“A bard is weak enough you’ll find,
A humble cat-gut twangler:
But for a man of simple mind
Commend me to an Angler.
He’ll fish and fish the whole year round
Devotedly fanatic,
To catch one fish that weighs a pound
And then his joy’s ecstatic.”
THE DIFFERENT ROUTES THROUGH MAINE.—THE PARTY,
GUIDES,—BAGGAGE,—PROVISIONS,—CANOES,—ARMS.—A CAMP APPETITE.—STUDYING
GEOGRAPHY.—THE START.—BID ADIEU TO MOOSEHEAD LAKE.—NORTHEAST
“CARRY.”—WEST BRANCH OF THE PENOBSCOT.—LANDING FOR OUR FIRST CAMP
MOUTH OF MOOSEHORN STREAM.
On leaving Moosehead Lake, the seeker for health or recreation in
Maine, who desires to study nature in its primeval state, and drink
from her fountains the blessings which she can so bountifully bestow,
has three routes of travel before him. These routes are known as the
St. John’s River, the West Branch of the Penobscot, and the East Branch
of the Penobscot trips, and have for their point of departure the Kineo
House, Moosehead Lake, where all that is necessary in camp supplies can
always be obtained.
[Illustration: PICKING A COURSE.]
[Illustration: MOOSEHEAD LAKE AND THE HEADWATERS OF THE PENOBSCOT RIVER
PREPARED EXPRESSLY FOR T SEDGWICK STEELE’S, “CANOE & CAMERA” _BY W. R.
CURTIS, C.E._]
The most frequented route, and on account of its ease generally
recommended by the guides, is that to the St. John’s River, which one
reaches by passing north from Moosehead Lake through the West Branch,
Chesuncook, Chamberlin, Eagle, and Churchill Lakes to the Allagash
River, and thence northeast through Canada, emerging from the woods
at Grand Falls, New Brunswick. The second, or the West Branch of the
Penobscot trip, passes southeast through Chesuncook to Ripogenus Lake,
and follows the West Branch through Pamedomcook and Twin Lakes into
the Penobscot River.
The third and most difficult course through this wilderness, is the
tour of the East Branch of the Penobscot, which leaves the St. John’s
route at Chamberlin Lake, and passes south through Telosmis Lake and
then east through Telos and Webster Lake and River to the Matagamonsis
and Matagamon or Grand Lake into the East Branch, and after tumbling
over the most picturesque falls and rapids in the entire State, unites
with the West Branch of the Penobscot at Medway.[A]
[Footnote A: Still another trip can be made from Churchill Lake through
Spider, Echo, and Mansungan Lake and River, to the Aroostook waters
coming out in Maine at Caribou.
Col. Lyman B. Goff of Pawtucket, R. I., with his guides Kelly and
Mansell, surveyed this route last season, cutting a good path on the
many “carries” for the easy transportation of canoes, and to him the
author is indebted for new and correct drawings of that region which
have been added to this map. But the scenery is uninteresting and the
difficulties will not compensate one for the labor endured, and woe
betide the tourist if the water is low.]
To retain my good health, and enjoy for the fifth season the
dearly-loved woods and lakes of Maine, the summer of 1879 soon found
me again within her fascinations, a willing captive to her charms. We
have never failed in the past to impress upon our friends that one
companion is sufficient for company in the woods, but this year, the
party although it had small beginnings increased in the ratio of the
demands of my tastes. As gathered upon the deck of the little steamer
“Day Dream” one bright summer morning, while on her way from the Kineo
House to the head of Moosehead Lake, we numbered six souls.
I had chosen for my route this year, the East Branch of the Penobscot
River, a canoe paddle of almost two hundred miles, as offering in its
swift running streams, lovely waterfalls, and majestic mountains, that
excitement and adventure which my love of nature craved. In addition
to the writer, the party was divided as follows: “Quartermaster,”
photographic artist, and three guides, named respectively Bowley,
Weller, and Morris. My friend who is designated as “Quartermaster” did
not receive his title from any such position in my expedition, but from
holding an office of like character in a New England regiment during
our late war, and he proved by the daily use of his knife in arranging
the comforts of the camp, that he was to the manor born.
[Illustration: THE GUIDES.
Bowley. Morris. Weller.]
Our artist was from the “Land of Steady Habits,” whose sole duty it was
to care for the delicate camera and glass plates, together with the
necessary but ill-flavored bottles of his kit, and to be constantly on
the alert for choice, or grand bits of scenery along the route. In such
a tour as this, with the many accidents ever attendant on camp life,
it was no small matter to carry through the wilderness the articles
pertaining to our photographer’s kit.
We had fifty glass plates six by eight inches each, which were prepared
and developed on the ground by what is known as the “wet process.”
Careless treatment in cartage on the “carries,” or a sudden jar might
at any moment damage them beyond recovery, which would immediately
subvert one of the principal objects of the exploration. Then each
chemical had its individuality of importance, from the ether to the
collodion, the destroying of which would put an end to the pleasures of
photographing.
