Fin | September 5, 2002
Canning the Maine journal entries for now. To me, the entries bring almost instant adrenaline, along with memories of an exciting trip; but I can see that, to anyone else, they’re just words, and not up to the caliber of my normal blog entries. The few days I’ve already transcribed can stay (my favorite is this one), but there will be no further additions in that category unless some mitigating evidence is presented.
Posted 3:57 PM
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Outward Bound Journal - Day 4 | August 31, 2002
The least pleasant day to date. Woke, had breakfast, and paddled about 100 meters across to a portage trail. For the blissfully ignorant: portaging is when you have to get your canoe from one body of water to another, over land. It entails unpacking all the canoes, beaching them, flipping them over, and carrying them on your shoulders, along with 50 pound personal packs, food packs, and the gear bag (pots, fry-bake, stoves, gas, etc).
Our portage in this case 1.2 miles of rock-plagued, root-laden path. Because of the way the canoes are built (a single wooden yoke in the center), only one person can carry a canoe at a time. About the longest anyone could take it was 4 or 5 minutes, so there was frequent switching off. Once we got the canoes to the other end, we had to go back and make a second trip, for the packs. When everything was transported, with many aching backs, we sat on the rocks and made lunch. By 2:30 or so, we were loading the canoes back up and then on our way. Paddling seemed much easier, after that.
We were, however, behind schedule, thanks to our slow pace doing the portage. As we paddled along, it began to get dark rapidly. We broke out the headlamps and started scanning the shore as best we could. Thunder was heard; we had no choice but to pull over right there and camp in a random spot in the mud. (Later, we found out that we had passed by 3 usable campsites in the dark.) It was too windy and wet to use our stoves, so we had cold Cheerio mix for dinner, and tried our best to get some sleep.
(Post script, unrelated: I apologize for being slow to transcribe these entries. Have been busy with the first few days of school, and other things. Should be able to catch up this weekend.)
Posted 9:55 AM
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Outward Bound Journal - Day 3 | August 27, 2002
Woke at 6:00. Had oatmeal with blueberries in it. Left packs in a pile on the shore and walked back around the mountain to our stashed canoes. Learned to paddle - 4 strokes. Paddled back to base of the mountain. Stopped for lunch at our old campsite - peanut butter on wheat crackers. Loaded the canoes, swept the campsite for any trace we might have left. Shoved off around 2:30. Paddled for remainder of the afternoon; stopped short of a portage trail on the far end of the pong (a pond up there is not what one thinks of a pond as down here in New England; this one was 5 or 6 miles across.) Slept with sore shoulders.
Posted 9:32 PM
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Outward Bound Journal - Day 2 | August 27, 2002
Woke up at 5:30. Broke camp. Filled water bottles at a pump - last clean water for two weeks (it tastes like dirt and rusted iron anyway.) Loaded canoes onto a trailer, went in a van, ate dry oatmeal for breakfast.
The van ride was a bit over two hours, away from the home base and north towards Canada, the idea being that we would work our way back towards the origin over the two weeks to follow. Our guides assured us that this was the noble way to do things - so that, as we backpack and canoe, we are working towards an essential and necessary end (making our flights home!), rather than just making excursions, but always being near to base.
Upon arriving at our destination (a nondescript dead-end dirt road a few hundred meters from a pond), we unloaded the canoes and hid them in a field near the pond, and then drove another 15 minutes or so to a second nondescript, dead-end dirt road (a common by-product of the ever-expanding logging industry, I am told.) There, the driver left us on our own. We hefted our ~50 pound packs, and began the main phase of the journey.
We began along a dirt path, for about two hours. Around lunchtime, we found a rocky spot around the path, sat down on our packs, and divided up tortillas, salsa, and slices of cheese. (The cheese, out of necessity, had to be comsumed for one of the first meals.)
After lunch, we resumed travel, but this time, cross-country, away from the road. We arrived at the base of Sally Mountain, and began our laborous ascent. At the top - around 2100 feet, by our guides’ estimate - we picked wild blueberries, and took pictures from the site of an old fire watchtower. There was a path down the other side, and at the bottom we swam in a warm lake and set up camp. Sleep came slowly in an overcrowded 4-person tent.
Posted 9:25 PM
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Eye of Beholder of the Storm | August 26, 2002
After spending a 3-hour thunderstorm huddled beneath a tree, alone, on a quarter-inch Insulite mat (to protect against ground shocks), are the subsequent storms - viewed through a skylight, drumming on tempered glass - more beautiful, or less?
Posted 1:43 PM
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Dramatic Return, Resolution, Aftermath | August 26, 2002
I have just returned from a two week backpacking and canoeing trip - through Outward Bound’s Hurricane Island school. The focus was “Leave no trace” wilderness travel - take only pictures, leave only footprints (and those scarcely).
In short: It was mind-blowing.
At length: Over the next couple days, I’ll attempt to transcribe my journal entries from the trip. This is made more difficult by the fact that my journal was soaked through by multiple rainstorms. Nonetheless, over the next few days, I’ll be posting details about my wilderness time in the Maine category of the site. (At this point, of course, the categories are invisible anyway, as I have not found an elegant way to display them. But from a semantic point of view, the entries are in the category regardless.) As always, I implore you to leave a comment or five if you read the site.
Posted 1:27 PM
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