Fall 2019 - Northern Maine
Solo Series is a new visual-art based blog featuring remote photography expeditions
Intro
The Fall has always been a nostalgic time of year for me. Perhaps it’s the pungent memory of a new school semester; or growing up on a winding river lined with tall oaks to imprint the colorful visuals. Whatever the cause, it remains a time of year that I tend to be most present and aligned with nature. Summer excitement gives way to a stoic observer; keen on experiencing the visceral palette of colors and sounds flushing across the great North East.
After taking up Photography in 2016, I have found myself being drawn further and further North each Fall. These trips tend to be rather spontaneous and very remote. Photography is just one aspect of the journey; the experience of unscathed wilderness is the real substance. I prefer to go alone because it adds another layer of rawness to the experience. One must rely entirely on themself to walk out alive. I've found that when you can learn to be comfortable sleeping on the ground in the middle of the wilderness, the mundane hiccups of life tend to become rather minuscule in comparison.
This year I was feeling drawn up to the Northernmost part of Maine, the Allagash Wilderness Waterway region. The Allagash River weaves a continuous 92 mile route through a series of lakes, ponds and streams. The last truly untamed frontier of New England, exactly what I was looking for. When I normally venture off on photography expeditions, I’m somewhat limited with how far I can penetrate the remote wilderness based on my Jeep's capabilities. Of course I can continue on foot, but again, I am restricted by the weight of the camera gear, food, water, and shelter supplies. Traveling by canoe opened up new possibilities; plenty of room for camera gear plus sustenance required for a 4 day trip into the wild Northern abyss.
I began calling guide services and local outfitters up in the Allagash Wilderness Region. I kept getting the same answer, that it was too late in the season. I was out of options so I said oh well, maybe next year. The next day I received a call back from one of the guide services telling me they knew some old timer up by the Canadian border in St. Francis. I gave him a call not sure what exactly I was getting myself into. Norm turned out to be just the guy I was looking for. A seasoned local with plenty of wisdom to share. He asked me what I was seeking and we discussed the Allagash wilderness at length with all options on the table. I told old Norm I didn't have any particular section or route in mind, just that I wanted to experience the Allagash in it's most raw form, and hopefully see some moose.
Norm laid out a 60 mile, 4 day, 3 night trip for me. I was happy with the deal we agreed on, $350 for the three hour transport upstream, plus he provided the canoe. We worked out all the details just a few days before the trip was scheduled. I could not have been more excited and also partially terrified at the idea of spending 4 days alone in the Allagash Wilderness. No cell service, no people, no roads, no planes overhead, just me and the river. I set off from Boston Thursday afternoon to make the 430 mile drive up to Saint Francis ME. Seven hours later I arrived at a campsite on the St. Francis River around 2am. Norm had instructed me to spend the night here and he would come fetch me in the morning.
Day 1
Norm's old chevy came grumbling in at 6:00am sharp to pick me up as agreed. I scurried out of my tent and saw Norm had two local helpers who began loading up all my gear. I had brought a fairly large Pelican case to hold all of the camera equipment and keep it dry incase the boat flipped.
We first tried to take a 10 footer, the 80lb case wouldn't fit, then 12, nope, finally the 14er did the trick. I followed the crew to my end point where we dropped my car. Norm told me I would finish here, simply leave the canoe and drive away. We then had a three hour drive on unpaved, unmarked backroads cutting right into the heart of the Allagash Wilderness.
The ride up was fairly quiet. There was some talk amongst the Mainers, I found their demeanor to be rather interesting with intermittent comments and delayed responses, no rush at all. Norm had a 2-way radio in the truck . He was using it to communicate with loggers running the backroads to move timber between Canada and the US. The bumpy dirt road lined with tall pines wasn't wide enough for two cars to pass each other. At each mile marker the loggers would call out their location and Norm would do the same. He would pull off when one was a mile out. These trucks would come barreling down doing 50+ mph fully loaded with hundreds of logs. There is no way for them to stop if another car is in the road when they come around a bend. Luckily Norm seemed to know what he was doing in that regard. About an hour into the drive Norm asked one of his helpers to grab a map for me. "What map?" never a good thing to hear. Norms assistants began shuffling things around trying to find a box of maps that Norm swears he had in there somewhere. Norm seemed a bit frustrated with himself about forgetting the maps and further reprimanded himself with charges of unprofessionalism. Oh well I thought, I'm just following the river, right? "Right" said Norm. Admittedly not the best feeling going into one of the most remote wilderness regions without a map, but hey it adds to the adventure.
Norm dropped me on the bank around 11am, loaded all of my gear into the canoe, wished me luck, then he was gone.
