Opossum Lake

 

We had met Robert and Ellen on several previous trips.  They had been caretakers for the Western Village campground, him in maintenance, and her in housekeeping.  They had both retired since our last visit, and were now permanent residents of the next campsite.  We would frequently see them out early to walk their dog.  One morning Robert asked what I planned to do with the canoe on top of the truck.  After a short explanation about our thwarted trip, he suggested I just go out to Opossum Lake and paddle about just to get on the water.  He said there was no way he could give me directions, but after breakfast, he could take me out there.

 A map of the old country Pennsylvania roads looks like a bunch of worms thrown on a saucer.  Even with his local knowledge, although it had been some time since he had last been out there, we made several attempts at reaching the lake, which was only six miles away.  It appeared there were at least four ways of getting there.  Finally, we ran into a detour, but Robert thought he knew how to get around it.  He did, although we drove 15 miles to get back on the main road.  It is a nice lake.  It is small, but has enough headwater fingers to make it interesting.  Also, given it is so close to the commercialization of Carlisle and Harrisburg, it has a surprising amount of wildlife.  Camping is not allowed.  Still, I got on the water and did some paddling.



 

A training paddle for some ducklings on Opossum Lake.

 

After lunch, I decided to use my newly acquired knowledge to drive back to the lake, decide on the best route before I began to forget all the turns, and draw myself a map.  This became interesting, and is another testimonial to how confusing some of the back roads can become.  In spite of the campground having been here for a half-century, when word started to get out that I had a map and directions for finding the park and lake, I became the local expert and spent several evenings redrawing and writing directions for Opossum Lake.



Mom rejoins the class.



 

The next morning, I decided to return to Opossum Lake for another paddle.  Fitted with my notes and map, I had hopes of a simple, foolproof six-mile drive.  Then I started seeing flashing red and blue lights, lots of them.  Some kid had flipped his car onto its roof right in the middle of an intersection.  It totally blocked the two primary roads for getting into the surrounding countryside.  I was sure I could find a way around the accident with some local help.  At one point I even pulled into a driveway and knocked on the door to ask a woman for directions.  She called her husband, and the three of us stood there on their front porch discussion possible routes.  I did get to the lake, but it was yet another 15-mile detour, and no, not the same detour from the day before.



Screw This

It had been a long and mostly sleepless night.  If the normal pre-trip issues weren’t enough to interfere with sleep, I laid there listening to the return of the wind.  I was up and dressed at 5:45.  I walked back down to the lake.  The wind was 25 and gusting higher with drizzle and heavy mist and fog.  Everything was soaked.  The wind chill was terrible.  Even with three layers and my new fleece jacket, the cold cut right through me like I was standing there in nothing but a t-shirt.  The water, the sky, the view down the lake for the short distance I could see, the asphalt parking lot, and my mood were all colored the same slate gray.  Any trip can find one weather-bound for a day or two, maybe even three, but it is disgustingly disheartening for that to be day 1, 2, and 3 of the trip with an unchanging five-day forecast, especially if that means just sitting in a motel burning money.  I stood there looking at my prospects as I got colder and wetter.  Finally, having gotten wet enough and cold enough, I sadly said, “Screw this!”  I turned and walked back to the motel where Jean and Laura were still asleep, and went back to bed.

 

Laura had to get back to work the next day.  Even if I left the motel and just paddled out to the first campsite, if I got sick, relief would then be 750 miles away.  The only plausible solution seemed to be giving the weather a week or so to straighten out, and hit it again.  Also, our wedding anniversary was a matter of days away, so the break would avoid my being away then. It just made sense to throw in the towel for a few days.  After breakfast and a little walkabout in town, we headed back south.  We got back to Carlisle at 5p.m.  We had added 750 miles to the odometer, were exhausted, and had nothing to show for the effort.  We threw in a couple quick microwave dinners, and put the cap on the day and the trip by collapsing into bed.

To Old Forge

It would be a long drive to Old Forge, NY, and back.  To keep Jean from having to make the long drive back alone, Laura, our daughter, agreed to take a day off from work to make the trip with us, and ride back with Jean.  Her employer only owed her about a thousand days of accumulated time.  We picked her up at 0630 and left Carlisle by seven.

                     

I had been watching the weather forecasts for the beginning of the NFCT every day for a couple weeks.  To minimize weight, the issue was to take only the gear needed, as my trip plan revealed that there was a potential 189 miles of portaging.  The NFCT is sometimes referred to as a portaging trail with occasional opportunities for paddling.  That is an exaggeration, somewhat, but still one certainly shouldn’t want more weight than absolutely essential. 

