The idea
was to boldly go where no man....well you know the rest. We wanted to take a paddling trip in Maine
while avoiding the madding crowd. Our
first thought was the Allagash, the state’s most famous waterway and the first
Maine river most paddlers think of, a
fact that virtually guarantees crowds.
But after contacting Martin Brown, the proprietor of Sunrise County
Canoe Expeditions in the far eastern part of the state, our destination was
decided. “I have a better river for
you.” said Martin “Give the St. Croix a try.”
Martin is the guru of northwoods canoeing and his advice is not lightly
ignored. “The St. Croix has no crowds
and the water and scenery are as good as the Allagash if not better.” OK Martin, we’re hooked.
So we find ourselves paddling
through the dawn mist of Lake Spednik, watching a warming early June sun appear
over the eastern tree line. We finally
realize why Brown’s company is called Sunrise County. We are probably the first Americans to
witness this day’s sunrise since Lake Spednik lies on the eastern boundary of
the United States. The trees that are
slowly revealing the orange sun are in
Canada and we are but a few hundred yards from the international border.
This long, thin finger of a lake
separates Maine and Canada, the international border an invisible line cutting
more or less through the middle of its cold water. We will cross this border dozens of times
over the next week. The lake flows south
into the St. Croix River, the easternmost river in the United States. Brushing against New Brunswick on its left
bank, it is hard to believe that this small lively river is a boundary between
two major countries. Camp on the left
side of the St. Croix and you’re in Canada, camp on the right and you’re in the
United States.
Martin recommended that we put in
along the shores of the lake and spend a couple of days exploring its bays,
fingers, and islands before heading downstream on the St. Croix. I questioned the wisdom of his advice as our
shuttle driver Jim sped down a narrow dirt two-track to the lake. Jim was relating a story about a couple who
whined and complained through the duration of a Rio Grande trip. All the while I watched the bow of my
roof-racked canoe bash and scrape through the limbs and branches of the
overhead tree canopy. Not wanting to
join the rolls in Jim’s pantheon of griping customers, I peered ahead for
overhanging limbs and decided to shut my mouth unless an overhanging branch the
size of a telephone pole made destruction appear imminent. I felt like the lookout on the Titanic. I was intently peering through the rushing
limbs ahead when Jim stood on the brakes and brought the van to a sliding halt
in a spray of gravel. I looked up
through the windshield expecting to see our canoe impaled on the limb of a
maple.
“Moose!”
Jim pointed to a huge female moose calmly eating her way through
floating vegetation in a bog next to the road.
We hadn’t even hit the water yet and we’d already bagged a moose—a good
sign, especially to my son, Michael. One
of his major goals on this trip is to see “mucho moose” and Lake Spednik
already provided his first sighting.
Lake Spednik is typical of north
country lakes. A few cabins are visible
from the water but for the most part, signs of humans are absent. While not truly a wilderness area, evidence of civilization along the
river and lake is sparse. The lake teems
with landlocked salmon, lake trout, and smallmouth bass and the surrounding
forests are home to sizable numbers of moose, as we’ve already learned. Maples, aspen, and birch trees crowd to the
water’s edge, and the shore line is rocky and abrupt, leaving little choice of
landing spots. Campsites are problematic
but not absent, and set up our tent at an abandoned fish camp in a small
cove. Just back from the shoreline, an
ancient cabin, cleaved dead center by a giant fallen spruce, lies forlorn and
deserted. An experienced logger couldn’t
have felled the tree any neater, the massive trunk lying dead center through
the structure’s middle. The log walls
are all that remain standing, the roof smashed and splintered under the
trunk. We imagine the surprise of the
owners as they returned to find their outpost destroyed. The camp appears to have been abandoned in a
fit of resigned defeat. An old table and
chairs sit broken and rotting near the now flattened front door. and the guts
of a fifties-vintage outboard motor lie under a blanket of pine needles.
Lake Spednik empties into the St.
Croix River at the village of Vanceboro, Maine, a wide spot in the road with a
U.S. Customs house guarding the bridge between the two countries. A smattering of houses and a couple of small
stores huddle against the American side.
