I Enter the Wild - Baxter Day 5: On Showers, Glacial Ponds, and Presence

At Roaring Brook Campground

In desert and mountain wilderness, people discover liminal places suggesting thresholds between where they have been and where they are going. Whether they experience these places as dream symbols or rites of passage, whether they physically travel through wild, disorienting terrain or enter it metaphorically through an experience of profound crisis, such sites mark important points of transition in their lives. Out on the edge - in the desert waste or suspended between earth and sky - they transgress the limits of culture, language, all the personal boundaries by which their lives are framed. ~~Belden Lane

Before I write anything else, I think I probably should confess. I spent last night in a motel in Millinocket . . .

Well, I needed a shower! Did I say that in addition to no electricity, there’s no running water in Baxter? That’s correct, no running water, definitely no showers. I hadn’t washed my hands under running water much less been able to shower since Thursday morning. By Sunday afternoon I really wanted to take a shower. So when I left Roaring Brook, I headed in to Millinocket and spent the night at Baxter Park Inn. There aren’t many options for lodging in Millinocket. I had stayed in one other motel on a previous trip and was less than satisfied, so I decided to give Baxter Park Inn a shot. And it is a lovely little motel. The room was clean, my bed was comfortable, and the shower was fantastic! Actually all the showers were fantastic. (I took more than one!) I didn’t watch television or read any newspapers while I was "in town," that was not my purpose. I just wanted a shower. So I picked up some food at the Hannafords, checked in to my room, took a long hot shower, wrote in my journal, read some fiction, then went to sleep.



North Woods Trading Post

It is now 8:30 a.m, 44 degrees outside, and I am heading back to the wild, feeling a little more tame myself! I chuckle as I drive past the North Woods Trading Post. This establishment is the nearest store to the entrance to Baxter, which is ten miles away. According to its sign, it has everything a camper might want: ATM, public pay telephone, pizza to go, souvenirs, ice, and 200 cases of beer! Speaking from experience, for most food items you might want, you’ll have to go all the way back to Millinocket. But if you can survive on pizza and beer, they’ve got all you need.

Roaring Brook

When I arrive at the Park I head up to Roaring Brook Campground. I have decided that I want to hike the Chimney Pond Trail. According to informational sheets Diane gave me, this trail will take me past the Basin Ponds, which are in a basin below Mt. Katahdin. At some point I will have gained enough altitude that I can see Katahdin from on high as opposed to viewing it as I have thus far, from the ground. Roaring Brook is another "multi-purpose" campground, with tent sites, lean-tos, and a ten-person bunkhouse. It is the trailhead for hiking to the Chimney Pond Campground, which is one of only two backcountry campsites in the Park, as well as for accessing many of the trails to Katahdin’s Peaks. It is quite lovely in Roaring Brook this morning. There appears to be more foliage change here than in many areas of the Park. There also appears to be fewer evergreens and more hardwood in this section of the Park than on the west side, so there is much color here.



Hobblebush

In fact, here I find hobblebush lining the trail. I haven’t seen hobblebush in other areas of the park. Hobblebush is a fascinating plant in the Fall. The leaves are so many different colors that one might think the Creator ingested some of the many mushrooms which grow off the trail before embarking on creation of this plant. Seriously, some leaves are green, purple, pink, orange, red, and blue, all in one leaf! I have to pull myself forward else I photograph hobblebush all day.



Chimney Pond Trail

I have crossed Roaring Brook which now parallels the trail, and I am accompanied on my journey by the roar of the water as it rushes downhill. The foliage and the brook are so pretty that it takes me an extended period of time to hike the first mile or so of the trail. I stop every ten feet to take a photograph! This can be disorienting, as I don’t know this trail, and there aren’t many "landmarks." If I stop repeatedly, I am unable to judge distance by length of time on the trail. I don’t know where I am or how far I’ve come! 

