Gris
New member
BUG-FEST 1.0 (S. Branch Pond June 24-27)/The Flatlander's Take
FRIDAY (Traveling day):
Well, I’ll start the ball rolling on this one…. Sherp’s typically ambitious plan was to fish some remote ponds in the North end of Baxter, kayak when the mood struck, hike the Traveler loop and, of course, squeeze in some late night revelry as well what ever else might come our way. So, with that in mind we converged in BSP Friday around noon to find it very HOT and windy upon arrival at Mattagamon Wilderness Campground. Sherp chatted up the friendly owners, whilst everyone bought their fishing licenses, and the topic quickly turned from last winter’s traverse, to fishing, to heat and bugs. Sean (Shizzmac) soon rolled into Mattagamon and we all headed up to the Mattagamon/Penobscot dam to fish the tail waters where Sherp caught a nice little salmon. A while later we entered the park through the North gate, which now has a very pretty face.... Bad Gris, bad! Upon arrival at South Branch we were stoked to see our two fantastic lean-to sites, #2 and #4 (#4 brand new and enlarged). The wind was blowing fairly hard, yet there were still quite a few bugs flying. It didn’t take long for me to see that the incomparable pop-up car camping skills of Shizzmac leave no inconveniences! The usual beers, food and guitar followed. There was some serious bug swatting that first WARM night.
BIG SATURDAY (Fishing Day & THE Great Race):
Saturday started late, not quite sure why. Maybe the beer started a little early Friday, must have been the HOT weather! Anyhoo, seems like it was at least 9:00 a.m. before we hit the Fowler ponds trailhead. After a short thirty minute hike in to Lower Fowler, the true fishermen took one canoe and Gris and Sean the imposters (define Powerbait!) got the other. The plan was Sherp would hike the trail around Lower Fowler and Gris would let out Sean out at the other end to meet up (with Sherp) and they would go on to a waiting canoe at Middle Fowler. For future reference the best beaching/off-loading point at the far end of Lower Fowler is a few hundred yards before the in-flow on a little bluff on a point where the trail passes close by (which Sherp recommended), not the in-flow wade-out/bushwhack I stubbornly chose. After letting Sean off I proceeded, bad rotator cuff and all, to single-hand the aluminum canoe against the high winds all morning. The true fishermen called it quits around 12:30 p.m. then took a swim to cool off. Gris battled the wind another hour during which he caught the largest edible (is there any other kind worth catching Sherp?) fish of the trip, albeit arguably illegally, as well as another even bigger one. It seems the fine print on fly only waters allows no wind assisted “trolling,” which of course was all but impossible this day (amazing what you can learn after the fact when your flight is delayed and you run out of reading material). Rumor is Sherp and Sean opted out of the paddling contest with the wind and instead sunbathed on the rocks, swam Middle Fowler and otherwise lollygagged about over there out of sight all day. Maybe they had time to take a photo or two over there…? All I know is Lower Fowler is one beautiful lake. If Middle is half as nice it’s a true gem too! As the true fishermen and one imposter emerged from the Fowler Pond trailhead after briefly wading/exploring Fowler Brook, Chomp just happened to be passing on the perimeter road. I recognized (doh!) his plate and waved him down with my feet (long story). He was "chomping" at the bit to get out in the woods so he set off for South Branch and possibly a hike. It was sooo Incredibly HOT (the truck thermometer registered 91F) the Lower pond fisherman all took a ride to Mattagamon for ice - and ice cream. That’s really roughing it! Back at camp my right shoulder was in dire need of medication from seven complete traverses of the not so small lake against the gale, so medicate it I did. Eventually Sherp and Sean rolled in. Everything that happened later that afternoon became a sort of blur, but I do remember Chomp emerging from a brisk loop up and over Black Cat Mt. to inform us that the black