Canoeists paddle through the rapids after portaging the 40-foot Allagash Falls on the Allagash Wilderness Waterway. ASSOCIATED PRESS

Allagash wilderness

Outdoor enthusiasts can find awe-inspiring views in the remote tranquillity of Maine's ...

Web posted November 7, 1999

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By Terrence Petty
Associated Press

ALLAGASH WILDERNESS, Maine -- The setting sun is a big red ball leaking fiery colors all over the northern forest. And the surface of Long Lake is like a Monet masterpiece -- liquid images of spruce trees, white birch, yellow marsh grasses and wildflowers congealing with hues of the vanishing sun.

It's our first day of canoeing on the 92-mile-long Allagash Wilderness Waterway. We paddled all afternoon without seeing any moose. But it doesn't matter because the scenery is breath-taking. I am standing on the eastern shore of Long Lake like a man in a trance.

Trout are rising for tiny white flies just off our campsite. A lone merganser drifts nonchalantly across the water. And somewhere out there in the woods are not just moose, but also black bear, whitetail deer, coyotes and bobcats.

Behind me, I hear my longtime backpacking buddy, Greg Peters, preparing dinner at the picnic table. There's a clanking as he digs pots, pans and food out of duffel bags.

``I shall serve the red wine with this evening's meal,'' Greg says airily. Normally a woodsy kind of guy, Greg is quickly morphing into Jeeves.

Long Lake was our first overnight stop on a four-day, 50-mile journey down the Allagash in northern Maine, one of the most remote regions in the northeastern United States. Two-thirds of Maine has never been settled. The Allagash is in the heart of this empty landscape.

A component of the National Wild and Scenic River System, the Allagash is a continuous ribbon of lakes, streams, ponds and rivers that flows north from Telos Lake, in the shadow of lofty Mount Katahdin, and empties into the St. John River, on the Canadian border.

Our trip would take us down the northern half of the waterway and out onto the St. John.

Before we started our canoe trip, we needed a canoe. We'd arranged to rent one from Gorman Chamberlain, an outfitter and guide in St. Francis, on the Maine side of the St. John River.

A group of Dartmouth College students team up to portage a canoe over a muddy trail around Allagash Falls in northern Maine. ASSOCIATED PRESS

After driving to St. Francis, we loaded the Old Town canoe, our gear and ourselves into Gorman's Chevy van. His driver, Billy Landry, would be driving us south through the woods on private logging roads to Umsaskis Lake, which is one of the Allagash lakes, where we would begin our canoe trip.

As the van entered the woods, we stopped at a checkpoint to pay fees for use of the logging roads, which are owned by paper companies, and for using state-owned campsites on the Allagash.

The logging roads took us through commercial forests. A fully loaded 18-wheel logging truck came barreling toward us on one dusty road, doing at least 55. Billy pulled aside to let it through. We arrived at Umsaskis Lake in about 2 1/2 hours.

Billy helped us unload and then headed back through the woods to St. Francis.

When Greg and I finished packing the canoe, our seven bags bulged above the gunwales. They were stuffed with enough food for a platoon of soldiers, a bulky Coleman stove, a coffee pot, a skillet and other pans, a hatchet, a large tent and fly, two sleeping bags, assorted books, clothing for nearly any kind of weather, hiking boots, sneakers, fishing rods and tackle, a bottle of Riesling and another of Merlot.

We pushed off onto Umsaskis Lake. With this load, I was amazed the canoe didn't promptly sink.

A group from New Hampshire waits out a rainstorm at a campsite on Round Pond. Northern Maine's weather is notoriously fickle. ASSOCIATED PRESS

Greg took the stern. I took the bow. We paddled from the northern tip of Umsaskis Lake and onto a creek that empties into Long Lake.

A bird with flashes of white soared over the treetops. It was a bald eagle, the first of four we spotted on our journey.

Greg and I have been camping partners since our grad school days in Colorado. Until now, all of our adventures had been long backpacking jaunts in the Rocky Mountains. We'd eaten mainly trail mix and bagels during those journeys, to keep our loads light.

But what a feast we heaped into the canoe for our four days on the Allagash -- pancake mix, coffee, potatoes for baking, beef stew, chili, rice, bananas, cheese, apples, grapes, plums and peaches.

As we dined, a red canoe approached our camp, reminding me of a scene in Last of the Mohicans. Instead of war whoops, we heard 47-year-old Warren Long call from his canoe: ``Is there still room up there?''

Our campsite was configured for two tents. So Warren and his wife, Ulrike, came ashore and pitched theirs.