This is one of the delightful aspects of hiking a trail for the first time. I am fully present, focused on here, wherever here happens to be. I don’t know what is around the corner, so I cannot think of it. I don’t know what is at the end, or the top, so I cannot anticipate it. I can only be where I am now. Early in the hike the trail has some flat spots, and I balance on one of the little beam bridges across some wet areas. But most of the trail is quite rocky, in fact the rockiest trail I’ve hiked since Chimneys in the Smokies. In numerous spots I must step over, around or on top of large rocks and boulders. And as I hike, the trail becomes steeper. At times I’m actually climbing rock steps up the side of the mountain. All of this adds to the aspect of presence, as I am forced to pay attention to what is right in front of me. Journeys to areas like this are important to me for this very reason. I can be present, must be present, focused solely on what is in front of me. I do not mull over the past. I do not think toward the future. I am just here now. And what a spectacular now it is!

He was stunned by the quiet joy of self-forgetfulness. ~~Belden Lane

I briefly hear some machinery and growl in return - I am not supposed to hear sounds like that up here. Then I round the corner to see a trail crew working on a bridge across a creek. In fact, the bridge has been totally demolished, and I am unable to cross. The worker directs me to follow little yellow ribbons that he has tied around bushes and trees, indicating that they will lead me to a spot where I can cross the creek. I laugh, then he does also - the yellow ribbons are almost invisible against the yellow of the leaves. Eventually I am able to find my way to the edge of the water, where I rock hop, then climb the bank and am back on the trail again.

I soon cross a wooden bridge, and the trail starts climbing steeply again. I am feeling somewhat perplexed at this point. According to my guide sheets, I should have found an overlook by now. Did I perhaps take the wrong trail? I can tell that I have climbed to the top of a mountain, as there is much blue sky through the trees around me, but every corner I round takes me further up a hill. I feel like I have hiked several miles, but I am not finding the milestones I expect. And I am not passing people on this trail, either coming or going, so there is no one to ask. I journey on.

Mt. Katahdin and Basin Pond

Just as I am starting to wonder if I should consider heading back down, I round a corner and find a short side trail. Of course I must check out the side trail, and, Wow! Look what I just found! I thought my guide sheet had lied to me. Or else that I am on the wrong trail. But here I am, where I was trying to be! According to the guide sheet, I am two miles up the trail. And I have gained about 1,000 feet in altitude. Before I rounded the corner and found Basin Pond, I would have sworn that I had already hiked 5 miles up the trail and at least half that distance in altitude gain. Oh the joys of hiking a new trail, of discovery [and discovery . . . ;-) ] !

Basin Pond - Draining to Brook
at right

Chimney Peak & The Knife Edge

The only sounds I hear are a bird chirping and the gurgle of the water beginning its downhill journey over to my right. There is only a faint breeze. It's about 55 degrees. The sun is warm on my face. Across the pond is Mt. Katahdin. I pull out my maps and identify it’s many "parts." The dip to the left is called The Saddle; the spot to the right is Chimney Peak; leading up to Chimney from the right is The Knife Edge, aptly named they say, and not for those who are scared of heights. All make up mighty Katahdin. And it's mine, all mine right now.

I settle in on a boulder and sit for a while. I am under some scrawny little balsam trees, the subalpine level where tree growth is stunted. I am joined briefly by a young couple who are heading up to spend two nights at Chimney Pond. I smile as I hear her see Basin Pond and Katahdin for the first time, "Oh Wow!" she utters, echoing my words. The couple stay for a few minutes and we chat about the scenery, then they head on up the trail, giving a blessing to my solitude - their word. Yes, the mountain and this gorgeous little pond are mine. I think I will just sit for a bit in their presence.

Why wilderness? Ask those who have known it and who have made it a part of their lives. They might not be able to explain, but your very question will kindle a light in eyes that have reflected the camp fires of a continent, eyes that have know the glory of dawns and sunsets and nights under the stars. ~~Sigurd Olson

Soon I head back down the mountain. On another day, probably another trip, I will hike to Chimney Pond, perhaps spend the night there. But today I have accomplished all I desire. When I return to the parking lot, about 3:30, and check some additional guide sheets, I learn that the trail I just hiked is consider difficult and strenuous. I am proud of the accomplishment. I have grown stronger over the last several years. This trail did not feel difficult. It just felt delightful. I chat for a while with Ranger Mark, who impetuously asks me to marry him. Mark notes that I am wearing a Yellowstone sweatshirt, a Great Smoky Mountain cap, am in Baxter State Park, and am shooting film with an old Olympus OM2N camera. He is taken by all of these factors. However, he lets me know that if I say yes, we’ll have to have a serious talk with his wife. I let him off the hook . . . But I do have a delightful time chatting with him, yet another interesting Ranger. Mark is himself an ice climber as well as certified in wilderness rescue. We talk about his experiences at Baxter as well as life itself, then I head back to Kidney.