When the rain stopped, we drove out of town to capture the

beautifully carved welcome sign.

 

The weather was making a freak change that would leave me unprepared for unusual cold.  It quickly became obvious that both my outer wear and sleeping bag would be underweight.  We were driving north, but it wasn’t long before the sudden temperature changes were becoming uncomfortable.  After breakfast, we stopped at a Bass Pro to replace my existing sleeping bag and add a thermal bag liner.  The weather was going from uncomfortable to abysmal.  The rain was torrential, and was blown sideways by 20-25 mph winds and gusts of 35.  I have no idea what the wind chill was, but it was cold.  Just standing outside to pump gas felt like we were back to mid-winter. 

 

By mid-afternoon, the talk was all about the cold, and Jean insisted I stop at another Bass Pro to get a fleece jacket.  The staff there was as unprepared for the weather change as I was, as all the winter apparel had been removed from racks for storage and replaced with light spring/summer clothing.  The sales clerk asked what I was looking for, and I pointed at the full-zipper Columbia fleece jacket she was wearing inside the store.  She had to go to the warehouse to find one, but came back with it.

 









The Old Forge covered bridge just above the historic dam.

 

 

We had lunch at a nice Italian restaurant in New Berlin, NY.  Once we arrived at Old Forge at 5:30, we checked into the Clark’s Beach Motel.  Just before dark, the wind and rain simultaneously turned off for a couple hours.  We ran outside to get a few pictures, and to walk over to the launch and sign in at the NFCT kiosk.  Tomorrow was going to be an early start, so we hit a couple of stores before they closed.  It wasn’t easy to accomplish the requisite tourist shopping.  Their tourist season still hadn’t started, in spite of it being the second week of June, and most businesses were still closed.  In talking to the locals, we got an entirely different picture of the weather than what the official forecasters had been giving us.  One lady said, “Oh, you missed the snow.  That was yesterday. But, rain, high winds, and snow are still forecast for the next five days.”  I began to get that sinking feeling, like I had just swallowed a bag of lead fishing weights.

                                                                 

We had dinner at Slickers, which due to the weather, was more than appropriate.  I got a Smutty Nose Ale from New Hampshire with dinner.  That was a new one.  With the cold weather giving me continually running nose, Smutty Nose was as close to reality as possible. 

 



Laura and I by the NFCT kiosk and launch site.

As we were driving through town on Main Street, I noticed a couple deer to my left coming from between a couple houses.  They were obviously intent on coming right across the road, so I stopped, as did a car coming from the other direction, and another stopped behind me.  Apparently this was normal, as everyone just sat and waited patiently. The deer slowly sauntered across between the stopped cars.  The second doe was only two feet in front of the truck, and it stopped to look intently over the hood and into the windshield as Laura took its picture. With the photo op done, it casually carried on as if it had the rest of the day to get wherever it was going.  It was getting dark, so it was time for us to settle into the motel.

 





The Polar Express

Photo credit: trainz forum

 

For a momentary diversion, Stephen Wilkinson has posted a video on his Facebook page that he made last year of the annual passing of the Polar Express, the real one.  It lives in a museum now, but comes out once a year for the famous run that has made its way to a book and movie that are popular with kids at Christmas. 

 

My Dad was a railroad engineer, and started out in steam locomotives like this.  I have fond memories of riding out with Mom and my brother to the railroad crossing to hear Dad go through.  He would lay on the whistle like you hear in the video.  Once in a while, if he was running a freight train and had some time, we would take a picnic lunch.  He would stop the train at the crossing where we, Dad, and the fireman would have a lunch.  My brother and I could climb into the locomotive, throw a small shovel of coal into the boiler so he could deliver the freight, then climb down as the huge pistons began to turn the wheels and drive the train down the tracks.

 

This is a wonderful sound that kids no longer have the chance to be thrilled by.  Gather the kids around (regardless of age), turn the volume up, and enjoy the experience.  You will find the post on his timeline page for December 1.

https://www.facebook.com/stephen.wilkinson.5?lst=100007539484431%3A100002770478633%3A1480792232



Last Minute NFCT Details

For a nice relief from the usual garden gnome, a frog nods off

in hammock to soak in pure tranquility.

 

I reached our insurance agent this morning and arranged for a declaration page of the policy to be faxed to Western Village.  Just before lunch, I walked back to the office again to confirm that they had received the fax and that it met their needs.  I called B&H and told them of the shipping error.  Here’s the advantage of dealing with a reputable company.  The flash cards needed to be sent back, but they wouldn’t need to wait for their arrival to replace them, but would send out the correct SD cards right away, overnight them, and cover the shipping costs themselves.

