Northern Forest Canoe Trail Overall Fastest Known Paddle: 17D, 15H, 47M

(this is also the 1st tandem male FKP)

Jacob Sexton, 38, of Hinckley, Ohio & Monty Fuss, 31, of Akron, Ohio

April 27-28, 2024

740 miles

Self-supported

Start: Old Forge, New York. 5:17am, June 1, 2024.

Finish: Fort Kent, Maine. 8:04pm, June 17, 2024.

Map resources: Northern Forest Canoe Trail, a 740-paddling route from New York to Maine

Boat: They built their canoe from plans by Cape Falcon Kayak. The canoe was 17’3” long and 34” wide.

For route description see: Northern Forest Canoe Trail Overview

The NFCT is the longest inland water trail in the nation and consists of 23 rivers and streams, 59 lakes and ponds, 45 communities and 65 portages in excess of 70 miles total.

Bios: 

Monty has a background in endurance sports. He has completed multiple marathons and ultra races, but at the time of the trip was fairly new to paddle sports. When Monty heard about the Northern Forest Canoe Trail he immediately wanted to join in on Jake’s trip, but in a way that would push both of their limits. 

Jake grew up recreating outdoors. From camping and rock climbing to paddling on the Cuyahoga River, he spent much of his youth outside. Jake found the trail in 2013 through a blog by one of the first through paddlers of the NFCT but couldn’t organize a trip until much later. At first he was planning a slower paced solo trip, but when Monty wanted to come along they reorganized their pace to shoot for the FKT.

Trip report from the paddlers:

6/1/2024

Monty: Jake & I get up at 4:00 AM, beginning our long NFCT trip in the visitor center of Old Forge, New York. We make breakfast, coffee, get the canoe and packs ready and put in to First Lake at 5:17 AM- the adventure begins! We paddle with the vigor, the promise of sights to see, nature to be lost in and records to shatter propel us onward! We paddle smoothly pulling the water at a little over 5 mph behind us making great time from First, Second, onto Third and Fourth lake in the Adirondacks chain of lakes. We see not another soul during our early morning paddle, as we continue up Fourth lake just before getting to Fifth lake we pass by a home on our eastern shore seeing the first person, an old man reading a book. He sits in small red home with a very open floorplan, a large living area with a lofted area, the living area is filled with books situated among shelves and other knick knacks; common to a lakeside cottage, pieces of driftwood, small little brass objects a compass and maps decorate the far walls. The old man sits peacefully reading his book totally unaware of the vigorous paddling just outside his windows. At peace, his adventures behind him, as we paddle on I imagine him reading about his own adventures of voyages of youth past.

Jake: There was a quick portage onto Fifth Lake (our first of many), beginning with a short uphill plod and slowly bringing us back down to the water. We hand carried the boat because the portage was only .5 miles.

Monty: We paddle on, seeing an eagle soaring above, a fox scurrying up a hill, a few beavers, muskrats, a frog on a lilypad and a bunch of butterflies.

Jake: It was during this first section of the trail that Jake first discovered the usefulness of the Farout app and how little he would be using the actual maps. We took a few wrong turns and wove in and out of some small islands along our path through the Fulton Chain of Lakes. 

Monty: After a short 1 mile hilly portage from eight lake to the mouth of Raquette Lake, we head down the boardwalk leading out to the headwaters of Raquette Lake.

Jake: As we worked on putting the boat in on the side of the boardwalk we encountered our first admirers. A pair of older gentlemen out for a stoll, curious about our vessel tried to lend us a hand as we were just perfecting our boat entering procedure. We paused briefly to exchange pleasantries, but were quick to end the conversation to be on our way.

Monty: We pass over a few beaver dams in the headwaters, something that will quickly lose its luster. Even these first couple dams are cumbersome, whoever was in the bow of the canoe (me, almost always) would need to get out of the canoe and balance on sticks while trying to send the 17’ canoe over without scraping is time consuming and difficult. About halfway through the person at the stern would clamber up the length of the canoe and balance on the pile of sticks and we would send the canoe over together then play the shuffling game again getting back in. Jake doesn’t admit it, but there is a slight fear of damaging the boat and perhaps falling into the water and poking skin on the beaver dam. We can see, as the crow flies, that the distance to our take out is not far; however, the beavers had other plans in mind for the course of the river. I believe that novelty won over impatience this time, but it would not always. 

We make it all the way into the mouth of the Saranac River, passing by our planned campsite on an island on Long Lake. We pick out a campsite a mile into the Saranac headwaters, stopping our day at 8:34 PM, the mosquitos and black flies greet us on our arrival ensuring we know whose house we are in- theirs. Within minutes of getting out of the canoe my shoulders are riddled with enough bites to make a full brail book. We covered just over 50 miles today. A beautiful campsite, but not a great choice haha.

Jake: Monty hung his hammock between two trees and Jake set his own up using trekking poles to make a makeshift tent. We worked to hang the food bag in a tree after dinner and moments before giving up Monty got the bag hung and secured. It would be the first and last time we were responsible campers with our food. The further along the trail we went the less we would separate ourselves from our food and the risk of bear invasion. Sometimes it is better to be lucky than…smart? 

6/2/2024

Monty: We started the day early at 4 AM, we made, and choked down wheat-germ with whey for breakfast along with some coffee. Thankfully the bugs abated at some point last night and we are free from their buzzing biting presence this morning. We are on Raquette River at 4:30, we paddled through Raquette river passing Raquette Falls on a portage. We go through Raquette Lake, the Saranac river and lakes. In the Saranac river we got to go through a lock system, which was super neat!!  The headwaters to Saranac river were beautiful, wandering through reeds to connect to the river was a very cool feeling, the reeds in the early morning cloudy light resemble grass on a beach as we look outward over the headwaters. Such a beautiful sight, we take it in as we continue to paddle through it. 

Before long we are at Saranac Lake, our tranquil time disrupted by a mixture of teens in speedboats and older folks in pontoons zipping about the lake. With the boats comes a wake that we need to continuously adjust the bow of the canoe steering it into the wake so we are not hit broadside and possibly rocked.

Jake: At this point in the trip the small wakes seem like a much larger threat than they really were. More than anything, they slowed our pace which was the greatest of affronts to our mission.

Monty: After a few annoying hours of sharing the lakes we arrive at Saranac Village stopping for lunch, getting some pizza from Owl’s Nest Pizza Parlor- during the short 35 minute break I take time to call mom, you and Violette. Jake ordered the pizza, and after ordering realized that the pizza shop had moved locations causing him to run back upstream (the way we had come) to get the food and drink. Luckily his legs were still fresh and ready for a moderate jog. Again, time always feels like it is flying away during every pause along our journey. We smash the pizza quickly and continue along to Union Falls Lake. We see lots of muskrats, bald eagles, red mohawk ducks, ducklings and even a fox!

We paddle late into the night finishing up midway through Union Falls Pond, stopping off at Bear Point South- tough to find in the darkness (about 9:40 when we pull into camp) but well worth it. Again, here Jake is feeling stressed about our situation. Being out on the water was something he wanted to avoid and this campsite, like many others on the trail, was not marked in a way to be found in the darkness. The trail is a fickle mistress, however, and concessions would be made time and again to keep our pace. Finishing the day at 52 miles. We pull Gungnir up onto the bank, setting it carefully on the bank in some low brush thickets. We had no mosquitos plaguing our sleep here, we headed 100 yards up a steep hillside with rustic stone steps to the point where there are a number of trees to set up camp. A rosy maple moth fluttered onto my Chacos nibbling away happily while I set up my hammock, quickly we scarfed down some couscous and went to bed. 

