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Northwestern Wilderness Of Maine
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Riding Bareback In The Northwestern Wilderness Of Maine
Perhaps one tramps the wilderness long enough he becomes one with the Northwestern Wilderness Of Maine and the wildlife.
Yes, Herb Everett has endured heavy snows, heavy rains, and even heavy clouds of black flies for two score and ten years.Just imagine the traffic and the miles of highway between Massachusetts and Jackman, Maine. There is nothing that could possibly stand in the way of this should-be-Maine-native that could keep him from his second home in the Northwestern Wilderness Of Maine.
You will probably find Herb Everett, hours before sunrise, sitting on the deck of his wilderness retreat, on the shore of Big Wood Pond, sipping his secret recipe of steaming hot strong black coffee, while outlining plans in his mind of the trails he will visit when the sun rises. If Herb Everett said a couple of black bears had coffee and donuts with him each morning - I think I would believe him.
I can imagine Herb Everett's old camp coffee pot, a handful of roughly ground coffee, a few egg-shells, and a quart of spring water he collected from a nearby mountain spring on Route 201.
Herb Everett not only learned and mastered the secrets of the wilderness, he mastered the art of communicating with the wildlife. First Herb Everett learned to cajole the tiny chickadee from his feeder to his hand, then evening grosbeaks became a little more challenge. Within a few months Herb Everett was covered with chicadees, evening grosbeaks, nuthatches, and a woodpecker or two, while filling his feeder with sunflower seeds. Red squirrels would scramble around his feet, filling their jaws with freshly dropped seeds.
One long night during the last days of fishing for brook trout in the streams before the season closed for the year, Herb Everett had a dream. He dreamed he would become friends with the old moose he saw on his daily fly-fishing trips to wood stream on the other side of Big Wood Pond.
He tried everything from peanut-butter sandwiches to a garden salad to coax the old moose to come to him. Finally weeks later, after staying up past mid-night, reading one of the old Maine Guide's tips, 'how to call a moose', he found in an old tattered book his dad bought years ago, packed away in an old box stored in the closet, was he able to call a moose to come as close as three feet.
Herb Everett probably felt pretty silly making strange noises. I can almost hear the echos bouncing off Sally Mountain, traveling hundreds of miles in every direction for all ears to hear. Well, I'll let your minds fantasize - speculating what happened next.
As an alternative - this photo may help - this isn't a photo of The Lone Ranger, and certainly not his horse, 'Silver'.
Photo Credit: David Sabsay