Chapter 23

Thoreau Island to Mud Pond

Or How to Zig Zag Across the North Woods

I woke up startled to what sounded like someone shaking out a rug. I was later confirmed in my suspicion that an eagle was flying around campsite. Between that, the yellow-flicker, red squirrels, and brightening sky, I had to dare the cloud of mosquitos and wake up.

I was blessed with a clear and warm morning which made putting on my damp pants tolerable. After bean and egg scramble, I was on the water before 7. The sun shone brightly off the water and made seeing difficult. I had a pair of sunglasses a friend gave me that might as well have been welder’s glasses. Wearing them made everything an impenetrable green. I felt like I was in the Matrix.

I noticed a phenomenon I had never seen before, at least that I can recall. Excuse my clinical explanation, as I’m sure it will rob it of the beauty and mystery it actually had. The sunlight bouncing off of my wake seemed to project orthogonally to its plane onto the trees lining the river. On the hemlocks and spruces I saw a rippling arrowhead of striated light and shadow. And at the tip of the arrowhead I could see my own silhouette, torso above canoe with paddles going up and down. It was splendid.

The current of the river pushed me on at a satisfying pace, and I passed another moose, several eagles, fowl, and most astoundingly a bobcat swimming the width of the river, bobbed tail floating the water. By mid-morning the wind began to strengthen, at my back but bringing rain clouds with it. The river widened as it melded with Chesuncook Lake. Here the strength of the wind was greater than the current. Around 11, I struggled to stop at large rock in the middle of the river. I ate lunch, and donned my rain gear.

Here I’d like to make a plug for paddling gloves. My first trip using them, and I wish I had bought them earlier. They keep your hands warm while it’s raining, and help prevent blisters when your clammy hands would slip on the paddle.

The rains came about the time that I came to Chesuncook. Over my right shoulder I could see the village, and to my left some tenters with a motorboat, the first signs of people I’d seen since the men at the cabin. The rain was off and on and hardly a nuisance.

Soon I was nearing the end of the lake and not much past noon. If my pace kept up and things went well I’d be at my campsite on Umbazookus by 2. I tried to suppress my optimism, but I reckoned I could at least carry my boat over the difficult Mud Pond Carry before camping for the night.

At the end of the lake a man was dragging drift wood to his truck which was stacked over the cab with his prize. I had to lay flat in the canoe as I passed under the steel bridge. Between Chesuncook and Umbazookus was a small connecting stream. Initially it was meandering and marshy. A red-winged black bird grumbled at me from the top of a solitary dead tree. Angry geese took flight at my passing honking all the while. The stream narrowed and its current fought me more than I would have liked. Soon I reached the small dam which has its gate permanently open. Unfortunately the current through the gate was too much to be paddled through and I relented to drag my gear up and over the dam.

The wind was coming strongly down the long fetch of Umbazookus. The south of the lake was shallow and I could hardly get the blades of my paddle into the water to make a strong stroke. The chop and the winds pushed me broadside with water splashing over the gunwales. I went maybe half of a mile before realizing I would not be able to navigate up the shore to my destination. In frustration, I turned around back to the dam. So much for doing well on time.

From the GPS and maps, I could see that there were some roads nearby and that one bisected the portage path. I wasted no time strapping on my wheels and going down the deeply rutted dam-access road before meeting up with the well groomed dirt road. I didn’t watch the mileage on the GPS lest I be disheartened at how much additional portaging I was doing. I notice many moose tracks in the dirt, and a scarlet salamander. I came to the cross roads where some folks with RVs had stopped. I chatted with them, one of them suggested I continue down the road and take the first left. Down that road I would make my way to Mud Pond. I was tempted to skip Mud Pond Carry, besides, I reasoned, I was already wheeling along the road, why not continue? After taking a break, I decided better the devil you know than the one you don’t.

I hooked north on Grande Marche road (variously named). Nothing on my GPS obviously indicated the Mud Pond Carry, so I had to guess where it should be. I kept a sharp eye for the yellow and blue signs of the NFCT. After some time, I notice a yellow diamond sign like those used on snowmobile trails. I looked down the overgrown shallow stream / water path to the left, and no apparent path on the right. Surely this couldn’t be Mud Pond Carry? I looked at my GPS; there was a dashed line further ahead, perhaps this was my destination? I decided to go on just to be sure. I don’t know how far I walked, but it was farther than I estimated. And road began to rise. I decided the elevation between Umbazookus and Mud Pond couldn’t be this much different if it was possible to paddle between them in high water conditions (according to the book, at least one paddler has done this). I eventually came to the dotted line which was nothing but and overgrown old cutting. I turned around.

