Day 3 – Cunliffe Island to campsite Hosea B
We were up and at
‘em by 6:30, ate breakfast of juice, coffee, bacon, eggs, bread grilled on the open
fire, with butter and jam, and were on the river by 8:30.
We paddled about
10 miles to the southern end of Round Pond for lunch at Back Channel campsite.
The map marked a long stretch of rapids but they didn’t seem as bad as the
previous day’s, or maybe we’re getting better.
Typical AWW campsite
Just before Round
Pond was the second of only two bridges over the river, looking very out of
place, especially when we saw a log truck roll over in a cloud of dust after we
had passed underneath.
After lunch, we
saw the same couple approaching us at Back Channel (and that was the last we
saw of them). After some discussion about the weather (there was a little
thunder and dark clouds moving quickly from the west), we headed out into Round
Pond for what was intended to be a fast push to the next campsites if weather
forced us in. Unfortunately, the wind picked up mightily as we got half-way
across and M nearly lost control, unable to turn into the wind, and we had to
paddle hard to catch him.
Storm clouds over
Round Pond
The storm passed
us by, with just a bit of refreshing shower (it was a hot day), the only rain
on the trip, and we decided to go on farther. We met the Round Pond ranger who
was about to police his campsites, and he offered to guide us through the rapids
after the pond. The smell of his outboard-powered canoe was a little
disconcerting, but we were grateful for the help and hung up only once.
View from Croque Brook
campsite
After another couple of miles we stopped at
Croque Brook campsite for the night, or so we thought. Twenty minutes later,
after we were partly set up, a party of three canoes and six older men came up
and stopped at the same site. It’s still not entirely clear (although see Day 4
for some speculation) why they choose to be right next to us (although it was a
two-cell site) on a long river, with almost no traffic, with a plethora of
sites on offer. E/M wanted to pack up and leave. I was advocating staying, but
then walked a little way toward the other cell and heard how loud the men were,
even across perhaps a hundred yards of space full of bushes, and realized that
we would have to share one privy, obviously especially trying for E, and voted
for going on. As we left, someone in the group did apologize for kicking us
out.
Re-packing at Croque
Brook
We were very glad
we moved: Croque Brook was probably the least attractive site we saw, being
open and tree-less (no hammocking!) and the extra six miles was well worth it, for
Hosea B campsite was lovely and simple, nicely elevated, lots of trees, with a
small cold brook nearby to replenish our water supply, the river calm and deep
and by evening time, glassy-smooth.
That was one of
the joys of the trip: the multitude of faces the river showed, from gentle riffles,
to slow deep currents, to fairly serious rapids and every complexion
in-between, not to mention the endless anticipation of what was waiting around
the next bend.
Evening at Hosea B
campsite
Besides seeing
the one log truck on the bridge, hearing another on an access road near the end
of the trip, and some rumblings of machinery in the distance for an hour or
two, the only evidence of logging was a clear-cut hill in the distance, with a
weird stand of big trees left at the crown.
Speaking of
annoyances, I should say here that our trip was remarkable bug-free: a few
no-see-ums, a few mosquitoes, a few biting flies in the canoes that took
advantage of our attention to nothing but the water ahead. Even though it
turned out to be quite a warm and muggy night – hardly needed a sleeping bag –
the bugs were not a bother.
My little tent
was a joy. Just (about) seven feet long and four feet wide, it was composed
mainly of a fine mesh that allowed views up to the starry sky, on one side
woods, on the other river. And I could hear everything, from the ticking of
tree bits falling, unidentified sounds in the woods, footfalls of bear or toad
perhaps, creepy, crawling things headed over, under, or around. For someone
like me not used to camping, sleeping in tents is intense, a combination of
fear and joy, relaxation and worry, resulting in an insomnia that was wonderful
to bear.
Hosea B campsite
\
I was very glad
we had no rain, for the tent’s rain fly looked to be a claustrophobic cocoon.
Dinner, still defiantly
guilt-free: steak on the grill, potatoes and butter, carrots. In bed by 8:00.
But right after going to bed, we heard several loud, deep splashes in the
river, like someone throwing very big rocks. Our best guess was that they were
beaver slapping their tails (were they annoyed at us?) especially since the
next morning just a few minutes after putting in, we saw a beaver swimming near
a lodge.
Distance: about
20 miles
Wildlife: great
blue herons, lots of eagles
Next: day 4
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