6/3/2024

The day started late this morning, we got going around 5:10 AM, speeding through the last few miles of Union Falls Pond our speed of the first few days is very quickly eroded by the Saranac River a short mandatory portage on Casey Rd, a road that is accessed through a mile walk through thick woods.

Jake: As we approached the portage we had to maneuver along some easy class II rapids. Midway through them Monty’s hand gets caught up on something and he accidentally drops his paddle into the water. From Jake’s perspective it looks like Monty has thrown his paddle overboard. Monty jumped out of the boat to recover his oar and Jake got the boat over to shore just dodging disaster. This might have been the first moment of the trip where our shortcomings would be exposed. In this case Monty’s lack of paddling experience, but we would both have equal turns eating crow and making profuse apologies.  

Monty: Moving that 17’ 3” canoe through that forest reminds me of moving Jenga, finding the best way to get through only to be waylaid by another tree. We reached Casey rd, continuing on to the Saranac River another 4.2 miles down the road. Our shoulders were on fire from resting the canoe on them, we had to rest twice on the portage to rest our weary shoulders. Before we got back in the water Jake had to run up to a nearby store to beg for water. Our water storage was about empty and we could not filter water from the river at this point due to agricultural runoff. When we arrived at the Saranac we got in and quickly found it was far too shallow to float. We walked the canoe a few hundred yards down the river before asking a local man if we could use his lawn to access the road, he obliged and told us the river would be this low for the next 6 miles. A short 4 mile portage turned into a 10.5 mile portage. As our portage took us away and brought us back into view of the river we would have continual debates on whether we should hit the water again or keep walking. Each time we were permitted a view of the river it always looked low and boney. Our shoulders were in staunch protest to the continued abuse, when we walked the canoe acted like a greenhouse for whoever had their head in it. So, poor Jake in the back these first few days was a puddle when we got back into the canoe. Thankfully the water level rose enough that we were able to get back in and paddle the last 7 miles or so to our intended take out and eventual campsite. 

We arrived at Treadwell Mills dam around dark, I took off running to a grocery store, One Stop Tobacco and Lotto, to get food and refill our Platypus bladder. The store is dingy, the freezer has a puddle below it from not functioning correctly, the other shoppers look to be affected by alcohol or drugs or just generally tired, it is sad that people resort to this to deal with the burden of life. The store filled with inexpensive expired high calorie low nutrition foods, just what Jake and I need. I buy a few packs of cookies, two sub sandwiches, some peanuts and a Modelo 20 oz to split with Jake. I make it back to Treadwell Mills Dam, Jake and I share the sandwiches and beer in silence looking out at the twilight beginning to cast shadows over the Saranac River. We watch the sun set over the beautiful lake the locals casting lines, rippling the orange hued skies reflection in the lake. There are few moments of taking in the scenery where we are not moving at the persistently grinding pace record setting requires. 

We pick up the boat to walk another ¾ mile down the dam tract, going through a chain link fence, and stopping a ¼ mile short of our next put in. We set up camp along the side of a thick grassy hill. I set up in a sumac tree bending under my weight, my back rests on the tops of small twigs, bramble and grass after weighting the hammock, normally this would be an annoyance that would make me reset the hammock, but today is over and sleep is needed. I have an imprint of the gunnel on my shoulder, this imprint will only deepen within the coming weeks. Today was rough, a lot more walking than we had anticipated (don’t worry, this whole walking thing will quickly become a trend.) 

6/4/2024

Like all other days we got up bright and early made some Turkish coffee, oatmeal with some peanut butter and begin our march. We start in the river making it a few hundred yards paddling before we bottom out, scraping away precious millimeters of our bulletized polyurethane. We jump out and continue the walk down some slick class 2, in this case large sheets of rock with small drops and ledges. The flat sheets provide a nice level walking surface, however they are slick with moss.  We start to fall too many times, I split my toe open and Jake has a bunch of sores on his feet. It's making the river walking not fun. We are realizing that Chacos may not have been the best idea. Luckily an older gentlemen along the Saranac saw (or more likely heard our cursing at the slow progress) offered for us to use the staircase weaving up the 80 degree embankment. We obliged and walked three miles through Plattsburgh, the gunnel seemingly fusing with my shoulder, arriving at the put in to Lake Champlain. With our portaging we tried to carry just enough water for the day, the more water we carry the more weight we carry on our already stressed shoulders. We started the day with 5 liters of water and were now in no filter zone. (Lake Champlain has a ton of dairy farms and the manure gets in the water giving you nasty bacterial infections) We are just over 1 liter after filling our Nalgene’s up.  Neither of us realized at this point how long we would be on the lake for and how difficult it would be to get a water refill. 

After a quick stop, 9:15 AM, to check the weather for our Champlain pass a bite, a donut and some peanuts, we set off into the Cumberland Bay section. Shortly after the initial entry we were buffeted by waves, the first serious choppy water we ran into- scaring both Jake and I for the 32 miles left on the lake. We clear the 2 mile Bay and the water is a sheet of glass a slight wind at our back and sun in the sky, we cut through the glass of Champlain aiming for South Hero Island. We pass by the two ferries taking cars from Vermont to New York and vice-a-versa, passing them quickly minding the wake they were creating. Jake calls up to me saying that there was some serious water accumulating in the boat, he sponged some out and bilged as I paddled on. The sunny skies made us scarf down water and are now rationing the remaining 150 mls with 15 miles until we are off the lake. The sun was draining my gusto quickly, lethargy set in and our pace slowed, still going at 5.5/6 mph we were making good time. We stopped at someone’s home to refill our Nalgene’s giving us some energy to continue. We reached the Missisquoi just after 2:40 pm, not a bad pace for the 32 miles of Champlain. While on the Missisquoi we stopped at another kind Vermonters house who filled our waters, in their lawn I saw a box turtle sunning itself soaking in the 90 degree day. It did not occur to either of us to ask the kind home owners to fill up our 12 liter water bladder. Instead, at each fill up, we asked that they just fill up our small Nalgenes. The sense of desperation was growing the further upstream we paddled on the slow meandering Missisiquoi. We even stopped at a boat washing station to see if there was any potable water. There was none. We stayed long enough to catch our breath and gather our remaining strength. Sitting behind Monty, Jake can see how his paddle strokes are growing weaker and weaker as his deep fatigue and sun poisoning are setting in. There is a real fear building, but the only option is forward.

We finally reached Swanton and pull ourselves and our gear up onto the small sandy beach where the take out is. We both lay down on some large stones in exhaustion and relief. We debate making camp where we lay, but think better of it. We find a restaurant up a steep hill towards our next put in, gather our gear, put the boat over our heads and start to march. The few handfuls of peanuts are not wanting to stay in my stomach, I yacked those up along with whatever water was in me. That blasted sun poisoned me, not a fun day. Still short of where we should stop for the day by about 9 miles our bodies can take no more punishment. We take Gungnir up the hill stashing it by the riverside and walked zombie like into Swanton, Vermont stopping at a pizza shop, Swanton House of Pizza, we ordered a large pizza and two large pitchers of water each. I had the anticipation I would eat endlessly but was exhausted and annoyingly puckish. I hardly finished two pieces, I ended up drinking 3 pitchers of water, we also split a huge salad which was a good call! Jake’s sense of relief and exhaustion make him a little emotional and when he calls home he has a hard time getting any words out. His wife can also hear Monty in the background and is concerned by the cadence of his speech as well. I believe we were closer to disaster than either of us wanted to admit. 

