Forest and Stream 
Vol. LXXXII. May 16, 1914 No. 20 
Down And Around The Allagash 
A Corking Canoe Trip in the Adirondacks 
August 22, I913. 
i i T"V OWN and Around the Allagash,” as the 
I 3 Maine guides call this favorite canoe 
trip, has for its starting point Kineo. 
the modern headquarters for fitting out canoe 
parties of the Pine Tree State. The first step, 
of course, for an amateur backwoodsman is to 
get a guide and Manager Judkins of the New 
Mount Kineo House kindly volunteered to se¬ 
lect a woods pilot suitable for the occasion 
which he did in procuring the services of Tom 
Grinier—a son of Aroostook County, of Frencn 
Canadian ancestry and who had taken to guid¬ 
ing in the Maine woods as handily as a moose 
takes to the forest. 
When the guide has made up the list of the 
necessary provisions and the city sport has paid 
for them at the Kineo store, the next step is 
to leave the summer paradise of Kineo which 
move is now made in a steamer that navigates 
the waters of Moosehead Lake. Quite a con¬ 
trast to depart from a mammoth fashionable 
hotel with guests resplendent in summer finery 
and walk out in a flannel shirt and canvas 
breeches prepared to lose yourself from civi¬ 
lization for the next ten days. Also quite a 
contrast in boarding a steamer with guide, 
canoe and dunnage than in the days of Thor- 
eau, when in 1857 he had to travel by stage 
from Bangor even to reach Moosehead Lake 
and then paddle his own canoe for the entire 
journey with the aid of his Indian, Polis. 
Nowadays it is only the matter of a few hours 
by steamer from Kineo to the North East Car¬ 
ry where there is a friendly inn with detached 
cabins to take care of travelers and in the 
morning carry them over to the Penobscot Riv¬ 
er, the real starting point of the canoe trip. It 
is said that in a summer season from two to 
three thousand canoes make this portage. 
August 23, 1913. 
The day’s work began with the loading of the 
wagon to make the carry and then hiking two 
miles to the river where our eleven pieces of 
luggage weighing three hundred pounds had to 
be stowed aboard the twenty-foot canoe and also 
leave room for the three hundred and twenty- 
five pound crew of two. At 9 a. m. all was ready 
and the voyageurs pushed off to paddle the hun¬ 
dred and fifty-three miles of the Allagash trip. 
And with the swish of the paddles what an air of 
By Palmer H. Langdon. 
freedom and joy comes to the city sport as he 
glides down stream, shoots the rapids and drinks 
from the springs on the river’s banks. The 
transposition from the nightmare of a modern 
city to the quietness of a Maine wilderness is 
like dropping back to the romantic days of old— 
when this fantasie was broken by the snort of 
a motor boat. Alas had this noisy summer 
vehicle invaded the secluded waters of the 
Penobscot? But there it was in the distance and 
the guide explained that the boat was the 
property of the Joe Smith, the 300-pound mail 
carrier from the North East Carry to Chesun- 
cook Lake, and that as soon as the car¬ 
rier struck deep enough river water to float 
his kicker, he dropped his paddle and made the 
rest of his daily trip under power. When the 
mail carrier sighted the canoes that had started 
from the landing in the morning, he stopped his 
engine and waited that he might tow us to the 
lake. The guides were willing but not all of the 
city sports relished the change of again coming 
under the sway of mechanical power. 
After leaving the carry, modern conveniences 
were supposed to have been left for good, but 
the modern guides do not seem to look askance 
at luxury and steered the amateur paddler to a 
pretty cottage on the shores of Chesuncook 
Lake. It was kept by Mrs. Grindle, the Postmis¬ 
tress, and maintained especially for housing 
canoe parties. Therefore, instead of sleeping 
under canvas that night, as expected, we return¬ 
ed to the comforts of the cottage by the lake, 
surrounded by a corral of sweet peas. 
Day’s Journey—22 miles. 
August 24, 1913. 
As we swung out across the head of Chesun¬ 
cook Lake this morning we had a noble view of 
the Katahdin range, which is an especially 
strong magnet to mountain climbers, and which 
we were loathe to pass by unclimbed but the 
Allagash was our bent and we must leave the 
lake and paddle into the connecting stream of 
Ambazookskus, raised above a natural level 
that man might float out the timber to the pa¬ 
per mill for the benefit of yellow and other 
kinds of journals. As a result of the unnatural 
high water the forests had been killed some 
distance back from the borders of the stream 
and the neighboring lands were turned into a 
swamp. After the stream came a lake of the 
same Indian name and on which there is a 
clearing and cabin from which is obtained a 
wagon and team to carry one to Mud Pond. 
The carry passes through a regular tangle of 
timber and comes out at Mud Pond, a spot that 
seemed most impressive by its solitude. 
Another vista of Kathadin is seen from these 
waters and the guide said he could see a deer 
on the distant, shore of the pond. There were 
loons a-plenty. In the afternoon we had man¬ 
aged to get through the low water of the out¬ 
let of Mud Pond and out onto the broad waters 
of Chamberlain Lake, taking pains to head to 
the northwest for, by steering to the southeast 
we could have gone into the head waters of 
the east branch of the Penobscot, the very op¬ 
posite direction of the flow of the Allagash. 
The guide had planned to pitch, at nightfall, 
our first camp at the locks of Chamberlain Lake 
and he succeeded in doing all of the various 
jobs about the camp and getting everything snug 
for the night before a “corncracker,” as he 
termed it, swirled down the lake. The thunder 
storm did not bother us, however, in our shelter¬ 
ed nook, and besides we had a double canvas 
(fly) tent and air mattresses, so naturally felt 
very secure from all storms. 
It hardly seems like roughing it to take a rub¬ 
ber air mattress to the woods, but Guide Grinier 
remarked that he never expected to live but 
once and that even a guide should have some 
comforts. Thus, if a son of the forest is not 
satisfied to sleep on the ribbed balsam boughs, 
a city sport is apt to follow the guide’s luxu¬ 
rious example. 
Day’s Journey—20 miles. 
August 25, 1913. 
Prying up the locks at 8 a. m. this morning 
was the beginning of the day’s journey—for 
there was not water enough in the northern out¬ 
let of Chamberlain Lake (which is really the 
beginning of the Allagash) to float the canoe 
over the rocks—so the gates had to be forced 
up, a somewhat risky operation, but accomplish¬ 
ed successfully without either of us being tossed 
into the air. 
With the flood of water from the open locks 
the canoe shot down stream like a mill race and 
in a short time we reached Eagle Lake which 
was whipped into a mass of white caps by the 
heavy north west breeze. It was a question of 
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