Fall 2020 - Northern Maine
Solo Series is a visual-art based blog featuring remote photography expeditions
Intro
There is something spiritual about immersing oneself in the natural world. Void of human presence, the raw solitude has a cleansing effect on the mind and body. My trip down the Allagash River last year imparted a strong impression and longing for another Northern Maine adventure. The vast open waterways, crisp clean air, abundant wildlife and a calming sound palette invoke an unforgettable experience. My intention was to re-visit the Allagash again this year, but mother nature had other plans. I called my canoe guy, Norm, back in early August. He informed me the water levels were unusually low this year — making the Allagash unsuitable for travel without some lengthy portages. While I like a good challenge, carrying a 60 pound canoe and 120 pounds of gear over 10 miles wasn't exactly my preferred transportation method. I began the long process of seeking out another guide service in hopes of finding a suitable waterway.
After a few weeks of investigational work, I found another guide service covering the Penobscot River territory, South of the Allagash wilderness. Paul informed me the West Branch of the Penobscot River typically has the highest volumetric flow rate amongst all the rivers in Maine. Unfortunately, Paul informed me just a few weeks before the planned date, that he was no longer going to be renting out canoes after a couple people banged up some of his beauties on the rocks. I tried to persuade him with a collateral retainer for any damage but his mind was already made up. He did however leave me with a contact that I might try as a last ditch effort. I called Bryant several times, repeatedly getting the voicemail. I was beginning to lose hope as it was three weeks out from the planned date with no leads.
My phone rang about a week after leaving a voicemail for Bryant. I knew almost instantly after answering who I was speaking with from the accent and became overly excited that I was indeed going to have an adventure this year after all. We spoke at length about the route. We emailed back and forth a few times until we had a plan that satisfied my criteria for a challenge and Bryant's balancing perspective of what was practical given the conditions. The proposed route was to start just below the Roll Dam Rapids, spend a day on the river, then head upstream on the runoff from Lobster Lake. Spend a night on Lobster, then back out onto the West Branch for about 45 miles. With the last leg of the journey beginning at the confluence with Chesuncook Lake. A massive body of water, 1.5 miles wide and 20 miles long. I had never lake paddled a canoe before, nevermind solo, and I certainly underestimated the challenge.
Day 1
I packed up all my gear the night prior so it was a quick grab and go the next morning. I woke up overly excited for the week-long journey ahead and was on the road by 8:30am to meet Bryant's friend at the drop point for my car. The instructions provided were to meet Daryl at the end of Chesuncook Lake Road at 2:30pm. I had to stop and fill up the cooler with enough calories to get through 70 miles of paddling, in addition to a few other last minute gear purchases. I left a voicemail with Bryant to let Daryl know I'd be running behind a bit. I was just hoping he'd relay the message since I had no means of contacting Daryl. Seven hours after leaving Cambridge, I came barreling down a pothole strewn gravel road. Weaving around the holes, trying to make up lost time — I was worried that Daryl might not have received the message.
When I finally pulled up to the turn off for Chesuncook Lake Road, I saw a green Jeep waiting opposite the street sign; the canoe strapped to the roof was a sign of relief. I rolled down my window and heard Daryl ask "are you Zac? I was just about to take off, thought maybe you weren't coming" phew, just made it. We dropped the car and quickly transferred all my gear into the back of the Jeep.
I hopped in the front seat, squeezing next to Daryl's 20 gauge shotgun. "You don't mind the gun, do ya?" Daryl asked. "Nope, not a problem" I responded, thoroughly enjoying the exposure to a different culture and mind set. I knew Daryl and I would have some interesting conversation along the drive upstream. I asked if he was a big hunter and found his response quite interesting. This was the first year Daryl had hunted anything since 20 years ago. He was only hunting partridges to feed himself. When I inquired about the big moose hunt he said he would never shoot a moose. If he won a lottery ticket for the hunt, he would just keep it and save one moose. Daryl was adamant that killing was nothing to take pleasure in, rather a necessity that should be limited to survival needs. I found the differentiation between partridge and moose hunting to be interesting. This reminded me of the sacred reverence applied to cows in Hindu culture. Listen here for a direct audio dialogue:
I helped Daryl unload the canoe, snapped a quick pic to capture the moment, then bid each other farewell.