We stumble over to camp next to the Missisquoi, crawl into our respective hammocks and close the books on this day, vowing to make up time tomorrow. We would keep up this empty promise of pushing miles to the next day after each subsequent low river and slowdown in the coming days.

6/5/2024

We slept in today, a treat for the suffering yesterday. As we were breaking camp a little after 6 am a fellow paddler Joe Petrin, a nice ER nurse from Jackman Maine came along with his single Mad River canoe on a cart. We struck up a conversation, going over basic pleasantries. In both the back of mine and Jakes mind was an annoyance- we were going for speed, no one should be passing us, we are the ones who should be passing not the other way around!  We waited in town to see if Ace had a canoe cart, 8 AM we were at the door, no luck they had no cart. We walked back to the river, upset at the endless portaging to come. We were hot on Joe’s tail, passing him by vowing it would be the last time we would see him, but as soon as we came to a set of rapids going upstream on the Missisquoi we are out lining the canoe up and Joe comes and scoots right on up it (his canoe is shorter and much lighter than ours, not to mention its construction is much more solid than ours.) Again, we find ourselves on the pushing forward with vim and vigor but with much less experience than many who take on the trail. I do not think we would truly become proficient at reading a low river, finding the deep currents and understanding where the best and deepest parts are until or last day on the trail 

We labored on for a bit, in the boat then back out, back in for 50 meters, back out- the repetitive in & out seemingly endless. Against better judgement we took to wearing our heavy packs in hopes of making our boat float high enough in the river that it would drag less over every stone hiding just below the surface. This strategy worked well, but made the river walking treacherous. Small missteps would send us careening around try to find our balance and sending us bottom first into the water. We eventually learned to hold onto the gunnel of the canoe for support instead of just holding onto the ropes we had tied to the bow and stern. While walking up the second set of rapids we passed by a beautiful red algae covering the rocks in the river, it was as beautiful as it was slick. I busted my knee several times, cursing at the beautiful river than at my own arrogance and stupidity for demanding such a thing for nothing more than pride. Eventually we gave up on the river finding a Valey Rail Trail, an old rail line converted into a walking path. We carried Gungnir to The Abbey Restaurant 6 miles down the rail line. I ordered the soup de jour, a broccoli chowder, it was heavenly- I also got a burger and thankfully my appetite was back. I finished everything. 

Jake and I sat in the restaurant for an hour charging our phones and batteries and agreed we needed to get a canoe cart to finish the trip. Jess, Jakes wife mailed one out to Richford Vermont, 14 miles from where we were at.  The cart was set to deliver sometime tomorrow morning, so we had a lot of walking left to do. Stomachs filled and 30 minutes of light left, we don our headlamps grabbing our packs and hoof Gungnir towards Richford. We walked on the trail for a while until we couldn’t deal with the digging pain in our shoulders portaging. We stopped off the trail, just off trail and set up camp. After camp, a yoga mat and sleeping bag for me, was setup, I needed to find a place to dig a hole. Dinner was not sitting well, I dug it, squatted and turned my airplane mode off and no sooner than pap-pap calls he tells me he’s so excited watching our trip- chatting with me about progress and the state of Jake & I. The conversation is short as sleep is undoubtedly creeping into my voice. This, in Jake's opinion, was the start of our day to day distance plan falling apart. We would just go as far as we could that day and sleep just about anywhere, campsite be damned. 

6/6/2024

We woke early making coffee and smashing pop tarts before getting moving. We wanted to be in Richford before noon, a lot of the small post offices would close for an hour in the middle of the day, we needed to beat that time so that we could get moving again and make up for lost miles and early days. The next phase of our trip take us to Canada, with customs closing at 4 pm, so time was tight. 

This would be the shortest day of the trip, but it was extremely draining physically. We had 14 miles to make it to Richford, VT where the post office beckoned us with the promise of wheels awaiting us there. We would walk for 20 minutes rest for 5 minutes then repeat (this would increase to walking for 20 minutes and resting for 10 minutes in subsequent miles.) As the time creeped closer to noon and we were still too far from Richford we took our rests away, we went down to five minutes of rest then to whatever our shoulders would handle. 

We arrived at Richford just before 12:00, the aggressive pace cost us our shoulders. My bloody nose decided to make an appearance, we laid Gungnir down in front of a sad looking multitenant apartment home. I sat down resting on my heavy pack watching the canoe while Jake walked over to the post office to get our wheels. The locals looked out from their windows at the new vagrants littering their lawns. The locals looked worse for wear much as we did, their wear seemed earned through pipes, pills and bottles. The interaction Jake had in the post office was not a good one. Not only was our package not there, the mailwoman told Jake that because it was coming from the UPS, that she could deny the package unless we paid the shipping from the origin which could cost hundreds of dollars. Jake came down and explained the issue to me, we went down to the campsite behind the Green Bistro Diner and Sunoco Gas station, a small little picnic table next to the Missisquoi was the campsite. I sat at the camp journaling about the trip and cursing my shoulders, feet and overall body for its lack of recovery. Jake went to sit in the post office charging our powerbanks and wait for the UPS driver to intercept them before the USPS people got to hold our wheels to less-painful portaging for ransom. This was Sandra, later we stopped in and spoke with another postal worker- Barb who said she would happily waive any fees and give us the cart without issue. We didn’t want to take chances so we waited outside the post office. 

During our rest Joe met back up with us, scooting by… again. What was refreshing about Joes was that he did not hide his own trials and tribulations from us, but commiserated with what he knew we were experiencing. What endeared him to us was his ready smile and wayward spirit, enabling him to deal with the obstacles of the trail while doing it alone. The package didn’t arrive at 4 when the post office closed. We were stuck in Richford until it arrived. Jake watched the canoe while I went to Main Street Market a small local grocery store and got some snacks, fruit and vegetables, I also picked up a book for Lilah and Violette knowing this would be one of the only times we would be in a city for any considerable amount of time. I was walking back to the camp, crossing over the Main St bridge when a gentleman riding a bicycle maybe in his early 40’s or 50’s was crossing going the opposite direction. He wobbled on his bicycle and then simply fell off his bike into the road. He got back up on unsteady feet, walked his bicycle a few steps before getting back on to a tottering ride. As I round the bend descending the hill to get back to camp I hear someone yelling something incomprehensible, this yelling continues for an hour. Jake and I are eating our veggies and fruits when another local man comes down a red milwakee t-shirt on, tattoo laden arms and neck (the neck tattoos look like they were acquired from a very exclusive county artist charging loose cigarettes for their work) asking us if we’d seen a guy with a messed up leg come down this way? Apparently, this was our mystery yeller, he was yelling for his girlfriend, he messed his leg up who knows how. We replied no and the guy walked off, seemed nice enough. 

We are not ready to sleep in the drug laden wreck that is Richford, but our bodies were in need of it. A light rain started up just before dinner, getting heavier as the evening continued. My hammock was slightly longer than my rain fly, normally not a huge deal, however as the rain gained strength my hammock slowly got more and more wet. Hoping to keep my sleepingbag semi-dry I rolled out the yoga mat onto the soggy ground below my hammock, and curled myself into a ball under the tarp. The rain did not relent, soaking my feet and head, there was a 2 ft section that remained semi-dry during the night, I slept maybe two hours. My sleeping bag was wet I was sopping, it was not a great rest day.