The first and oldest of the guides, Bowley, was a man of forty-eight
years, and lived at Shirley, Maine. He was five and a half feet high,
weighed one hundred and ninety pounds, had brown whiskers, turning
to gray, checkered shirt, weather-beaten suit, soft brown hat, and a
kind sympathetic face, which I found before the trip was ended truly
expressed his manly character. I was sometimes inclined to think him
slow, and to find fault with the consumptive color of his biscuit and
“flip-jacks,” and urged him to greater diligence and variety in the
cooking department, but in matters of importance he always proved
his soundness—but he had one fault, he could scent a “carry” three
days ahead, and remember its hardships and burdens two days after.
He delighted to tell of his many interesting experiences in the
wilderness, and of his geological researches through Maine some years
ago with Prof. Hitchcock, of Amherst college, while his moose, bear,
and caribou stories were endless.
The second guide, Weller, aged thirty-seven years, was a French
Canadian from Quebec, but living at this time in Greenville, Me. He was
five feet four inches high, weighed one hundred and fifty-one pounds,
with reddish moustache and whiskers, brown hair, and was dressed in
a dark-colored woolen suit. He was a fine waterman, and occasionally
witty, as is proverbial with his class.
The third and last guide, Morris, was a vivacious young man of
twenty-three summers, but who looked all of thirty. He was about five
feet three inches high, weighed one hundred and sixty pounds, had light
brown hair and moustache. Dark blue flannel shirt and woolen pants
constituted his habiliments, which latter garment early in the day
proved its inferiority by sundry tears which gave him a picturesque
appearance highly appreciated by our artist.
A black felt hat was the crowning feature of his attire, around which
was wound “casts” of varied colored artificial trout flies. He was the
most venturesome canoeman of the party, ever first to try the dangers
of the many waterfalls and cataracts on our route. Morris was also
the hunter, and many a plump duck and partridge found its way to our
table through his activity, which quality is always appreciated by the
camper-out.
Our personal belongings were numerous, consisting of woolen and
rubber blankets, rubber wading stockings, moccasin shoes, fly rods,
guns, landing nets, a lantern, and the very necessary black-fly
ointment, consisting of oil of tar, glycerine, gum camphor, and oil
of pennyroyal. We also had extra changes of underclothing, woolen
stockings, buckskin suits, and an assortment of tools, waxed ends, and
silk thread for the repairs of broken fly rods if such should be our
misfortune.
[Illustration: WE DREAM OF GAME.]
The number of weapons composing our armory was one Sharps, one Ballard,
and one Spencer magazine rifle, one 38-calibre revolver, and a double
barrel shot-gun which also contained two auxiliary rifle barrels. Each
man also carried the usual long sheath knife, which latter article
was never drawn in a more deadly conflict than that between hard tack
and salt pork; nevertheless it was often a trial which brought into
play the most heroic qualities of the arm. These made us at once feel
invincible against the attack of wild beasts, while at the same time
it encouraged such hopes of success in the capture of wild animals
that it even troubled the nightly rest of some of the members of the
expedition. Three birch-bark canoes and one portable folding canvas
canoe constituted our ships of burden, which exerted great influence in
exploring the wilds, and added to the enjoyment of its pleasures.
How much poetry and romance the words, birch-bark canoe, suggest to our
mind! the grand old forests have more tender associations when one is
paddled through their lights and shadows in a birch canoe; there are
thoughts and reveries which make themselves felt as one examines their
construction—a natural fitness of things to the regions in which they
are used.
The delicate-colored bark stripped from a prominent tree is cut at the
ends and gathered up into uniform bow and stern, cut and then brought
together again at the sides alternately to lift the lines fore and aft;
this gives a surface to meet the waves, producing that buoyancy so
pleasing to the craft. Then a gunwale, of strips of wood, is affixed,
sewed with spruce roots or rattan, and the whole lined from stem to
stern with thin strips of wood called “knees.” A birch canoe will weigh
from eighty-five to one hundred and fifteen pounds when averaging
eighteen to twenty feet; but I have occasionally seen those that
weighed three times that amount, and had a longitude of twenty-eight to
thirty feet.
My portable canvas canoe made for this special occasion was fifteen
feet long with a weight of only forty-five pounds, when the
fish-rod-like stretcher was inserted. This canoe could be collapsed at
a moment’s notice, placed in a bag seventeen by thirty-eight inches,
and carried on the shoulders with ease by one person, while it would
float eight hundred and fifty pounds.
[Illustration: HOME APPETITE.]
Before the month’s journey was completed, I found I could leap falls
and rapids more safely than in a birch-bark canoe, and although I
often paid for my audacity by cutting its surface, it was easily
sewed, waterproofed, and I continued my way. On account of its
convenient construction and weight it could be easily transported
through the woods to the small bodies of water off our main course, and
explorations made not accessible to a birch canoe.
[Illustration: CAMP APPETITE.]
