Chapter 26

Richford to West Charleston

This post covers 3 days

Richford, VT to Masonville, QC

I intended to start a little earlier this morning which I did but not by much. Finished up the previous blog post before making granola and coffee, and packing up camp. It was a chilly night and I had to put on my fleece, but the morning sun was bright and warm.

There is a portage through town, so I would need to wheel away in any case, but reading of the river conditions to the border and based on yesterday’s trials I decided I’d rather just walk to Canada that fight up stream.

So I wheeled out of the park, and across the bridge. I stopped at the gas station again to fill up my 10 L bladder; I had used up about 14 L over three days. The woman who made my sandwich the night before, whose name I take to be Mary, was there again and obliged to fill my water. I couldn’t help myself and got some mini doughnuts and a coffee to go

I didn’t bother to figure out how far the portage was; as it turns out it was almost 6 miles. After leaving Richford via 105, I did my best to stay between the guardrails and white line, but often the boat dragged on the metal. So instead I would wait as cars and semis passed before nudging back out into the lane. I came to a long straight road with a view of corn fields and meadows. Small mountains in the distance were a tired green ready to turn to the fireworks of fall. In the gutter by the road, there were thistles and burdocks, golden rod and pig weed, dandelions and loosestrife, and a thousand other plants unnamed which you had forgotten the sight and feel of since you caught grasshoppers as a child. The spark of eternal fecundity, no farther away than below your feet.

I plodded along for a couple hours before reaching the bridge to Canada. I stopped and chatted with the US officer and then crossed by foot over the bridge. The road was closed for construction so I was nervous the border was altogether closed, but as it turns out they remained open for bicyclists and pedestrians, and I guess canoeists. It all went smoothly enough but it was a little awkward walking back to the US to get my canoe and put in, before paddling upstream into Canada.

The paddling was easy going with tougher currents here or there. Gone were the cornfields that covered Vermont just downstream. Here was more wooded. Although there were still cows aplenty as one startled me before I knew what it was.

Eventually I came to Canoe & Company run by Francois which I had read about in my guidebook. I stopped to see what was there and see about camping for the night. Francois told me he had another location upstream and thought I could make it in a few hours. It was only just south of Masonville. I had originally thought it would take me two days to reach Masonville so I was a little skeptical, but decided to take his word for it. Now with a bit of a fire under me I was paddling less leisurely.

The next two hours or so were similar paddling but the current picked up. I had to turn left up the North Branch of the Missiquoi where the river forked. The river was quite narrow here and easily blocked by fallen trees.

Eventually the trailers of kayaks and paddles came into sight and I stopped to find Francois mulling about. He offered me a beer and he told me about his business, flooding, using a chainsaw in a canoe, and his daughter’s basement apartment. It was donation only to stay at the site, and I learned he sends the money to children in the Philippines.

After Francois left, I made beef stroganoff and fought off mosquitoes which were brutally annoying before putting in for the night.

Masonville, QC to Newport, VT

The night before clouds had rolled in which worried me, and I was extra vigilant with how I set up camp in case it rained. But I woke in the night to bright and multitude stars, untouched by light pollution.

Today was going to be a big today the infamous Grand Portage over to Lake Memphremagog. And I intended to wake up earlier; unfortunately dude to condensation my sleeping bag had some cold cells and it was cold that night and I didn’t sleep well. I snoozed my alarm many times. And finally was getting sound sleep as the sun rose and warmed things up. Another late start, what can I say.

I had a soupy and rubbery breakfast of freeze dried eggs, which had plenty of black pepper. The pepper made them smell lovely but that’s about it. I wasn’t even full after and was generally disappointed. I was two miles short of the town and the current was more than I wanted for the morning and was low on energy thanks to my lackluster breakfast.

There is a 0.8 mile portage through Masonville to avoid some falls. After which, you paddle a mile or so and take out again for the Grand Portage. No thanks, I’ll take out once thank you very much. So my 5.7 mile Grande Portage became an 8 mile Grander Portage. It was a steep hill from the take out into the town. And I stopped huffing and puffing into a deli. I got a sandwich, coffee, and seltzer and stopped to eat. With restored vim and vigor I pressed on.

The 2 miles through town to Chemin Peabody (the official portage start) was easy enough, just keeping inside the white line to avoid oncoming traffic. The Grand Portage itself? Tough. I had done 6 miles of wheeling the day before so didn’t think much of it, but this road ascended nearly the whole way. I’m not sure what the elevation gain was but the top of the hill was around 1200 feet I believe. It was just one rise after another. I won’t belabor the details but water, bike chain oil, and an audiobook are what got me through it.

The top of the hill was a beautiful view of surrounding mountains and glimpses of the lake. There were picturesque farm houses at the top. Once going down hill the canoe practically drives itself. There was a corner store down at the last turn off to the lake where I stopped for a root beer and drumstick ice cream. They never tasted so good!

It wasn’t far from the corner store to Lake Memphremagog. I had to pay $10 Canadian (although I only had American, so lost on the deal a little) to have my hull powered washed and get a certificate before going into the water. I chit-chatted with the gentleman who was doing the washing, before finishing my root beer and cashews, and putting in the water.

It was 10 or 12 miles down the lake and it was just before 4:00 PM when I put in the lake. I had to make it to Newport at this point but it might be around sunset when I got to town. So I had to put the hammer down.