I arrive back at Kidney Pond at 5:30. It is 51 degrees outside. I fill the woodbox with logs from the barn then make a cup of coffee and sit on the back porch. There is only one loon on the pond this evening, looks to be the youngster. I wonder if his mom has left him here and headed for the coast. Would she do that? Do they do that? The sky is still clear, and the sun begins sinking behind the mountains to the west. Though the trees below are dark, Katahdin itself glows pink in the sunset, like alpenglow! The surface of the lake is still and the mountain reflects off the water. As the first stars become visible, the coyotes make their presence known, first a series of yips, then numerous howls. I am delighted. What a grand day it has been!

The sun was trembling now on the edge of the ridge. It was alive, almost fluid and pulsating, and as I watched it sink I thought that I could feel the earth turning from it, actually feel its rotation. Over all was the silence of the wilderness, that sense of oneness which comes only when there are no distracting sights or sounds, when we listen with inward ears and see with inward eyes, when we feel and are aware with our entire beings rather than our senses. I thought as I sat there of the ancient admonition "Be still and know that I am God," and knew that without stillness there can be no knowing, without divorcement from outside influences man cannot know what spirit means. ~~~Sigurd Olson

Donna



I Enter the Wild - A Quiet Day in Baxter - Day 4

 

Mt. Katahdin and Kidney Pond

If waters are placid, the moon will be mirrored perfectly. If we still ourselves, we can mirror the divine perfectly. But if we engage solely in the frenetic activities of our daily involvements, if we seek to impose our own schemes on the natural order, and if we allow ourselves to become absorbed in self-centered views, the surface of our waters becomes turbulent. Then we cannot be receptive to Tao. There is no effort that we can make to still ourselves. True stillness comes naturally from moments of solitude where we allow our minds to settle. Just as water seeks its own level, the mind will gravitate toward the holy. Muddy water will become clear if allowed to stand undisturbed, and so too will the mind become clear if it is allowed to be still.   ~~~Deng Ming-Dao


I am awake at 5:00 and start the fire, but I’m feeling all snuggly this morning and don’t actually arise until 7:15. When I do slide out of bed, I am thrilled to see that there is a blue sky this morning. I can photograph vistas today!  I start the coffee and step down to the edge of the pond.  Mt. Katahdin is in full view this morning, no fog or clouds obscuring its peak or its massive girth.  It is cold enough that mist is rising off the pond, according a sense of mystery to the scene.  Both the mountain and the mist reflect in the pond's still blue surface. And like the pond, I am still for a while, continuing my slow start to the day. I have nothing to do but be here now, so I take advantage of it!  I am gratified to see that the loons are still hanging out on this side of the pond. I do hope the youngster starts trying to fly soon. I’m worried about him . . .

At Foster Field

I head out from Kidney Pond by 8:45, planning to "tour" those areas of Baxter I have been unable to photograph adequately thus far (because of the clouds). It is 48 degrees outside. First stop is Foster Field, located at the "intersection" of the Tote Road and Kidney Pond Road. Foster Field is an open area where tent camping is allowed. It looks like the crew of young men who spent the weekend here are packing up. I photograph the flaming trees against the blue sky, then head up the road to Daicy Pond. Daicy is "one pond over" from Kidney. In fact, it’s actually shorter distance-wise to walk to Daicy from the Kidney Pond campground than to drive. However, the log bridge over the Nesowadnehunk Stream, that runs between the two ponds, has been washed out by the rains so one is unable to cross over on foot. Like Kidney Pond, Daicy Pond also has rustic cabins and a tremendous view of Mt. Katahdin. I spend a bit of time "working the scene" at Daicy, catching some nice shots of the foliage against the blue sky, the pond, and the mountain. I will be back here later in the week to hike the Appalachian Trail as it runs south from here.    