After Daryl's jeep grumbled off into the distance the auditory stillness permeated my consciousness. I walked down to the granite encrusted river bank to survey the landscape of raw wilderness; a feeling of uncertainty and excitement took over. I headed back up to camp and cooked up a rib eye dinner — figured I should get some dense calories in before the first big day of paddling the next morning. After dinner, I headed back down to the river bank with my camera for some long exposure night photography fun. I noticed three pairs of eyes glaring at me from the water. This was a bit unsettling at first, wasn't sure what exactly I was looking at. After a few moments I realized they were playful otters curious about this strange human figure encroaching on their territory. They spent a few minutes studying me before vanishing into the black abyss. Shortly after I heard some rustling in the forest, some sort of creature making it's way towards me. As I readied myself for the unexpected, to my surprise, this imagined beast was actually a coalition of weasels traveling together. They were quite small, like miniaturized ferrets, but they adapted a confident posture, surrounding me with curious glances. They were extremely cute I must say; but pound for pound they are one of the most fierce predators. I enjoyed their company and playful movements as I carried on with a few more shots of the moonlight drenched river bend. Heading to bed shortly after, I felt a sense of comfort in the vast calming darkness of the night.
Day 2
Sometimes it's tough sleeping on a narrow pad without a pillow. But when I'm able to fall asleep on my back and wake up in that same position, it's always a great night sleep. I felt energized getting up to make some coffee in the low blue light before sunrise. Within three minutes of rising, before I could even fire up the stove, a big bull moose came casually trotting into my camp, stopped about 30 feet from me, and we just stared at each other. He was a towering figure, majestic and graceful. After enjoying the moment, I slowly made a move towards the overhang shelter, firstly for my camera, secondly to put a barrier between us incase he was feeling territorial. The bull made an aggressive stomp towards me when I began to walk. I didn’t turn to look at him, just kept account with my peripherals and he turned soon after to head off into the forest. I took the intimate encounter as a good sign for the rest of the trip.
After finishing up with the coffee, I loaded up the canoe and pushed off into the swirling current. My destination for the night was Lobster Lake, about a 10 mile paddle downstream.
Fog and haze encapsulated the morning, with a light drizzle as I made my way along the winding banks. I encountered several beavers during this stretch, each one greeted me with a hasty tail slap — offended that I dare encroach on their hard earned waterway. They were a bit rude but I suppose I'd feel the same way if some strange creature came passing through my village unannounced. They would circle the boat, popping up from different vantage points until they were satisfied I was sufficiently distanced from their lodge. I had three of these encounters before I spotted a big old beaver sitting in the shallows, munching on a branch. I got the camera out and dialed in the proper settings, positioned the boat to drift in towards him and then sat still as a statue. I was shocked that my presence was either going unnoticed or ignored once I made it within 50 feet.
The stoic beaver kept munching away as I continued to drift even closer, until finally the bow of the canoe actually bumped into him. He was apparently completely oblivious and regarded me as an inanimate object drifting along.
But once that nudge came he thrashed in a panic, charging out of the shallows for the safety of the deep currents. No tail slap however, so that was an improvement.
The rain picked up pretty hard so I decided to pull off for a bit and warm the spirits with a hot drink and some snacks. The clouds began to break after an hour or so and that was my cue to get back on the water. The stream outlet to Lobster Lake was only a couple miles further.
By the time I made it upstream into Lobster Lake, the rain had passed and the overcast skies offered a visceral Fall afternoon.
I had a long paddle across the still waters of the lake. My plan was to circle around the big island in the middle and camp out on the backend. Once I had circled the perimeter, I encountered an unexpected portage due to the lower water levels. This would prove to be a bit challenging with the quick-sand nature of the mud clad land bridge. I first tried to drag the canoe loaded with all the gear and it didn't take long to realize this was not going to work for the 200 yard stretch. I emptied the canoe and brought it as far as I could until the embankment became too unstable to support my weight.
I could not walk any further without my boot sinking in past my knee, so I had to load the canoe and then use the paddles to pry myself into the water and escape the viscous sludge.
After a 90 minute struggle I was finally free from the muck. The sun was setting as I found a beautiful little peninsula to set up camp for the night. I enjoyed a hearty salmon dinner in the cast iron skillet with a cajun seasoning and fresh rosemary before pitching my tent under the open stars.
Day 3
I took my time getting ready the following morning as I enjoyed the beautiful fog rolling off the calm lake.
After cooking up a proper breakfast with eggs, bacon, broccoli sprouts and avocado, I set back out towards the main river. The still winds allowed the crystalline lake to the shine like an enormous mirror across the sky.