I had the presence of mind to make note of some birch saplings visible from the road, so I could find the yellow sign again. Eventually, I found my quarry and set down my boat and gear. I decided I would go down the shorter end of the path and see if I could make my way back to Umbazookus from there, that would prove this was the correct path. So I went down the shallow stream sometimes as high as my ankles, sometimes walking on mossy banks to avoid muckier places. Eventually I came to an overturned tree, its rootball blocking the path, the stream was here confounded, and it was unclear which direction to go. I decided I didn’t want to risk getting lost here and turned back to the road. Once, there I crossed over to the other side. I pushed passed sapling branches down over culvert into the stream-bed. I went this direction looking for some clue this was the path. No signs, no blazes, no alleged campsite, nothing. I began to worry; it would be singularly awful to carry boat, and gear 2 miles through the woods only to find I had gone nowhere or had to bushwhack my way to Mud Pond.

At last trampled among the mud and stones, found the wrapper from a water bottle. Someone had been here before! Then another clue; a note with red ink bled nearly illegible on a rock. It said something about supplies at Chamberlain Bridge. So someone had left a fellow paddler instructions on where to get their supplies. This then was the infamous Mud Pond Carry. By now it was 4 in the afternoon, I had lost two hours, but I reckoned there was still time to carry my canoe over the path and return. From there I could camp on the side of the road and resume in the morning. I stashed my backpack and gear down in the gully, and hoisted boat and paddles onto my head and trudged down the merciless path.

As I told my aunt later that weekend, the path was as bad as you can imagine, but I was feeling strong and in good spirits; as a result I didn’t find it to be as soul crushing as I expected. Nevertheless, it was as bad as you can imagine. Just imagine having to move a couch for friend, 2 miles down the road to a new apartment. But the sidewalk is ankle deep in water at its best, or knee deep in mud at its worst. And every quarter mile or so is a downed tree blocking the way, and you can’t necessarily go around the tree because the surrounding brush and undergrowth is too thick. And sometimes the tree isn’t one you can just straddle over, but a big tree that you need to shove the couch through the branches. O, and there are mosquitos biting you but you can’t slap at them because you are using both hands to keep the couch on your head. That’ll give you an idea of what it’s like on Mud Pond Carry. Luckily, my couch is 22 lbs of kevlar.

I made it to the end of the path, where I found a nice open space perfect to make camp, and decided this would be a better place to camp than the side of the road. It was only 5 o’clock now, I could make it back to my backpack before 6 and traverse the Mud Pond Carry again before 7. I’d have enough daylight to make supper and set camp! Initially, my spirits were high for having gotten my canoe through Mud Pond Carry. But soon I was tiring from my long day, slight dehydration, and realizing the portage was just as slippery and muddy without a canoe on my head as with it. Nevertheless, I made it back to my gear, cinched everything down as tight as I could, and hoped the portage wheels strapped to the backpack wouldn’t cause too much trouble. This third passage on the portage was the worst, as all my gear was heavier than the canoe alone. Several times I sank deep into mud and was worried my shoes would be sucked off. I also began to be anxious that the water from Mud Pond wouldn’t be clean enough to use for cooking. A little before, 7 I had finished the last pass of the portage. I immediately waded down to the water disheartened to find, true to its name, a muddy pond.

Even if I boiled this water to sterilize it, I wanted beef stew not beef & mud stew. I was also worried that my filter for drinking water would become clogged with this much sediment. My decision making skills were declining as my exhaustion and hunger caught up to me, and I decided I had to push on across Mud Pond to Chamberlain lake where I could get cool clear water. I hastily dragged my boat to the water and loaded up, and set out across Mud Pond, happy to never seen Mud Pond Carry again.

The wind was picking up and made paddling less pleasant than I would like (my mounting stress didn’t help). To east over on my right, the setting sun illumined Mt. Katahdin and the surrounding hills. It was somewhere across the lake I decided I needed a picture of this beautiful scene. Hm, my phone wasn’t on my person. Must have stuck it in the backpack. I’d find it when I got to shore and could safely rummage.

It took thirty minutes or so but I had crossed Mud Pond to where an allegedly navigable stream went to Chamberlain Lake. I beached the boat to rummage for my phone. Around my neck? Nope. In the Camelpak bag? Nope. Underneath me behind the pad? Nope. In the top of the back pack? Nope. With mounting resignation, I realized that I had thrown my phone one the ground when I took off my backpack so that I could put my lifejacket on but had forgotten to put the phone back over my head (it’s in a waterproof case with a lanyard). After some deliberation, I realized my only option was to back for my phone (and lighter, ID, and cash). At least the center of Mud Pond was deep enough that decently clear water could be had. I paddled back across Mud Pond to set camp where I had just been. So much for never seeing Mud Pond Carry again.

Luckily, my phone, etc. was on the ground where I left it. Close to 8 o’clock, I threw my bivy together as I waited for water to boil, and got into dry clothes. I hung my muddy pants on a dead stump to dry, dreading the thought of putting them on in the morning. As I ate relatively mud-free beef stew, I checked my GPS to see that I had zig-zagged my way close to 35 miles for the day. By far the farthest I’ve covered in one day on this trip so far. By 8:30, I was cozied up for sleep.