My, What Fond Memories  #46

The other day, I was reminiscing about my younger years, and it made me stop and think about some of the adventures I had while growing up. Now, my dad was a Maine Game Warden and he began his career in Dacquam on the Quebec border. I confess, I was too young to remember, but he does show me pictures so it must have been true. He tells me that my first adventures as a fisherman were not the best. As a matter of fact, his story goes like this. He had some time off so he decided to go down and fish the river and he brought me along. While he was trying to catch fish, I was trying to preserve the fish population by throwing rocks into the water where his line was. It suffices to say that he did not bring me the next time he wanted to really bring some trout home.      

I also recall the time when he took me to Dead Brook fishing. We drove up and met the warden there, Phil Dumond and off we went. To fish this brook, you needed to wade in and cast into the water downstream. That didn’t seem very hard to me so off I went into the cold clear blue water with my pole. At some point, I decided that it would be nice to see for myself what was under the water I was wading in, and yes, I lost my footing and in I went. I was totally submerged in the water and like Rambo popping up out of the stream behind his attackers, and because the water was so cold, I quickly found my footing and jumped back up with my pole in hand. I was soaked from head to toe. I recall the ride home in those wet clothes and my father laughing at me as exhaustion set in and I went to sleep. The moral of this story is if you want to go swimming while you are fishing, bring an extra change of clothes.

 Then, there was the time when I came home from school during hunting season, and dad asked if I wanted to take a ride up the Sly Brook Rd in Soldier Pond to see if we could find any deer. It wasn’t long before we came to an old potato field and at the edge of that field by the tree line stood two nice deer. We both jumped out of the car and I took that 30-30 Dad had bought for me and pointed it at one of them, fired and down it went. The other one just stood there looking at me. In the heat of the moment, I decided that I was going to run down and claim my prize. And away I went with the only gun we had at the time in hand. I remember dad yelling to me “come back with that gun so I can shoot the other one.” I was about half way down the field when I decided I had better come back and give him the gun. When I did, and as he was aiming, that deer ran off as he took the shot. No, he did not get it and I bet you know that story has kind of haunted me for years.

Then there was the time when he and I decided to go deer hunting and we drove through St. Francis and Allagash toward what was then the Musquacook four corners gate in the North Maine Woods. It had just snowed that morning and the deer tracks were really showing up well. As we were traveling, I saw a real nice doe in the middle of the road. I jumped out of the truck, aimed and fired. The deer went down and we loaded it on the truck and onward we went. Shortly thereafter, dad spotted a real fresh track in the road, and told me he was going to take it. He left me in the truck and off he went. It wasn’t long before he walked out of the woods with a big smile on his face. He had shot a real nice buck and needed help to drag it out. As he told the story, he saw the buck running and brought the gun up against a tree and fired in front of it to accommodate for its movement. The bullet hit the deer and down it went. I mention this because as we got to the Musquacook gate, we met dad’s boss, Curtis Cooper. Now, anyone who knew Curtis would tell you that he was a gruff old guy who told you like it was. Curtis had been staying in the Umsaskis Lake warden camp all week on a hunting expedition. When we got to the gate, Curtis asked us if we had had any luck. We both pointed to the two deer in the back of the truck and I wish I could have taken a picture of his face. In his gruff tone and cleaning up his response a bit, he said, ****### I have been in here all week hunting and have not seen one deer. You leave home and shot two before lunch…… I never forgot that and every time I think about it, I find myself cracking a smile.

Yeah, things change over time, and we often forget about all the good times we had while growing up. All my early years spent in Fort Kent were special. My Facebook page has a place where many of my friends post fond memories of growing up there. There are examples like the old drive in, the Century Theatre, summers at Birch Haven, Mikes ice cream stand and Rock’s hot dogs to name a few.  Those all bring back fond memories, but, many of my special memories were with my dad who taught me about the woods. As I look back, times have changed, but I will never forget those special times. Thanks Dad

As I prepare for hunting season coming in just a few short days, Dad and I are going back into the woods for a couple of days. It has been some time since we have done so and I am looking forward to it. I also think he will enjoy seeing some of the old areas he used to patrol. Much of it has changed, I am sure, but the names remain the same. I know that as we drive through some of the spots, he will have a lot of stories to tell about the time he spent there and what he encountered. Yeah, time marches forward, but it is always good to stop for a minute and think about the good things from the past. They just might make you crack a smile.