I got myself situated, hit a couple stretches, then shoved off. Once I got onto the water there was an initial period of elation and freedom. I saw a proud, sprawling bald eagle soar across the river a few hundred yards downstream within the first 5 minutes. I stopped paddling and took it all in. Floating down the vast abyss of cool currents and evergreen margins.
I cut my paddle into the cool water and heard the slap echo through the valley. I was amazed at how far the echo seemed to travel and how sharp the response back was. All of these wonderful things began to fade as I realized the current wasn't moving very fast and I had 60 miles to get out of here on my own. The reality of how much paddling I had began to set in. Especially with the added factor that I was solo paddling a 14ft canoe loaded with 150lbs of gear.
It took a few hours to really get in a groove with the paddling. Tried a few different approaches but settled on 2 strokes right, 2 strokes left. The other thing one doesn't normally consider is that when you switch sides every two strokes, the paddle drips into the boat when passing over. This may not seem like much, just a few drops, but it adds up faster than you might expect. I was beginning to realize some of the things I wish I had brought, like a tarp covering for the boat. Without notice, storm clouds rolled in and opened up. The gleeful freedom gave way to an oh-shit, survival mode. I pulled off into a forest thicket, unpacked the entire canoe and assessed what I had to improvise with. I was able to use my camera tripod with the rain covering from the tent to erect a makeshift rain cover.
I was back on the river with confidence rejuvenated, ready for the next four days on the open waters, rain or shine. Fortunately the rain let up after a couple hours and the sun returned. I began to focus on the minutia of my paddling technique to ensure I was using my energy efficiently. Little things start to add up; the canoe becomes an extension of your own form, less of a calculated process and more of an art. The river was wide with vast stretches into the horizon and slow currents the first half day.
I heard a distant grumbling way downstream, it grew into a scolding hiss as I approached. I recalled on the ride up Norm had mentioned there was an old dam with some rapids that I should carry the canoe around. Admittedly, I have never run rapids before, and a loaded canoe is probably not the best way to start. I watched a few instructional videos on Youtube about how to navigate rapids the night before. One of the more convincing instructors put a lot of emphasis on standing up to get a “read on the river”. feeling out where the currents are moving and finding the deepest channel through. Doesn't seem like much to go on but this approach resonated with my style. So I stood up in the rear of the canoe, looked at the drop coming up, which didn’t look too bad, and it just seemed obvious where the flow was tapering down for my line. Heart pumping on the approach, another last "Oh shit, bad idea" moment right before the drop but I cut in hard with the paddle to keep the nose up with forward momentum over the drop. The rapids grabbed on and launched the canoe forward. The bow plunged in, dropping dangerously close with the water coming right up an inch below the brim. It was exhilarating! The swift currents carried me off and away as the landscape transformed with the narrowing river accelerating.
I was beginning to look for a suitable place to make camp for the first night as the late afternoon sun washed a golden blanket over the landscape. The river was more dense now, interesting features, twists and turns. I was thoroughly enjoying it all when I came around a bend and there were two big bulls standing right on the bank.
I was teeming with excitement but moved very slowly to grab my camera. Slowly coasting closer with the current guiding me. I was very cautious of the fact that it's mating season and the bulls are in rutt; highly unpredictable and potentially dangerous. The water was only about 2 feet deep at this point, so I was mindful not to make any sudden movements or noises that might provoke them to charge the canoe and stomp me to death. Seeing a truly wild creature in their home is a special experience. It's not like seeing one from your car on the side of the road. You are a visitor in the heart of their domain, and the mighty bull reigns supreme over the Allagash.
I was very thankful to have such an intimate encounter with these two giants on the first day of the trip. I took this as a good sign. Shortly after I found an inviting bed of grass neatly propped above the water and decided to make camp for the night.
After pulling the canoe out I discovered that I was not the only one to find this spot appealing. There was also a moose bed here, with the grass and fodder all firmly packed down. I figured the moose wouldn't mind if I borrowed the spot for a night so I plopped my tent right ontop. Cooked up a much needed steak that I had been keeping in the Yeti cooler and organized myself for the next morning. Fell asleep listening to the dark churning waters and chorus of creatures.
Day 2
I had an excellent night sleep, woke up feeling invigorated by the cold morning air. I was eager to get in the boat, as Norm indicated I would see the most wildlife in the early morning before sunrise. I shoved off from the grass thicket after packing up my tent and the choppy black waters carried me into an eerie fog.
I came around a long bend and something substantial began to emerge from the fog. My heart jumped as I saw a female taking a stroll along the shallow end of the bank. I sat in the canoe without paddling for a few minutes and we just observed each other with our respective fascinations.
