The scenery of the Northwoods in Maine is breathtaking.
Submitted photo
Northern New England eluded me too long. Over the past week, I explored the Northwoods of Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont. Very little was planned as I hoped to let the road unfold into opportunities as they came. The plan worked. Each day dawned new scenic views, forays into remote wilderness, small towns overflowing with charm, interesting people and a deeper understanding of the origins of our nation’s beginning.
I can’t remember the name of a single professor I had during my undergraduate years in college. But I still have the tattered copy of Henry David Thoreau’s definitive work, Walden, which I first read during those formative years. While an introduction to accounting and principles of public speaking failed to move me, Thoreau’s warning, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation” struck me like lighting and has served as a guiding principle of life.
The destination for this trip was Jackman, Maine, where I met up with a Passamaquoddy Indian named George Sabattus. He’s the owner and operator of Sabattus Hunting Adventures. George prefers to be called an Indian. “I guess I’m a Native American, but I’m an Indian and proud of it,” he said.
I allowed for three days to reach Jackman after leaving central Missouri. Following a sprint through the first night, Lauren, my girlfriend and travel partner, and I left the interstate behind just east of Albany, New York, and headed north to Burlington, Vermont. Having always found appeal in college towns like Columbia, Missouri; Bloomington, Indiana; and Boulder, Colorado; I found Burlington to be of the same sort. The scenery of the Green Mountains and Lake Champlain, combined with the eclectic nature of the closed off walking street through downtown with quaint shops and an excellent food scene, made me commit to returning for an extended stay in the future.
We left Burlington and headed west to Montpelier. A quick stop in Waterbury at the Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream factory was like a real life visit to Willy Wonka’s. We had hoped to take the tour, but it was sold out for the day. We purchased a couple of pints and enjoyed them on the sprawling grounds and explored the “Dearly Depinted Graveyard,” where out of production flavors have gone to rest.
From Burlington, we swung into Montpelier to catch a glimpse of the Vermont State Capital building. This town surprised me, as I fell in love at first sight. The tiny government complex representing an entire state looks like a model crafted for a play. It’s situated next to a river flowing through a pristine forest. The downtown was vibrant, and the people friendly. We caught the movie Reagan at little theater in town and stayed at the Capital Plaza Hotel. After a few hours, I felt like this is a place I could live.
We spent the next day in New Hampshire exploring small towns like Littleton. The difference between Vermont and New Hampshire we’re quickly evident. I hadn’t thought about it in the moment, but while in Vermont, we hadn’t seen a Wal-Mart or really any other chain store. Just across the New Hampshire line, we ran into Harbor Freight, and the lightbulb went off. But I guess you’re not going to tell people who operate behind the moto “Live Free or Die” where to shop.
Once in Maine, we followed the Old Canada Road to Jackman, where we met George at a cabin just south of town. Bear hunting may have been the main objective, but it quickly took a backseat to exploring. Lauren and I both hunted each evening for five days. She saw about 10 bears and chose to pass them all. I never saw a bear, but left fully satisfied with the experience.
Bear hunting was our evening activity. Fishing was the essence of each morning. We caught native brook trout on a fly rods and found a school of yellow perch living in a log jam next to a bridge piling. Catching and releasing yellow perch after yellow perch put a smile on my face like none I remember in recent memory. We traveled to Moosehead Lake, and just past the town of Rockwood fished the west and east outlets. The hope of catching a land locked Atlantic Salmon didn’t materialize. We were a few weeks too early for the run.
One morning, we crossed the border into Quebec and drove to St. Georges for no reason, other than to say we’d been to another Canadian Province. The locals spoke French, and everything from road signs to restaurant menus were in French. Most of the people we encountered did not speak English. It was interesting to experience such a complete transition of culture in the very short distance of 30 miles or so. We found a poutine bar and enjoyed a box of French fries smothered in cheese, meat and gravy. Why this delicious concoction hasn’t swept the United States is beyond me. It was delicious.
Sitting 20 feet up a tree each evening deep in the wilderness of the Maine Northwoods for five days in a row provided plenty of time to relax, reflect and rejuvenate. I read multiple books, only to be interrupted by the occasional float plane buzzing overhead or a loon crying in the distance. I saw a fisher in the wild for the first time and enjoyed gazing for long spells out over the endless canopy of trees. Across this panorama, the deep green tops of pine trees jut out above the changing colors of hardwoods. If I were to paint a forest, this is how it would look.
Thoreau didn’t live a wilderness existence as some mistakenly believe. He spent much of his time on the fringe. In Walking he wrote, “For my part, I feel that with regard to Nature I live sort of a border life, on the confines of a world into which I make occasional and transient forays only, and my patriotism and allegiance to the State into whose territories I seem to retreat are those of moss-trooper.” I can relate.
Long ago, Thoreau’s words exposed me to simplicity, which he derived from life rural New England. My travels have shown me wilderness by all accounts, from coast to coast and continent to continent, offers the same essence and mystique, Drawing from each of us a primal connection to a simpler existence. I place great value now on these lands and waters I just explored and appreciate their influence in extracting Thoreau’s greatest words, “In Wildness is the preservation of the World.”
See you down the trail…
Brandon Butler writes an outdoors column for The Republic. Send comments to [email protected]. For more Driftwood Outdoors, check out the podcast on www.driftwoodoutdoors.com or anywhere podcasts are streamed.