6/7/2024

The package wasn’t slated to be delivered until 9:00 AM this morning, so Jake and I slept in until 7 AM. I felt waterlogged down to my bones, the rain had began to subside this morning. We broke camp lugged the canoe, which seemed to be getting heavier with each passing day, up the gravel trail setting it in front of the Greenwood Bakery & Deli a small local diner that was surprisingly adequate, given the nature of the rest of the town. The local diner was a confusing mix of war memorabilia and antiquities of old, Jake and I sat in front of a wall filled with piano rolls- confusing as there was no piano to play these on. Perhaps the most quaint aspect of the restaurant was the gaggle of blue hairs sitting at a table not to far from us. Honest folk who were born in the small border town, perhaps in its heyday, and who would probably die in the small town. Their gathering seemed like a regular occurrence with its familiar jokes, laughter and care. We ate breakfast with veracious appetite, I ordered four eggs, home fries, bacon, two biscuits and splurged for a donut as well as a cookie. Jake mirrored my order, we finished breakfast and went outside to the post office to await our cart. 

Jake told me he had a nightmare last night, funny enough in the scattered sleep I did as well. Both our nightmares revolved around floating down the river in our hammocks or still on the river the campsite just ahead, the promise of rest always just out of reach. 

We laid our waterlogged items out on the hillside in front of the post office hoping the warm sun would dry them quickly, my Big Agnes hydrophobic down sleeping bag was wet, which was not good so that was priority for dryout. Jake went in and spoke to Barb, luckily we got her and not Sandra, who notified him the package wouldn’t arrive until 1 PM! 

We waited for the UPS driver, hoping beyond hope that they would come quickly.  As we sat we saw the town get up slowly talking in passing to locals, interested in the dirty men festooning there postal lawn with adventure wares. Two nice younger women spoke with us, asking about our trip and plans we asked them about the town decline, sadly our predictions of drug use were correct the blonde woman informed us being a nurse at a local hospital. Another women, who may have been on the spectrum told us she could tell us anyone’s birthday and listed a number of celebrities birthdays, which we did not care to validate she then took a stab at our birthdays which took 6 or 7 guesses to get the month right, she was sweet enough though. We talked with her for a bit longer, she told us there was a house on fire down the road and the fire department was tearing it down. Told by her it was a pretty common occurrence and the best live entertainment available in the town.  

There was an antique store in town called The Pink Lady a towering 4 story pink Victorian house, a beauty from the outside, I decided this would have a great gift for Ellie and the kids- how wrong I was. I step into the house and am greeted by a young man somehow sporting a Scottish accent surrounded by towers of trinkets this beautiful Victorian home is a hoarders tower, sadly. Rooms filled with art stacked all the way back, the attic filled so high with clothes that you were walking over what seemed like gentle hills of filth. I wonder through the house thinking that maybe I’ll find something, all I find are Goodwill rejects, mouse droppings and errant flies buzzing about. Needless to say I did not get anything for Ellie or the kids. As our anticipated time of arrival approaches we slowly start packing up our gear, starting with the most dry items first. Luckily we enjoyed a very sunny mid morning, but we could see the storm clouds growing in the distance increasing the feeling of dread that permeated the small town. 

Finally we see it, our hulking brown savior with a series of letters offering endless hope; UPS in a gold dulled by time and neglect along the side. It pulls around the Sunoco and up the road, Jake goes bolting after it while I stand sentinel over our canoe and packs making sure everything is packed so we can move quickly post cart assembly. Jake comes down already tearing into the box just after 1 PM, Barb, bless her heart comes outside while we are assembling the cart to make sure we got our package. We assembled it and walked comfortably, rain comes again on our walk in intermittent sprinkling bursts. We reach the Canadian border at 2:45 PM, well ahead of the 4PM closure. We covered the 5.5 miles to the Canadian border in just over an hour. These wheels were a game changer, the morale boost we needed indefinitely. 

We quickly go through customs the border agent is a younger guy intrigued with our canoe, we head down to the Missisquoi river. The good luck wouldn’t last, Murphy’s Law in full effect now. No sooner than the bow touches the water the rain dumps in sheets out of the gray sky, the temperature drops precipitously. The point we enter is 5 meters shy of a section of class 1-2 wave train up river paddling, undaunted we set off paddling hard with the ash oars, we made it halfway through the rapids before the force of the river began to turn us, we jump out into the chest deep cool water. Finding footing we walk up the rapids slowly a few minutes later we are back in paddling on down the Missisquoi. 

With rain comes lightning, it is far enough off and there are enough trees along the bank I’m okay with the risk we’re taking. Perhaps this is my naivety, as Jake is more concerned with the lightning counting the seconds between thunder rumble and the strike to determine distance.  We paddle on in our lightning beacon, the metal oars and metal on our packs assuredly tempting fate. As a matter of fact, Jake was extremely gripped at this moment. Determined to take us to shore if the lightning strikes occurred within a mile of us. The thought of Monty’s lighting rod of a paddle was little comfort knowing that I sat in the same canoe slightly full of water.

We beat fate out again, paddling until 6:00 PM up to our let out on rue de Mansonville in Mansonville Quebec. When we took out of the river to pick up the road into town  we had to wade through chest high grasses and clamber up a steep incline on the side of the bridge to access the road. After a quick tick check and some grumbling about the road access, we were off, with Monty pulling the boat on the cart and Jake pushing from the stern. Mansonville is the polar opposite of Richford, a quaint beautiful little town, sadly we’ve burnt all of our possible rest time in Richford, we transition the canoe onto the canoe cart and get moving. We walk along the state road lamenting our luck in city stops. As we continue the march we pass by a number of people walking along the sidewalk, a mother and daughter show interest in the two morons walking their canoe along the road. I got to practice my French with them, the mom asked us Where we were going (Ou vont-ils) “Le gran portage au lac Memphregog” I reply. She asks how long we’ve been going for and where we started, the standard interactions we’ve come to expect on the trail. I tell her we started in New York a week ago, the saucer plate eyes we get never gets old. It makes our moronically fast pace sit less heavy on our shoulders. 

We walk alongside them for a few hundred feet, they stop off to their home/store. Asking if we need anything, a place to stay or water- the kindness we’ve experienced time and again from strangers is lovely. “Avez-vous tous besoin de quelque chose? Eau? Ou un endroit pour se reposer?” I look at their storefront sign- Ferme Api (below it miel) an apiarist, I tell them we don’t need any water or rest but ask if we can purchase some honey (miel) from them. Delighted they say of course, I stay with the boat while Jake heads in to get some honey. 3 minutes later Jake is jogging back to the canoe with some white blossom honey. We bid “au revoir” to our new friendly apiarist family, a little after 7:30 PM. As we walk away from the apiarists it was hard to talk of anything else but what a life it must be to have a small homestead in such a beautiful location. Could we live in a remote location like this? Would we be happy with such a simple existence? It was nice to put our minds somewhere else besides the present. 

We continue our march turning from off of rue de Mansonville onto rue de Chem. Peabody, a slight gradient that continues on forever. Even with the canoe cart this march is rough, lucky for us the scenery is gorgeous, the setting sun blazes into the twilight sky. The beautiful Quebec countryside studded with scattered prairies small lakes, farm houses are painted with the red waning light. We pass by fields of lupine, hills with wildflowers, praries with cows and horses. The dark red fades to a burning orange along the countryside backdrop, dark blues and varying shades of purple take up more of the nights tableau. With twilight comes darker clouds, heavy with rain to wash our dreams of a dry night away. Of all of our evening travels, this sunset is perhaps the best of the trip. The portage we are crossing, the Grand Portage, is not our longest walk of the trip, but it is the longest official walk on the entire trail. It is also a humdinger of a hill we walked over. Multiple times we had to stop so I could rest my legs or catch my breath. We hadn’t yet perfect our portaging system and our setup with a man at the bow and a man at the stern was not very effective. 

