Of Moose and Men

                                       (Baxter State Park/Katadhin)

“The moose is singularly grotesque and awkward to look at.” (Henry David Thoreau, The Maine Woods)

   This year has been one of stark contrast. After a delicious stint in New York (mid-February to June), we concentrated on hiking and camping. We camped at North Hero (Lake Champlain, Vermont), Gifford Woods (Killington, Vermont), Mount Mondadnock (Jaffrey, New Hampshire), Dolly Copp (Gorham, New Hampshire), Lily Bay (Moosehead Lake, Maine), Rangeley Lake State Park (Rangeley Lake, Maine). (There will be a third phase of the year, when I join Blanca in Spain at the end of October.) However, the highpoint of the summer has been, without question, Baxter State Park, near Millinocket, Maine.

   Baxter State Park is a 210,000 acre tract of almost virgin forest, mountains, ponds, and streams, in the northern part of Maine. Its “crown jewel” is Katahdin, the highest prominence in the state.

   The park is the creation of essentially one man: Percival Baxter, former governor of the state, who, over a 30 year period, bought up and assembled various tracts that today form the park. He then donated his property to the people of Maine, with the proviso that it be maintained in a “wild” state. There are thus no paved roads, no running or potable water, no domestic pets or motorcycles allowed; logging and hunting are restricted to small areas within the park. There is a “tote road” that runs through the park; it’s about 40 miles from the southern gate at Togue Pond to the northern entrance. There are 10 campgrounds, offering various combinations of tent sites, leans to’s, cabins, and bunkhouses. There are also a number of “remote” sites, reached by hiking or canoe.

   Blanca and I had been to the park on several prior occasions. This summer, we took a ride up there from Moosehead Lake in the hope of getting a camping spot. No luck. A few weeks later I did my homework and made a reservation on line, and we had three delightful nights at Abol Campground in a lean-to. The weather, however, was rotten, and we didn’t attempt any serious climbing.

Tuesday, September 28.

   It took me 7 hours to get to Millinocket. After lunch at Pelletier’s Logger’s Restaurant, I repaired to the Park Gate, 16 miles away.

   A few miles after passing the entrance gate, I stopped by Stump Pond, where a number of cars and people had gathered by the shore. There were three magnificent moose—a male, a cow, and a calf--peacefully grazing in the water, about 10 meters from shore. (George Bush might have referred to them as a “nook-yoo-ler family.”)

   Seeing the moose was rather a big deal for me. We’ve been coming to Maine for 5 years straight and had only seen one moose! I’d begun to think that at the moose business was a creation of the tourism industry.

   I arrived at Abol and set up camp. It was raining off and on, but the forecast for the next day was promising.

Wednesday, September 29.

   I signed out at the Ranger’s cabin at 7:00 and started up the Abol Trail. After about a half mile of easy climbing, another of more pronounced ascent, I got to the bottom of the Abol Slide. This is essentially a “path” of giant boulders, going up at an extremely stiff incline, which are the remains of an early 19th century rock avalanche. The megaliths made for some very tough going, as they were often too big and smooth to be easily climbed. At one point I could find no path other than a “tunnel”; I slid my pack through O.K., but when I tried to follow, I got stuck. (I thought: this is a hell of an undignified way to get found.) Finally, I got some leverage with my foot and pushed myself free.

   After several hours of hard climb, the trail levels out at Thoreau Spring, where it becomes the Hunt Trail, equivalent to part of the Appalachian Trail. (The A.T. runs 2100 miles from Georgia; its northern terminus is Katahdin.)

   At this point the wind was picking up steadily, and it continued to gain strength as I worked up the final slopes to the summit.

   At the top, there is nothing but a sign and several cairns. Nothing was to be seen due to the heavy fog.

   Perhaps the most memorable thing about the summit was meeting a young man who was just finishing the A.T. To say that he was exuberant would gravely understate the matter. He climbed atop the summit sign, and raised his hands in a victory gesture. I warmly shook his hand and said to him what someone had said to me after I finished the Western States 100 Mile Run: “If you can do this, you can do anything.”

