Allagash Wilderness Waterway (4)

It got very cold overnight; a pail of water we'd left outside froze solid. Brrr.

The river filled its run with fog by morning:



But the sky was clear, so the fog started burning off as soon as the sun was high enough to peek over the trees.


Before long, it was time to move on.


This fellow--- an almost-mature bald eagle--- was patrolling the river, looking for breakfast. He stopped in a nearby tree, probably to see if we were a threat or not.


You can see he still has some brown on the top of his head, which won't turn completely white until he's fully mature.



Off we go!


A few clouds moved in as the day progressed, but they only made the sky prettier.


The river often split into channels around islands, and it was a tossup which way to go. Mostly, we left the current decide for us.



It was a pleasant and peaceful paddle.




This very rocky stretch (below) caused both canoes a lot of trouble.


The current was strong enough to be a major problem here. The first canoe (mine) went down the center channel and found it treacherous. It was too fast for safe wading, with numerous deep potholes and sinks, but it was also mostly too shallow for good paddling: Most of the time you couldn't get more than a couple inches of your paddle in the water--- not enough to "bite" the water. Paddle-poling was problematic because the loose stones on the river bottom didn't give much purchase--- your paddle tip would mostly either sink in uselessly or skitter across the bottom rocks. We'd grind and bump against rocks and bars: When the front would snag, the rear of the canoe would slew sideways in the strong current. The heavily-laden canoe was very hard to maneuver.

At one point we got pretty thoroughly stuck in midriver. In dodging one rock, the front of the canoe got hung on another, and the rear immediately pivoted sideways, pinning us broadside against a third rock that was much too large to go over. To move the canoe, we had to overcome both the canoe's own weight and inertia (including two guys and camping gear), plus the considerable force of the water pressing against the side of the canoe. We almost rolled the canoe at the one point, trying to lever off the large rock.

We got through, dry and intact, but it was the toughest paddle of the trip, and the bottom of my canoe took a beating.

Below, the second canoe tries its luck at picking through the rocks and shallows. After seeing our trouble, they tried a run closer to the edge of the river. Look close and you'll see they got grounded on a bar, requiring some slippery footwork to get free.



But they made it too, with nothing worse than wet feet.


After a bit more struggle (I still feel it in my shoulders), we emerged onto Round Pond. When we reached the deeper water, I swear I heard my canoe sigh in relief, happy to have its plastic ass off the rocky bottom.

Besides easy paddling, Round Pond also features a modest stand of American Elms (you can see one on the left, below). The trees there are so isolated, they escaped the Dutch Elm Disease that decimated the native elms across the rest of North America last century. It's a very nice spot.


The pond has several campsites around its periphery (spaced far apart so campers can't see or hear one another). We picked one on the west shore so we'd get sun in the morning when it was coldest. When we set up, none of the pond's other camps were occupied--- our own private lake!

The lowering sun nicely lit the opposite shore.

It was another gorgeous spot to camp.

Remember those rocks? My 8-year-old canoe gained many fresh gouges and scrapes that day. I prefer to think of them as badges of honor, rather than as damage. ;-) There were no leaks, but I've nevertheless ordered repair resin so I can fill and strengthen the worst of the, um, "badges."

Sunset was quiet and beautiful.

As the day darkened, a Guide and a couple of canoes paddled by (friendly waves all around); they took up residence on another part of the lake, far enough away so neither party could see or hear the other.

Here, a flight of ducks labors across the dusk sky, beating their wings like crazy.

Round Pond has a healthy loon population, and we enjoyed hearing their calls at dusk and again at dawn. Loons are even worse fliers than ducks. Like penguins, loons use their wings for flying underwater; but unlike penguins, loons also can get themselves airborne--- just not very well, and only with a *lot* of effort.

A noisy squadron of Canadian Geese honked its way across the water, looking for a place to spend the night. Effortless fliers, they put their energy into making a racket. And pooping.


Here (below), they're switching into glide mode as they come in for a landing.

A final, raucous aerial pivot...

...and they're down for the evening, clamorously plopped behind some loons feeding in the middle foreground.

Am I the only one who wishes that Canadian Geese said "Eh!" instead of "Honk!"

With a good fire going and an ample meal in our bellies, we watched the gathering dark. Just as it was getting too dim for my camera's autofocus to work, a pair of beavers swam by:

You'll have to take my word for it--- but those really are beavers. :-)

And so ended a tiring but thoroughly pleasant day.

Last post of this series tomorrow!