We walk into the darkness, single-mindedly in gaining more ground and making it to the mouth of Lake Memphremagog. The rain starts slow in the last mile before we stop, but picks up to a downpour wetting us fully and filling the canoe with water. We collapse, tired, wet and hungry at Magasin general Jewett (a general store a few hundred feet from the lake.) Quickly we pitch a rain tarp, make cous-cous and some honey bread for dinner. We finish dinner, and are asleep just after 11 PM. Because of the constant rain, there were few bugs to bother us that night. And, miraculously, the rainfly kept us fairly dry all night long. This would be one of our last good camps for several hard, buggy days. 

6/8/2024

Like every day we wake up early, getting up at 4:15 to make breakfast. Breakfast is the same as every day: oatmeal, wheat germ, whey protein, peanut butter, date and fig breakfast mash. We wash it down with some Guatemala Turkish coffee, we shake up the breakfast schedule a bit; treating ourselves to some poptarts, which have been thoroughly smashed sitting in the food bag. We open the packages and pour the smashed bits into our mouth, the sugar laden food has become something of a reliance crutch for us for quick energy. 

We tear down camp and walk to Lake Memphremagog just before 5 AM. We make it to the dock, it is raining hard and it’s cold. We chat with the border agent (Lake Memphremagog is split between the US & Canada) thankfully I’ve taken a lot of French lessons, because this agent doesn’t speak a word of English. I gather that we need to pay a day use fee, and through a game of charades I can tell there will be lightning (éclairs-a new word for me) on the lake. We need to be careful, caution is not a luxury we have anymore, we take another withdrawal from the risk bank. We get into the lake from the dock. We are clumsy getting into the canoe from the dock, the dock is made for larger motor boats so there is a big drop in for us in the canoe. Both of us are in the rain falls in blankets heavy and cold. We begin paddling for the US, aiming to be off the lake by 10 AM, we have just over 15 miles to paddle. Visibility at some points after leaving the dock are less than a mile. We aim to stay as close to shore as possible, but fatigue, wind, and trying to find the straightest path to our next destination keep us more central than we would have otherwise prefered. 

The morning is quite the rain certainly keeping most people off the lake. We paddle through the sheets of rain and ever roughening lake waters, luckily there’s not too much chop. We continue paddling head down, finger tips cold on the aluminum of the kayak paddle, as we navigate we see another small craft in front of us. Just like with running races you pick targets and run towards it, demanding yourself to overtake the target. We pick up the pace Gungnir rocking gently with the motion of the lake, our target gaining some visual clarity- it looks like another canoe, after another five minutes of effort we can make out the paddle, an orange L.L. Bean paddle slowly bats at the water gently moving along our target in the single person canoe. Jake yells up to me “There’s no f****** way, is that Joe!?” I thought the same thing, how on Earth is this guy passing us going at this casual pace? We are setting the pace not being beat! We chat with Joe briefly, he told us he got into Lake Memphremagog last night, and when he got tired, he paddled into one of the boat garages on the Lake sleeping next to one of the rich locals boats haha. We said goodbye, vowing it would be the last time we would see him and crossed into the US border. The border crossing was a unique experience as it did not require checking in with a customs agent. We had both downloaded an app on our phones that allowed us to check back into the U.S. virtually. Luckily, we had reception, and everything worked out fine. 

We stopped in Newport for some supplies. After ten minutes raiding the stores candy & nutrition bar aisles, and grabbing a roll of duct tape (we’d been taping up the bottom of the beaten boat nightly) I was back at the canoe, during those short ten minutes Joe was ahead of us… again. I get back in and we paddle on through Clyde Pond into the Clyde River we are quickly met with fast moving upstream class I/II rapids, we were moving slow- in and out of the canoe continually. The Clyde River was riddled with newly downed trees which slowed progress further and added additional logistical hurdles of navigating around the downed brush. The incredulously low water never let up in case you were wondering, we needed to move to deeper channels to stay in the canoe which were faster moving so it was choosing between the lesser of two slow options. It was during this section of upstream travel that the spray deck on the canoe, which up until now was doing a great job of keeping water out and a little warmth in, got snagged on a tree branch and suffered a major tear. Even with duct tape the spray deck would never be the same for the remainder of the trip. 

A mile into the Clyde River Jake jumped out of the canoe to pull us under a low hanging felled tree and its branches. He pulled us through and before getting back in was looking for his kayak paddle, he looked around for a few seconds his eyes becoming more panicked and realized the canoe paddle must have fallen out. Jake let a few exclamations fly and was ready to resign himself to the paddle being lost. Jake was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Because, as he saw it, he could give up on the expensive paddle gifted to him and use the heavier wooden paddle for the remainder of the trip, or go back and look for a paddle costing precious time. For the good of the trip, he was resigned to soldier on. I refused that running back down the river for a 100 yards finding the paddle near some drift wood and rocks, I snatched it and ran back. After a bit more frustrating swift water we took out for the portage among highway 105. A few miles on the wheels and we put back in at Pensioner Pond, some locals told us that there were a lot of downed trees along the Clyde River so after a few very frustrating miles of going around downed trees. We got out and portaged all the way down to the Fen, about 7 miles of hiking. On the way to the Fen put in we stopped through West Charleston, where we had a maildrop supposed to be coming, calling a day before we found the wonderful USPS lost the package, so we stopped off in the local general store to get some water and bought some local Amish made Paczki, a wonderful midday treat. 

We make it to the Fen put in just before 7 PM. As we rounded a turn towards the put in, a kindly older man struck up a conversation with us. He had been standing near a shed with produce signs on it, but alas at the end of the day, there was nothing to be had. As it turned out, however, the fellow we were speaking to ran a nearby outdoors school and had a property in the Fen. When we told him we planned to be through it before full dark he just smiled. He said the waterways among the plants are constantly changing and few know how to make it through quickly. We would put that to the test. We are in the water quickly, sadly due to the endless time crunch we could not take in the absolutely gorgeous setting. The setting sun streaked orange and pink hues across the blue sky. The Fen is a beautiful glacial runoff wetland that feeds multiple bodies of water around it. It is a protected environment with very clean water, gorgeous strands of floating grass were all about the waters flowing with the current- it is very reminiscent of the dead marshes in lord of the rings. For all the beauty of the Fen it is extremely difficult to navigate this, we have to back track so many times while paddling through and as the river narrows so tight we can’t paddle, instead we push off the banks and sticks to keep our momentum going in the narrow channel. 

We made it through the Fen, after what seemed like an endless evening and a possibility of sleeping out on the river. We pulled off in the dark stopping at the take out for the portage for the tubes carry. We pulled Gungnir onto the grassy uneven landing flipped it to let the water drain and made to the task of setting up camp. First on the agenda after rain tarps were set was making dinner. Another night of cous cous, summer sausage and bread with the white blossom honey. As we made dinner the local welcoming committee of mosquitos stopped by to say hi, taking their dinner from the two morons who camped there. Another night where we were eaten alive, but it hardly mattered we were both far too tired to make a big fuss. 

