Early every year we pick out the place we want to celebrate our wedding anniversary. Throughout the previous year we had talked fondly of our memories in Maine. It had been several years since we celebrated our anniversary in Maine so we decided to revisit the Pine Tree State. Somehow we ended up choosing Greenville in the Great Northwoods
Our anniversay is April 15. This year it conveniently fell on a Monday. We marked a week on the calendar, and made our customary B & B reservations. Now it was a matter of time. We couldn't wait.
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| Greenville Inn |
The time waiting was filled with business that hit us like punches from a prize fight. They came from every direction. It seemed like it would never end. By mid March we were up against the ropes, waiting for the 12th round to end. Too committed to the work ahead of us, we wagered on weary and needing rest
Little did we know how desolate Greenville is in mid April. A few restaraunts and shops were open, but most of the outfitters who offered tours, and equipment rentals were closed for a short period of time. It didn't take long to absorb the town or its layed back culture.
Fortunatley I had the foresight to make the 6 hour trek in our FJ Cruiser. "Brutas" as it is affectionately called. would be our main source for healing from the punches life had given us over the last 6 months. "Nothing like a good road trip to sort things out.
We had no problem mapping out a course, packing a picnic lunch and allowing curiosity to be our guide. On the list, was seeing a moose. To leave Maine's Great Northwoods without seeing a moose would be considered a loss. Finding Sasquatch would be a bonus.
We got off to a late start on our first full day. Our goal to access the Golden Road in Rockwood lost our interest. Instead, we decided to venture up to Jackman, near the Canadian border. The whole time our eyes were searching for side roads to explore and meandering moose. While we were in Rockwood, we found the date that Ann's mom guessed when the ice went out at Moosehead Lake in 1956.
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| May 15 1956 |
On the way to Jackman, we discovered Brassua Lake. A small peninsula by the road intrigued us enough to get out and stretch our legs. The spance of water was impressive enough for Ann to say "They sure do grow em big up here"! Little did we know how true that would be later in our travels
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| Barusa Lake |
Dinner at the Smokin Barrel restaruant in Jackman was nothing like the Bob Seger song, Turn the Page. As we sat down, the eyes were NOT upon us as we shook off the cold. It was like we had been there a 100 times before. No one looked over their shoulder and gave us the typical " what are you doing here look".
It was refreshing to take in the layed back nature of the natives and just be. We were nobody special nor did we want to be. We just wanted to be unnoticed and left to one another. 6 months of being tossed around by life gave us a lot to talk about.
On the way back curiosity was our pilot. We found a side road that would bring us the back way around to Route 6. Ann was agreeable, but it was clear that she was doing this for me. Ann's sense of adventure does not include snowy, unstable terrain, in the backwoods of anywhere, without cell service.
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This is a small sample of what we experienced
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As we drove further into the woods the snow became more of an issue. Ann was doing a great job of keeping her composure for my sake. We did come to a few muddy spots that normally I would drive through. In order to bring some kind of comfort and peace to my selfless wife, I stepped out and examined the situation.
We were 6 or 7 miles in when I had to relent to Brutas and our inability to navigate the next challenge. It was a deep wash out camouflaged by thick snow. I had no overlanding gear and my snow tires were on their second season. The GPS said we were so close to the main road that it was tempting to make the bold mistake of trying to pass through. I'm glad I didn't.
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| That litttle spur of adventure prepped us for the next day |
We turned around and headed back to the Greenville Inn. A few miles from town, at about dusk, we were able to spot a moose meandering down the main road. Walking away from us, This massive cow looked over her shoulder as if to say wtf are you doing here. Obviously, this moose was not from Jackman!
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| Bullwinkle |
Now that spotting a moose was off our bucket list, we turned our attention to the Golden Road. The Golden Road is a major logging route, deep within the Great Northwoods. It is 95+ miles long and runs primarily east and west, from Millinocket, Maine to the Canadian border. Views of mountains and lakes abound. The closest thing that I can compare it to is the Adirondack Park in Northeastern New York.
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| Prong Pond |
This time our trajectory started on the east side of Moosehead Lake in Greenville, and went north. We were faced with some muddy roads and detours after the town of Kokadjo where the population brags of "not many".
Some of the detours were of our own curios making, yet others were because of the ravaging forces nature had on the roads culvert systems.
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| That about sums up the population of the Great Northwoods |
Along the way we found several remote camping sites. Finding remote sights, to us, is like finding a hidden treasure. Everyone of them is unique to its setting. Even the more formal campgrounds had a unique appeal to them. One never knows when we will return for a camping trip.
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| Remote campsite on Bear Brook |
We were over 25 miles in when we came to Greenville Junction and the Golden Road. From there we headed east to Millinocket. Our curiosity never tired as we explored lakes, rivers and dams during the 37 mile trek towards civilization. Mount Katahdin stood in prominence with its white capped summit.
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| Northwoods beauty |
Having spent several days traversing through the wilderness, and seeing remote towns with little population, it was odd to roll into Millinocket and to see houses. To us Millinocket looked like New York City, but completely different.