An eloquent feather drifting atop the crystalline projection made me appreciate such beauty in a small ordinary thing.
I had a schedule to keep so after enjoying the reflections, made my way off the lake. As I approached the stream's confluence with the Penobscot, I encountered two mallards floating along in the same direction. Once I became too close for comfort, they suddenly took flight, up and away. A split second later a Peregrine falcon dove form an evergreen tree top, making a fierce swoop at the mallards. Peregrines typically kill their prey mid-air with a clenched foot protruding a sharp talon to deliver a high velocity tearing impact. This time the strike was unsuccessful and the embarrassed peregrine retreated to a distant treetop to regain confidence.
At the confluence I suddenly saw two juvenile bald eagles flying alongside a handful of large ravens. I found this quite unusual and interesting. They didn't seem to be in conflict, flying side by side down the river and landing in some evergreen treetops. I tried to ready the camera but these eaglets were rather shy. Once I would get within 100 yards or so, they would take off for a different tree 500 yards out, on the opposing side of the river. Zigzagging down the river back and forth in this manner for a couple miles until finally they broke off into the forest.
Another few miles of leisurely paddling before I saw a distant dark outline on the shore contrasting the softer autumn pallet. My first thought was a moose, but as I starred on at the unwavering object, I began to doubt any creature would maintain such a rigid posture for that long. To my surprise after closing the gap to a couple hundred yards, I realized there was indeed a moose there on the edge of the bank.
She was not frightened by me, rather curious to my presence. I paddled right up to within 30 feet of the bank she was surveying, when I heard several pairs of hooves just beyond the thicket. I assumed these must be males in pursuit, given it was the middle of the rutt. I pulled off and made my way around the cow, giving a half hearted attempt to pursue the bulls into the dense forest. It was just too thick, the 8 foot moose just bulldoze their way through the dense underbrush while keeping their head up in the clear. I circled back towards the canoe and found the cow standing over my boat.
I immediately began imagining what would happen if she decided to test out the resilience of the fiberglass hull. Her massive hoove would have punched clean through the boat like a piece of paper. I tried calling her away from the boat, whistling — thankfully she lost interest after a few minutes and moved on down stream.
I hopped back in the boat, snapped a few more pics and bid the cow farewell.
The sun was getting low so I started looking for the first suitable pull off to make camp for the night. I found an embankment with an 8 foot ledge, providing a nice flat spot atop for my tent. This was right at the juncture of a small brook feeding into the river — typically a preferred environment for moose. After starting a fire to keep wild animals away, I cooked up a nice cajun chicken breast dinner with broccoli.
After settling down in my tent, I heard a pack of coyotes sound off with cascading howls in the distance. I hoped they weren't rallying the troops in pursuit of an exotic chicken dinner. The crackling fire provided some comfort but I knew that would only burn for another hour or so..
I decided best to fall asleep with the fire still ablaze, rather than conjure up fears in the mind. I was awoken in the middle of the night by a loud crashing beast bulldozing it's way through the forest. I could hear large branches snapping as it approached. I sat upright in the tent, listening intently, then heard it come crashing through the stream, 30 feet from my tent. Then it stopped, surveying the strange smells emanating from my camp, before turning course and heading back the direction It had came from. It must have been a big bull moose, but also could have been a large male bear. I tried to fall back asleep, and twenty minutes later heard another smaller animal approaching. Again it crossed through the stream, stopped at the base of my camp, then let out two sharp high pitched barks, followed by a deeper howl. Within a couple seconds I heard the pack sound back with a coalition of howls in the distance. This was a bit more unsettling than the previous encounter. I assumed this scout was revealing my location for the troops to join in on a group hunt. I sat upright, readied myself, and anticipated a less than favorable encounter. Fortunately, it never came. They must have decided best not to pursue these strange, unfamiliar scents. I fell back asleep after subduing the speculative fears, fortunately without further disturbance.
Day 4
The fourth day was more easy going; I had about 10 miles to Big Island, a quarter mile island strip in the middle of the river. Along the way I spotted another large female moose drinking from the river as I came around a bend.
