we entered Churchill we were againstruck with the beauty of the country. Here, thesurrounding hills were higher; to the northeast 30

[PHOTO]

Lock Dam, Chamberlain Lake

stood purple Allagash Mountain; at the left, aswe rounded a point running into the lake, was along curved beach with a deer standing motion-less on the white sand, its red body reflectedin the water; the whole, a picture which alonerepaid all our efforts.

It is said that this lake is "bottom-less", a term commonly used by woodsmen aboutany very deep body of water. From the arrange-ment of the land we could well believe it to beof great depth. Indeed, it was soon verified,for my line, which had been over the side trol-ling across the lake, was accidentally hit byHorace's paddle and before we could think, therod with all our available fishing-tackle wason the way to the bottom, or the hole where thebottom ought to be.

On the further side of the lake welanded at a fine set of unoccupied camps wherewe found excellent water and later amused our-selves by reading on the peeled log walls thenames of former guests from various states, 31

[PHOTO]

Toting across the carry

among them some well-known. Lunch and a twohours' rest put us in trim for the next exper-ience.

Chase's Carry was marked as next onthe map, but we had been told it could be runwithout taking out. We speedily found out allabout the place. The river, for here we enter-ed upon the real Alagash, started off at an alar-ming rate down a steep grade through a channelbordered by steep, heavily-timbered banks andfilled with great boulders. Running on thepaddle or setting pole was entirely out of thequestion, so in turn, one took the canoe andguided it down as best he could while the otherfloundered along over the rocks. Since thewater was low, it was puzzling to find a waybetween the boulders where the canoe could bedirected and owing to the swiftness of the cur-rent, the terribly rough bottom, the deep pools,the task was a man's job. The man with thecanoe stumbled along until he reached a pool,then lay across the canoe or sat astride the 32

[PHOTO]

Thoroughfare to Churchill Lake

stern until he floated to shoal water.The rocks showed numerous paint marks,

while rusted cans and camping utensils indicatedthat others had passed this way with the same ex-perience. We were worried for fear of a twistedfoot or a hole in the canoe. The soles of ourheavy shoes became soaked and by reason of therough walking were turned up nearly on top, giv-ing the appearance of trying to turn turtle.

In spite of all this struggle and thestrain on mind and body we were obliged to laughat each other's predicaments. Hod stepped on asmooth stone and his feet went into the air whilehis back came down splash into the water. I hadhardly recovered from laughing at his appearanceand at the dark blue language with which he waspainting the Carry, when I stepped into a poolclear to my neck. That cheered Horace so thatwe made the rest of the mile and a half in fair-ly good humor.

It was a great relief to find our-selves in a smoother current and to get aboard

[PHOTO]

Can you see him?

once more. If any person wishes to qualify asto endurance and skill, let him present an affi-davit of having gone through Chase’s Carry with-out mishap. I will cheerfully give him a certi-ficate. I believe there is no equal stretch ofrough going I Maine. Whoever Chase was, he waswise to carry around that place.

From Chase’s Carry the Allagash runsthrough heavy timber-growth, the spruces andcedars leaning far out toward the river – asmuch as possible like the Maine scenery generallypictured in wood cuts. The current is swiftenough to make canoeing a pleasure. Deer wereeverywhere. At every turn of the river we cameupon at least one, and sometimes groups of threeor four, standing in the water. At one point,where the stream was wide and shallow, a herd often stood in various positions and as the canoecame among them they tossed up their white flagsand bounded away to the woods. At another point,a clear, cold rivulet poured down over the steepbank. We stopped to fill our water bottle and 34

[PHOTO]

There he goes!

noticed in the river, where the water came in,several small crawfish, or “lobsters”, aboutfour inches long and olive green in color. Itis said that beautiful Lobster Lake derives itsname from its containing these fish.