Dinner in Millinocket was much like the dinner we had in their "crosstown" rival town of Jackman. The distance between the two towns is 106 miles, with not much between but mountains, lakes and trees! The only thing that is close, is their ability to be layed back
This is where the excitement and adventure begins. Anxious to get back to our room for some much needed rest, I set a course for Greenville and the Greenville Inn. Our Maine gazateer confirmed what the GPS had on my phone.
Things went well when we turned right onto a dirt road called Katahdin Iron Works Rd. We passed some nice remote campsites along a river, saw a nice pond at sunset and even came across a privy just before entering Hagas. Hagas is considered by early 1900's loggers as the Grand Canyon of the north. Soon we would learn how timely it was that we found a privy.
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| One of the several campsites on the West Branch River |
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| This should have been my sign! Grand Canyon of the North |
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| These were a welcomed sight |
From the parkinglot at Hagas, we crossed a snow covered bridge, and made a gradual assent. The assent was gradual but long. The further we went the more snow we encountered. Soon the snow mixed with muddy conditions. Other 4 wheel vehicles had made recent tracks, so I felt pretty comfortable. Ann, not so much! Still trying to maintain her calm demeanor, Ann closed her eyes through many of the sink holes. Soon we were bouncing out of ruts, sliding sideways to the left and to the right, all the while trying to avoid soft shoulders and deep ditches. I was beginning to think I was in a prize fight by the way we were bouncing around.
By this time Ann is gripping the Oh Shit Handle so hard that prayers were coming out of her mouth. While she was talking to Jesus, I was talking to Brutas, as if it was a thoroughbred running the Kentucky Dirby. Every time the transmission drop kicked to low, and the tires began to dig in, I would say "come on ole boy, you can do it." I'm not sure if I was trying to convince the FJ or me!
At one point I realized how scared Ann was. I tried comforting her with some smooth, overlanding terms; as if I knew what I was doing. "Just pay attention", she quipped. I wasn't sure if she could see through my bull shit, or if she really was that scared. Either way it was permission to not have to entertain her. That's ok, I had my own entertainment coming at me in the front window.
12 miles in we came to an intersection where there was a cabin that had something to do with the Appilachian Trail. I really didn't pay much attention as I was busy trying to pry my fingers from the steering wheel. My mouth was parched. I opened a fresh can of seltzer, drank half of it, and dumped the rest on the ground. I threw the can in the back and said "it's only going to spill all over the place anyway"
When I pointed Brutas in the proper direction from the intersection, our GPS said "10 miles to your destination."I heard an exasperation from Ann, and felt her heart drop to the floor boards. "We're committed now" I said and hit accelerator. The road became consistent with deep muddy tire ruts. At the crest of a hill we could see another hill that was bigger than any of the others we had conquered. I tried to assure Ann; "that we had made it this far." All I heard was the rumbling from the exhaust. I dropped it into gear and hoped that gravity would propel me through the gully and catapult us to the top.
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| This is where the real fun began |
We hopped ruts, zig-zagged to the left and to the right, meanwhile throttle steering to keep from getting bogged down in the soft shoulders. The tires spun and left rooster tails behind us. My hands were busy trying to keep it straight. We went until we couldn't go anymore. I stepped out to assess our possibilities. They were looking very slim. When I opened the door to get out, Brutas was smoking and smelling mighty hot. I closed it quickly hoping Ann wouldn't get a whiff and further her silent worrying.
We had driven 14 miles in and had 10 miles to go. We were without cell service and didn't know a soul to call for help, even if we could call. Ann and I have done plenty of car camping in our day, so that was a faint option until morning. Walking through the muck and the meir for 10 miles wasn't something we wanted to do either. It was worth one more try, but it failed. Darkness was setting in and we had to make a decision soon. For the sake of a possible rescue, we thought it was best to go back to the cabin for a chance at cell service and a good reference point should we have to call for help. As a former cement truck driver, I have miles of experience backing through rough muddy terrain. I just wasn't sure my exasperated wife could handle it. It was bad enough when she could see where we were going, Ann would surely flip her lid if I tried pulling off a backward stunt like that!
I found a relatively dry spot with only a few ruts to back across. The shoulders of the road were soft, and there was a swamp on each side. I backed down and began my "14 point turn around." Once I positioned myself in the right direction, we scrambled up the hill and to the cabin. From there I got out and took a deep breath and began thinking of a plan. We tore the road up pretty good, and I wasn't sure we could make it back down without getting stuck. Unsure of a plan, I got back in the FJ. "Are you ready, she asked. "I guess I am now," and fired Brutas up. The ole boy snorted, and I dropped it into gear. It was the same old show heading back but in the other direction.
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| After a day of rest |
As we got closer to safety, ( the twin privys ) we began to decompress. Ann mentioned, how just the day before, she was concerned when we encountered snow on the trails. After sashaying through 14 miles of mudd, Ann felt relieved when we came upon snow between mud holes. I had to agree. As the tension began to lift, we found ourselves complimenting one another on our part of the success in getting out of the 100 Mile Woods without getting stuck. We agreed that if either of us had acted any differently, the outcome would have been disasterous if not fatal. One of us could still be in the 100 Mile Woods dead or alive.
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| Still alive after 13 years! |
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