After ten hours of driving over two days, Greenville, Maine, better look good.  And it does.  Entering from the west, we crest a hill and see the waters of Moosehead Lake opening below us.  I knew that Greenville would the last town of any size before reaching the West Branch of the Penobscot River, but I had not realized it is virtually the edge of civilization for the area.  Our home county of Union, NJ, houses over five thousand people per square mile; Piscataquis County, where we will canoe for five days, is big enough to hold thirty Union Counties, and has fewer than five residents per square mile.

Mallary had picked the fine folks of Northwoods Outfitters to provide logistical support for our canoe trip.  Though they offer full outfitting and guided trips, we were bringing our own gear and guiding ourselves.  They rented us two canoes, drove us to and from the river, and provided valuable suggestions on how to make this a successful trip.  We spent a while in the cafe section of their store with Mark, who went over the trip with us.  We asked questions and annotated the map so we would remember his advice.  One great suggestion was to buy several gallons of bottled water to take with us.  The water would serve a dual purpose: in addition to alleviating the need to filter river water, we could put the bottles in the bow of the canoes to help balance the weight, since our young daughters would need some counterweight to keep the canoes level.

We checked into the Indian Hill Motel back up the hill.  The outside looked a bit tired, but the room was very neat and had a nice view down the hill to the lake.  Most important, we could back the van up to the door of the room to completely unload it so that we could repack everything in dry bags.  Clara asked Mallary to get a notebook at the store, because she wanted to submit a story to This American Life about our trip.

We had dinner at a family restaurant right on Moosehead Lake.  Being lakeside, with our gear packed and an early morning departure scheduled, we were all excited and laughed a lot.  We returned to the motel and had lights out around 9:00.

The next morning we stopped to get ice for the cooler and sandwiches for the first day before reaching the outfitters before 8:30.  There we met Suzanne and Keturah, who were headed the same place we were.  We listened in while Mike Boutin went over the trip with them, and got some additional ideas from him.  Bob, our driver, let us know when the van was loaded and the canoe trailer attached.  We headed east out of Greenville and in a matter of minutes were on dirt logging roads.  We saw no houses and no people, other than a handful of timber truck drivers, in the two hours it took to get to Penobscot Farm, our put-in point.

The Penobscot River is the longest river entirely contained in the state of Maine.  The West Branch varies greatly in character, from the Class V waters of the Cribworks down to stretches of flat water, like that of Penobscot Farm.  Bob launched Suzanne and Keturah while we got our gear distributed between the boats.  Then Bob launched Mallary and Clara, and finally Ellie and me, and we were truly on vacation.

Our first day had us only paddling about six miles into Lobster Lake, but since it was after noon before we got on the river, we ate a floating lunch in our canoes, rather than finding a place to pull over.  Bob had given us the landmark for finding Lobster Stream into the Lobster Lake, and by mid afternoon we had emerged into the lake.  Following a suggestion from Mark, we paddled out a bit into the lake, and then turned around to study the inlet, because we would need to find this spot in order to get out.  As we got into the lake, a small powerboat slowly approached us.  The Lobster Lake ranger greeted us; we all remarked upon the exceptional weather.  Once she examined our camping permit, she told us what campsites were available.  The only site within an hour's paddle was Ogden Cove, so that made our decision easy.  Even though it is technically a double site, we only saw our sitemates when we paddled in.  There was plenty of privacy.  Ogden Cove has a natural sandy beach, and like all the primitive campsites, has a picnic table with a ridgepole (for a tarp) and a discreetly placed privy.  We unloaded the boats and set up camp.  I was relieved to find that we had not left anything important behind.  The girls took a canoe out while Mallary and I got things arranged.  When they got back in, I sent them to find hot dog sticks and got a fire started.  They whittled their sticks down and we had a classic campfire dinner of hot dogs, baked beans, and s'mores.

Since we were told that bears were not a problem in this area, we didn't bear bag our food.  Instead, at bedtime, we put it all in coolers which we secured with bungee cords, which was sufficient protection against raccoons.  We hung our garbage over the ridgepole.  I had assumed that the absence of a bear problem would be a comfort to Ellie, but her head was filled with images of rabid raccoons instead.  We lit a candle lantern and distributed flashlights for reading.  We were very comfortable in our dome tent from REI that was a generous gift from my brother years ago.  Mallary extinguished the candle lantern and did some final cleanup outside, and then let out an anguished exclamation.  We learned that she had picked up the candle lantern, which was still very hot.  If you want to know what the pattern on the top of a candle lantern looks like, ask to see Mallary's palm.  After Mallary had the appropriate first aid, the rest of the night was peaceful.  Even our food was safe from rabid raccoons.