The Longs are from St. John, in Canada's province of New Brunswick. They had just come through Chase Rapids, a nine-mile joy ride from Churchill Lake to Umsaskis Lake. Ulrike joked that Warren had made her sit in the bow to keep him from getting drenched.

``The water just whooshed over my head. I got soaked,'' said 47-year-old Ulrike.

Before going to sleep that night, I read a few pages of Thoreau's travels in the Maine woods. Light from the full moon streamed across Long Lake and into our tent, so bright I barely needed my flashlight.

The woods surrounding the Allagash have changed since Thoreau's time. Vast swathes have been clear-cut by giant paper companies. Still, when you are on the Allagash it seems like you are in a true wilderness. A protected zone was established on both sides of the waterway in 1966. Commercial timber-cutting and construction are forbidden in this precious buffer zone. When you're on the water, you almost feel that you're seeing America the way it was before Europeans came.

The next day, Greg and I paddled from Long Lake 10 miles down the Allagash River to Round Pond.

Frank Henry, a young state ranger, pulled up to our Round Pond campsite in his canoe the next morning. He eagerly accepted a cup of hot coffee.

At 24, Frank looks like a true woodsman. He has a scraggly fire-orange beard and shoulder-length hair of the same color. Frank lives in the woods for 11 days straight, staying in a cabin, and then has three days off. His job is to ensure that no humans are hurt on the Allagash and that the Allagash is hurt by no humans.

Frank had just been downstream, where he spotted a canoe that had hit a rock and tipped over. The canoeists had lost some gear. Frank was going from campsite to campsite asking if anyone had picked up any of it.

Frank says the best tip he can give people who want to try the Allagash is ``ask yourself if you really want to go through with this. Once you get here, it's not easy to leave.'' And getting an injured person out of the remote Allagash can be difficult.

The next morning we paddled down Moosquacook Deadwater, a jungle-like stretch of the Allagash River. We let our canoe drift quietly with the easy current. The only sound was water dripping from our stilled paddles. A bald eagle, its talons outstretched, suddenly swooped down and plucked a fish from the river, not 20 feet from us.

Just downstream, we watched a red squirrel dogpaddle across our bow.

Then the river split into three parts and looked much like a Louisiana bayou. Eventually we reached majestic Allagash Falls, over which the Allagash River tumbles on its way to the St. John River.

We spent our last night camped about a mile downstream from the falls. In the morning, curls of mist hovered over the water, like river spirits rising to the heavens.

Back on the water, we reached the northern boundary of the protected part of the Allagash and kept on paddling -- past the tidy town of Allagash and then out onto the St. John River, which eventually empties into the Bay of Fundy, 300 miles away.

Our pullout point -- Gorman Chamberlain's canoe landing in St. Francis -- was five miles from the confluence of the Allagash and the St. John. Greg and I became melancholy when the canoe landing came into view. We didn't want the trip to be over.

``I'll tell you what,'' I told Greg jokingly. ``Take the car and pick me up at the Bay of Fundy. I'm going to keep paddling.''

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GETTING THERE: The Allagash Wilderness Waterway is a remote, 92-mile slice of Maine that stretches from just north of Millinocket to the Canadian border. If you're traveling by car from Boston, plan to spend about nine hours driving, regardless of where you decide to launch your canoe.

The general region can be reached via Interstate 95. Roads leading west and north of I-95 will take you to the edges of commercial forests. From there, you take private gravel roads to sites where you can launch your canoe or kayak. Fees are charged at checkpoints set up at the start of the gravel roads. It's best to have a good topographical map that shows where the gravel roads are.

PLANNING THE TRIP: Prepare well for a trip on the Allagash. Once you get on the water, there is no place to obtain provisions. The Maine Bureau of Parks and Recreation prints a brochure that includes a map and description of the Waterway and a list of supplies and gear that would be handy. The bureau's address is State House Station 22, Augusta, ME 04333. Phone (207) 287-3821.

WHEN TO GO: The Bureau of Parks and Recreation recommends that canoe trips not be attempted before May 20, by which time the ice should be out. The black-fly season starts around the first of June and begins to abate about a month later. July and August are the most popular months because there are fewer black flies.

OUTFITTERS AND GUIDES: You don't need an outfitter or a guide, but they can come in handy. They rent canoes at $12 to $15 a day. Another service many of them offer is driving you to your canoe launching point, or shuttling your car to your take-out point. A list of guides and outfitters can be obtained from the North Maine Woods Inc. The address is PO Box 425, Ashland, ME 04732. Phone (207) 435-6213.

INFORMATION: A lot of information about the Allagash is available on the Web. One of the best sites if found at http://www.mainerec.com/allabook.html.