As we were to pass through a country uninhabited we were obliged to
provide ourselves from the start with food sufficient for the entire
thirty days’ sojourn, and it may be interesting to the reader to know
the quantity and variety of the supplies, should he ever undertake
a similar enterprise. We did not rely upon the game or fish of the
country we were canoeing; like excursions in the past had taught us
that these articles were more incidental surprises, than an excess of
the daily menu. Very few tourists to Maine select this, the _hardest
of routes_, and we found, afterwards, that we were the _first party
who had passed down the East Branch of the Penobscot river during
the year 1879_. A “camp appetite” is something entirely different
from what one enjoys at home. One would turn in aversion from the
plainness of the fare were it placed on the table. But the surroundings
and the daily vigorous exercise seem to make one forget the homely
dishes, and articles refused at our own boards are devoured in the
woods with avidity. Most of the provisions were packed into wooden
pails of various sizes, the balance in canvas bags, and were assorted
as follows: thirty-four pounds of hard tack or bread, seventy-three
pounds of flour, one bushel of potatoes, twelve pounds of salt pork,
four pounds of beans, two packages of baking powders, two and one half
pounds of cheese, ten pounds of ham, three pounds of candles, one
bottle each of pickles and chow-chow, three cans of potted ham, seven
and three-fourths pounds of onions, twelve pounds of canned corned
beef, six pounds of maple sugar, one dozen cans of condensed milk,
three pounds of tea, seven pounds of coffee, and thirteen pounds of
granulated sugar, besides a quart of oil for our lantern, which latter
article was one of the most useful of the lot. Sugar, either maple or
granulated, always disappears in the woods at an early date, and the
immense quantities of luscious blueberries and blackberries to be had
at any time along our route greatly facilitated its departure.
[Illustration: MORRIS’S NORTHEAST CARRY.]
Our canoes, when packed with all the above articles, and further
embellished by sundry tea and coffee pots, kettles, frying-pans,
broilers, bakers, tin plates and cups, reminded one of the early days
of our forefathers and their pilgrimages to the “far west.” The country
towards which we had set our faces was entirely new to tourists, and
but one of our guides (Weller) had ever explored its hidden depths,
and even his memory was so treacherous as to be of little service to
us. Recently issued maps were faulty, and we were obliged to make many
corrections on them and manufacture the geography as we sailed along.
On reaching the head of Moosehead Lake our many boxes and bags, just
enumerated, were transferred to the sadly dilapidated wharf at the
Northeast “carry,” and afterwards removed by the guides to a heavy
lumber box wagon drawn by a single horse, while the birch canoes,
supported by long poles, were lashed at the sides of the cart.
Our artist, to secure his photographic materials against harm,
rode in front with the driver, but the writer, in company with the
quartermaster and the guides, trudged along in the sand at the rear.
This “carry” or path is about two miles long, rising gradually towards
the middle from each end, and terminates on the north at the West
branch of the Penobscot river. There are log houses where one can
obtain dinner at either end of this portage, but as our guide, Morris,
lived at the further point, our party chose to lunch at his house, and
our recollections of his mother’s preserved strawberries, fresh cream
and bread are alive to this hour. After dinner we immediately betook
ourselves to the river’s bank, launched the birch canoes, stretched the
canvas canoe into shape, and, balancing the crafts to a nicety with
our baggage, swung off down the stream for a month’s exploration of the
inmost heart of Maine.
[Illustration: IN SYMPATHY WITH NATURE.]
One well knows the delights attending a picnic in the woods for a
day—arising at early morn and carefully stowing away in baskets
sundry choice and toothsome articles, and filling the corners of the
basket with beautiful bright flowers from our gardens, we resorted to
the woods and dividing into groups under the shady trees we spread
on temporary tables the savory dishes, and strove to the best of our
ability to get in sympathy with nature.[B] But think of a month’s
picnic _daily_ filled with excitement and pleasure, from running rapids
and falls in a canoe to enticing the wary trout, or picking strange
flowers and berries by the brookside, and at night resting one’s tired
but invigorated body under a snow white tent!
The west branch of the Penobscot (or Rocky) river, after leaving the
terminus of the Northeast “carry” at Morris’s, flows steadily to the
southeast with hardly a ripple for some two miles until it reaches the
mouth of Lobster stream; then a stronger current is perceptible with
“rips,” and this continues for two and a half miles more, when after
passing a small island the water again becomes “dead.” The birch barks,
paddled by guides Weller and Morris, preceded us down the river, while
the quartermaster and I followed in the canvas canoe, the fourth canoe
with Guide Bowley and the artist bringing up the rear.
[Footnote B: If I ever write another book I think I shall eschew
_sentiment_. I thought at the time that “sympathy with nature” was
very good, but I find that it has been thrown away on at least one—the
artist. T. S. S.]
Could there have been a looker-on from the shore, he would possibly
have thought it was a government expedition in search of the “northeast
passage;” but although our destination was about as little frequented
it was not so grave an affair.
After paddling until late in the afternoon through eight or ten miles
of still water we made our first camp on the right bank of the river,
at the mouth of Moosehorn stream, and transferring our “kit” to the
shore turned over our canoes in the sun to dry.
[Illustration: DISCOURAGEMENTS.]
[Illustration: “CHANGING PASTURE.”]