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July, 2006
Under Sail in the Western Mountains
By Patrick Abbott
After a mostly cloudy Saturday, Memorial Day weekend really lived up to its billing as the unofficial start of summer. If the Dead hadn't been running at 5,500 cfs on Sunday I would have thought that it was July, and not the end of May. But it was the end of May, and it was a holiday weekend, and the black flies were definitely out. My brother Ben and my father had opted to canoe on Saturday, while I got the somewhat stressful job of babysitting my brothers' friend Joe in our old Unicorn Thrill Cat duckies that we acquired from Three Rivers the previous summer.
After his crash course in whitewater paddling on Saturday, in which I would give him an A- (I don't give A+'s, and a flip in the middle of Mile Long precluded an A) we decided for Joe that he was ready for 5,500 cfs on Sunday.
And what a day it was. With temperatures in the mid to upper 80's I was more than happy to forgo my dry top and rain pants for long underwear bottoms and a fleece vest. We put in at Spencer Stream on Sunday rather than at the gravel pit due to the higher flow and a desire to spend as much of the day as possible on the greatest river in Maine at one of the best levels possible. Joe did well and only dumped when he got a little cocky and started paddling sections sitting on the top of the seat rather than remaining in the standard seating position, much to the amusement of the Abbott clan. I found myself in the water many times throughout the day - also as the result of the usual suspects - trying to punch through the biggest holes I can find and trying to do "Enders" in large waves. A great weekend all and all but what to do on Monday, the holiday?
Well, my dad had a plan for that. And it involved NOT driving the 17-mile dirt road to Spencer Stream to pick up the Jeep at the put-in, which was fine by me.
On Monday we loaded up my brother's Ford Ranger with our canoe, a two person touring kayak, ropes, a tent fly, a couple of stout poles and headed north. Destination: Spencer Pond. About 13 miles out on Hardscrabble Road, there is a very pleasant campground situated on the shores of Fish Pond that is maintained by Plum Creek. Here we rigged our canoe with a makeshift spinnaker from the supplies we had brought and set out on our sailing voyage. With the kayak held close to the side of the canoe we had enough stability to head out into the open waters of Spencer Pond. Fish Pond flows into Spencer Pond through a narrow point - fittingly called "The Narrows". Once on Spencer Pond it was smooth sailing for the next five miles. Just avoid the islands and occasional rocks in some of the narrower channels. Mountains rise on either side of the pond and there are many cliffs and slide areas visible on their steep sides. Hardwood and Hardscrabble Mountains stand like sentinels on either side of the northern end of the pond, with elevations that are virtually equal. The western shore is dominated by the 2,380-foot Spencer Mountain, with its eastern face so steep that my father wryly commented that it was actually concaved. I thought about it for a second, but then realized that was highly unlikely given that it was covered with conifers. Balancing Spencer Mountain on the eastern shore is a flank of the 2,600-foot Hedgehog Mountain, which looked to me like it had many nice possibilities for views from ledges that were only a short hike away. As you approach the southern end of the pond you will see Heald Mountain a short way off to the east. It is an impressive sight as most of the visible southwestern face has slid away, exposing a light brown rock.
If you have never been sailing, I highly recommend it. Even if it is in a ghetto set up like the one we used. There is no better feeling than when the wind picks up and the ropes tighten, the masts flex, the sails fill and the boat presses forward. The bow parts the waters in front of you, sending them splashing off the sides of the boat as your wake trails behind you. There is no feeling like it.
In 2002, I rigged a makeshift tent footprint sail onto my solo cedar strip canoe. I was working at a small state park in Vermont and I started cruising across the small pond that I lived on. The instant that the boat started moving, without me paddling, I was filled with such joy that I started laughing maniacally. I was sold.
The winds in our part of Maine are almost always out of the west or the north, and thanks to glaciers and millions of years; a large number of our lakes are oriented either north to south or northwest to southeast. But once you get to the end of the lake, how to get back? Well, that is the beauty of the Spencer trip and that car that you left at Grand Falls the day before. At the outlet of Spencer pond there is an easy carry over the old logging dam and then a leisurely five-and-a-half- mile paddle down Little Spencer stream to its confluence with Spencer Stream, and then the Dead River put-in. The stream is best run at high water, the day we did it there was a moderate amount of rubbing going on. This trip is a great way to check out some of the western mountains, and to gain the approving primal hoots and cheers of your friends once the sails fill and you are able to kick back and drink some beers. It will be well worth the effort.
Patrick Abbott is a 27-year-old diplomat. He represents long boarders in negotiations with all other beings. A college student in Vermont on the 10-year plan, he advocates for sharing the road, and running the river. With any time not spent skiing, hiking, boating or skating he's searching for clues at the scene of the crime. He has spent summers in West Forks forever and yes ladies, he is single.
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