North to Allagash
By Thomas K. Remington
 

My very good friend and Maine humorist, Joe Perham, describes in one of his stories about visiting is Uncle Vern in the country. He depicts his trip in vivid details about each of the roads he has to travel to get there. Each successive road gets bumpier, narrower and full of more ruts until finally he reaches a point where it is impossible to navigate an automobile any further. From here he walks uphill and downhill. Finally having to swing by rope to get over the brook that acts like a moat around the family farm, he can see the house. At this point he says that his Uncle Vern’s house isn’t at the end of the world but you can see it from there.
 

Our trip to Allagash, Maine is the end of the world or the beginning depending on your perspective. It’s what you can see from Uncle Vern’s house. Although the roads aren’t nearly as bad - in some cases I wonder - the northern reaches of Maine run beyond the average. If you have never been there, go! If you’ve been you can relate to this story. Business was the reason I made the trip but I wasn’t alone. The business aspect of the trip involved gathering photos and information for a story I wanted to do about a deer tracking school being conducted at the Allagash Sporting Camps hosted by Mike Paquette and conducted by the Benoit Brothers of white tail deer hunting fame. I was not alone in that lifelong friend and professional photographer Milt Inman and our two wives accompanied me.

We made our journey in Milt’s rig. His GMC pick-up truck towed a 25-foot fifth-wheel camper. Maine Hunting Today bought the gas and food.
 

Moon over Hick's Pond in Greenwood City, Maine. This is where our trip began. - photo by Milt Inman

We pulled out of Greenwood City, from the shores of Hick’s Pond at 7:34 a.m. on Tuesday, June 13, 2006. The day that awaited us would be full of fun and adventure.

Milt and I planned to get all that we could out of our trip. Not only were we going to attend this deer tracking school for pictures and some stories but we knew that our travels would be an opportunity for other photos, events, meeting people, sites and sounds. We were not to be denied.

Our first sign of wildlife came shortly after takeoff on Rt. 219 just west of the Hartford, Maine village. A healthy and red-colored deer stood in the tall roadside grass only feet from the shoulder of the road. Its ears stood tall and its face painted a picture of puzzled curiosity. Quickly and gracefully, the deer made one leap and disappeared into the heavy brush.

Our travel route kept us on State Rt. 219 all the way to its end in the quaint and historic village of Wayne. From Wayne to Winthrop we navigated the sometimes twisting and turning highway of Rt. 133. Please, if anyone who reads this has any connections with the Department of Transportation, could we see a little hot top put down on the section of U.S. Route 202 heading into Augusta? One would think the politicians would have that taken care of, especially those who travel that busy highway each day.

Approaching Maine’s capital city of Augusta from Winthrop, you pass the Augusta Country Club golf course. Just beyond that on the left side of the road there is a large meadow leading to Little Cobbosseecontee Lake. For all my life, I have traveled that highway and I always look toward that marsh in search of wildlife. For the first time ever, I spotted a deer feeding on the western edge of the marsh, partially hidden by a grove of trees leading to the water’s edge.

Traveling with Milt is not that much different than lounging around home, being at hunting camp or on a fishing trip. Food is always on his mind. We had to make our first pit stop at the McDonald’s right next to the armory in downtown Augusta.

From Augusta we stayed pretty much on Interstate 95 all the way to Oakfield, a tiny hole-in-the-wall town sandwiched about halfway between Sherman Mills and Houlton.

We couldn’t go non-stop from Augusta to Oakfield. There was food to be gotten, so we got off in Brewer and visited the friendly Wal-Mart store. Here we bought provisions to last us for the duration of our trip and then some.

Loaded up with more potato chips than could feed a troop of Boy Scouts on a weeklong jamboree, we hit the road. Appetites were squelched as we witnessed several dead moose carcasses lying on all sides of the highway between Medway and Oakfield.

In Medway we gassed up – OUCH! Milt befriended a potato truck driver who recommended we stay on I-95 until Oakfield, then head cross-country to Rt. 11 just north of Patten.

I have many times in my conversations and writings said that Maine is a unique place. I’m not sure that my words can fully do it justice. It is so difficult to toil over finding the right adjectives to use that won’t give listeners or readers the wrong impression.

There was a time in my life when I would have laughed, made fun of, ridiculed and even gotten angry about life in Maine. Today, as I have gotten older, I see life in Maine much different than the past.

Maine has a slogan they have used for years – “Maine – The Way Life Should Be”. The first time I laid eyes on that slogan was on the Maine Turnpike in Kittery. A big sign reads, “Welcome to Maine! The Way Life Should Be”. I laughed at the sign then and I laugh at it today but for different reasons. Then I didn’t understand it. Today I laugh because I think it should be changed to read, “Maine, The Way Life Is”.