 

I usually handle everything involved with the RV, so I needed to take time to show Jean how to handle the septic issues and raise and lower the trailer’s awning.  There is nothing available near where we live without having it shipped in, so I took my list of a few remaining needed items to a Cabela’s in Harrisburg.  There haven’t been any leaking issues with my tent, but decided to reseal all the tent and fly seams and give them a couple hours to dry before repacking.

 

I hadn’t been back at the campground long before Jim, a neighbor at the campground, pulled in after also making a Cabela’s run.  He had received a gift card for Cabela’s when he retired, so had picked up a hammock and a campfire hanging tripod and Dutch oven.  He said he was planning on breaking in the tripod and oven by doing a pineapple upside-down cake, so we should plan on having some dessert after dinner if he was successful.  I ran back out to pick up some beer, so we could share a couple drinks together around the campfire after enjoying that pineapple upside-down cake, which, by the way, was perfect.

 

The next day was going to be the long ride to Old Forge, NY.  I called NFCT to check on any last minute flooding or trail issues, made a final check on the weather forecast for the area, and then called Clark’s Beach Motel for a reservation for the next night.  Clark’s is located just across the parking lot from the launch ramp and the beginning of the 740-mile trail.  As Ben Franklin recommended, it was going to be early to bed, and early to rise.



B&H Photo and Insurance

Lilies at Western Village Campground

 

I had decided before leaving home that I should add an extra new camera battery and a couple more memory SD cards.  I had ordered them from B&H Photo in New York.  I strongly recommend them for all photo and electronic needs, and have never experienced a problem.  But, nothing is perfect, and of course the one time there is a glitch will be when you are in a time crunch.  The package from B&H was waiting for us when we checked in yesterday afternoon.  It was after getting the trailer set up that I opened the package to discover that B&H had sent flash cards rather than SD memory cards.  The remainder of Sunday was spent arranging for all of Jean’s needs to be met during my absence, removed the heavy truck hitch, which Jean can’t handle, added an extra length of sewer pipe, arranged for someone to move and fill the propane tank if needed, etc.  With the coming of evening, we finally got a chance to settle back and relax while having dinner with our daughter and son-in-law and watching Matt Damon’s “Martian.”



Arriving at Western Village

We knew we didn’t have far to go today, so we relaxed and made a slow start.  It was 9:30 before we got going, and we only made three miles before stopping at a Pilot for gas, coffee, and Danish.  At the next gas stop, we had a casual lunch, resulting that it wasn’t until we got back on the road after this that it felt like we could actually settle in and start making miles.  It was 3:30 p.m. when we pulled into Western Village RV Park, near Carlisle, PA.  This made 261.1 miles for the day, and 1,414.9 miles for the trip east.  This was nowhere near where I would be making the start on the Northern Forest Canoe Trail, but would give Jean a comfortable place to stay and closeness to family while I was on a two-month long canoe trip.  From here, we could make a round-trip to Old Forge, NY, in one day to get me launched.

During a walk around the RV park, we found this pull alarm

fire box, which is actually a bird house.  Love it.

 

We encountered a new wrinkle while checking in at the campground.  We had a definite difference of opinion over whether they had told me in advance that we needed proof of liability insurance in order to stay longer than a week.  They said they had, and I stated emphatically that they hadn’t.  I’ve been planning this trip for nearly a year, so if I had been aware of the need for extra paperwork, I would have taken care of it months earlier as I had with everyone else.  I now needed to take a couple extra days out of my itinerary to get proof of insurance for them.  It was now the weekend, so I was a holding pattern until Monday.  The lesson learned, which I can share, is that I now keep a couple extra copies of the insurance declaration page in the truck so I can present it on demand when needed.



Year of the Cicada

The ground was covered with finger-sized holes where the

Cicadas had returned to the surface.

 

This was the year of the cicada, or at least when our paths crossed.  In some places the sound of their songs were incredibly loud.  We were riding along with the windows closed and the A/C going when Jean said there was something wrong with the truck.  It was making a strange sound.  With the paranoia we were already experiencing over engine concerns, this was not good news, and demanded an immediate stop to check it out.  As soon as we opened the doors, the overwhelming din of cicadas from trees along the highway resolved our concerns.  The truck was still doing fine.  We are well acquainted with cicadas, but this was a level of sound we had never experienced before.  Overwhelming is a good word, even deafening.



This one didn't know the difference between a

tree and a tire.