She was much more cautious than my previous encounter. She took off into the forest once I came within 100 yards. I made an attempt to follow her with the camera, but once again, was quickly overwhelmed by the dense underbrush. I arrived at my destination mid-afternoon, providing a few hours of solid light to mess around with macro photography on the banks of Big Island. I brought two specialty macro lenses to force myself into an experimental creative mode. A bit uncomfortable using a fully manual specialty lens, but the challenge is good for artistic growth. This was my attempt to portray the environment from the River's perspective.
After a few hours of underwater macro photography I decided to also make use of the 10 pounds of panorama equipment I had lugged along.
After heading back to prepare dinner, I noticed in the distance, a large bald eagle had been watching me from a rock in the middle of the river. Perhaps with their superior vision, they also have the intelligence to understand when a potential threat has become aware of their location. Seeing as the eagle flew off moments after drawing my attention. I finished off day with some delicious rosemary lamb chops and cherry tomatoes.
This would prove to be a relatively leisurely day, not to be taken for granted.
Day 5
An overcast, drizzly morning offered a stoic experience to begin the day. After departing from Big Island, I set up my tripod in the middle of the River to capture some long exposure shots using ND filters.
The River was quickly widening as the inlet to Chesuncook Lake drew near. There was one particularly rocky section before opening up into the Lake. This is were I spotted a rather peculiar jack rabbit swimming out in the shallows. He seemed to be making an attempt to swim back to shore, then changed course and hopped back up to a protruding rock.
As I approached he didn't seem to be concerned by my presence. Perhaps he was chased out there by a coyote prior to my arrival — still in a state of shock. Whatever the cause, I took full advantage of my willing photography subject.
He rejected my carrot offering, but accepted a few back scratches instead.
Soon after that, he snapped out of the trance state and sprung from the rock head first into the River like a seasoned diver. Doggy paddling his way to shore and off into the forest.
I reviewed the images on my camera, cropping in on the detail of his iris. I could see the reflection of the entire landscape along with myself. This was a bizarre but auspicious experience — providing insight into the nature of perceptions, the observer and the observed. Valuable insight on the aggregation of self that emerges from perception and interpretation.
I coasted on down the open stretches of water. A sprawling bald eagle suddenly appeared 50 yards overhead. This one did not seem very shy, perching atop a nearby Red Spruce tree to get a better look at me.
The eagle seemed to mark the farewell point to the West Branch, as the landscape began rapidly changing with the big lake a mile out. The first sign of man, remnants of an early 19th century bridge. It was impressive to see the pillars still standing, but clearly displaying the ravages sustained in the great battle with impermanence.
The rain began to pick back up as I approached the entrance to Chesuncook Lake. The sky churned an ominous grey as the water became choppy with howling winds. This would prove to be an advanced introduction to lake canoeing, paddle or perish. The wind and rain were hammering me straight on; large waves were beginning to pick up as the wind tore across the surface peeling up white caps. I had to adopt a considerably more aggressive paddle stroke. I gripped the paddle closer to the blade to get the most leverage with each pull. Three left, three right, full power, for about ninety minutes continuously. Normally I would have been freezing, exposed in high winds with waterlogged clothing in the low 40's. But despite the fatigue, I was actually at a comfortable body temp, given the maxed out calorie burn rate. I had no choice but to continue on with this pace because the wind was pushing me into a rocky shoreline that stretched on for the first couple miles of the lake. I had to fist clear the jagged teeth before I could pull off to find a suitable campsite. Once clearing the rocks, a couple sandy points came into view. I decided to push myself a bit further and take the second landing. Figured I can't get any wetter than I already am so I might as well push on for a bit and make tomorrow a little easier. After another half hour or so I finally landed on the second point. There were no rocks guarding the shore line, but the waves still pinned the boat up against the steep bank and began hurling waves into the boat. I quickly unpacked all the gear and dragged the canoe out of the watery barrage. Unfortunately there’s no time for pictures during survival mode.
Exhausted and freezing, I found a big overreaching, motherly tree to provide the best option for an immediate shelter. I was beginning to shiver now that I was no longer paddling like a Viking. I knew the first priority was to bring up my body temp. It was still downpouring so I headed into the tree line to find a birch tree. My best chance at a fire was to leverage the flammable betulin found in birch bark. Betulin is a hydrophobic molecule, providing a protective, waterproof layer so the bark is always readily ignitable. I built the fire right underneath the sprawling tree, creating a small bubble of comfort.