   Time to go down. But I decided I did not want to deal again with the Cyclops playpen of the Abol Slide, especially heading down. I decided to take the Saddle Trail over the other side of the mountain. It would lead to the campground at Chimney Pond and then on to the major trailhead at Roaring Brook. From there I figured I’d be able to hitch a ride back to Abol Campground (about 15 miles).

   A woman at the summit said that the Saddle Trail was “easy.” It wasn’t. There were lots of steep descents on wet rocks, often covered by running water. It took me a lot longer to make Chimney Pond than I had figured, and the “really easy” trail that I expected to find after that never materialized. (One veteran I talked with said, “There are no easy trails in this park.”)

   After 11 hours, I pulled into Roaring Brook. I caught a ride with a couple I’d met on the trail, who took me as far as the park entrance gate. From there it was 6 miles to the campground. I started walking, figuring that no one would be coming by now that it was dark and people were already where they were going to be for the night. I’d walked about two miles when a car passed and gave me a lift. Its occupants were a Mexican named Miguel and a priest who looked liked a goyische Allan Ginsburg. They were speaking Spanish, so I had an effective opening gambit. Luckily, they were going on to Katahdin Stream, past where I was headed.

   I signed in; I’d been gone 13 hours. I headed for the lean to, stripped off my wet clothes, and went for the sleeping bag, tired but contented.

   Before long, a Ranger came by and said that they expected a “tropical storm.” They had closed the summit for the next day, and I was to batten down everything I could.

Thursday, September 30.

   I was up early. The plan was to spend my last day exploring the park and doing some kayaking.

   I prepared breakfast, which consisted of coffee and oatmeal with a banana. Scarcely had I sliced my banana and put it in the bowl of oatmeal when a fearless chipmunk scampered over the table and brazenly popped a piece in his mouth; I was hardly a meter away, but he showed not the slightest fear.

   Daicey Pond and Kidney Pond are former “sporting camps,” both on the shores of large ponds. I first went to Daicey, did a spin in the kayak, then moved on to Kidney, and then back to Daicy for a loop hike around the perimeter of the pond.

   In the middle of Kidney Pond, I played hide and seek with a loon. These amazing creatures (Gavia immer) look like ducks, but they don’t sound like ducks, and they spend a great deal of time under water. When they dive, they can disappear for long periods of time, which is what my friend did with me. After getting tired of waiting for him to surface, I paddled on, only to see him about 15 minutes later in the same spot.

Friday, October 1.

   I had discovered that both Daicey and Kidney have cabins reserved for handicapped people and that if they were not taken by 8:00 in the morning, they could be rented on a first come basis. I’d decided the night before that I’d try to get one and thus extend my stay for another night.

   The plan was successful, and I ended up in a beautiful rustic cabin on the shore of Kidney. It came equipped with two beds/mattresses, two chairs and a table, a bureau, a propane lamp, and a wood stove. The small porch looks out over the pond, 5 meters away.

   On the desk in the cabin was a spiral notebook in which residents were invited to make comments. I amused myself by reading through them. Many gave thanks to the Rangers, to God, and to Jesus, for a wonderful woodland experience. One of my favorites was:

“I came here to climb Katadhin. It was the best hike I ever had + most challenging even though I did not get past the Re-Baro; I am 82 years old so I forgive myself.”

And there’s always a wise-ass in every crowd:

“Shot and ate a moose today. Tortured it first. Prayed. Sarah Palin, Wasilla, AK.”

   I spent the day on the porch, reading, snacking, and looking at the incessant rain. The fog and mist covered the water, but one could sill see the loons and ducks as they swam by.

   I lit a fire in the wood stove and read for a while in my sleeping bag. It had been a wonderful day.

Saturday, October 2

   I got up early, drank some coffee, and took a spin around the pond in the kayak. It was cloudy, but the rain had stopped, and it was agreeably warm.

   I packed up my stuff, said goodbye to Diane, the Ranger, and headed for Millinocket, where I had a huge pancake breakfast. Seven hours later I was home, completely satisfied and content.

   Baxter State Park will be a great resource for the future. Next summer I hope to take Blanca into one of the “remote” sites. There are many more peaks to climb and almost countless paddling opportunities. Thanks very much, Governor Baxter! What a mitzvah!