 

There are over 1,300 species of cicada, which are a type of locust.  They live underground, staying buried for 13 to 17 years to give their predators time to starve to death.  After a warming rain and the subsoil warming to 64-degrees, normal for spring or early summer, the conditions signal the great exodus.  Then the nymphs emerge in such hordes that they can gorge remaining predators and still have sufficient numbers remaining to sustain their survival.  Finding a nearby tree or other vertical surface, they attach themselves and shed their outer shell to emerge in adult form to lay eggs in cracks in the tree bark.  There are different broods which emerge at different times in staggered areas across the country.  The site to follow will enable you to identify when they will surface in your neighborhood.  http://www.cicadamania.com/where.html

 



This was just between two roots of the tree, but the surrounding

ground all around was covered with a blanket of dead cicadas.

 

The price of gas has gone up 70 cents/gallon since leaving home.  Over ten hours, we managed to make 424.9 miles, and stopped in Barkcamp State Park in Eastern Ohio, just before the W. Virginia state line.  Barkcamp is not only a nice park, but a very interesting historical site.  I did a detailed article on the camp during a previous visit, which you can find in the archives in the right margin.  The date to seek is 11/29/15.



Land of Lincoln

Sharing our campsite for breakfast.

 

After being awake most of the night worrying about the truck and whether we were going to be stranded somewhere mid-trip, it was a slow, groggy morning.  We were still on the road by 0800, so I guess we didn’t do too bad.  I was anxious to get somewhere to find oil, and purchased a quart when we reached the interstate.  I put most of the quart in the engine, and checked the level again so I would have a reference point for checking it again later.  We both had frayed nerves, and driving in rain again until after noon didn’t help.

 

We pushed to make 414.1 miles over 12 hours, which put us in Illinois.  Our stop for the night was Fox Ridge State Park, between I-70 and Charleston, IL, which put us ten miles off our route.  On the way to the park, we passed the site of the Lincoln log cabin.  It was then 8 p.m., so the historic site was closed for the day.  By this time in his life, Lincoln was an established attorney living in Springfield, but he visited his father and step-mother, Thomas and Sarah Lincoln, here as frequently as able.  The Reuben Moore home, also preserved, and located a mile north of the Lincoln farm, is where Lincoln had dinner with his family in 1861, and said goodbye before traveling east to assume the presidency.  Thomas and Sarah are buried at Shiloh Cemetery a mile west of their farm.  More information on this historic site may be found at: http://www.lincolnlogcabin.org/index.html

 

The day ended with a sigh of relief.  The engine oil level had not changed during 12 hours of running and pulling a load, so I poured the rest of the quart in to bring the dip stick up to the full mark.  Whether the worker servicing the engine was simply not paying attention to what he was doing, or the dealership was trying to maximize their profit margin, we had just been shorted a quart of oil.  The good news was that the engine appeared to be fine. 



Murphy's Great Adventures

 

 

 

 

 

“If anything can go wrong, it will.”

With all the planning and preparations, it should have been obvious that I was serious about this trip to the Northern Forest Canoe Trail, but as Robert Burns said “To A Mouse,” the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry, or “Gang aft a-gley,” as he said it.  And so they did, a-gley, and a-gley, and a-gley, again, and again, and again.  By the time we got back home, we had accumulated so much “adventure,” we were exhausted, and all for naught.  Also, it was not like our misadventures centered around one or two events.  No, noooo!  We were gone 36 days.  Our first awry was on day one, and they continued unabated until our last cropped up on day 36.  Murphy must be proud!

 

Part of our problems were centered around what I’ve preached, and am often bitten by.  The best time to go paddling (or anything else) is now, today.  Procrastinating while waiting for greener grass to grow on the other side of retirement, the kids being grown, better financial standing, or any other pseudo benchmark will only lead to catastrophe, disappointment, depression, and unhappiness.  The only thing postponing will accomplish is finding you older, more conflicted, and more infirm. Retirement will NEVER meet your dreams if you’ve put off living and finding fulfillment and enrichment until you near the end and are in so many ways less capable of enjoying it.  When the kids are grown, your field of responsibility just expands.  You will be devoting your time to caring for grandkids and ailing parents simultaneously.  Cost of living and promotion increases will never keep up with inflation and greater responsibilities and issues that increase with age.  Meeting your dreams is not about better planning, it is totally about better and ruthless prioritizing.

 

The pond at Ballard's Campground in evening light.

 



Buddy on the rack atop the 2013 Ram and the River Forest

Puma RV trailer.