Mt Katahdin and Daicy Pond

Each stone, each bend cries welcome to him. He identifies with the mountains and the streams, he sees something of his own soul in the plants and the animals and the birds of the field. ~~Paulo Coelho

Daicy Pond

After leaving Daicy, I wander up to Katahdin Stream Campground. The Appalachian Trail up to Baxter Peak on Mt. Katahdin runs through the Katahdin Stream campground, so it is a prime camping spot for folks through-hiking or planning to make day hikes up the mountain. There are no cabins here, however. Camping is limited to tents or overnight stays in the lean-tos. I will also be back here later in the week, to see how far up the AT I can hike, toward Baxter Peak. Today, however, is dedicated to photography, not hiking, so I move on.

Stump Pond

Next stop is Stump Pond. Stump Pond is appropriately named. Rising from the water around the edges of the pond are numerous white boulders and - stumps! Stump Pond has apparently been prime moose viewing territory over the last week, and there are several photographers hidden among the bushes - and hidden behind tripods sporting cameras with enormous telephoto lenses. My camera equipment looks minuscule next to theirs. There are no moose hanging out this day, so I ease on down the road.

Upper Togue Pond and Mt. Katahdin

Lower Togue Pond

I explore a few areas I have not visited as yet, including Abol Pond, then Upper and Lower Togue Ponds. The Togue Ponds are located outside the Togue Pond Gateshouse but inside the confines of the Park. The water on Lower Togue Pond is like glass, perfectly reflecting the trees and enormous cumulus clouds. The scene looks like a colorful addition to the Rorschach psychological test. Hmm, looks like two large hands . . .   Across the road Mt. Katahdin rises behind Upper Togue Pond. No matter where one views it, the mountain is magnificent today. I head up the Tote Road to the Roaring Brook Campground. This road is largely enclosed by trees, leaving few spots for photography, so I don’t tarry, but soon turn and head back.

Lower Togue Pond

I wrap up my day at this point.  There has not been much adventure today, no exotic animal sightings, no trail stories to tell, but the photography has been good and I will have some good shots. I am satisfied.

And there are still three days remaining . . .

Donna

I Enter the Wild - Baxter Day 3



 

Nesowadnehunk Tote Road



The beginning place for my own work on desert-mountain spirituality has to be a point of profound vulnerability. Risk is the way I have become "accustomed to walking" in recent years. ~~Belden Lane

I awaken spontaneously at 5:15. No need for an alarm clock when the body is working off the rhythm of the land. I slip out of bed, tiptoe across the floor (tiptoeing because the floor is sooo cold), start a fire in the woodstove, then crawl back in and listen to the resident mama loon and her youngster wail, that eerie, soulful sound. About 6:30 I finally get up, make a cup of coffee, then sit on the porch of the cabin and watch the dance of mama loon and youngster. She dives under, he chatters lightly, she resurfaces with food in her beak, he greets her hungrily, they circle close, touching each other, then she dives again. Sweet! There were no loons here at Kidney Pond during my visit last year. Loons feed on fish. Thus in order to eat, they must head to the coast before the lakes and ponds in this area freeze over. No youngster had been born here at Kidney Pond last year, and the adults had already headed to the coast for the winter before I arrived, so I missed their music, and their dance.

This year one youngster was born to the resident loon couple. The adult male has already flown to points southeast, but mom and youngster are still here. They should be heading for the coast in a few days - if the youngster ever decides to fly. Ranger Diane says he's a little slow at learning this skill. Actually, she said he’s acting a bit lazy, given that he’s been able to fish for himself for several weeks but is still insisting that mom provide fish for him, part of the dance between the two that I’m watching. It’s been wonderful going to sleep and awakening to the sounds of the loons calling to each other. Loons basically make four different types of sounds. The haunting, wailing call is the one loons generally use to communicate with each other, usually in the early morning or evening hours. This one can be heard for several miles and is the one I hear most commonly.  (Loon Wail)  A short hooting sound is also used to communicate among mates, chicks, and social groups on the same body of water. I’ve heard mom and youngster making both of these calls when close to each other. (Loon Hoot) I’ve not heard the other two, which are "tremolos" and "yodels," one made solely by a male as an alarm, the other by any loon as an alarm sound.