The Vanceboro Dam, which impounds the waters of the lake, requires a
200-yard portage on the American side.
We carry our canoe and supplies around the dam and wave at Canadians
across the river. Hard to believe that
this small and friendly town was once the site of international intrigue when a
German sympathizer attempted to blow up the local railroad bridge to prevent
Canadian war supplies from being shipped to Britain.
Below the dam, the trip changes from
flatwater lake canoeing to lively Class I and II paddling through the frequent
small rapids and riffles of the St. Croix.
The water is crystal clear and the river bottom is lined with sunken
logs, the legacy of the St. Croix’s role in a thriving lumber industry. For over a century, the river was a vital
transportation route for loggers; logs were floated downstream to the sawmills
and many sank along the way. They still
remain a century later. As with Lake
Spednik, the St. Croix is relatively undeveloped. Occasional cabins can be spotted along the
banks but Vanceboro is the only major sign of civilization we see for a week.
The highlight of the river is Little
Falls, the most challenging water we will run.
The river constricts between two bluffs forming the two-hundred-yard
Class III rapid. We take out on the
portage trail on the right and carry our supplies to the downstream landing,
then return to our canoe to run the rapids.
Little Falls is a short but exciting run requiring some skill in
navigating between large boulders. Below
Little Falls a series of small rapids make for fast and exciting paddling for
much of the rest of the river’s length.
We make camp at Tyler Rips, one of the prettier rapids.
The next day we face an almost
continuous series of rapids culminating in Haycock Rips, one of the last major
rapids. Below Haycock Rips, the river
widens and slows down into the calm waters of Loon Bay, the site of a battle
between the Passamaquoddy Indians and invading Mohawks in the 1700’s. An unlikely battlefield, the water separates
two marshy and rather mundane looking meadows, belying the dramatic history of
the bay.
Below Loon Bay, the river flows
languidly, pooling into expansive marshy meadows extending back for hundreds of
yards on both sides of the river--prime moose habitat. These low open meadows are overgrown with
lily pads, and are interlaced with open ponds connected by narrow water trails
bordered by head high cattails. Irresistible
for canoe exploration. We glide silently
over the lily pads, expecting to come face to face with a grazing moose any
moment but all we see are osprey and bald eagles wheeling overhead. “I thought we would see moose all over this
place.” Michael moans, “I don’t think there are any moose within fifty miles of
us.”
Our exploration is cut short by the
arrival of a fine drizzly rain, which soon turns into a heavy downpour. We hastily make camp on the Canada side, just
upstream from a large bog surrounding a small brook rushing into the St.
Croix. A short hike around the fringes
of the bog proves Michael’s speculation wrong: huge moose prints are everywhere
and he stakes out the bog for much of the evening hoping to spot one. Apparently moose like the rain less than he
does; he returns to camp at twilight without a sighting.
Our last day takes us across Grand
Falls Flowage, a wide and confusing jumble of islands, bays, and points. We are glad that we brought a topographic map
along and after frequent consultations over it, we find the take out
point. As we unload our canoe, another
group of canoeists pulls in behind us, the only other canoes we have seen all
week. “Until just now, we saw more moose
than canoes.” Michael says. Can’t argue
with that, nor with the advice of Martin Brown: the St. Croix offers all of the
attractions of the Allagash, without the crowds.
FACT FILE
Getting
there: From Bangor, take Interstate 95
north to Route 6. Follow route 6 east to
the town of Topsfield, then turn north on Highway 1. There are a number of potential put in
points, most reached by poorly marked country roads; it is best to check with
the outfitter before embarking.
Outfitter:
Sunrise County Canoe Expeditions, Inc. Cathance Lake, Grove Post Office, Maine
04638. (207)-454-7708.
Trip
duration: Three to five days, depending
on put in points and your mood.
Camping:
Primitive. Campsites with toilets and
fire rings are scattered on the American and Canadian sides.
Best
season: Spring and fall, although the river is runnable all year. The autumn foliage in September is
spectacular.
