Index
Northwestern Wilderness Of Maine
Personal Essays
Snowshoe Tracks
Winter is a beautiful time of year, a time of year, when you have more freedom to move about on your own two feet, as opposed to a boat, canoe, or motorized vehicle. You don't have to purchase a ticket to enjoy nature.
Our back yard was Wood Pond (known to the natives as Big Wood Pond or Big Wood Lake) and across from the lake is a wilderness as far as the eye can see. If you can see beyond the mountain ridges, you can see the province of Quebec, Canada.
The arctic weather in the northwestern wilderness of Maine turns the land into an area of fantasy dressed in white crystals and ice each year. The ice covered lakes, ponds, streams can easily support the weight of your body, with an ice thickness estimate of a minimum of 36 inches by the middle of the season.
Dressed in several layers of warm clothing and wearing my red woolen Maine guides coat, I leave the warmth of a roaring fireside within our log cabin to challenge the frosty outdoors.
Strapping on a pair of racket-shaped snowshoes and pulling a long walking stick from the shed, I turned toward our wonderful back yard.
My favorite snowshoe is a bearpaw, but the racket-shaped snowshoe is more practical for crossing treeless areas, because the long tail drags as you lift each snowshoe, keeping it in line with your direction of travel.
The creative craftsmanship of snowshoe makers produces an excellent multipurpose product. Steaming and bending rigid ash wood into a racket-shaped frame containing interlaced leather strips that can be attached to the foot, with a flexible leather harness, to facilitate walking on deep snow is a work of art. The flexible leather harness is attached to an ash cross brace, interlaced leather strips are blocked out above the upper side of this cross brace large enough to allow the user's boot toe to project through the snowshoe, as the snowshoe follows the contour of the snow. This permits the user to climb drifts or steep slopes without removing her snowshoes.
It doesn't take long to master the art of snowshoeing. Learning to gauge a stride wide enough to clear each shoe rapidly becomes a natural habit. The first time you tumble into the deep snow, you realize why you must concentrate on your coordination. Imaging the several hundred inches of annual snowfall in the northwestern wilderness of Maine, helps you visualize why snowshoes were invented. We can be thankful to the Native Americans for this brilliant idea.
Once on the lake, beyond our back yard, I established a direction, using landmarks to guide me. My favorite area to explore, while wearing snowshoes, is across the lake, between the Sally and Burnt Jacket mountain ranges. The mouth of Wood Stream is located in this area.
Crossing the lake, it is a treat to the eyes and soul to look back at our log cabin, the town with the twin spirals of the catholic church standing tall above the ice covered trees. Looking northeast, I see the 3640 foot Boundary Bald Mountain. This icy white peak contrasts against a clear blue sky.
Seeing snowshoe tracks trailing back to our log cabin intrigues me, because of their perfect symmetry across the pure trackless landscape.
Hog Island, as seen from shore, looks small, but as you parallel it, you become aware of its magnitude and rocky surface features.
Continuing on, I pass by the deepest waters of Wood Pond. The maximum water depth is 72 feet. Adding a minimum of 36 inches of ice cover, topped with a minimum of 48 inches of snow, I fantasize the long drop to the bottom.
Looking up at the Burnt Jacket mountain range, I notice the large groves of spruce trees on the slopes. Irregular shaped spruce trees align the peaks, creating a ragged and wilder profile than the surrounding peaks.
Climbing the bank of Wood Stream onto a deep snow covered land, I am greeted by several chickadees, as they land in the branches, within inches of my eyes, fearless of my appearance, singing their name sake tune.
Continuing on, parallel to Wood Stream, the groves of leafless white birch pull my thoughts to earlier school years, during a history lesson about Indians and birch bark canoes. Looking back, I never dreamed of being in such a place of beauty as it is this moment.
The only sounds in this wilderness are a gentle breeze flowing through the branches, murmuring waterfalls slipping through the ice covered steam, and gentle chic-a-dee-dee-dee notes coming from my new feathered forest creatures. I can hear my heartbeat and breathing as I lift each snowshoe above the deep soft snow toward my wilderness destiny.
Two white-tailed deer drinking from Wood Stream, where the rapids are still too swift to freeze, fill my thoughts with tranquillity. The camouflaged Snowshoe Rabbits are revealed when you catch their movement from the corner of your eye or deep green pine is their background.