I spend the day today exploring the Park by car and taking photographs of the foliage. It is overcast all day, threatening to rain again. Overcast and rainy conditions are frequently the best for capturing colors of foliage, so it is a good day to put the camera to use. On my way out of Kidney Pond, I pass through several gorgeous "flaming" stands of trees, all yellow and orange, from the beech, birch, yellow maple and sugar maple trees. I take the Tote Road west then up and over to Matagamon Gate. For much of the initial part of the drive a canopy of branches covers the road, obscuring the surrounding countryside. But what a gorgeous canopy it is, a tunnel of color!! These are primarily the hardwoods, the beech, birch, and maples, and all are on fire! Hah! I think it takes me about an hour to drive five miles, as I keep finding new combinations of color, "texture," and "line" to capture.
 



I like to take the time out to listen to the trees, much in the same way that I listen to a sea shell, holding my ear against the rough bark of the trunk, hearing the inner singing of the sap. It’s a lovely sound, the beating of the heart of the tree. ~~Madeline L'Engle

 



Nesowadnehunk Stream





Soon the road parallels the Nesowadnehunk Stream. I chuckle at the name. I had been so proud of myself, when I learned to say that word, then Diane corrected me, told me that it is actually pronounced Nuhsahduhunk, or if you’re really a Mainer, just Sahduhunk! So, Sahduhunk it is! By the way, here’s another odd "naming" that perplexes me. Just like with standing bodies of water, I see a hierarchy with rushing bodies of water. For me, rivers are larger than creeks, which are larger than streams, which are larger than brooks, and so on. This body of water, the Saduhunk, is a river in my book! Perhaps it pales in comparison to the Penobscot or some of the other grand rivers of Maine, but for me here now, it’s a river!


Nesowadnehunk Stream
at Ledge Falls

In several spots the Nesowadnehunk has overflowed its banks and flooded the road. After reconnoitering by foot, I figure out that the water is shallow enough that I can still pass. I discover Ledge Falls, a spot where the bedrock underneath is raised up and the Nesowadnehunk flows directly across it. I walk out onto the rock in spots, to get close to the water. The water is running very fast here, rushing around a corner and bouncing off the rocks, creating a golden froth that mirrors the color of the foliage. At this spot one can see the surrounding mountains, most clearly Doubletop, which is brightly colored up to the tundra line. Gwen described this type of view, of colorful mountain foliage from afar, as looking like broccoli. And indeed it does look like colorful broccoli florets that have, well, aged . . . I enter a section of fairly open road, lined with balsam trees - must leave the windows of the car open to appreciate the sweet smell. Soon the Nesowadnehunk is replaced by the North Branch of Trout Brook paralleling the road. But here we go again, I dunno, looks rather large to be a brook to me . . . .

Doubletop "Broccoli"

South Branch Pond

    

South Branch Pond Campground

I briefly drive through the Scientific Forest Management area of the Park. Don’t want to wander much here, as hunting is allowed, and I don’t know if it is "season." As I reach the northeast corner of the Park, I briefly wander down to Grand Lake. There’s very little color here, and the lake is not very pretty, so I don’t spend a lot of time, instead turn around and begin the drive back. On the way back to my section of the park, I explore South Branch Pond, which is quite lovely.  It is pretty cold by now, around 45, and I have to bundle up.

By the time I arrive back at  Kidney Pond, the clouds have departed, the sky is blue, and it is in the low forties. It is too cool to sit outside for long, so I light a fire and open the back door to the cabin, preparing dinner to the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the loons calling, and soon the coyotes howling across the Pond!

Mt. Katahdin & Kidney Pond

It’s now around 9:00 p.m. Warmest it got today was 49 degrees. Yesterday I was bemoaning the fact that it was too warm, in the 70's. Then the rain rained and the winds howled, roaring across the pond, battering my little cabin throughout the afternoon and way into the night. The wind finally blew the rain away, leaving frigid temps in its wake.

A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease. ~~John Muir

But I am not cold at this moment. I have a great fire rumbling in the woodstove.  Ever notice how a fire makes its own noise? Not just the pops and crackles of the resins in the wood, but the fire itself has a voice. This fire is rumbling steadily, in a moderate and even cadence. But you should have heard the one this morning! I already mentioned that I quickly threw some logs in the stove, put a piece of firestarter under the stack and lit it, then crawled back in bed to wait for the room to get warm. Well, before long the fire was literally roaring - and the stovepipe was growling and popping, and this little peephole in the stovepipe was bright red. When I checked it out, I realized that I had built such a grand fire that it was crawling several feet up the stovepipe. Not wanting to burn the campground down, I stirred things around a bit, repositioned some logs, and the fire toned down a bit. I think I have figured out this fire fixing business!