About eight miles of the Allagashbrought us to Umsaskis Lake. Here the watershave flowed back into low lands covered withalders, birch and fine elms. The mouth of theriver is divided by deltas so that the correctchannel is learned only by experience. On everyhand the alders were full of deer which on ourapproach splashed away to the upland.

It was nearly dark as we came out intothe lake, so we hastily picked out a camping placeand dried our clothes and dunnage which were wellsoaked at Chase’s Carry.

35

[PHOTO]

A smooth place on Chase’s Carry

CHAPTER VI. Umsaskis Lake to Allagash Falls

Pitching camp was a matter of systemwith us. The first requisites, of course, werea smooth, nearly level, well-sheltered place,large enough for the tent, drinking water, ifspring or stream could be found, wood for cook-ing and a suitable fire-place so that thereshould be no danger of forest-fire. Each knewwhat was to be done and set about doing it with-out question or direction. As soon as we landedI unpacked the tent, while Horace found the loc-ation for it. Then I assisted him in putting itup and when it was securely pegged down I beganto unpack provisions and cooking utensils andgot the fire-place in order. Meanwhile he wascutting two crotched sticks for uprights with along green cross-pole for a crane to hand ket- 36

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Along the Allagash

tles on. Then he got together some big woodwhile I got kindling, started the fire, and laidout the dishes to eat upon. While I cooked sup-per, he cut or broke several armfuls of fir orspruce boughs and brought them to the tent.After supper, he washed dishes, while I builtthe bough bed and arranged the blankets. Inthis way no time was lost and it was surprisinghow quickly everything was in readiness. Break-ing camp was much simpler, our chief cares beingto thoroughly extinguish our fire and to leavenothing of our dunnage behind.

A sad incident occurred on Umsaskis.We had broken camp and paddled down the lakeabout three miles against a hard wind before Ihad an uneasy feeling that my heavy shoes werenot aboard. Horace did not relish the idea ofgoing clear back and pulling up a second timeagainst the wind and sea, but there was no helpfor it and we recovered the shoes drying on therocks at the camp-ground at the expense of sixmiles of hard going. Our time on the lake 37

was not wholly misspent, however, for we foundon the west side, not far from shore, a splen-did spring which showed no trace of having beenpreviously discovered.

From Umsaskis (Horace practised say-ing Umsaskis and Umbazooksus the rest of thetrip, but never got them right) the way liesthrough a thoroughfare and into Long Lake. Themap shows Depot Farm on the lake. We speculatedas to what this might be, my friend insistingthat we should see a railroad station and comeinto touch again with civilization. His prin-cipal hope, I suspect, was to get in touch withsome civilized cooking. It was astonishing howmy grub lasted, even though we had pretty briskappetites. The biblical loaves did not go muchfarther than mine. Horace offered to bet thatone pan of my bread would be sufficient for atleast one thousand people.

Depot Farm is, in fact, an old farmonce cleared by a man, who disappointed in love,secluded himself here fifty miles from the near- 38

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Long Lake Dam

est settlement. Later the place was used as asupply depot by a lumbering company. We foundit occupied by a bunch of about twenty big lum-ber horses turned out for pasture during thesummer. We were disappointed in finding neitherfood nor water here, but were delighted with thebeauty of the handsome growth of firs and blackspruce, unmixed with other woods, whose pointedtops made an even green covering for the entirehillside.

At the foot of Long Lake is a hugedam nearly an eighth of a mile long, a monumentto the skill of builders who never saw a schoolof technology, but whose works are everywhere inMaine, controlling the mighty water system ofthe state. We ran the canoe through the sluice-way and landed near the set of several excellentlog camps which we found in charge of two men –one an old veteran of the woods, the other ahandsome young Frenchman from Fort Kent.