6/9/2024

We woke up early, tired, cold and riddled with bug bites. Everything had a thick layer of dew on it along with a light sprinkling which must have occurred in the four and a half hours Jake and I were dead to the world. We broke camp, mine was always broken down first, the benefit of packing the lightest possible. A single hammock with a rain fly, a yoga mat and down sleeping bag (Actually, while Monty was almost always the first packed up in the morning, when we camped at the tubes there was no hammock set up. Just two fools sleeping under a tarp open to all of the blood sucking insects). So I got started on the luxury of coffee, the Guatemala beans I’d ground on the way here for Turkish coffee were keeping us caffeinated fueling our reckless ambitions. This morning was a cold one as well. As we packed up our sleeping kit we dragged on our wet layers of clothing to try and hold in a little warmth. The warm coffee was as much welcome for its temperature as for the energy it gave us. Lucky we had this, because we had miles to make up for our downtime in Richford. After we broke camp having the same monotonous breakfast of crushed pop-tart and oatmeal with raisins, dates, whey protein, wheat germ and peanut butter we were marching again. 

We put in at Island Pond, a two mile long pond with surprise an island in the middle. We walked through the town of Island Pond to get there stopping at a gas station to have a quick bathroom break and get some food for the missed mail drop in West Charleston. The town of Island Pond had the charm you would expect from a drive-through tourist town, everyone was nice- again we cursed our luck of having the downtime in Richford. After the quick break at the gas station we put in Island Pond quickly getting across in 27 minutes, faster than 4 mph. At the take-out we were delayed a good 30 minutes because our map did show how to exit the campground we had landed on. Either the campground had rearranged the sites and roads or we were way off of our mark. I would like to blame the map. We were out walking on the other side of Island Pond to reach the Nulheagen River. We were more than ready for some downstream action on the Nulhegan, however when we reached the headwaters they were moving at a snails pace. 

These headwaters will become something of a haunting nightmare for me. We would just get our 17’ canoe up to speed on a straightaway and have to slow for the turn. It is very defeating not being able to move quickly. We have probably a few hundred of these damn 180 degree turns in the six short miles of Nulhegan headwaters, it took way too long to complete these miles. We took out before the Class II/III rapids mainly because the water looked low, which tracks for our canoe trip theme of walking next to rivers. Looking longing at the rivers trying our best to will water depth into existence through prolonged staring. I was constantly bewildered by how much rain we had to endure and how little of it made its way into the river. 

We walked 10 miles along the Nulhegan to put in at the Connecticut River. We put in to the Connecticut and hurrah- fast moving deep water greeted us. Shortly after putting in we encountered a Class II wave train, as the river constricted we plowed Gungnir through the continuous two to 3 foot swells happy there were no rocks or other obstructions we needed to dodge during this wonderful romp we put our arms and backs to use propelling us forward to make up for lost time earlier in the day. We covered the 23 miles in 4.5 hours. At some point we got onto the Upper Ammonoosuc River. Making it to our campsite a little after 7, I got out of the canoe and ran to a nearby grocer two miles away closing at 8 PM we were running dangerously low on food supplies so I stocked up grabbing boring essentials, protein bars, rice, sausage, oatmeal, some fruit, tortillas and tuna, Gatorade drop in sticks. I also picked up some treats that we were becoming reliant on to keep energy up, cookies, pop tarts, candy, chocolate. I jogged back to meet Jake who had camp set up. After I delivered Monty to the bank of the river, I solo paddled my way across to where our site would be. Trudging through a swampy overflow area of mud and ferns I found a nice open camping area. Soaked, cold, and tired I struggled to make a decision as to where we should set up our shelters or if we should just keep plugging along. There wasn’t even any dry wood to start a fire and warm up a little. So, I tried to lay some things out and stay busy until Monty returned with the food stuffs. 

We laid out the maps on the rustic rough sawn log camp table to tally up the miles for the day. Many of the camp sites up in Maine were amazing, all of them were free to stay at and many had these rustic rough sawn tables, firepits and wood lines used to string up clothes (this comes in handy later in the trip- with less rain.) We crouched at the table beneath a rain tarp to the ever pervasive onslaught of rain. We counted up a between 45-46 miles for the day, our bones felt soaked, eyes felt heavy and in some wanting hope I mentioned to Jake on my way back from the grocery store I saw a motel five minutes from our campsite. I was trying to get Jake to make the call of caving and getting a room for a few hours to be out of the rain. My pride wouldn’t let me make the call, lucky for our embrace of Type II fun Jakes pride held strong too. We talked about the motel and getting things dry would be so nice, but both of us began goading one another about getting soft. The two phrases that were a constant on the trip: Fisky (a Letterkenny reference) & C’est la vie were ones we used to jest with one another to lighten the mood. 

We slept a few broken hours falling asleep just as the rain stopped and mosquitos came out to feast. That motel would’ve been nice. But, C’es la vie. 

6/10/2024

We broke camp early, coffee, oatmeal and bananas for breakfast and at 5 AM we were walking to put in after a dam. We walk past the town of Groveton, a town more reminiscent of Richford we didn’t dally. We put in past the dam and fought a deceptively fast moving upstream, we were in and out of Gungnir, the water we were greeted with was very cold. The progress was frustrating and we were on a schedule. We fought with the river for an hour before giving up and getting the wheels out to try our luck on the road. I had read an account of a paddler successfully using hiking poles to move upstream but for all of our efforts we could not find the rhythm For as unlucky as we were in terms of water level, we were often fortunate in finding ways off the water. In this case, it was a steep but short exit to the road.  We walked until we hit a small hamlet, Stark, a very cute little one stop sign town. There is a cliffband which draws our eyes as we walk, to pass time while walking we talked about lines that might go up the broken cliff face. I can tell you now we were looking, the “Devil’s Slide” a band of rock that has a fair amount of rockfall. 

We stop for a quick lunch in a small lawn across from a small bed & breakfast aptly named “Stark Inn Bed & Breakfast” with a nice garden with lupine in bloom. It is a welcome 5 minute dose of tranquility in a sea of soreness. After we get some energy from lunch, we walked over an old truss bridge which was constructed in 1767, pass a church established 1782. Shortly after we are back into the Upper Ammonoosuc, we are working slowly up river playing a messed up version of musical chairs getting in and out of the canoe with the rivers varying depth. Eventually the river deepens and allows us to paddle, just as we are counting our blessings of deep water we hit a hug pile of downed trees. I get out of the canoe to climb and see how far the trees go, it looks like we have a few hundred yards to get around- not doable portaging. We search for a road on the map, luckily we find one otherwise these trees would’ve been a several hour endeavor. We get out scrambling up a steep embankment, double carrying; taking our bags, paddles and other things in the canoe then coming back for the canoe. A slower way to move, but we get to the road without much of a delay. 

We walk 7 miles (a few miles tacked on as the road does not follow the river directly) to put in at the Androscoggin River. We put in right after the Pontook Reservoir, we paddle head down in a grinding mindset to cover more miles, always feeling behind based on our stop in Richford. We are jolted back to reality as a massive crashing sound comes from the reeds and trees adoring our entrance to the Androscoggin river from the headwaters. A huge bull moose retreats into the trees leaving in his wake a trail of destruction, saplings small trees and brush is no match for this several hundred pound behemoth. He stomps away and we wait until we don’t hear his trampling before paddling a bit fearful of running into him on the river down the ways. 

We paddle for a few miles down the Androscoggin, the map shows several sections of Class I/II rapids ahead. We were paddling upstream and were not sure what the water levels would be ahead, we’re near a road but as we continue up the Androscoggin this will be the last spot to get out for several miles. The road diverges sharply and doesn’t meet until after a section of one Class 1 and one Class II. We decide to paddle on, regretting the decision when the Class II puts a hurting on our time, the river flattens out and becomes extremely shallow so we’re faced with a lot of river walking. This is something that would upset us were it not for the constant joking and embracing the schadenfreude of our situation. We get out shortly after the Class II, deciding we will walk the rest of the way to the town of Errol. It’s about 7:45 PM we have a 13 mile walk ahead of us. Our battery banks are getting desperately low and the further we head into Maine, the fewer opportunities we will have to charge them back up. As we left the river we past a vacant house under construction that had outlets outside. We briefly thought about hanging out and letting things charge, but it was too early to call it a day and the idea of covering miles in the dark when we would normally have to call it quits on the water was very appealing. A few other times on our march went up to signs to see if there was any electricity we could filch. No luck there. 

As we set out, I diligently take track of time setting us up for a 4 mile/hour pace at slowest so we can have some time to sleep. After the first hour of walking there is a pull off to a campsite we had listed as a possibility to stay at, we decide this would be a great spot for dinner. We head down the gravel road as it turns to a dirt road we ditch the canoe in the woods, taking the food bag and our big sealine packs. It’s another ¼ mile to the campsite which is lovely. We setup the jetboil on the rough sawn table listening to the stream flow rapidly a short distance from us. We chow down on some cous cous and salami, giving ourselves 20 minutes for a dinner break. We pass the A&W cream soda 16 oz plastic bottle filled with Crown Royal back and forth. We busted open our cigars, lighting them up and taking a few puffs before beginning the walk again. 

With the libations and smoke our legs had considerable fatigue removed. We started walking during twilight, still burning down our cigars, and getting a strong buzz. After the first 4 miles of walking I had quite a head high, the road was quite we only saw a few cars during our 13 mile march, the sky overhead was dark and cloudless. The night sky looks as though it had stars spilled all about it. We are miles from any lights, after turning off our headlamps we took another minute to stand and stare up at the splendor of the starry night sky. 

Another 5 miles and we arrive at Errol a little after 11:30 PM. Jake is gassed, he starts setting up camp down on route 16 (the main road in Errol) in a spot of tall grass in front of some trees next door to a carpenters shop creatively named “Knot Just Logs.” After our march, I sat down on my dry bag for a rest and almost could not get back up and moving. The only thing keeping me from falling asleep where I sat was the fact that I could not let Monty find me that way. So, I trudged off looking for places out of the way. I took off and walking about town looking for a spot to charge our dying phones and power banks, the town gas station seems like a good bet but no dice- no outdoor outlets. I look to the L.L. Cote sporting good store, same outcome finally after 10 minutes of walking about town I find some outlets on the side of a town restaurant “Errol Restaurant & Pub.” I was a bit nervous about leaving our chargers and power banks there overnight, but we would be up at 5 AM so I figured it would be okay. 

Jake & I both were feeling a bit conflicted about this canoe trip becoming a walking trip. Jake dreamed of this canoe trip for years, the beauty of the canoe trip was marred by all this walking. We ended up walking a bit over 26 miles today out of our total 46 mile day. We reassured ourselves, though, that the portaging was in large part to protect our boat. We dreamed about the land of milk and honey that Maine would be with the endless lakes and big rivers. The promise of great paddling the 300 miles Maine, New Hampshire had the most upstream work and we were a few miles shy of Maine. The big lakes and rivers would be easy going, or so we thought…

6/11/2024

The morning comes early, as it seems to every day. We are up at 4:30, we needed to get up a bit earlier because we didn’t know whose property we slept on (thank you nameless stranger.) We portaged to the put in, just a short half mile down route 16. We got back into the Androscoggin River for the final 4 mile stretch before the getting into Umbagog Lake and crossing into Maine, the first lake was all we could have hoped for, a quite morning, a gentle ripple to the water spurred on by a summer morning wind. We got to enjoy Umbagag for only an hour 4 miles, exiting the Lake to get onto yet another portage. This one, is mandatory to bypass a series of class IV rapids. We take a moment to make some breakfast and coffee and assess the portage. The portage is much more scenic than the previous several days on the roads of New Hampshire. 

We take a look and decide it would be easiest to do a double carry, the portage is through dense Maine woods- much of it on large stones or laid rough sawn logs. The path is laden with big billowing ferns, beautiful thick green moss both heavy with dew under the coniferous canopy. We follow close by the river during the portage catching glimpses of the rapids as we weave through the dense forest the first carry with the packs isn’t too bad a little over a mile. We hustled the first carry in maybe 10 minutes for a little over a mile walk. The next carry with the 17’3” long canoe was slow going, we cursed as the trees stifled us and forced us into an impromptu game of live Tetris. The first mile of the 5 mile portage takes us a little over an hour, we arrive at the “wheelable” part of the trail and are met with a trail studded with stones of varying sizes. While the canoe cart was the best we could get on short notice, it was not overly robust. 

We tried to go swiftly, while being gentle with our cart, we still had a lot of portaging ahead we would want it for.  through this I walked at the front of the canoe Jake at the back, we’d wheel the canoe with packs of gear on our backs to lighten the canoe and strain on the wheels (our backs did not appreciate the added strain.) Anytime we’d encounter a large rock on the trail I’d call back to Jake “lift” and we would lift the wheels walking while the canoe, Jake would call back “down” when we were over the rock. Much of our lifts would last for a hundred yards or more because of the preponderance of large rocks on the trail. This made the walk significantly longer than we’d hoped.

We ended the 4.5 mile hike in a little over 2 hours which was a frustrating, we needed to make up time and it felt like we were forever behind schedule. 

Lucky for us we had some big lakes coming up where we could make up some milage. We put in just past Middle Dam on Lower Richardson Lake, paddling at a healthy pace with cool cloudy skies overhead we pushed on 8 miles to reach Mooselookmeguntic Lake, getting there in 1 hour and 45 minutes, a healthy pace to be certain especially with a growing headwind. We turned the inlet that fed into  Mooselookmeguntic, and were surprised by a lovely wind at our backs, we covered the next 12 miles on Mooselookmeguntic in two and a half hours, very happy with our pace. We exit the canoe on our way to Rangeley Lake we got out and passed through the charming town of Oquossoc, moments after we exited the lake it started pouring down on us. We hustled into town finding a great little grocer Oquossoc Grocery, which had a small restaurant and we treated ourselves to two burgers and two helpings of fries along with a milkshake each. 

With the stop we took an inventory of our food which was ever depleting, we were going through an enormous amount of calories about 10,000 per day. So we did a bit of shopping grabbing pounds of food before our final (hopeful maildrop near flagstaff lake.) Jake had some serious heartburn, likely developing from his Ibuprofen intake, the ibuprofen might as well have been candy he was taking 1200-1600 mg’s per day trying to stave off the exhausted muscles. We purchased some tums which he devoured with the food this seems to have helped the heartburn. As we finished the meal the rain slowed to a sprinkle, so we got to walking and made it onto Rangeley Lake just after 7 PM. The rain subsided a mile into the 6.5 mile lake journey and we were rewarded with a blazing sunset. The sun bounced off the water, setting the lake aflame, our canoe cutting through the small choppy waves spurred on by the passing storm. We exited Rangeley Lake at 8:23 PM, situating gear on the lawn near the aptly named Lakeside Park. We took a moment to admire the setting sun, along with the several teenagers talking with one another flirtatiously in the dawning of what looks to be their junior or senior summer. They look on at the two stinky men intruding on their lovely evening, I think one of the kids with a nice Canon camera caught us in one of their sunset lakeside photos. The setting sun faded golden with concentric larger circles of orange, red, purple and periwinkle. It was a lovely sunset, but the march was calling us and as always, we were behind schedule. 