The further north one travels, the more that slogan has meaning. There are two Maines. One is the southern part with the rock bound coast, big fancy homes and lobsters. This is the part of Maine that gets photographed and visited most often. It also gets promoted more by the Maine Department of Tourism. The southern one third of Maine has the largest density of human population and many of them not being native to the state.
 

While traveling Interstate 95, a rest stop provides a spectacular view toward the west at Mt. Katahdin. Unfortunately for us it was a hazy day. The clarity is muted from the haze but nonetheless the view was spectacular. - photo by Milt Inman

Then there’s the northern two-thirds that holds equally as much beauty but in a different way. It also is home to a completely different lifestyle.

Northern Maine residents are what I have always called, “hearty folks”. Nothing seems to bother them. They take most everything in stride and are some fiercely independent. Dependency is certain death if you live up north. You can’t be waiting on anyone. You must get it done yourself.

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a sense of community. There is probably more community involvement in northern Maine towns than anywhere else. When something needs to be done, it gets done and the whole village turns out.

This is unique in today’s society. Think about it if you will. To be “wicked” independent, as Mainers say, yet always available to help out others in time of need. It is a matter of survival often - knowing that life is difficult and the one sense of security is that the community is always there.

The best way that I can describe northern Maine people is this way. If a hurricane like Katrina hit northern Maine, there wouldn’t be anyone sitting on the steps of the town office screaming for the government of come help them. It would be easy to say that northern Mainers would just go about their business and begin the job of recovering not expecting anything from anybody – getting a hand from their neighbors.

Getting off Interstate 95 and hitting the back roads, you begin to see a different way of life – a life of priorities that parallel none other. We all joked that there were no cars in the northern counties – only trucks. Pick-up trucks are an extension of the people living there. A truck to someone living in Masardis is like a baseball glove is to a professional baseball player.

Don’t be fooled by messy and cluttered yards as an indication of poverty or lack of education. Priorities are different here. Harsh weather covers most of this stuff and kills all the rest.

Pick up a map and find Masardis. Now find the nearest auto parts store, Wal-Mart, groceries, discount clothing stores, etc. Often it’s easier to find a part from the junk car out back than to travel many miles for a new one.

There’s a reason why there are few people who live in the northern climes of Maine. It’s because life is hard and few people can do it. You are isolated, on your own, left to your own devices and most people couldn’t stand themselves if they had to be alone for long periods of time.

We turned right onto Rt. 11 from 212 at Knowles Corner. As we came around a corner, we spotted a large deer standing on the left seemingly eating green grasses and other plants. The deer glanced up quickly as we passed and returned to feeding, completely undisturbed.

As we road along, two things were stuck in my brain that I couldn’t get rid of. One was the continual drumming of the famous song written and performed by Maine’s Dick Curlis, “Tombstone Every Mile”. This is the highway that he writes and sings about in that song.

“There’s a stretch of road, up north in Maine
That’s never ever, ever seen a smile.
If the buried all them truckers, lost in them woods
There’d be a tombstone very mile”

The other is recalling the scary tale of “The Haynesville Witch”. Joe Perham, Maine humorist that I spoke of earlier, did a recording where he tells the tale. I’m not sure you can even get the recording as it was done on the now ancient format of cassette tape. If you have never heard Joe’s version, I highly recommend it. It is one of my all-time favorite narratives.

Rt. 11 leads through many small towns on its way to its final destination of Fort Kent. We needed a place to stay for the night, as we were too tired to continue on to Allagash. This is when we discovered there are few campgrounds and I mean few.

We stopped at a tiny little store in Masardis and I went in seeking information on the nearest campground. The nearest was behind us about 8 miles to Oxbow. We didn’t want to backtrack, so we ventured on hoping to find something.
 

As we were following Route 11 coming out of Ashland, the sign was a warm welcome to four weary travelers. If ever in Ashland, make sure you stop and check out the boat launch and picnic area. What greeted us most was the part of the sign that read, "Camping Permitted". - photo by Milt Inman

We got into Ashland and that’s when we found the riverside public boat landing that was built by the Aroostook River Fish and Game Club. The sign at the edge of the road was a welcome one in that it read, “Camping Allowed”.

It was quite an oasis at the end of a long day on the road. If I were to make the trip again, I would specifically plan my trip to stay there. We situated the camper and ate – Milt’s favorite part of the trip. While we were eating, a pick-up truck arrived with a father and his two sons. They came to do some fishing. We finished our meal and meandered down to the boat launch to see how the fish were biting.