They treated us cordially, let usprepare our lunch on the camp stove and seemed 39

glad to have someone to talk with. The youngerman evidently missed the dances and merry-makingof settlements, but the older man was betterseasoned. They showed us their vegetable garden,surrounded by a stockade of upright poles ten orfifteen feet high, to keep out the deer. Allthe time we were there a deer stood unconcernedlyfeeding at the other end of the dam. At ourleaving, the young man stepped into his canoe andled the way down river for a mile or two, wherehe showed us a pool filled with trout, but theywere not hungry and could not be lured by anybait. We hooked one and had him for supper – thefirst fish on our trip. Our friend very kindlygave us a fish line when he heard of our mishapat Churchill.

The river now became wider and soshallow that we had difficulty in finding waterenough to get along in. A scow recently towedup the river loaded with supplies for a sportingcamp, had swept out a sort of channel, but ittook keen eyes to find it. Dozens of times we 40

found ourselves aground and had either to poleback and find the right way or get out and wade.We still came upon rips where, once the channelwas found, the canoe would slide down with greatspeed. The river here is beautiful beyond des-cription. Deer were very plentiful.

We were now looking for a suitableplace to spend the night. Just at dark we cameto an old burnt camp on a hillside near whichwas a stream of good water. We soon had thingsshipshape, but we ate supper on the stony shoreby candle light, then turned in and slept untilthe snort of deer near the tent brought us outat an early hour.

Round Pond, three miles long, was next crossed and we entered upon the last stretch of the Allagash, twenty-eight miles to the St.John River. About a mile below the pond wecame upon two men fishing at the mouth of a smallstream. They were jerking trout from the riverat a rate that put envy in the hearts of us whohad lived on bacon for several days. But we kept 41

[PHOTO]

Horace and the trout

on a few rods, when Horace’s keen eye discoveredanother brook running in and saw trout leapingin a pool near the river. We hastened ashore andthere saw a sight to delight a fisherman. In apool about thirty by fifteen feet and not overtwo feet deep was a school of trout which musthave contained not less than a thousand fish.All were of good size and some would weigh fromone-fourth to one-third of a pound. I got myborrowed line into commission, put on a pieceof salt pork and cast in. The pool boiled withthe leaping trout and I had a fine one ashore.This was repeated a few times, then I put on afly with the same result. They would bite any-thing and it was a splendid sight to see four orfive beauties, their golden sides flashing inthe light, spring into the air for the fly assoon as it struck the surface. After I caughttwenty, Horace became a sudden convert to thesport of fishing. We exchanged places, the oneon shore taking the trout off the hook and tak-ing care of them, while the other tickled their 42

palates with a parmacheene belle. From this wetook turns, keeping only the very largest fish,until we had caught over one hundred. We couldhave caught a barrelful, but decided not to befish-hogs after an hour’s sport rarely equalled.It took a great deal of self control to tear our-selves away. When cleaned and carefully packedin leaves and ferns, the trout filled all ouravailable dishes. That noon we fried twelve ofthe largest and ate a lunch no city hostelrycould afford.

From here the river was even moreshallow so the day was spent in picking our way.Twelve miles below we came to a farm cleared inthe wilderness and, on the bank of the river, agroup of buildings made of logs. The main housebore a large sign proclaiming it to be the “Alla-gash House”, run by Joe Michaud. A small boyon shore thought we might get milk there so Hor-ace, whose clothing had stood the strain betterthan mine, went up for supplies. Shortly I sawa young girl run out and heard her call for a 43

cow to be brought up. Twenty-five minutes laterHorace was back with a bag of potatoes, hot bis-cuits (baked while he waited) and warm, freshmilk. We agreed that this was indeed a placewhere supplies were furnished to order. The houseis sixteen miles from the nearest settlement andall provisions from outside are brought in eitheron snow or by canoe.

We now ran down three miles to AllagashFalls and decided to camp at that place of surpas-sing beauty. The tent was erected on the greenturf beside the carry-road at the head of thefalls. We found an abundance of blueberries hereand before long had supper ready. Baked potatoes,trout rolled in corn meal and fried in bacon fat,fresh biscuit, cake and blueberries, tea and milkmade up the menu. Truly a feast for a king aswell as for a pair of jacks, as Horace expressedit.