 

Some campers like fancy campgrounds with glitz and polish.  We prefer more natural settings, and we’ll trade nature and friendliness for bells and whistles any day.  We started east from Oklahoma and turned off I-44 at X-18A for Ballard’s Campground, near Carthage, MO.  We had been in rain most of the day, and only logged 311.7 miles.  When we stopped for gas, we discovered that someone had stolen the registration validation sticker from our RV plate.  We had the paper registration to prove that we were registered, so there wasn’t much we could do about it at this point.

 

It stopped raining just before we pulled into Ballard’s to meet Wanda minutes before she was due to close.  The campground had experienced torrential rains for two weeks, and several of her gravel drives had suffered washouts and ruts, so she hopped into the golf cart and led us to a high, level site. 

Jean had been nervous about the mileage on our old Ram, so had been at me for some time to replace it.  We got a used 2013 Ram with lower mileage, a big price tag, and just enough time remaining before the departure date to get the cap installed.  The dealer said the pickup had undergone a lengthy checklist and had been freshly serviced.  I’m normally particular about checking oil levels, but for some reason had taken his word for the oil change, and hadn’t checked behind the service department.  After little more than 300 miles put on the truck, I found it a full quart low.  I got almost no sleep all night.  My imagination raced all night.  Had I been conned by a slick salesman who had dumped a truck on me with a bad engine, was I facing years of civil litigation, or had the service department just screwed up?  There was no way of telling before tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

Ten Campers Killed in Ball of Fire

Ten campers, including children, were killed while camping along the Pecos River in SE New Mexico following an underground pipeline explosion.  Details at http://abcnews.go.com/US/story?id=96090&page=1

The Today Show

Cart Portage

I’ve spent the last couple days going through all my gear to see what could be multi-purposed or left behind, trying to reduce weight as much as possible.  While we were at Canoecopia, I purchased a Cooke Custom Sewing (http://www.cookecustomsewing.com/) Explorer Hybrid canoe pack, which is comparable to the standard #3 Duluth canoe pack.  With everything packed, here’s what I ended up with:

Camp Bag: tent, ground clothes, stakes, spare stove bottle, sleeping bag and mat, pillow = 24 lbs.

Food sack: meals and snacks for two weeks = 24 lbs.

Wanagan: all cooking gear, coffee, tea, drink mix, soap, medicines = 10 lbs.

Canoe Pack: foul weather gear, camp shoes, Hippies, dry suit, clothing, SPOT, GPS, guide & maps, map case, and  everything else not mentioned above = 30 lbs.

So, with canoe, cart, food, water, gear, and provisions, the weight on the ground all came to 177 lbs.  With the canoe on the cart, I jiggled and jostled until the canoe was balanced, attached a tow line and pole to the bow, and off we went to give the cart portage a go.  All went well on the pavement and packed gravel, but in thick grass, I could feel every one of those 177 pounds.

The tow line was fastened to the bow handle and the forward thwart on the canoe, and then to a wide web belt I put around my waist.  It took only a couple miles to realize that with no skeletal support at the waist, that put all the strain on my spine, and I soon began to develop a sore back.  I stopped in the parking lot of the vo-tech school, lengthened both the line and pole, and after a short trial with the belt over one shoulder, pulled the belt up around my chest.  That helped a lot, but was still not the solution.  With this set up, however, I struck out and did 4.77 miles, which is just one mile shy of the Grand Portage.

It was obvious I needed a harness that would employ both my torso and shoulders.  My thoughts logically turned to the man-overboard safety harnesses that had seen Jean and I safely across several ocean crossings and thousands of miles of open sea.  I won’t need the tether, since that leads from the front of the harness, or chest, but will wear just the harness with the tow line looped through the back of the harness.  Short of putting a motor on the cart, I think that is as good as it will get. 

While a canoe portage wouldn’t meet with a second thought up in New England, you have to appreciate the humor in towing a loaded canoe through cattle and wheat country, in the part of the country Gen. Zebulon Pike called the Great American Desert.  I had a couple vehicles slow down to about 5 mph as they passed.  I had to assume they were giving me a good stare, as I couldn’t see them through their heavily tinted windows.  One woman did pull alongside and roll her window down to ask, “Are you alright?”  “Fine,” I said, pointing at the loaded canoe, “just out for a little stress training.”  “Oh, that’s cool,” and she pulled away with a thumbs-up.

The best reaction was from about a 12-year-old girl that pulled her bike alongside to ask, “Do you mind telling me what the heck you’re doing!”  I offered a brief explanation that didn’t register, so she added with a giggle, “What is this, your new car?”  “Sure, “I said, “and the other two wheels are supposed to be delivered next week.” 