It took me a couple hours to warm up over the fire; steam pouring off my clothing. Once I was in a better state to set up camp I grabbed my butane gas stove to make dinner. I failed to realize all the rain had jammed up the gas regulator channels. When I opened the valve to lite the stove, the gas pressure was not sufficient to force the water out of the channels. The gas was redirected out the base of the regulator in an uncontrolled manner. As the tank turned into a four foot flamethrower, my fist thought was around my water supply. I did not have enough water to drink on hand. I needed the butane stove to boil lake water for the remainder of the 20 mile journey. I sprung into action knowing each second was critical. First I tried to bury it under the sand and it seemed to work for a moment but then the flames reemerged as the gas permeated through the porous granules. I quickly kicked off the sand and then figured my only other option was to submerge it in the lake water 100 yards away. The fiery ball was far too unbridled to handle so I punted it like a football. The swift kick was enough for the wind resistance to extinguish the flames once it was airborne. I retrieved it halfway down the beach and was pleased that it still felt quite full, maybe lost 10%. However, the regulator valve broke into pieces during the punt. Fortunately I was able to reassemble the components and dry out the channels to bring the stove back into the game. Finally, I was able to settle down and cooked up a much needed ribeye dinner to replenish my calorie deprived body from the afternoon's events. I was able to get my tent setup in the rain while keeping the interior dry. I had a good night sleep after a very strenuous day.
Day 6
I woke up to a pleasant sight with the sun was piercing through the last remnants of the retreating storm. The rain had subsided, but it was still quite windy. I brought the gas stove into my tent to shield the flame and fix up some coffee.
I was sure to take in the soothing sun bathed moment before heading back out into the battle.
I prepared a hearty omelet with the left over ribeye in anticipation of another tough day of paddling.
The winds had reversed direction overnight, now pushing the waves towards my destination. I packed up camp quickly, wanting to take full advantage of mother nature's timely cooperation. As I set off, the sun retreated behind a thick layer of stratus clouds emanating a muted golden haze with slivers of blue woven across the vast blanket. It was tough getting off the shoreline, I still had a couple rocky points to clear before I would be out in the open and fully aligned with the wind current. I was moving along swiftly, riding the powerful waves. This was a pleasant shift from the head on battle I had the day prior. I had a cathartic moment where I felt very connected to nature. I felt as though I was being tested and succeeded — mother nature decided to reward me with a helping hand. This was a double edged sword however. I was saving precious energy, considering my limited water situation, but it was becoming increasingly dangerous.
The winds were picking up, as I was approaching the most aggressive point yet. The jagged peninsula pierced out into the lake like a wolf's fang. The winds were pushing me straight towards the peril. I had to once again employ a maxed out paddle rhythm to make overcome the obstacle. As I approached the rocks, I had about 15 yards to spare on my right. At this point the waves were becoming uncomfortably large. They would sneak up on me from behind and spill water over the brim of the canoe. I had to remain extremely focused to keep the boat aligned perpendicular the oncoming waves; if I were caught parallel to them I would have surely been rolled over. I found it best not to look behind at the approaching monsters — rather remain forward focused while nurturing an intuitive feel for the boat. Shifting body weight in harmony with the rise and fall of the waves, working the paddle like the tail of a leopard to balance the boat with quick, sharp pivots to re-correct course and sail in union with the elements.
I finally cleared what I decided to call Widow's Point. The canoe was cutting through the water with force; having become more comfortable with the turbulent waters I embraced the elements. Before I knew it the winds had carried me out to the middle of the lake, with the intensity becoming enough for concern. I realized if the canoe were to succumb to the turbulent waters, I would not be in a very favorable situation. The water was cold and I was at least a half mile from shore. While, I'm a capable swimmer, I didn't like those odds very much. The most intense part of my seven day journey, was at this point. I was out in the middle of the lake, being tossed about by intimidating white capped waves. My previous feeling of mother nature's embrace shifted at first to a feeling of naivety, then to what you might call a tough love understanding. While none of us enjoy being in uncomfortable situations, least of all life threatening ones, I felt as though I was being offered a path of challenge and growth.
At first I tried employing a vigorous paddling strategy to close the gap on the shoreline. I was becoming fatigued and I knew this was an even more vulnerable state. I recognized this was going to be a battle of mental faculties and skill, rather than brute strength. My first priority was to subdue the panic that was beginning to brew. I knew this was going to be at least an hour battle and I had to find a balance between countering the forceful waves and a sustainable pace. I adopted a much slower, intentional paddling pace. Then began focusing on my breathing and re-established an internal state of calm. It's best not to think of the canoe, the waves and oneself as three separate entities. But rather, an interconnected system, where all components must work in harmony. One must ebb and flow with the waves, find the rhythm of the dance, and endure.