The current slowly pulling me towards her until finally it was too close for comfort and she trotted off into the bog lands as I listened to the low thuds from her hooves fading off. I continued to drift along still focused on the intimate encounter, when a gust of wind came along and pushed a blanket of fogg off the river to reveal a beautiful reflection of a stiff leafless tree stretching overhead. I then noticed the silhouette of a large bird, wait, yes American Eagle! perched 30 feet away from me, observing. I could see the magnificent outline seared into the dull haze and felt shivers go up my spine, the wise king of the skies let me snap a few pics and then vanished into the glowing white morning; still wonder if it was the same one that flew over the first day.
The fog was beginning to clear up as the sun poked through just as the river opened up into a vast flood plane.
Not too far downstream I saw a young bull grazing in the shallows; slurping down a hearty breakfast of Allagash greens.
I was able to get within 50 feet or so as he continued his breakfast. After a few minutes three more bulls came galloping along the banks and that was his cue to join the ranks.
I watched the four bulls run along the shore thinking how their galloping mechanics more closely resemble that of a giraffe than horse. I drifted on as the sound of their hooves faded into the forest. Rolling hills began to pierce through the fog halo that lingered on the periphery banks.
It felt like a lake above the clouds. I slowly drifted until the last of the white fog boiled off and the sun was bearing down. I paddled for a solid 3 hours or so to work up a good appetite, before pulling over to cook up some carne asada strips I had marinating.
Closing the day off with a refreshing river bath and beautiful sunset.
Day 3
Another foggy morning which I thoroughly enjoyed yet again. I knew I wasn't too far off from the Allagash Falls, a massive 40 foot drop. I was overly cautions coming around the bends, anticipating a sudden drop. Finally I saw a sign that instructed all paddlers to pull off and carry.
This was no easy feat. It was about a third of a mile that I made in two trips. The first one I loaded up my hiking pack with as much as I could fit then grabbed the 80lb Pelican case. The heavy backpack helped to balance out the heavy case in front. I came back for the canoe and decided to haul it with the remainder of the gear rather than make another trip. The canoe weighs 110lbs plus another 70 lbs of gear. It took me about 30 mins to drag the 180lb load through the forest. Definitely the most strenuous part of the trip!
After I finally had all of the gear downstream of the falls I went exploring on foot since you cannot actually see the falls from the upstream or downstream access points. The rocks were very slick as I had a few close calls. Well worth the climb to see the beautiful sculptures the River has been slowly carving over millennia.
I saw an interesting cave on the other side of the river, but decided not to explore after assessing the risks involved, maybe next time. The rest of the afternoon was open river and swift waters to eat up some miles at a solid pace. As the day was winding down some heavy clouds started moving in; I could smell a big storm coming. Not long after it began to open up and come down pretty hard. The winds were picking up and I knew I had to get off the water fast.
The river opened up into a wide, shallow stretch with a long island splitting the flow. I decided to seek refuge inland. It’s not obvious in the below image, but the island is the cluster of trees in the top center-right.
I scrambled to drag the canoe inland to get underneath the sheltered arms of the tall evergreens. I was amazed how little rain was able to get past the thicket of branches.
The bushy trees also provided nice cover from the fierce winds as I moved into the center of the island. It was like a little forcefield from the elements. I cleared off a flat spot and began setting up camp. I gathered some kindling of varying diameters to get a fire going. Luckily I was able to find a big birch tree hospitably shedding its ribbon like bark. I cooked up a nice potato stew and got a few more steaks going.
Pro tip: birch bark contains a flammable resin that will ignite even when wet.
I loaded up the fire with some beefy chunks of dead wood and fell asleep to the soothing crackle. I really felt like Robinson Caruso for an evening, that was my favorite night of the trip.
Day 4
The fire was still smoldering when I woke at dawn. The rain continued but I was nice and dry in my cozy tent. I hopped to and fixed up some eggs and bacon along with the last of the potatoes and a fist full of arugula.
The rain let up a bit and I took the opportunity to capture a time lapse of the storm clouds rolling across the valley. This is looking outwards from the island with my camp positioned behind the camera.
Even though it was raining all night, my gear was dry and I was even able to air out the canoe by flipping it over for the night.
I took my time loading up the canoe to keep it this way, ensuring the tent cover was well tucked around all the gear. I figured I had another half day of paddling to get back to the car. I pulled on my arcteryx shell, and shoved off into the seemingly infinite drops undulating across the bleak horizon.
I could feel the water levels were starting to rise a bit as the currents quickened. There was something very peaceful and soothing about paddling on the open river with the pitter patter all around. It's almost as if there is no room for the mind to wander astray into it’s habitual ponderings. The melodic shower washes away thoughts astray. I enjoyed the last hour of paddling before spotting my car up on the bank. I left the canoe like Norm had instructed and drove away, time to plan the next journey! Please feel free to reach out with question how you can plan a similar journey and thank you for reading.