Lobster Lake is lovely, and the outfitters had suggested we spend an extra day here, so we got a lazy start the next morning.  We made turkey bacon and Rocky Mountain toast for breakfast, which we empirically determined works much better with fried eggs than scrambled.  The day was brilliantly clear and a few welcome degrees cooler, so we put our sneakers into a dry bag for a short hike to the top of Lobster Mountain.  To reach the trailhead, we paddled around Ogden Point, and saw several occupied campsites.  I began to suspect that the trip might be busier than I had expected.  That fear was unfounded, as once we left Lobster Lake, we only saw four people in three days (including Keturah and Suzanne at the end of the trip).

We had a bit of trouble locating the trailhead, so Ellie and I paddled over to a campsite where two men sitting at the picnic table verified that we had found it.  They had done the hike and highly recommended it.  We visited with them for a while; they were married to sisters who had given them a few days off in the woods.  One lives in Manassas, VA, and the other in Portland.  As we visited and tied up the canoes, we realized our dry bag with the sneakers were back around the point at our campsite.  They said the hike was steep near the top, so decided to walk just part of the way up, since we had come this far.  We had lunch on the trail, then turned around and came back.  On the way down, we played one of Mallary's favorite games: considering a slightly sinister, but wholly ridiculous, hypothetical situation.  The one she posed was: what if those guys steal our canoes?  Several plans here hatched and shared, and flaws were revealed in the plans.  Someone pointed out that we know where they live; then it was pointed out we only had their word for it.  Ellie then proposed a variation: what we if catch them in the act of stealing our canoes?  All of the plans ended with getting help from the ranger, and we were stumped when we realized that we no way of being sure that person was actually the ranger.

When we got back to the lake, the canoe robbers had shown mercy on us and left our canoes right were we tied them up. Or maybe they had just returned them after a brief joy ride. Clara and Ellie seemed disappointed that nothing was amiss. We bid our goodbyes and paddled back to Ogden Cove where Ellie and I had a late afternoon swim.  We got out the map and compass and gave the girls a basic orienteering lesson.  N.B. In the North Maine Woods, it is important to correct your compass for declination (18 degrees west!).  We had pasta for dinner, and were treated to a gorgeous sunset.

Wednesday morning we broke camp and were in the boats around 9:00, headed back for the inlet of Lobster Stream.  Using our compass heading and the landmarks we spotted on the first day, we found the inlet and headed back toward the river.  With a heavy-laden canoe, a nine-year-old in the bow, and a brisk headwind, I cried Uncle.  We stopped just before entering the river and Ellie and Clara switched places, which helped equalize things.  The girls did a great job paddling; about halfway through the trip, I realized I was at least 11 before I did my first overnight canoe trip, and it was many more years before I did a trip of this scope.

This was to be our longest day, a bit over thirteen miles, which I thought might take all day.  But once we got a couple of miles down the river, the water started to move us along quite well.  We had lunch on Thoreau Island, where Henry David must have stayed during one of his journeys to the area. Alec Ireland reminded us that Thoreau's essays on these travels are collected in "The Maine Woods."   We taught Clara and Ellie some lessons in bowmanship, such as rock-spotting, bow rudder, as well as draw and pry strokes.  After Ellie identified a "rock at 4:00!", we added a proviso that we did not care about rocks located between 3:00 and 9:00.

As the water quickened, so did our spirits, and the day ended up being anything but arduous.  We found a lovely campsite at the upstream end of Big Island, perched 20 feet or so about the water.  As we set up camp, a canoe with a small motor chugged upstream, and Mallary recognized the ranger from Lobster Lake (assuming that she really is the ranger).  She told us that a bull moose often appeared in the river right below our site in the mornings, so to keep an eye out.  We had not seen any moose (except from the van on the way in), and we were all anxious to do so.  She also reminded us that a trail led from the Boom House campsite to the tiny Chesuncook Village, where there was a store with homemade fudge and root beer, something we had learned from the outfitters.

Thursday was to be a short day, no more than eight miles, most of it through moving water.  Once again we were on the river a bit after 9:00, but for the first time, the sky was blanketed with clouds.  The water was fun, as we had some authentic but gentle rapids, which kept the girls busy scouting rocks.  Once Clara and I got hung up on a rock in some swift water, but she was the model of composure.  We kept our balance even as the river spun our canoe backwards, and after we slid off the rock, I barked at her to "draw right," and we quickly pivoted the boat downstream.  It was enough to get our blood pumping on this cool morning.

We did not see the moose this day, or any other.  However we were enthralled by birds: loons, great blue herons, and this morning, the thrilling sight of a bald eagle.