I have settled in my little bed, replaying my several days here in Maine. I think of "input," of stimulation. With Baxter being a wilderness park which is a solid hour from the nearest town, and with the park having no electricity, visual input is different, which accentuates input from the other senses. There is no glow on the horizon from city lights, no pole lights here in the campground, no lights from cabin windows, and there's been no moon. Dark is really dark! When I turn off the propane lamp and shut the door to the woodstove, I can see nothing! Not a thing. It is dark by about 5:30 to 6:00 p.m. way up here, so after several hours of wonderfully forced lack of activity, I am finding myself shutting things down and preparing for sleep. I lie still, attuned to things that I probably wouldn't if I could see - the smell of woodsmoke; the sound of rain falling on the roof; the much different sound of water dripping from the trees instead of the sky; the smell of my leather boots drying by the fire; the sound of the wind beginning it's travels across the other side of the pond; the sound of the wind stirring the trees above me; the feel of the wind buffeting the cabin; the sound of the squirrel (or some other critter!) climbing the window screen; the noises of the fire settling down. Nice.

The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, serenely, divinely aware.     ~~Henry Miller

Speaking of being attuned to sounds . . . there was just the most awful extended screeching noise coming from outside the cabin - really close - kinda human, mostly not, loud, piercing, hard to describe . . . Gotta ask Diane to please tell me there are Screech Owls up in these woods . . . if not, maybe Sasquatch - ?? Glad my cabin doors have a latch. Hmm, my cabin doors only have a latch . . . .

Another good day in wild Maine!

Donna



I Enter the Wild - Baxter State Park, Maine

Kidney Pond and Mt. Katahdin at Sunrise

It is impossible for human intelligence to comprehend God, yet certain places may allow people to experience the necessary risk that opens them, body and soul, to what their minds cannot entertain. God’s places, in scripture and in the history of spirituality, are frequently fierce landscape settings like the storm-beaten slopes of Mount Sinai. God is ‘an inaccessible and pathless mountain,’ as Philo described the peak Moses ascended in fear and trembling. Such liminal places are able, symbolically if not physically, to put people on edge, driving them beyond all efforts to control reality (and even God) by means of the intellect.   Belden Lane, The Solace of Fierce Landscapes

I smile a goofy smile as I travel up I-95 from Bangor, take the exit for Millinocket, travel through the villages of Medford, East Millinocket then Millinocket, and head to Baxter State Park on the unnamed road . . . Really, it is variously known as Baxter State Park Road, Lake Road, or Millinocket Lake Road. It turns into a gravel road before reaching its terminus at Baxter State Park. There is moderate color change on the leaves up I-95, reaching peak change by the time I am close to Baxter. I pass signs "warning" of deer crossing and moose crossing - oh, I so hope they do! It is about 55 degrees outside. I am heading to the wilderness in October. My smile widens!

Baxter State Park Road

I first discovered Baxter State Park in 2007, when I visited Maine to attend a grant writing workshop. Though I toured Acadia National Park at that time, I quickly tired of the copious cars and multiple numbers of people at Acadia and decided that I needed to locate a less populated, wilder area of the state. I had no idea what Baxter was, but on the maps of Maine it appears as a large green rectangular area in the middle of, well - nothing - in north central Maine. According to the maps, except for the two roads leading directly into Baxter, there aren’t even any paved roads in the surrounding countryside. Perfect! I was captivated by my one-day visit to Baxter in 2007 and have made several return trips, including a five-night stay with Gwen in a cabin at Kidney Pond in October, 2009. This is my first visit during which I will be camping alone in the Park.

Baxter State Park is a wilderness area consisting of more than 200,000 acres of public forest land and designated wilderness in Maine. Baxter is the home of Mount Katahdin, the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail and the highest peak in Maine. Approximately 75% of the Park is a wildlife sanctuary. A northwest section of the Park is operated as a Scientific Forest Management Area. Like John D. Rockefeller to the Grand Tetons, we owe the existence of Baxter State Park to one man, Percival Baxter, who was the Governor of Maine in the early 1920's. Baxter personally purchased the initial 6,000 acres - including Mt. Katahdin - and donated it to the State in 1931, with the stipulation that it forever remain a wilderness area. Baxter continued to purchase tracts of land to add to the size of the Park over the next thirty years. When he died he left a trust of $7 million to ensure that the Park would be managed financially over the years without the need to dip into State general revenue dollars. You go Percy! There are now over 40 peaks and ridges in the Park in addition to Mt. Katahdin. There are 215 miles of trails as well as 8 "roadside" and 2 backcountry campgrounds.

Baxter is located about 81 miles north of Bangor. The closest town to Baxter is Millinocket, population around 5,000. The local mill, Kathahdin Paper, and tourism from the Appalachian Trail and Baxter are the prime economic forces for the community. Baxter is located about 16 miles west of Millinocket.. To give some perspective on size of the community, on the Park website, when they provide directions to Baxter they state, "Proceed through both traffic lights in Millinocket. . ."

Except for a couple of side roads to the campgrounds, there is only one road in Baxter, the Nesowadnehunk Tote Road. The Tote Road is a two-lane gravel road that enters Baxter at the southeast corner at the Togue Ponds. It splits here with the right fork traveling north 8 miles to the Roaring Brook campground. The left fork travels west then north and back east to exit 43 miles later at the northeast entrance, Matagamon Gate. The speed limit on the Tote Road is 20 mph. There are spots where the road is narrow enough that one has to pull off to the side to allow oncoming cars to pass.

Cabin 10 Kidney Pond



Cabin 10 - Back View

I have reserved a cabin at the Kidney Pond Campground. Though it is only 12 miles from the Togue Gatehouse to Kidney Pond, it takes about an hour of driving to reach the campground because of the speed limit. The main buildings at Kidney Pond were originally a hunting camp that the State purchased and added to the Park. The campground consists of twelve cabins, the Ranger’s office and dwelling, two additional staff cabins, a library, and a wood barn. Oh, and I mustn’t forget the 4 outhouses! Except for cabin 12 across the pond which can only be reached by canoe, the cabins are arrayed along the edge of Kidney Pond. By the time I reach Kidney, my smile is really wide, made wider when I am greeted by Ranger Diane, whom Gwen and I met last year. Diane lives at the campground 5 days a week from around April through October, returning to her own home several hours away two days each week. She has worked at Baxter for about twenty years, so she is knowledgeable about all things Baxter. Indeed, she is a source authority on naturalist issues, i.e., trees, animals, and so on. And she is a really nice person.

My cabin, cabin 10, is fairly secluded, tucked up under red maple, white birch, and hemlock trees almost at the end of the path to the right. Today I note that the ground around the cabin and the back porch are festooned with red maple leaves! Mine is a one-room cabin furnished with two beds, a table, a small three-drawer dresser, a stool, two wooden chairs, a woodbox, and a woodstove. Did I mention that there is no electricity in the campground?! The cabin is heated by the woodstove. It is lighted by a propane lamp affixed to the wall. There is a back porch complete with work table and two adirondack chairs. Between the porch and the pond, which is only about fifteen feet, there is a picnic table. And from the back porch I have a gorgeous view of the lake and Mt. Katahdin.

I carry my food, gear, and so on to my cabin and unpack. I shopped for food in Bangor last night and in Millinocket on my way through today, planning meals that are fairly healthy and easy to prepare, e.g., tuna, beans, oatmeal, soup, and so on. I even purchased brown eggs, in keeping with the natural "theme" of the week. As always during a wild adventure, I have included cheese, crackers and merlot on the menu. And, of course, chocolate! I fill my woodbox with wood from the barn, put sheets, blanket, and sleeping bag on the bed, array the mini-carnations in plastic cups around the room. It is now early evening and a bit chilly, so I start a fire in the woodstove. Then I prop my feet up, pull out a novel, and settle in for a very pleasant evening. I have arrived. I am here.