The eight-year old was Ben Philbrook, a nearby native. His dad had promised to take him fishing. Because the water was so high, dad opted for the closest available fishing site versus the best.

We got acquainted and took some pictures. Ben caught a little chub near the edge of the river. Soon the black flies and mosquitoes overpowered us all and we ducked for cover back to the camper and the trio of fishermen made their exit.

The Aroostook River boasts one of the best trout fishing rivers anywhere. Its origin begins by the confluence of two streams in northwestern Penobscot County, near the Piscataquis and Aroostook County lines. The Munsungan Stream flows from Munsungan Lake in northeastern Piscataquis County. Millinocket Stream flows out of Millinocket Lake also in Piscataquis County. The two streams join forces a few miles east of the county line.
 

Ben Philbrook, his Dad and brother came to the Aroostook River boat landing and got in a little fishing the night we were there. - photo by Milt Inman

As the Aroostook flows in a general easterly and northerly direction, it picks up more water. The Mooseleuk Stream that comes out of Mooseleuk Lake, empties into the Aroostook near the Aroostook County line.

A favorite area along the river is The Oxbow, a giant bend, and almost a complete 360-degree loop. From here the river heads north into Masardis. Waters from the St. Croix Stream and Lake add to the flow heading for Ashland.

Only a short distance from Ashland, the Machias River whose headwaters is the Big Machias Lake, empty into the Aroostook. As you can now imagine, the river is gaining in size. It meanders and makes big turns heading first east then north and at times west. After skirting Washburn it takes off in a southeasterly direction for Presque Isle bending back north for Caribou. In Caribou it arches nearly 180-degrees bound for Fort Fairfield before crossing the Canadian boarder and joining forces with the St. John River.

We were on a mission to get to Allagash but it wasn’t going to be via the most direct route. Somewhere during the first day, we had discovered that Milt had left home without his battery charger for his digital camera. It would be disastrous to be making a business trip for a photo shoot only to run out of juice.
 

Three gentlemen took the day off from work and decided to spend the day fishing the Aroostook River. They launched their boat from the Aroostook River Fish and Game Club boat launch. - photo by Milt Inman

The second morning as we were preparing to leave three men from the Presque Isle area arrived at the boat launch for at least a day of fishing on the Aroostook River. We nosed our way over and made their acquaintances, took pictures and got some information as well as gave some out. We found out that the nearest place to get a digital camera charger would be Wal-Mart in Presque Isle.

We hung a hard right and headed for Presque Isle via Rt. 163. Having successfully found a charger, we got on Rt. 1 and drove north to Caribou. From there our journey took us over some pretty rough terrain at times along Rt. 161 that would dump us in Fort Kent.

I’ve been to Fort Kent before during my other life as a downhill ski racing coach at Telstar High School in Bethel. I am very much familiar with the community and I must say, I have always felt welcome there.

Our journey in one direction doesn’t end there though. Allagash, Maine is still “down the road a piece”. We continued on Rt. 161, not that we had any other options, following the absolutely stunning St. John River that separates the United States from Canada.

In the town of Allagash, the St. John and Allagash Rivers meet. Our final stop was just upstream along the Allagash to the home of the Allagash Sporting Camps owned and operated by Mike Paquette. The events that took place while at the camps are another story to be published later at Maine Hunting Today.
 

A once in a lifetime photo op of a rustic barn on U.S. Route 1, north of Danforth. In the background is Grand Lake. The U.S. and Canadian border splits the lake. Grand Lake is the headwaters of the St. Croix river. - photo by Tom Remington

Living up to our goals we wanted to make the trip memorable, so we opted for the scenic route home. We also stretched it out to three days. Retracing our footsteps to Fort Kent, we got on Rt. 1 and decided to follow it through Madawaska and Van Buren. In Van Buren we got on Rt. 1A in order to stay nearer the St. John River valley.

If you have never been in this part of Maine, I highly recommend it, at least in mid-June. The scenery is breathtaking. The potato fields are beginning to grow with newly planted seeds, mixed with lush green fields of hay and alfalfa. The rolling hills and open terrain offers the sightseer miles of checkerboard fields, small villages and an array of barns that will make any photographer drool.

As the afternoon wore on, we began to get weary. Our search began once again for overnight accommodations. We took a back road and got somewhat lost looking for a small campground on Trafton Lake south of Limestone. I assumed the owners of the campground were on a limited budget because there were no signs and without the Maine Atlas and Gazetteer, we would have been surely lost.