Shortly before noon, the rain came.  We broke out the raincoats and kept paddling, though there were rumbles in the distance.  Eventually the rumbles got closer, as the water was getting wider and slower.  We stayed near the shore, and when we saw the first flash of lightning, we pulled the boats ashore and sprinted for the woods.  This whole area is very densely forested, so we had to push our way into the woods.  Mallary located a clearing, perhaps three feet square, where we played word games and counted thunderclaps.   The canopy was so dense that the rain was fairly light in the woods.  Once the weather seemed to have moved on, we worked our way back to the canoes and paddled another quarter mile before realizing the thunderstorm hadn't really moved on, so this time we grabbed the coolers as we found another tiny clearing in the woods to have lunch. The thunder was nerve-racking, especially to Ellie, but we reminded her that we were close to the Boom House campsite and thus to the homemade fudge, which gave her something else to think about.

Once the thunder truly abated, we got back on the river and took turns singing songs about rain and sun.  It turned out that the Boom House campsite was probably less than a mile from our lunch spot, and when we saw it, it was a truly welcome sight.  We unloaded and got the tent set up, and then set out in the light rain on the narrow forest path to Chesuncook Village.  The trail was not well maintained, and we had to climb over and duck under some felled trees.  But then we saw a sign marked "STORE" with an arrow pointing down a dirt road, which caused us all to pick up the pace.  There were perhaps half a dozen houses along the road before we reached the clearly marked store, which had a screened-in porch holding the fudge and other wares.

The screen door also held a sign saying, "We have closed for the day, but will re-open at 6:00 AM."  At this sight, Ellie could not contain her disappointment.  She was the only one expressing what we were all feeling.  She said this was the biggest disappointment of her life, before quickly amending it to be the fifth-biggest disappointment, after two deaths and two cancer diagnoses in the family.  We all wondered: where could everyone be?  Mallary thought it seemed like a science fiction movie where everyone in a town gets abducted by aliens. We walked a bit further to the village church, and finally saw someone on a golf cart, driving up to the parsonage.  In summary: we canoed in a thunderstorm, hiked to a remote village, and the only person we saw all day was driving a golf cart.

After dinner, Mallary did some map and compass work, because the next day was our last, and we would be on the sizable Chesuncook Lake.  The features that seem so obvious on a map can be deceptive when you are at water level.  We decided that we needed to get an early start the next day in case of more bad weather, or a headwind on the lake.  We were in our tent shortly after 7:00 pm, and talked over the day with the girls.  Once we were safe and dry in the tent, it was fun to reflect on the events of the day.  Clara reminded me of an aphorism heard from fellow Arkansan Kelsey Nix, related to me by my great adventure buddy Whit: "Adventure is discomfort in retrospect."

We roused the girls at 6:30 and were on the water by 8:15 for our last half-day of paddling.  We lined our canoes up according to the heading Mallary had found the night before, and found ourself pointing exactly at the point of an island, which we knew must be Gero Island.  This was comforting, as the views on the water were a little deceiving.  The wind wasn't bad, and we saw blue skies ahead.  If the whole sky had been clear, we would have had views of Katahdin down the lake. Once we rounded the far side of Gero Island, we saw another canoe closing on us, and we recognized Suzanne and Keturah. I think we all breathed a sigh of relief when we saw each other, meaning that it was even more likely we were headed in the right direction.  They had only spent one night on Lobster Lake, and ended up having their rest day on Thursday.  They were camped on Gero Island, so they sat in a lean-to and read throughout the thunderstorm.

We soon saw the landmarks for the Cuxabexis takeout, and were landed by about 10:30.  That gave us time to ferry our gear up through the woods to the clearing where the van picked us up about an hour later.  On the way back to Greenville, our driver Chris stopped at the Cribworks so we could get a close-up view of this serious whitewater (see a YouTube video of the rapids).  We told Suzanne and Keturah of Clara's hope to submit a story to This American Life, and with them imagined how Ira Glass might slug the story: "Coming up: searching for moose -- and fudge -- in the woods of Maine.  This and more stories of the Great American Search."

We went to the woods of Maine searching for beauty and peacefulness; they were available in abundance.  Clara and Ellie brought home an appreciation for such a quest, and I believe a new sense of confidence in handling matters as they arise, particularly ones over which we have no control.  As we left Greenville that afternoon, Mallary asked them if they wanted to do another trip like this. I feared she had posed the question too soon (before we had even had a shower), but the affirmative answers were immediate.  This thrilled me, more than the sight of a bald eagle, the elusive moose, or any amount of fudge could ever do.

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See a slideshow on YouTube: