Maine Woods — The Allegash & East Branch, Section 31

After the almost incessant rapids and falls of the Madunkchunk (Height-of-Land, or Webster Stream), we had just passed through the dead water of Second Lake, and were now in the much larger dead water of Grand Lake, and I thought the Indian was entitled to take an extra nap here.

Ktaadn, near which we were to pass the next day, is said to mean “Highest Land.

” So much geography is there in their names.

The Indian navigator naturally distinguishes by a name those parts of a stream where he has encountered quick water and forks, and again, the lakes and smooth water where he can rest his weary arms, since those are the most interesting and more arable parts to him.

The very sight of the _Nerlumskeechticook_, or Deadwater Mountains, a day’s journey off over the forest, as we first saw them, must awaken in him pleasing memories.

And not less interesting is it to the white traveler, when he is crossing a placid lake in these out-of-the-way woods, perhaps thinking that he is in some sense one of the earlier discoverers of it, to be reminded that it was thus well known and suitably named by Indian hunters perhaps a thousand years ago.

Ascending the precipitous rock which formed this long narrow island, I was surprised to find that its summit was a narrow ridge, with a precipice on one side, and that its axis of elevation extended from northwest to southeast exactly like that of the great rocky ridge at the commencement of the Burnt Ground, ten miles northwesterly.

The same arrangement prevailed here, and we could plainly see that the mountain ridges on the west of the lake trended the same way.

Splendid large harebells nodded over the edge and in the clefts of the cliff, and the blueberries (_Vaccinium Canadense_) were for the first time really abundant in the thin soil on its top.

There was no lack of them henceforward on the East Branch.

There was a fine view hence over the sparkling lake, which looked pure and deep, and had two or three, in all, rocky islands in it.

Our blankets being dry, we set out again, the Indian as usual having left his gazette on a tree.

This time it was we three in a canoe, my companion smoking.

We paddled southward down this handsome lake, which appeared to extend nearly as far east as south, keeping near the western shore, just outside a small island, under the dark Nerlumskeechticook Mountain.

For I had observed on my map that this was the course.

It was three or four miles across it.

It struck me that the outline of this mountain on the southwest of the lake, and of another beyond it, was not only like that of the huge rock waves of Webster Stream, but in the main like Kineo, on Moosehead Lake, having a similar but less abrupt precipice at the southeast end;

in short, that all the prominent hills and ridges hereabouts were larger or smaller Kineos, and that possibly there was such a relation between Kineo and the rocks of Webster Stream.

[Illustration: _Mount Kineo Cliff_] The Indian did not know exactly where the outlet was, whether at the extreme southwest angle or more easterly, and had asked to see my plan at the last stopping-place, but I had forgotten to show it to him.

As usual, he went feeling his way by a middle course between two probable points, from which he could diverge either way at last without losing much distance.

In approaching the south shore, as the clouds looked gusty and the waves ran pretty high, we so steered as to get partly under the lee of an island, though at a great distance from it.

I could not distinguish the outlet till we were almost in it, and heard the water falling over the dam there.

Here was a considerable fall, and a very substantial dam, but no sign of a cabin or camp.

The hunter whom we met at Telos Lake had told us that there were plenty of trout here, but at this hour they did not rise to the bait, only cousin trout, from the very midst of the rushing waters.

There are not so many fishes in these rivers as in the Concord.

While we loitered here, Polis took occasion to cut with his big knife some of the hair from his moose-hide, and so lightened and prepared it for drying.

I noticed at several old Indian camps in the woods the pile of hair which they had cut from their hides.

Having carried over the dam, he darted down the rapids, leaving us to walk for a mile or more, where for the most part there was no path, but very thick and difficult traveling near the stream.

At length he would call to let us know where he was waiting for us with his canoe, when, on account of the windings of the stream, we did not know where the shore was, but he did not call often enough, forgetting that we were not Indians.

He seemed to be very saving of his breath,--yet he would be surprised if we went by, or did not strike the right spot.

This was not because he was unaccommodating, but a proof of superior manners.

Indians like to get along with the least possible communication and ado.

He was really paying us a great compliment all the while, thinking that we preferred a hint to a kick.

At length, climbing over the willows and fallen trees, when this was easier than to go round or under them, we overtook the canoe, and glided down the stream in smooth but swift water for several miles.

I

here observed again, as at Webster Stream, and on a still larger scale the next day, that the river was a smooth and regularly inclined plane down which we coasted.

As we thus glided along we started the first black ducks which we had distinguished.

We decided to camp early to-night, that we might have ample time before dark; so we stopped at the first favorable shore, where there was a narrow gravelly beach on the western side, some five miles below the outlet of the lake.

It was an interesting spot, where the river began to make a great bend to the east, and the last of the peculiar moose-faced Nerlumskeechticook Mountains not far southwest of Grand Lake rose dark in the northwest a short distance behind, displaying its gray precipitous southeast side, but we could not see this without coming out upon the shore.

Two steps from the water on either side, and you come to the abrupt bushy and rooty if not turfy edge of the bank, four or five feet high, where the interminable forest begins, as if the stream had but just cut its way through it.

It is surprising on stepping ashore anywhere into this unbroken wilderness to see so often, at least within a few rods of the river, the marks of the axe, made by lumberers who have either camped here or driven logs past in previous springs.

You will see perchance where, going on the same errand that you do, they have cut large chips from a tall white pine stump for their fire.

While we were pitching the camp and getting supper, the Indian cut the rest of the hair from his moose-hide, and proceeded to extend it vertically on a temporary frame between two small trees, half a dozen feet from the opposite side of the fire, lashing and stretching it with arbor-vitæ bark which was always at hand, and in this case was stripped from one of the trees it was tied to.

Asking for a new kind of tea, he made us some, pretty good, of the checkerberry (_Gaultheria procumbens_), which covered the ground, dropping a little bunch of it tied up with cedar bark into the kettle; but it was not quite equal to the _Chiogenes_.

We called this therefore Checkerberry-Tea Camp.

I was struck with the abundance of the _Linnæa borealis_, checkerberry, and _Chiogenes hispidula_, almost everywhere in the Maine woods.

The wintergreen (_Chimaphila umbellata_) was still in bloom here, and clintonia berries were abundant and ripe.

This handsome plant is one of the most common in that forest.

We here first noticed the moose-wood in fruit on the banks.

The prevailing trees were spruce (commonly black), arbor-vitæ, canoe birch (black ash and elms beginning to appear), yellow birch, red maple, and a little hemlock skulking in the forest.

The Indian said that the white maple punk was the best for tinder, that yellow birch punk was pretty good, but hard.

After supper he put on the moose tongue and lips to boil, cutting out the _septum_.

He showed me how to write on the under side of birch bark, with a black spruce twig, which is hard and tough, and can be brought to a point.

The Indian wandered off into the woods a short distance just before night, and, coming back, said, “Me found great treasure,--fifty, sixty dollars’ worth.

” “What’s that?

” we asked.

“Steel traps, under a log, thirty or forty, I didn’t count ’em.

I guess Indian work,--worth three dollars apiece.

” It was a singular coincidence that he should have chanced to walk to and look under that particular log, in that trackless forest.

I saw chivin and chub in the stream when washing my hands, but my companion tried in vain to catch them.

I also heard the sound of bullfrogs from a swamp on the opposite side, thinking at first that they were moose; a duck paddled swiftly by; and sitting in that dusky wilderness, under that dark mountain, by the bright river which was full of reflected light, still I heard the wood thrush sing, as if no higher civilization could be attained.

By this time the night was upon us.

You commonly make your camp just at sundown, and are collecting wood, getting your supper, or pitching your tent while the shades of night are gathering around and adding to the already dense gloom of the forest.

You have no time to explore or look around you before it is dark.

You may penetrate half a dozen rods farther into that twilight wilderness, after some dry bark to kindle your fire with, and wonder what mysteries lie hidden still deeper in it, say at the end of a long day’s walk; or you may run down to the shore for a dipper of water, and get a clearer view for a short distance up or down the stream, and while you stand there, see a fish leap, or duck alight in the river, or hear a wood thrush or robin sing in the woods.

That is as if you had been to town or civilized parts.

But there is no sauntering off to see the country, and ten or fifteen rods seems a great way from your companions, and you come back with the air of a much-traveled man, as from a long journey, with adventures to relate, though you may have heard the crackling of the fire all the while,--and at a hundred rods you might be lost past recovery, and have to camp out.

It is all mossy and _moosey_.

In some of those dense fir and spruce woods there is hardly room for the smoke to go up.

The trees are a _standing_ night, and every fir and spruce which you fell is a plume plucked from night’s raven wing.

Then at night the general stillness is more impressive than any sound, but occasionally you hear the note of an owl farther or nearer in the woods, and if near a lake, the semihuman cry of the loons at their unearthly revels.

To-night the Indian lay between the fire and his stretched moose-hide, to avoid the mosquitoes.

Indeed, he also made a small smoky fire of damp leaves at his head and his feet, and then as usual rolled up his head in his blanket.

We with our veils and our wash were tolerably comfortable, but it would be difficult to pursue any sedentary occupation in the woods at this season; you cannot see to read much by the light of a fire through a veil in the evening, nor handle pencil and paper well with gloves or anointed fingers.

* * * * * FRIDAY, July 31. The Indian said, “You and I kill moose last night, therefore use ’em best wood.

Always use hard wood to cook moose-meat.

” His “best wood” was rock maple.

He cast the moose’s lip into the fire, to burn the hair off, and then rolled it up with the meat to carry along.

Observing that we were sitting down to breakfast without any pork, he said, with a very grave look, “Me want some fat,” so he was told that he might have as much as he would fry.

We had smooth but swift water for a considerable distance, where we glided rapidly along, scaring up ducks and kingfishers.

But, as usual, our smooth progress ere long came to an end, and we were obliged to carry canoe and all about half a mile down the right bank, around some rapids or falls.

It required sharp eyes sometimes to tell which side was the carry, before you went over the falls, but Polis never failed to land us rightly.

The raspberries were particularly abundant and large here, and all hands went to eating them, the Indian remarking on their size.

Often on bare rocky carries the trail was so indistinct that I repeatedly lost it, but when I walked behind him I observed that he could keep it almost like a hound, and rarely hesitated, or, if he paused a moment on a bare rock, his eye immediately detected some sign which would have escaped me.

Frequently _we_ found no path at all at these places, and were to him unaccountably delayed.

He would only say it was “ver strange.

” We had heard of a Grand Fall on this stream, and thought that each fall we came to must be it, but after christening several in succession with this name, we gave up the search.

There were more Grand or Petty Falls than I can remember.

I cannot tell how many times we had to walk on account of falls or rapids.

We were expecting all the while that the river would take a final leap and get to smooth water, but there was no improvement this forenoon.

However, the carries were an agreeable variety.

So surely as we stepped out of the canoe and stretched our legs we found ourselves in a blueberry and raspberry garden, each side of our rocky trail around the falls being lined with one or both.

There was not a carry on the main East Branch where we did not find an abundance of both these berries, for these were the rockiest places, and partially cleared, such as these plants prefer, and there had been none to gather the finest before us.

In our three journeys over the carries,--for we were obliged to go over the ground three times whenever the canoe was taken out,--we did full justice to the berries, and they were just what we wanted to correct the effect of our hard bread and pork diet.

Another name for making a portage would have been going a-berrying.

We also found a few amelanchier, or service, berries, though most were abortive, but they held on rather more generally than they do in Concord.

The Indian called them _pemoymenuk_, and said that they bore much fruit in some places.

He sometimes also ate the northern wild red cherries, saying that they were good medicine, but they were scarcely edible.

We bathed and dined at the foot of one of these carries.

It was the Indian who commonly reminded us that it was dinner-time, sometimes even by turning the prow to the shore.

He once made an indirect, but lengthy apology, by saying that we might think it strange, but that one who worked hard all day was very particular to have his dinner in good season.

At the most considerable fall on this stream, when I was walking over the carry, close behind the Indian, he observed a track on the rock, which was but slightly covered with soil, and, stooping, muttered “caribou.

” When we returned, he observed a much larger track near the same place, where some animal’s foot had sunk into a small hollow in the rock, partly filled with grass and earth, and he exclaimed with surprise, “What that?

” “Well, what is it?

” I asked.

Stooping and laying his hand in it, he answered with a mysterious air, and in a half whisper, “Devil [that is, Indian Devil, or cougar]--ledges about here--very bad animal--pull ’em rocks all to pieces.

” “How long since it was made?

” I asked.

“To-day or yesterday,” said he.

But when I asked him afterward if he was sure it was the devil’s track, he said he did not know.

I had been told that the scream of a cougar was heard about Ktaadn recently, and we were not far from that mountain.