flies were really BRUTAL on the summit. Later Sean noticed that the burly young dude whipping the fly line out a little down the shore was none other than VFTT’s Spencer Meyer who was up with Joanna for the night. Soon thereafter we got one of those well-timed light rains that doesn’t dampen anyone’s spirits but only serves to huddle everybody up together under the tarp to party. And to everyone’s surprise Spence & Joanna produced a blender, some sort of electrical generator and the fixings for pina coladas! Sean did his burger magic and the party was on. The rain and a little lightening and thunder soon passed and everyone took to the water in kayaks and canoes. I’ve been lucky enough in my life to have visited a lot of magical places, but South Branch from the water is right up there at the top of the list, it’s truly sublime. We all paddled and fished from kayaks and canoes until dusk when the day and night all seemed to run together into a dream state. Somewhere in the fading light Spence and I (we didn’t even get a bite) half happy/half jealous, heard Chomp in his kayak woo-hooing during an epic thirty-minute battle with something. But the monster turned out to be a log - which he did manage to land without breaking his line. Chomp tried fishing again Sunday evening and I had to admire his consistent “stick-to-it-ness.” LOL! (He caught another smaller one.) Saturday night lasted a good long time. Guitars were played and songs were sung. Joanna showed off her skills. The Shizzmac pop-up party was going full bore with burgers, other food, and later my big fish (growing bigger by the hour) over-flowing the pan. Somewhere along the way I recall learning there are only two kinds of hikers – grand champions and vulture food! During the night revelry it became apparent, to the experienced, that this night could not end without some sort of stupendous cathartic event, but where, how, way out here? Thus, deeeep in the night (a/k/a early in the morning), maybe after a few visits from the doctor, it was decided that Chomp and Sherp must kayak. So out into the darkness they went. After some good-natured barbs from the shore-bound, the notion of a “great race” developed (maybe it’s the SJ influence/factor, who knows? LOL!). It would be a race to the far shore and back in total blackness guided only by headlamps and the sound of paddle upon water. It seems Chomp is a bit of a competitor, so he took to the concept quite quickly. Sherp, of course, is a world-class sandbagger, so he allowed the bait to be swallowed completely before setting the hook. Well, the great race was on and with their backs (and headlamps) to us and the shore, out in total blackness, we could only hear bits and snatches of what was actually taking place between the fast and furious. Then something didn’t sound quite right. CONTINUED...
FRIDAY (Traveling day):
Well, I’ll start the ball rolling on this one…. Sherp’s typically ambitious plan was to fish some remote ponds in the North end of Baxter, kayak when the mood struck, hike the Traveler loop and, of course, squeeze in some late night revelry as well what ever else might come our way. So, with that in mind we converged in BSP Friday around noon to find it very HOT and windy upon arrival at Mattagamon Wilderness Campground. Sherp chatted up the friendly owners, whilst everyone bought their fishing licenses, and the topic quickly turned from last winter’s traverse, to fishing, to heat and bugs. Sean (Shizzmac) soon rolled into Mattagamon and we all headed up to the Mattagamon/Penobscot dam to fish the tail waters where Sherp caught a nice little salmon. A while later we entered the park through the North gate, which now has a very pretty face.... Bad Gris, bad! Upon arrival at South Branch we were stoked to see our two fantastic lean-to sites, #2 and #4 (#4 brand new and enlarged). The wind was blowing fairly hard, yet there were still quite a few bugs flying. It didn’t take long for me to see that the incomparable pop-up car camping skills of Shizzmac leave no inconveniences! The usual beers, food and guitar followed. There was some serious bug swatting that first WARM night.