Luckily the lake was very calm especially for a lake as big as it is (32 miles long, 351 feet deep). I was averaging around 4 miles per hour which is good for that boat on flat water a few times I even hit 5! I slowed down briefly at the Canadian customs but no one was there, so I sped on. Lake Memphremagog is really beautiful with mountains around it, and there must be some money on the lake because there were some huge houses with beautiful lawns.

Nearly seven with the sun setting I got to shore. Briefly stopped in the US Customs Office and hopped on a phone call. The officer was super nice and was impressed I was in a canoe and not a kayak, “old school I love it!”, and gave me some suggestions for Newport.

I had resolved to get a room for the night, and the town was pretty but up so stealth camping would be awkward. I found a room about 30 minutes walk away. I talked to a gentleman, Ben, who helped me earlier find the Customs Office, and he asked about my trip and said he wished he could do what I was doing. He suggested I not leave my boat by the water as there were some people around who might take it. We said our goodbyes, but he doubled back and offered to help if he could. I said if he took my backpack to the hotel that would be a great help but the boat I would take myself. So he did! Thanks Ben! I made my way to the hotel and had a shower for the first time in 5 days, so good!

Newport to West Charleston

I slept much better in a dry warm bed, and I wasn’t so stiff when I got up. My first mission was  to get to the Laundromat (I love them), my second mission was to get to the 9 AM Mass at St. Mary Star of the Sea which I could see high on a hill as I paddled down the lake, and my third mission was to get breakfast. O, and I guess do some canoeing. You can tell I’m not roughing it too much on this trip.

The Laundromat was a short walk from the hotel and took credit cards, which is good as I was out of cash at this point. A quick seven minutes in the drier was enough to get most of my stuff mostly dry. Then I hoofed it across town to the church. No service that morning, but I made my thanksgiving for safe passage and enjoyed the beautiful architecture and view.

I made my way back to town and swung by a likely place for breakfast, but decided it looked too crunchy for me; I wanted a good ol’ fashion greasy spoon. So I kept on towards the hotel; I was told the Brown Cow was good for breakfast but it was closed. Cumberland Farms it is. After a coffee and muffin I started to get ready to roll.

There was some paddling from the lake up the Clyde River before several portage options to put into Clyde Pond only to take out again before carrying on. Clyde Pond was less than a mile or paddling. And I decided portaging was easier and quicker than fighting up the Clyde for any amount, so I would go 5 miles to bypass the roughest of it.

A guy, if I recall he said Zach was his name, stopped to chat with me and I picked his brain about portage routes and the rest. He said I might be able to make it all the way to Island Pond that day! This seemed unlikely to me, but the prospect excited me. I started wheeling my way onward. I went through quiet residential areas, then a woodsy dirt road past the dam and Clyde Pond, and then onto a busy highway, before turning off again.

I made my way to the river put-in below a bridge. But was surprised to see an aggressive current and rapids. I was hoping the river would be calmer here. Rather than fight the mile or so to Salem Pond I turned around and kept walking. Stopped and chatted with a couple guys, one named Ryan asked if I needed any gear as he had some. I told him no but much appreciated.

Eventually I got to Salem Pond and was on the water finally, after 6 miles of walking. I had a rather late start with all my leisure taken in Newport, but I only had 6 miles more to go so thought I was OK. There was a headwind on the lake but not too bad. I made my way into Little Salem by the streak connecting the two. The middle part of Little Salem had so many reeds that it blocked line of sight and seemed to be solid ground. But when you got closer you saw they weren’t dense and could be paddled through. After finding the channel through them I found the Clyde River again.

The current was stronger than I wanted for this late in the date but was manageable for the first half of this stretch. Unfortunately, I got to section of rocky bottomed fast water only shin deep. So I was out of my boat trudging again. At this point it was only two miles to take out at Fountaine Bridge, but I soon found them to be long hard two miles. In fact, the current became increasingly stronger and stones became large boulders and naked ledges, difficult to find footing. I began to be nervous as the water was deeper and I couldn’t find foot holds. A couple times I fell forward nearly plunging in.

I was within 20 yards of the bridge finally but trekked up an open backyard, as I wasn’t sure I could make it to the bridge because of the strength of the water and slipper ledge. Nobody answered the door when I knocked to ask about using their yard. The area gave me an uneasy feeling and I decided not to over stay my welcome. I walked to the bridge to get an idea of what to do. To my shock there was no take out. Just overgrown brush and guardrails. I bushwhacked my way down, almost twisting my ankles in old cut wood someone had thrown over side, scrambling over large rocks holding back erosion around the bridge, and climbed my way through a tree to the water. I got to my boat and carefully made my way there taking my bag up through first, and savagely dragging my boat through branches next.

It was now 7:00 and I was two miles short of Pensioner Pond where I was aiming for. I stopped at the corner store down a ways from the bridge to ask questions (and was bullied by a loose German Shepherd, second aggressive dog incident of the day). I ended up talking to Mike the owner of the shop and looking at maps. Finally in desperation, I asked if he owned the grassy yard next door, and if I paid him could I sleep there for the night. We struck a deal, and just in time too as he was closing up for the night. So I laid out my bivy up in the grass and made camp for the night.