With a smirk, she said, “Well, I don’t know about all this, but your clothes need a major makeover.”  Taking on the role of fashion police, she continued.  “First of all, it’s summer time.  It’s time to lose that hat.  And that red scarf around your neck just isn’t a good look.  It doesn’t work.  Also, the long sleeved shirt and long pants.  Like I said, it’s summer time.  You should be wearing a tank top and shorts, or at least a short-sleeved tee shire.”

I tried to explain.  “This is a wicking shirt.  The long sleeves are for sun protection, and the shirt draws sweat away to keep me cool.  And, I rarely wear shorts unless I’m going swimming, and they’re called trunks.”

“Trunks!!  No one has said trunks for like---forever.  Forget that word.  Promise you’ll never say trunks again.  They are called swimsuits.”

Feeling the generational gap, I said, “Men wear trunks, women wear swimsuits.”

“No.  No.  Men and women both wear swimsuits.  There are no trunks.”

“What is that, some PC unisex word to use the same term for both men and women?”

“Yeah, now you got it.  But never say trunks again.  And who the heck are you anyhow? as she changed the subject.

Altogether, it was a richly rewarding exercise.  I got a chance to do a portage dry run to test the cart, towing set-up, and test myself, and got a free fashion makeover all at the same time.

IN REMEMBRANCE

Credit: npr.org

The Price of Freedom, Opportunity, Personal Rights, Voting,

and everything else we take for granted.

Planning for the NFCT

Taken as a whole, the two guides, the 13 maps, and some help

from Google Earth, and the tools on the NFCT site, and you are

all set.

Planning for such a trip takes some time, so don’t be in a rush.  First, get acquainted with the NFCT by checking out their official site at http://www.northernforestcanoetrail.org/  You will find a wealth of information here from a description of the trail, an interactive map that will enable you to follow the trail on the screen while seeing all of the points of interest and resources available for the entire trail, or any point along the way.  You can read the blogs of previous Through-Paddlers, and their insight will prove valuable as you read the guides and begin to comprehend the obstacles being encountered.  Read the questions and answers section for a good overview.  Then, become a member.  Membership helps to support the work on the trail, and also offers discounts on the guides and maps you will need to purchase; a win-win.

                               

To really appreciate the trail, you have to comprehend the amount of work contributed by an army of volunteers along the length of the trail.  They build steps in wood and stone to help paddlers ascend steep banks for portages and campsites, clear and create new campsites, build lean-to’s, picnic tables, fire pits, privies, sign-in boxes and kiosks, and follow-up with ongoing maintenance.  There won’t be a day go by that you won’t reap the benefits of hundreds of helping hands.  

The Official Guide

There are two guides for the paddler planning to tackle the trail.  “The Northern Forest Canoe Trail: The Official Guidebook” is a 302-page detailed breakdown on every twist and turn from Old Forge, NY, to Fort Kent, ME.  The second guide is “The Northern Forest Canoe Trail Through-Paddler’s Companion,” by Katina Daanen.  Katina is herself a Through-Paddler, and writes to address the specific needs of the paddler on the trail.  This is 240 pages plus index.  So, wouldn’t you expect them to be pretty much the same?  Well, No!

Most trails follow a specific route, and that trail’s official guide carries the paddler along that route, and in a prescribed direction.  The Florida Saltwater Circumnavigation Paddling Trail goes counter-clockwise around the coast of Florida, and the other trails, like the Georgia Trail, the Intracoastal Waterway, all follow the counter-clockwise movement around the Eastern United States.  The rivers, Missouri and Mississippi, go in one direction from source to sea.  All references, all mileage counts, all shore identifications, all navigational markers assume you are following the prescribed route.  If you are not, the consistency of downstream and source-to-sea makes it easy to realize that all references will be reversed.  No problem.  The NFCT guide, however, assumes you are a section paddler picking rivers you can float, or rapids you can run.  This approach is undoubtedly used because they feel the bulk of their visitors will be sectional paddlers.  For the Through-Paddler, however, it becomes confusing at times.  This is not to take away from the trove of valuable information the guide provides, just the mental gymnastics needed to be going in one direction yourself while the guide is going forward, back, forward, back, etc. to follow the current flow of every stream you encounter.