That camp was as nearly perfect as acamp could ever be. We had, beside our two ex-cellent meals there, a clean, level place for 44

the tent an excellent bed, a rousing fire totoast our feet by and the orchestra of the fallsto lull us to sleep. Lest any person should won-der at our appreciation of a fire in mid-Julywhen the termometer was daily above one hundreddegrees, it may be well to state that the nightswere so cool that we needed all the covering wecould get. Horace, before starting, had sneeredat taking a heavy woolen blanket apiece. Beforethe first night had passed he regretted he didnot have two blankets.

45

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Allagash Falls

CHAPTER VII. From Allagash Falls to Fort Kent

In the morning we took time to in-spect the falls. The Allagash narrows above,runs between high ledgy banks and is filledwith enormous boulders. The falls themselveshave had their worst fangs drawn by the lumber-men with their dynamite, but still the waterdrops almost sheer about fifty feet. Below thecataract, on either side, perpendicular ledgesas high as the falls jut into the stream. Onthe banks above stands the thick, black forestechoing the roar of the water, Almost at thefoot, on the southern side, a spring gushes fromthe solid ledge.

We enjoyed this inspiring scene forsome time, then hastened away down the thirteenmiles to the St. John. The first sign of civi- 46

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Near junction Allagash and St Johns rivers

lization was a ferry-boat, many of which, pro-pelled by a single ferry-man, cross the riverbetween Maine and New Brunswick.

At the junction of the rivers wecame out into open farming country. We ate ournoon-day lunch at the mouth of a vigorous streamcalled Nigger Brook, then began our cruise onthe St. John. We found the water much deeperand stronger and, since the river is fed byboggy streams, so black that it is difficult tosee rocks below the surface. At intervals areshort falls called “rapids” which will give eventhe experienced canoeist a thrill when runningthem. One in particular, Rankin’s Rapids, isas steep as the roof of a house and is filledwith rocks. This was the only place where weshipped any water.

At Cross Rock Rapids, so called onthe map, we had a stirring half hour. As weentered the rapids, at its head a rock beneaththe black surface caught the canoe in the middleand held it pivoted. The current swung the canoe 47

around and in a second would have either tippedit over, sending occupants and dunnage down intothe churning pool below, or have sent it downthe pitch sidewise with the same probable result.A big boulder stood out part way down the rapids.I jumped upon this, steadied myself with the pad-dle, pushed the bow of the canoe sharply downstream and with the middle of the canoe thuslightened Horace went down the rapids at a swiftrate, leaving me hanging on the rock in mid-stream. As soon as he got out of the chop, Hor-ace tried to point the canoe up stream and workup gradually under the lee of the rocks to aplace near me, but the lightened bow stood upin air while the bottom of the canoe was in con-tact with the water only at the stern. Any can-oeist knows how tough a matter it is to handlesuch a situation against a hard wind and herewere a stiff breeze and a racing current com-bined. Time after time, Horace got within a fewrods of me, then was swept away. Finally, afterI had concluded to jump in, take my chances in 48

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A Ferryboat, St. John River

going through the rapids and in swimming ashore,my friend shifted the dunnage into the bow andby fierce effort got up to the lee of the boulderon which I stood. Then after a moment of quickwork by both of us, we shot into a quiet eddy.While we probably had been in no great personaldanger, an up-set would have meant not only a dis-agreeable wetting and a hard swim but the loss ofat least a portion of our dunnage.

Shortly we came in view of the Cath-olic Church at St. Francis and heard again thewhistle of a locomotive. Across the river isConnors, the terminus of the Temiscouata Rail-road. On the left bank we passed a monumentand knew that we were now running on the boun-dary line between two great nations.

