Chapter 12

Errol, NH to Lower Richardson Lake, ME

Note these posts were published 2 days after the events took place.

Woah! It’s been awhile since an update from me. After a hurricane and a bout of food poisoning, the trip planned with my friend fell through. And somehow here we are nearly in October! So I’m trying to squeeze a few more miles in before the canoe season is out. With some logistical issues, I made a last minute call to go from Errol, NH to Rangley, ME, so here we are.

Thanks to my aunt, I got dropped off in Errol at Northern Water… Something or rather outfitters. They have campsites there which are reasonably priced. I never did meet the guy running the place, and ended up giving money to his girlfriend in the morning. After a mildly rainy night and terrible night’s rest in a tent (yes I brought a tent this time), I was up and going at 7 but apparently took my time eating and getting ready as I didn’t start until 9. I did chat with Margaret, the aforementioned girlfriend, and a marine biologist Richard, I think, who was curious as to what I was up to. We bemoaned the the Balsams Hotel not far from there which has fallen to disrepair and won’t be reopening.

Anyway, the first stretch was a portage going through the campsite past some rapids. I put in just past the gate and paddled only shortly to the Errol Dam and portaged around this. Back in the water I was paddling upstream on the Androscoggin which runs through where I live quite farther downstream. There was no current to speak of and the sky was low, broad quite waters, black when not reflecting the world above. Various confers mixed with stunted deciduous trees already changing color. Here was a place of waterfowl, forty geese or so spooked by presences took flight, herons waded in the shores, ducks too flew up at my approach. A loon, her colors changing to her winter plumage was unperturbed, and even had a chick, her double in appearance but still brown and beige rather than white and greenish blacks.

Soon I was out of the river and onto Umbagog Lake, the mountains revealing themselves. The first half of the lake was ghostly quiet save the sound of birds. I could hear chatter of ducks, the mewling of a couple gulls far off, one juvenile bald eagle was by the shore and his whistling chirps could be heard along with the quorking of herons. The lonely sound of the loons too was heard. I had to pause and be present. The sounds and foliage were beautiful.

The lake was shockingly shallow, no deeper than my hips until half way out or where it seemed to drop off. Soon the quiet was broken by the din of wind, coming from the north through a pass between two mountains. I fought to keep speed with water spraying over the bow. I hoped when I rounded the point on the northeast shore I would be able to ride the wind down to the Rapid River. This was the case and the wind weakened as the lake narrowed. Soon I was at Cedar Stumps, a campsite managed by the folks I stayed with the night before. And here was my big portage, made famous by Louise Dickinson Rich: the Carry Road.

I stopped and had a good long lunch before endeavoring on this 3 to 4 mile portage. I had read that the road was not easily wheeled, and asked Margaret about it. She said she met and older couple who had wheeled it the other day and was confident I could do it if they did. The first half mile or so I thought that Margaret and grossly miscalculated my abilities, and that some troglodyte had declared this a “road”. I’m unsure if the path I was on initially was the Carry Road or simply a path to access the campsites. In any case it was narrow, rocky, rooty, and at times hat raised wooden planks to go over mud. These walkways were too narrow for my cart but could not be walked along side. I was quickly disheartened, took out my backpack and began hiking. I soon found the actual Carry Road, much wider and with characteristic ruts of vehicles. I left my bag, returned for my canoe. This was no easy task but I won’t belabor the details. In any case I was soon wheeling my stuff down the road.

Now this was by far easier than the path, but it would be a stretch to say it was easy. The there were still rocks and roots, some serious hills, some soft sand. All in all it was a trial of which I grew tired. Allegedly, Louise Dickinson Rich’s house is still here with her typewriter, but I didn’t find and the houses that I did pass on the otherwise unpopulated stretch of woods seemed like camps, and might not take kindly to strangers peeking about. Three grueling miles later I came to a fork in the road. To go left a mile more would bring me to Middle Dam, my potential end point, or I could go down to the remains of Lower Dam, paddle a mile or so in the Pond in the Stream, and then portage a ways to Middle Dam. I chose the latter as more paddling and less dragging are good in my book.

I waded through the rocks and remains of Lower Dam and then paddled away. I took a detour to see the remains of Alligator, and old stream boat. I wish I knew more about it than that but the wreckage was interesting and surprisingly intact for what I imagine happened long ago. Back on track I erroneously paddled hard up some rapids and realized it was impassable and had to turn around to find the portage through some private dockage. I don’t know exactly how far from the docks to the dam it was, but I was thoroughly beat at this point and increasingly frustrated. The day was getting on too and I was concerned about making camp before losing too much daylight.

Eventually I made it to the dam. There is a large house and open area near it. Apparently the dam manager lives on premises and it’s possible to camp there with their permission. I had contemplated doing this but had just enough time, I decided, to cross Lower Richardson. I did this after bumbling about for a way down to the water. I’ll say this section could do with more and more helpful signage. The wind was back and taxing after an already long day. 3 miles across and I found a campsite. Now technically all the sites in these lakes are by reservations. Well I called and no one answered, at least while I still had service. Apparently you can pay “retroactively”, which is what I’ll be doing. But honestly I wouldn’t move from this site under threat of death, I’m exhausted! Here’s to tomorrow!