We found the campground only to discover that it was full, after all it was Saturday night. Campgrounds aren’t readily available in Aroostook County. I began to scour the pages of my atlas hoping to find something. We made a plan. I love to make a plan.

Plan “S”, we had already been through all the other plans, was to head from Fort Fairfield to Presque Isle. If we couldn’t find a campground with room before Presque Isle, we would have to stay at the Wal-Mart Astoria, as Milt’s wife Eleanor loves to call it.
 

Arndt's Campground just outside Presque Isle was a delightful place to stay. The owners were warm and friendly at the hot shower sure felt good. The views looking across the Aroostook River valley wasn't too hard on the eyes either. - photo by Milt Inman

The Master Guide upstairs must have guided us because we found a little piece of heaven just out of town from Presque Isle. Arndt’s Aroostook River Lodge and Campground is just a stone’s throw off Rt. 167 in Presque Isle on Rt. 205. You just have to go there and go in mid June when the Lupine is in full bloom.

Lupine plastered the countryside everywhere in our journey but none as beautiful as at Arndt’s. Along one side of the hillside campground that overlooks the Aroostook River is a walking trail that winds through fields shared by white birch trees and lupine. The lupine varies from the pure white to the deepest of purples. I think we spent about an hour just walking through and taking pictures.

But there is more to Arndt’s than pretty lupine. The best part of the campground is the warm and friendly owners.

The next morning after strolling through fields of lupine, we gathered up our gear and headed south. Eventually we were going to end up in Jonesport for a night but we didn’t make it that day.
 

Carved out along the hillside adjacent to Ardnt's Campground was an incredible walking trail that was breathtaking to see the endless fields of lupine mixed in with the white birches. - photo by Tom Remington

We traveled further along U.S. Route 1 that day stopping occasionally for something to eat, a bathroom break or a photograph. We spotted a very photogenic barn on the hillside overlooking East Grand Lake.

That night we paid a visit to one of Eleanor’s Wal-Mart Astorias. We were now close enough to be under the influence of breezes from the Atlantic Ocean. The air was cold, damp and the fog hung around making for some dreary looking skies.

After a good night’s sleep we continued on making our way to Jonesport. In Machias we stopped at the causeway to check out a small flea market. The air was raw and I didn’t tarry long.

We turned off Route 1 and headed for Milt’s oldest son and wife’s beautiful piece of heaven abutting tidal water from the Atlantic. The view from where we parked our camper was hidden from the fog.

That evening we built a campfire and close friends sat around relaxing and recalling the last few days adventures. As we conspired, the fog thickened until finally, as happens along the Maine coast, it became “pea soup”. It was so heavy we were getting wet so we retired for the night.
 

Very early in the morning, I snuck down through the woods from where we camped the night before and got this picture. The water was like glass and the dense fog from the night before was burning off. This is looking out onto the back bay, an inlet that nearly disappears when the tide goes out. - photo by Tom Remington

I awoke the next morning early. If you have never lived or spent any time on the Maine or New Hampshire coast, you can’t appreciate the fact that daylight arrives much earlier than my mind and body.

I got up by 5 a.m. as the light was too bright even with shades drawn. Quietly I grabbed my camera and left the confines of the camper. Much to my enjoyment, the sun was shining brightly. The fog was gone. The morning was post card perfect.

I spent much of the next couple hours exploring the shoreline and taking some pictures. It was absolute splendor.

My stomach was telling me it was time to head back to the camper, wake the others and get some food.

While in Jonesport we toured about he town checking out the marinas and little inlets. Very typical Maine as lobster boats, fishing boats and sailboats dotted the waters. It seemed like a quiet fishing community pretty much geared unto itself not getting nor wanting much influence from the rest of the world. It seemed like my kind of place. But honestly who could take that for long?
 

One of many fishing docks in Jonesport, Maine - a classic tiny fishing village in Downeast Maine. - photo by Milt Inman.

On the last day of our trip, it was impossible to get through Ellsworth without stopping at L.L. Beans. Truth be known, after we browsed briefly in Beans, we headed across the street to Reny’s Department Store and bought a few things.

We went back through Bangor and dropped my wife at our son’s house. She wanted to visit with the grandchildren until I returned to get her in a couple days.

Somehow we dodged some severe weather as we traveled from Augusta though Winthrop and over Rt. 219 back to Greenwood.

Many miles we traveled and many hours spent with a couple of the most terrific people in the world. Our adventure was complete and as we talked about it, we all decided that a return trip to the “County” was in order.