The shores presented a vivid and in-teresting contrast. On the Canadian side, thefarms of the French people run up over the hills,straight back from the river half a mile or more,but divided by rail fences into narrow strips afew rods in width. It is said that when a Cana- 49

dian Frenchman dies, his heirs, instead of sel-ling the homestead to one of their number, div-ide the farm into the respective shares, eachholding frontage on the road and river. Thearrangement gave a peculiar appearance. Manyhuge saw-mills full of expensive machinery,with their attendant boarding-houses and cot-tages for workmen, were standing vacant anddecayed. As we passed Connors, a train on theTemiscouata branch came down, rattling like awagon-load of tinware and with the steam leak-ing from every joint of the rusty engine.

On the American side the farms werelarger, the buildings modern and well-painted.All kinds of farm machinery were in use. Thesaw-mills, almost directly across the riverfrom those on the Canadian side, althoughsmaller, were humming busily. The tariff onsawed lumber has caused this great waste ofcapital, although of course it is good for theMaine mill-men.

As we paddled along slowly, Horace 50

expressed a desire to camp on the Canadian sideso he could say that our trip had been internat-ional, but no good place presented itself. Wepulled over to a projecting ledge which Horacetouched with his foot, allowing him to boastthat he, at least, had set foot on Canadianground.

Having passed several islands, wecame to one which had on it a farm with an emptybarn in the center. We cooked supper on thebeach, took our blankets, made a soft bed ofhay in the barn floor, and spent a comfortablenight without seeing our landlord. This day,we had covered over thirty-five miles.

The remaining eight or ten miles toFort Kent, the end of our journey, were soonpassed. Our first duty after we landed was tohunt out the telegraph office and let the folksat home know that we had come through safely.Then we took account of stock and were pleasedto find that, in spite of the hard usage, thecanvas of the canoe was not broken, nor had we 51

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St. Francis

lost any equipment nor suffered any personal in-juries.

We were interested to look around thepretty village of Fort Kent and to note the gen-eral air of prosperity which all these Aroostooktowns have. The homes were neat, comfortable,even luxurious. Electric lights, automobiles,the telephone and all the other modern convenien-ces were theirs. It did not seem possible thatthirty miles brought one to the conditions of ahundred years ago.

When we came to sell the canoe, wehad occasion, also, to observe that the citizenswere not behind in the art of making bargains.But it was a sight worth seeing when, after aninspection that would have tested an ocean liner,and after much contemplative smoking and the ob-taining of opinions from every passer-by, thejolly old Frenchman to whom we sold the craftfinally made up his mind, seized the setting-pole, sprang in, and, standing erect, shot downthe river with the speed and grace of a cowboy 52

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Ft. Kent

on a broncho.Shortly, we took the train back to

the crowded places of man, riding through a won-derful wilderness yet to be developed, and indue time reached our anxious families a full daybefore the postals sent from Chesuncook. We won-dered if that mail carrier missed a trip.

And now our long-talked-of adventurewas over. We had had nine days of almost perfectweather, the only rain being a thirty-minuteshower one afternoon. Although there had beensome hard places, it was a pleasure to know thatwe had met every difficulty and got the best ofit. In seven actual running days, we had workedour way through a wonderland over one hundred andfifty miles. For two-thirds of this distance,we had seen less that twenty people, and for twodays, during a passage of fifty miles, had notseen a human being. We had been in close touchwith moose, over a hundred deer, thousands ofsmaller animals and game-birds, myriads of song-birds, and had the finest fishing one can find in 53

this country. We had sound, hard bodies, clear,alert eyes and minds and thoroughly alert appe-tites.

After our return, so our folks tellus, it was some time before the spell of thewood left us. We were quiet, serene, and thevoice of the river seemed to be still with us.At night we were shooting rapids, or strugglingover log-jams, or catching thousands of trout.The spell gradually wore away, but the memoryof that trip will remain for many years. And ifwe live, we shall go again, for the enchantmentwhich falls upon those who have gone into thewoodland is never broken.

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At the end of the trip