Mud Pond, surrounded by beautiful ice covered mountain ranges, appeared up the narrow path I am traveling. Making the decision, to go up Wood Stream on the far northwestern side of Mud Pond or continue westward across the pond to the mouth of Benjamin Brook was an easy to decision today. I chose the later.
The snow is deeper at the mouth of Benjamin. I wrestle with my racket-shaped snowshoes, as I climb through the dense growth of trees, lining the steep westward bank of Mud Pond. This is new territory to my eyes. Every new turn of the brook introduces new excitement. I pretent to be an explorer, the first human to trek these woods on snowshoes.
I now travel by memory, carefully visualizing my father's tattered maps that I studied, sitting by the flickering fireside in our cozy log cabin, last night. Remembering to turn right at the first fork in the brook ahead of me, a mile up the stream, I spot Long Pond. Long Pond is approximately a half mile long, containing a small island located half way across it. The stream continues, but I turn right at the second fork.
I come to Horseshoe Pond, within a mile from the second fork. It looks more like the outline of a snake, as it swirls around steep slopes.
Deeper into the wilderness, I notice a greater calmness. I feel one with nature, as I track across the frozen surface, studying bird and animal tracks.
Approaching the end of Horseshoe, I cross over land, through a dense grove of white birch trees. I see Benjamin Pond within an eight of a mile or so. Benjamin is roughly the size of Mud Pond, containing one large island and five smaller ones. I note the location of the outlet of Benjamin Brook and will return this route later in the afternoon.I cross Benjamin Pond and follow the half mile of brook to Clearwater Pond.
Clearwater Pond parallels the Sally mountain range, and at the western end of the pond I can see the backside of the mountain. It is a view worth traveling through the arctic wilderness to see, especially on snowshoes.
I turn back, as I soak up the landscape in my mind to enjoy later. I remember to follow Benjamin Brook from its outlet at Benjamin Pond, instead of crossing through the dense grove of white birch trees to Horseshoe Pond. I see my snowshoe tracks at the second fork and retrace them back toward Long Pond.
Experiencing new territory for the first time is breathtaking. The abundant fresh animal tracks in the snow compare to the abundant human tracks on the snow covered city sidewalks.
Approaching Mud Pond, I spot a red fox struggling through the deep soft snow. The blue sky lost it battle against snow clouds, as it begins to snow. The gentle breeze gains strength, as I cross Mud Pond. Following my tracks beside Wood Stream, the forest shields me from icy chill of the wind, and gentle flakes of snow float to the ground, simulating the gentle fall of goose feathers. It is late afternoon. Getting closer to the mouth of Wood Stream at Wood Pond, I hear a strange noise. Picking up my pace, I hurry to see what may be causing it.
Arriving at Wood Pond, I become aware of what is happening. My heart races.
The visibility is no greater than the tips of my snowshoes. The wind has become a rage and the gentle flakes of snow have become a blizzard of horizontal snow, causing a whiteout. The temperature rapidly drops and I become covered with blowing snow. It is all I can do to see the drifted snowshoe tracks I made earlier this morning. I begin to panic. I become afraid I will lose my sense of direction. The open waters of Moose River, on each end of Wood Pond, are places of danger. You could stumble into these icy waters, during a whiteout, and drown. I feel the skin lifting the hair on the back of my neck.
I remember I am wearing a hooded sweater under my red woolen Maine guides coat. Pulling the hood over my head, I instantly feel warmer. I carefully retrace my tracks, as well as I can see them, toward our log cabin. Two miles across the ice and snow covered Wood Pond seems like a thousand miles..
After several hours, just as I am within a quarter of mile, or so, from our log cabin, the wind stops, and the gentle flakes of snow drop to the ground, simulating the gentle fall of goose feathers, then stop. Within minutes the sun was setting in a clear western sky with beautiful shades of red. I stare at this unbelievable beauty, as my mouth drops.
I am glad to be home safe. I am exhausted, as I climb off the ice and snow covered surface of Wood Pond, looking forward to sitting near the warmth of the roaring fireside inside our log cabin. I will pick up my father's tattered maps and plan out another journey into the winter wonderland of the northwestern wilderness of Maine.
Hot coffee sounds great! Will you join me?