BIG SATURDAY (Fishing Day & THE Great Race):
Saturday started late, not quite sure why. Maybe the beer started a little early Friday, must have been the HOT weather! Anyhoo, seems like it was at least 9:00 a.m. before we hit the Fowler ponds trailhead. After a short thirty minute hike in to Lower Fowler, the true fishermen took one canoe and Gris and Sean the imposters (define Powerbait!) got the other. The plan was Sherp would hike the trail around Lower Fowler and Gris would let out Sean out at the other end to meet up (with Sherp) and they would go on to a waiting canoe at Middle Fowler. For future reference the best beaching/off-loading point at the far end of Lower Fowler is a few hundred yards before the in-flow on a little bluff on a point where the trail passes close by (which Sherp recommended), not the in-flow wade-out/bushwhack I stubbornly chose. After letting Sean off I proceeded, bad rotator cuff and all, to single-hand the aluminum canoe against the high winds all morning. The true fishermen called it quits around 12:30 p.m. then took a swim to cool off. Gris battled the wind another hour during which he caught the largest edible (is there any other kind worth catching Sherp?) fish of the trip, albeit arguably illegally, as well as another even bigger one. It seems the fine print on fly only waters allows no wind assisted “trolling,” which of course was all but impossible this day (amazing what you can learn after the fact when your flight is delayed and you run out of reading material). Rumor is Sherp and Sean opted out of the paddling contest with the wind and instead sunbathed on the rocks, swam Middle Fowler and otherwise lollygagged about over there out of sight all day. Maybe they had time to take a photo or two over there…? All I know is Lower Fowler is one beautiful lake. If Middle is half as nice it’s a true gem too! As the true fishermen and one imposter emerged from the Fowler Pond trailhead after briefly wading/exploring Fowler Brook, Chomp just happened to be passing on the perimeter road. I recognized (doh!) his plate and waved him down with my feet (long story). He was "chomping" at the bit to get out in the woods so he set off for South Branch and possibly a hike. It was sooo Incredibly HOT (the truck thermometer registered 91F) the Lower pond fisherman all took a ride to Mattagamon for ice - and ice cream. That’s really roughing it! Back at camp my right shoulder was in dire need of medication from seven complete traverses of the not so small lake against the gale, so medicate it I did. Eventually Sherp and Sean rolled in. Everything that happened later that afternoon became a sort of blur, but I do remember Chomp emerging from a brisk loop up and over Black Cat Mt. to inform us that the black flies were really BRUTAL on the summit. Later Sean noticed that the burly young dude whipping the fly line out a little down the shore was none other than VFTT’s Spencer Meyer who was up with Joanna for the night. Soon thereafter we got one of those well-timed light rains that doesn’t dampen anyone’s spirits but only serves to huddle everybody up together under the tarp to party. And to everyone’s surprise Spence & Joanna produced a blender, some sort of electrical generator and the fixings for pina coladas! Sean did his burger magic and the party was on. The rain and a little lightening and thunder soon passed and everyone took to the water in kayaks and canoes. I’ve been lucky enough in my life to have visited a lot of magical places, but South Branch from the water is right up there at the top of the list, it’s truly sublime. We all paddled and fished from kayaks and canoes until dusk when the day and night all seemed to run together into a dream state. Somewhere in the fading light Spence and I (we didn’t even get a bite) half happy/half jealous, heard Chomp in his kayak woo-hooing during an epic thirty-minute battle with something. But the monster turned out to be a log - which he did manage to land without breaking his line. Chomp tried fishing again Sunday evening and I had to admire his consistent “stick-to-it-ness.” LOL! (He caught another smaller one.) Saturday night lasted a good long time. Guitars were played and songs were sung. Joanna showed off her skills. The Shizzmac pop-up party was going full bore with burgers, other food, and later my big fish (growing bigger by the hour) over-flowing the pan. Somewhere along the way I recall learning there are only two kinds of hikers – grand champions and vulture food! During the night revelry it became apparent, to the experienced, that this night could not end without some sort of stupendous cathartic event, but where, how, way out here? Thus, deeeep in the night (a/k/a early in the morning), maybe after a few visits from the doctor, it was decided that Chomp and Sherp must kayak. So out into the darkness they went. After some good-natured barbs from the shore-bound, the notion of a “great race” developed (maybe it’s the SJ influence/factor, who knows? LOL!). It would be a race to the far shore and back in total blackness guided only by headlamps and the sound of paddle upon water. It seems Chomp is a bit of a competitor, so he took to the concept quite quickly. Sherp, of course, is a world-class sandbagger, so he allowed the bait to be swallowed completely before setting the hook. Well, the great race was on and with their backs (and headlamps) to us and the shore, out in total blackness, we could only hear bits and snatches of what was actually taking place between the fast and furious. Then something didn’t sound quite right. CONTINUED...
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