The Through-Paddler's Companion

Katina Daanen puts all the confusion to rest with her “Northern Forest Canoe Trail Through-Paddler’s Companion.”  Every section of trail includes all the information needed to progress steadily with all the  portages, types of portages, the map to use for each section, the distances involved, types of waterways or challenges to be encountered, the services available, points of interest, and lodging/camping options, and a narrative to tie everything together.  Additional information is added on poisonous plants, pests, wildlife, and how to handle them, route planning, skills needed, boats and carts to use, safety and awareness, camping, water and food, and much, much more.  She helps you pronounce all of the unusual names, and lists every applicable service available in every town along the way with address, phone number, and, using the NFCT kiosk near the landing as the reference point, the distance needed to walk to get to each one.

The bottom line is this.  They are both outstanding guides.  If you are a sectional paddler/vacationer, get the official guide.  If you are a Through-Paddler, then the Through-Paddler’s Companion is a must.  If you suffer from a touch of OCD, like myself, by all means get them both.  I bought the official guide with the maps on line after becoming a NFCT member, and then got Katina’s ‘companion’ from her (autographed) at Canoecopia.  In either case, the guides accompany the essential maps.

The Northern Forest Canoe Trail

I guess I had it bass ackwards.  If I had the time and was able to do them all, I envisioned doing the Northern Forest Canoe Trail (NFCT) as a training ground for doing the full Mississippi River, and that as a ground breaker for the Missouri River.  Then I saw the video with Norman Miller seeing Kris Laurie and his cousin (http://www.avoidingbarges.com/#) off on the next leg of their Missouri River Source-to-Sea trip.  As the paddlers pushed away from the shore, someone behind the camera suggested to them that once they got the Missouri done, they should go try the NFCT.  After getting deeper into the true nature of the NFCT, I now sense the trail is more a doctoral dissertation than an indoctrination.

In my naiveté, when I approached the idea of the NFCT, I was drawn to the pictures of flatwater paddles through quiet, pastoral streams in company with beaver, loons, and moose, shade-dappled banks topped by round barns, white-spired churches, and classic Victorian New England architecture.  But wait, I thought, all of New England is mountains.  There’s no way to have flatwater through mountain ranges.  As I continued to dig deeper, shreds of reality began to invade my tranquil mental images.  Two guide books and a stack of maps later, here is some of that reality.

First, if you don’t have an acquaintance with the NFCT, it is a 740-mile water trail through four states (New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine) with about a three-day foray into Quebec.  It includes 22 rivers, 56 lakes, 3 wildlife refuges, 40 communities, many with provisioning, lodging, and outfitting services, and 62 portages.  There are 35 segments covered by thirteen maps.  It starts in Old Forge, NY, traverses the Adirondacks, Lake Champlain, plays tag with some of the Appalachian Trail, and finishes as far north as one can go in this country, by the Canadian border, in Fort Kent, ME.  To tackle the trail with confidence, the Through-Paddler should be experienced with paddling through Class III rapids, open big-water crossings, navigation, poling, lining and tracking, portaging, and primitive camping.  And, the paddler should be able to deal with leeches, mosquitoes, black flies, no-see-ums, ticks, and wildlife.  If done by segment, some areas are perfectly suited to novice paddlers.  The segment paddler can pick and choose both location and timing.  The Through-Paddler, however, does not have such luxury, and must conquer the challenges as they appear.

Now, here’s the hook.  Let’s go back to the 62 portages I glossed over real fast.  They are supposed to cover a total of 55 miles, with the longest portage being 5.7 miles on the Grand Portage, and with much of it wheel-able.   Heck, I thought, that’s a nice long walk, but no big deal.  But, then there’s more of that reality stuff.  Those 62 portages that total 55 miles come with the assumption that you can do all those Class III rapids, including the 162 miles upstream against the Class I, II, and III rapids and current, can manage the lining and tracking and poling, and that by some huge miracle you reach each and every stream when it has optimum water levels.  However, what happens if you don’t possess all those skills, especially while managing a sluggish, loaded canoe, or find yourself faced with dry creek beds and rock gardens?  Most of those deficiencies can be allowed for by portaging around those obstructions. 