After making it through the worst, the lake opened up into a sprawling cove. The winds had changed direction and were now hammering into the cove's basin. I made several attempts to port the canoe upwind of the basin, trying to push around the point. There was not a chance, each time I was swiftly swept back to shore. I was feeling dismayed at this point; I was not entirely sure where I was on the map, and had only one 12oz coconut water remaining. There were about 500 yards of rocky shore to make it to the tree line and hopefully find some relief from the howling winds. I decided to leave most of my gear with the canoe and venture into the forest to recuperate. I spent a couple hours in the forest finding a sense of calm. Recognizing this was going to be a trial of patience, I realigned my energy to that outcome. After two hours or so, I emerged from the forest and walked back out to the canoe to survey the situation. Reflecting back on the day's events I had another cathartic moment, as I realized just how much I had overcame. I decided I would make camp there for the night, and see if the elements turned in my favor the following morning.
I walked back out to the beached canoe and gathered my gear to spend the night. I was able to find a little nook that was semi-protected from the fierce winds by a large fallen tree. I still had to construct a lean-to wind barrier for my tent to withstand the unrelenting howls throughout the night. This was actually quite fun. I felt like Robinson Caruso, stranded, not entirely sure where I was — enjoying the adventure none the less.
I was very pleased with the effectiveness of the lean-to shelter, even surprised that I could not feel any wind when laying down behind it. The fun part was building the fire. The shoreline was littered with large, dry pieces of driftwood. I built the largest fire I have ever experienced in my life.
The intense winds consumed the massive logs like a supercharged inferno. While it didn't burn long, it certainly did burn bright.
Day 7
I had a great night sleep, waking up to a pink hue caressing the mountain tops. The wind was still going, but it seemed to have let up just a bit. First thing I did was scan the bay in search of white capped waves. There was an odd curl here and there but nothing like the chummy waters that stranded me the previous day.
I packed my things and boiled a liter of lake water to compliment my one remaining coconut water.
The push out of the cove was strenuous. The winds wanted to sweep me right back in. Fortunately today it was a fair fight — manageable with strong sustained strokes. Once I cleared Hell's cove, there was a dog-leg left. This realigned my travel direction with the wind. I was cruising along like a sail boat, so fast that I ended up overshooting my destination by 4 miles before midday. The wind carried me right to the end of the lake where the water dried up into a vast graveyard of dead wood. I was feeling a bit lost at this point. Wasn't entirely sure where I was; the wind was still far too strong to attempt paddling back the direction I had came. I decided to leave all the gear with the canoe and go scout ahead to see what lie beyond the logs.
I hopped from log to log, being careful not to fall into the viscous mud pools below. After a half mile or so, I saw glimpses of a car moving along behind a thick wall of foliage. What a sight of relief, at last survival was certain. I headed towards the car sighting and found myself on an old gravel dirt road. I began walking the road, hoping to find my next checkpoint. Just a few minutes after, a big truck came grumbling up with two old hunters. After hearing my case they decided to help out with a lift back to where my car was. I was very grateful towards their generosity; if one's attitude is aligned to solutions, they will emerge.
After retrieving my car, I backtracked to where the Hunter's had picked me up. The battle was in the final hour but not yet over. I now had to port the canoe, along with 120 pounds of gear over the vast graveyard of logs. The hunters had given me a half liter of water, but I was still rather dehydrated going into the final push. I moved the gear in three separate trips, then the empty canoe. This took about four hours in total.
After packing the car and getting the canoe strapped to the roof, I followed the old dirt road back to civilization. I stopped at the first gas station I could find and replenished myself with two liters of fluids. To close off the trip I then made my way down to Bangor — celebrating my survival over a heavy IPA and even heavier burger that was much needed.
Afterthoughts
Most people may find my use of vacation time in such a strenuous manner a bit perplexing. I believe that challenging oneself with uncomfortable situations (both physically and mentally) provides growth and strength. We live in a world entwined in technology and cultural customs. Immersion in raw nature, unscathed by human activity has a restorative quality. Removing the constant stream of stimuli and demands for attention, allows the mind to turn inward and settle down. Like dirt falling to the bottom of a pond when it becomes still — the water then becomes clear, elucidating what lies beneath.