The wilderness is a place of rest -- not in the sense of being motionless, for the lure, after all, is to move, to round the next bend. The rest comes in the isolation from distractions, in the slowing of the daily centrifugal forces that keep us off balance.   ---David Douglas (Scottish botanist)

Kidney Pond Loop Trail

Day Two

I need to "be out in it," my first full day here, even though "it" is being rained on. The rain is light, so I decide to hike the trail around Kidney Pond, my pond. You know, I think of ponds as smaller than lakes, wee bodies of water, but up here there are Big ponds everywhere, mine being no exception. The trail around Kidney Pond is 3.5 miles, a nice length, I think, for a first day's rainy saunter. I bundle in boots, jeans, long-sleeved t, and rain jacket and set out. 

Kidney Pond Loop Trail



Kidney Pond Loop Trail

The first half of the trip is a wonderful quiet walk in the rain. Sometimes it is a steady but light drizzle, sometimes just a drip. I wander down paths carpeted in needles from white pine; across big granite boulders; over and around gnarly roots. I travel down paths strewn with red, yellow, and orange leaves - from white birch, red maple, mountain maple and sugar maple. Sometimes my way appears as a kaleidoscope of color and shape! 



Kidney Pond Loop Trail

I am in no hurry.  I stop to examine mushrooms and fallen limbs.  I hike through stands of balsam, then eastern hemlock.  Sometimes I balance on little log walkways - like a gymnast on a balance beam. All the while I am delighting in the gifts of the wild, not thinking of much of anything except what is before me.  I take several "side trips" from the trail, to canoe landings on the pond, first Celia Landing, where a side trail leads to Celia Pond, then Sentinel Landing, from which spot one can hike to Sentinel Mountain, then Daicy Landing, where the side trail leads to Daicy Pond.

Kidney Pond Loop Trail

Now the rain picks up, and becomes real, well, persistent and insistent. Soon my jeans drip and my feet slosh in my boots.  I can no longer use my camera as the rain is too intense.  I pick up my pace.  I spend less time observing my surroundings, more time focused on moving swiftly through the trees . . . until I see that I am now hiking next to a moving body of water.  I’m not sure what is the name of the water, but I know it to be the stream or creek that "drains" Kidney Pond.  It is about 10 - 20 feet wide in places. Today it is swollen from the rain and is running fairly fast. 

I become concerned when I realize that my trail has ended - at the edge of the water!  I realize that there is a river ford on this trail . . .! two actually . . . I don't think they're normally a problem, probably just a mild rock hop, but given the recent rain, uh oh . . ., I may be in trouble.  The first ford isn't too bad, just a precarious perch on the bank with a very wide step and a hop involved.   Yes!  I make it! But the next has me thinking that I may be forced to retrace my steps the 2.5 soggy miles I've already come.  It is a raging "stream" about 15 feet across, worse still, looks about two feet deep, and swift!  It is not passable!! I'm not sure what to do.

From Kidney Pond Loop Trail

We need to witness our own limits transgressed. ---Thoreau

I am beginning to despair but decide to wander a bit further upstream, where I find a spot where debris has built up across the creek. It is only about 5 feet across and maybe 4-6 inches deep - if the debris holds up - otherwise . . . I decide to brave it.  I cross my fingers, hold onto branches as long as I can, pray that my feet won't be swept out from under me, and step forward.  And I make it!  I successfully cross the river!  And though I am quite wet by now, I think I dance the rest of the way home.

Whereupon I have the most wonderful cup of really hot coffee - made with my new Jetboil - to celebrate the wonder of where I am as well as my accomplishments . . . and to help me get warm!

It is only 1:30, but the rain intensifies, and I know I am in for the day.  I think back over my first day.  I have spent less than twenty-four hours in Baxter.  I think about how the focus here, in the wild, is on what is now, what is around the next bend.  Out here I am only concerned about balancing on log walkways, climbing over rocks, fording swift streams.  I don't worry about tomorrow.  Tomorrow will have a different set of obstacles on a totally different path   Today has been a good day.  I am satisfied.  I settle in.

In stretching the self to its edges, the geography helps in forcing a breakthrough to something beyond all previously conceived limits of being.     ---Belden Lane The Solace of Fierce Landscapes

　

Doubletop Mountain and Kidney Pond
from Kidney Pond Loop Trail