St. Croix River Maine

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.