Everybody in the Pool, the Water is Nice  #45

I know you have heard the words," just when I thought I had seen it all", but truly, this time I did say it. Maybe a small explanation may help you understand why I say what I say. Let me start from the beginning. TC and I decided that we were going to take an afternoon off and do a little fishing in the North Maine Woods. We packed up the Toyota and off we went. Our destination was one of two ponds spread out a bit, but equally as good. As we entered the confines of the woods, we quickly decided to go to Ragged Mountain Pond, because I was aware of the truck traffic on the Jack Mountain Road. Now, between the six mile gate and the Machias River Bridge, we met no less than four fully loaded trucks. Let me tell you that when you meet one of them, your heart finds its way up to your throat and your truck takes a very quick turn to the side of the road. That does not even take into account the dust that is following, and the minutes that feel like hours where you cannot see the road in front or in back of you due to the heavy dust the truck has kicked up. Most of the time you just hope that there is nothing coming behind or in front of you until the dust settles and you can see again.

Well, as I said, we made our mind up after the second truck that we were going to stay away from the Jack Mountain Road and go up the Pinkham Road, over to the Pelletier and Pelletier Road and up to Ragged Pond. Our travels went fine with the exception of one truck that we met and we eventually made it to our destination. We parked at the camp site and put the canoe in the water. We unpacked our gear and out we went. It wasn't long before we felt like we were being watched. You know, that eerie feeling that someone is watching your every move. As we looked to the left side of the pond, we noticed a female moose standing on the edge of the pond just as still as could be with her ears up and her gaze turned squarely upon us. I’ll call her Rita. Then out of thin air came another one to the edge of the water and she stood there as the first one entered the water. This one will be Louise. In the next hour, Rita went from the edge of the pond to the middle with much of her time being spent under water eating. All the while, she would come up for air and give us that gaze again. Now, Louise stood absolutely still for the whole time and kept watching us for her friend. At some point, I made the decision that Rita was making her way closer to us and I pulled up the anchor and moved away. Mind you, this pond is not very big, but there was enough room for us all, as long as TC and I stayed where we were and the moose stayed where she was. Eventually Rita made her way to shore and Louise decided to show us that she was more than a statue. Then, the roles reversed and Rita stood on shore and Louise entered the pool. This time, there was no feeding as Louise decided that she was just going to stand in the water and cool off. For over an hour, Louise stayed in one spot in the pool and did not move, again all the while keeping a close eye on TC and me. Now Rita decided that she was finally going to move and she made her way to our landing spot on shore. She stood sideways to the pond and there was no way that we were going to be able to land with her there. After another hour, Rita finally moved off and we lost sight of her. It was at that point that we decided to call it a day and we made our way to shore. As we came to the landing spot, we looked just inside the launching area and Rita jumped up from where she had been laying down and walked into the trail. Startled, TC and I got out of the boat with Rita no more than ten to twenty feet from us and we pulled the canoe on shore a bit. When we did that, Rita looked at us and off she went in a flash through the woods. Now all this time, Louise was still in the same spot in the pool.

As we packed up, and I went down to the water’s edge to get the rest of our gear, Louise was still there. She looked at me, snorted and did not move.

             TC and I had never seen anything like it. We will always remember that day as the time when we had to share the pool with two moose who had one thing on their mind, cooling down and feeding. And they could have cared less about us as long as we left them alone. As I left the pond, I took a few photos and said goodbye, and Louise looked at me and blurted out a loud snort. I took it as thanks for sharing the pool with us, they really appreciated it.

On another note, I was sent a photo of Sammy Kidder by his dad. Sammy has taken up fly fishing and he caught his first fish on a fly rod in the Magalloway River in Western Maine. Nice job Sammy and welcome to the club.