Two of the emphasized skills that are required---and stressed---are common sense and good judgment.  If you are paddling solo, you need to take extra precautions.  Any risks experienced are now that much greater when there is the chance of injury or the loss of camping gear and food during a capsize.  If bravado overpowers good judgment, perhaps the scattered broken canoe parts along the trail will encourage greater consideration.  If your skills are so great that you can honestly negate those risks, great, but if not, then you have to mitigate those risks by hitting the portage trail.  In my case, after planning out the entire route, I totaled all the potential portages that could result from great caution or bad luck, and came out with an estimate of 189 miles of portaging while carrying or dragging a canoe loaded with a hundred or so pounds of provisions and gear.  A few of those portages have double-digit mileage, and dragging is done over roughly 6,000 feet of changes in elevation over the course of the trail.  Now, THAT is reality.  But here’s another reality that helps to offset those fearsome stats.  If you had only one canoe trip to make in a lifetime, the NFCT, the longest totally inland water trail in America, should be it.  The trail offers the solitude and beauty of the Boundary Waters, raging rapids to Class V, as well as those meandering streams that I found beckoning to me, challenges for both the novice and experienced paddler, every kind of spectacular scenery from bogs to mountain crests, long lists of flora and fauna and geology, chances to proclaim your navigational skills and then get lost, and share the tons of history lived by thousands of years of Native Americans, trappers, lumberjacks, traders, settlers, and exuberant fishermen.  The trail is awesome.  Most people pick and choose the sections they want to do so they are almost always going downstream, and time their trips for the best water levels.  Finishing the trail as a Through-Paddler, however, is a totally different animal.  There is no best time of year to make a Through-Paddle.  The trail changes so much through its course that all kinds of variables will be encountered regardless of season.  Part of the challenge is in mentally and physically meeting those variables and overcoming them.  Succeeding as a Through-Paddler is a huge accomplishment, and only 27 people can stake their claim as a Self-Propelled Through-Paddler.  There are other categories, however, such as an Integrated Through-Paddler, those who utilize a shuttle for completing one or more legs, and the Sectional Paddler, who does the entire trail, a piece at a time, usually going downstream, and over several years.

Paddle Cart

Before I start, we’ve had two new folks join Log of Ibi as subscribers.  Thank you for joining us, and a continued ‘thank you’ to all of you that have been long-time subscribers.  The second-most-recent to come aboard was Anne Muntean, a paddler from Ogden Dunes, Indiana.  The most recent, just yesterday, was Sandy Tarburton, the Membership and Communications Director for Northern Forest Canoe Trail.  Thanks, Sandy.  I’ll be out there paddling while knowing you all will be peeking over my shoulder the whole way, and not feel so alone.

Ibi, a heavier Superior Expedition decked-canoe on the PaddleCart

after the new stainless axle replacement

 I’ve had the PaddleCart (http://www.paddlecart.com/) for quite a few years.  It is everything it was promised to be and has served me extremely well.  On the Northern Forest Canoe Trail, a reliable canoe cart is essential, and there has been a long list of carts that have failed to make the grade.  While reading blogs from previous through-paddlers, I’ve seen reports of broken plastic wheels, failed bearings, failed axles, and failed frames.  The PaddleCart is one that has had no breakdowns on the portage trail.  It is rugged, yet light, being made of welded aluminum, and it can be quickly disassembled for storage in any stage of readiness.

The old aluminum axle about to be replaced was

again slightly bent at both ends.

Nothing is perfect, however, and in spite of the dependability of this cart, there have been a couple things I’ve had to address as glitches in R&D.  First, I purchased the Dually, which has four large wheels and tires.  This model greatly aids moving the load through mud, sand, grass, gravel, or normal trail obstructions.  The four wheels also mean you have immediate backup for flats or bearing problems.  I started getting flat tires from sand burrs.  The first thing I did was replace the thin, standard equipment tubes with thick puncture-resistance tubes.  As a further precaution, I installed tire liners like those I had purchased to stop bicycle tire flats, and put them in each of the four tires.  In the five years since, I have never experienced another flat tire.

Buffalo Gal is ready to go with a new axle, and I anticipate

no further problems.

If you order a PaddleCart now, you will not experience this last issue.  The cart was originally all aluminum, including the axle rod.  The projected load capacity, consequently, was low.  I called PaddleCart, and emailed them, saying that they needed to change to a stainless steel axle.  The weight of many boats would reach their load limits while empty, and any camping gear and provisions would make them overloaded.  My aluminum axle had been bent.  A couple paddling friends asked to borrow my cart to bring their boats from the beach, through the state park, and to the parking area.  I found out later that instead of moving them one at a time, they had erred in loading both boats on the cart at once.  I straightened the axle, but with the weakening of the axle from the metal fatigue caused by bending and straightening, particularly with aluminum, I’ve never been able to fully trust the cart since.  I knew I had to get the new stainless axle before attempting the Northern Forest Canoe Trail.   I never received any acknowledgement to my communications, and perhaps others were telling them the same thing, but they did change to a stainless axle.  As a small company, they couldn’t afford to eat the expense of a recall, but they did supply the replacement axle and carriage frame at cost.  I now have 100% confidence that I can portage indefinitely with no further concerns.