We set off, our next destination was Dead River, named as such because it rarely had water in it. As we walked down Main street in Rangeley a young college age kid asked us if we were doing the NFCT, we told him we were and when asked when we set off we said 11 days ago his eyes went into saucers. This was always something that made me happy, going at the pace only madmen dare to go. We asked the kid if the Dead River had water, he said he doubted it but wasn’t sure. Looks like it is a march for us. We didn’t even bother with looking at Dead River, instead we turned off Main st. onto Stratton Road which we would be on for 18.5 more miles. A few minutes into the hike a lupine meadow greets us, which in the twilight is gorgeous, the stuff of a dream. 

We were tired on the march and the rain came back. Instead of walking the canoe with one in the front and one in the back we took one of the kayak paddles and put it through the handle near the bow and marched on either side of the canoe at the front. We were exhausted eyes shutting in some zombielike march the kayak paddle pushing against our waist and hands keeping us awake. Our eyelids would have light shed on them by oncoming headlights and we would begrudgingly open our eyes to make sure we wouldn’t get hit. We were going slow on this walk, slower than 4 miles/hour we talked and decided that we would stop whenever we found a spot of ground that looked flat on the roadside. It was a bit after 10:45 and an oncoming black ram truck slowed and pulled over a women rolled down her passenger window asking us if we wanted a ride- we declined probably with more hesitation than my pride would like to remember. We asked if there was any camping nearby, without missing a beat the woman said there was a spot a few hundred yards down the road on the right that was a good pull off to set up camp. 

We were invigorated at the promise of an end, after a little more walking we came to a lumber yard with huge piles of freshly cut logs. We assumed this must be the spot that the woman was referencing, we began to set up camp in the soft muddy ground. I laid down on my yoga mat sleeping pad, setting up my camp next to a big construction vehicle I used to pitch my tarp against, I quickly noticed I was being eaten by some small insect, noseeums a nightmare insect virtually invisible to the naked eye these little bugs bit our exposed skin making it itchy painful and irritated. After my tarp was set up diverting the water off my yoga mat I curled up into my sleeping bag tucking my head in and getting some fitful sleep. We went to bed at 11:15 and were planning to be up at 4:30 AM to be out before the loggers got back. It was another pretty miserable, fitful nights sleep. I think in that 5 hour window I might have slept 3 hours total. Between the bug bites and fear of getting my down sleeping bag wet. 

6/12/2024

We woke up at the expected 4:30, damp and groggy, as we were packing up our soggy gear both of our faces felt like they were on fire. We immediately assumed that fluids were leaking out of the heavy machinery we were sleeping near but quickly realized it was our invisible tiny tormenters making sure the morning was just as miserable as the night. We packed up the gear smacking at our faces to kill the no-see-ums, we tossed on our bug nets and the stinging stopped. After we were finished packing, the Tums had done too good a job on Jake, he had to take a walk, a nice way of saying number two. He squatted behind a massive green logging vehicle leaving the poor loggers a surprise not far from their vehicle. We quickly made haste to Stratton to avoid anyone finding out our minor evening trespass. 

We were 12 miles away from Straton, we had to pop off the small gravel roadside onto the grassy ditch along Stratton Rd. (Route 16), making our march continuously jolted by bouncing along rutted ditches. Being one of the major state roads connecting the sparsely populated towns of Southwest Maine there are logging trucks zooming by. If the logging trucks and cars saw us in time they would get over into the oncoming lane traffic allowing, but many zoomed by wobbling the canoe on its wheels as we marched on. The riverways and lakes we traveled through were barren of rubbish which was lovely, on the road marches we were met with ubiquitous litter. I picked up a bit over 50 pieces of rubbish tossing them in Gungnir, planning to throw them in the trash later when we got to Straton.

The walk was rough on Jake, he was getting very tired of all the walking. Jake sat by the entrance of Flagstaff Lake, while I went to go to the post office hopeful to get our final maildrop, which thankfully arrived safely at the USPS. Again, I could have just sat and waited, but pride would not let me. So, after a few moments of respite I shuffled down to the local grocery to pick up some more snacks. I shipped some of the rocks I’d grabbed from various rivers and lakes along the trip. The mail woman was extremely informative about the rest of the trip as I packaged the rocks I talked with her about the next cities would go through; she said there were normally some pretty big winds on some of the lakes quite often, this would hold true for us in the coming days. We were going over Flagstaff Lake next which was a manmade lake and actually has a town under the lake that you can see on good visibility days, we were not fortunate enough to see it. 

I arrived back to Jake waiting for me in the lawn of the Dead River Society Museum, we quickly tore into the box and throwing the food into the food bag as quickly as possible. Jake grabbed a couple of sandwiches from a local shop, The White Wolf Inn we devoured them, at this point we were eating a little over 10,000 calories a day. Our days were feeling rushed and we were increasingly lethargic, we had 17.5 miles on Flagstaff. We lucked out with the weather it was overcast and cool the water was flat, about 5 miles into our paddle we laid back and relaxed for a few minutes. I lay back resting on the food bag shortly falling asleep, Jake does the same we slept for 10 minutes in the canoe on the water- a testament of our exhaustion. We woke up with a start, Jake waking me and we were off again doing the same motion we’d done 700,000 times, paddling stroke after stroke making a great pace. At this point in the trip we were becoming fairly proficient on lakes, falling into a rhythm and pace that we knew we could sustain for hours. Additionally, we were acquiring the trick of staying close enough to shore to avoid too much breeze, but far enough away to avoid rocks and not add distance by hugging the coast too much. 

We crossed the lake in 4 hours with our brief trip into the Land of Nod we made great time. We got out of Flagstaff Lake, portaging around the North Falls Dam to the North branch of the Dead River. The take outs that we would find near dams were always much closer than I would have thought anyone else comfortable approaching. As we approached the portage I would have to constantly check the gps to make sure we were heading into the correct inlet or mini bay. This time the take out was maybe 10 yards from the top of the dam. This branch of the Dead River had life in it to be floatable, however it also had some Class I/II rapids that had rocks hiding just beneath the surface. At the bow of the canoe it was my job to call out our path, I did this poorly with little experience to guide me. The sun played tricks on the water dancing and glinting making it difficult to judge the best course compounded by low water and my inexperience we were set up for a bad time. We wove through two larger boulders on one of the Class II rapids, our left side smacked hard against a rock hiding right below the end of this obstacle. I thought we were going to spill, instead we scraped the full left side of the canoe tearing away precious layers of coating separating us and the water. As the boat came to a lurching halt we jumped out into the river to grab ahold of the canoe and steer it away from further damage. This was for sure the largest hit, but we hit many rocks along the way which- with good cause, frustrated Jake. We talked about switching positions but decided I could do just as much damage over adjusting in the back. Thankfully, the rest of the river was quite uneventful, we took out past Great Falls and put in paddling the short distance to the Isle of Giants. 

We decided to give ourselves an early day the decision was the right one but didn’t stop us from giving one another shit for the weak temperament, it was a bit before 8 PM. We pulled our canoe onto the shore flipping it and gathering our soaking gear and clothes to make our way up to camp.  There were another couple of thru-paddlers already at the site who had a nice fire going already. We chatted with, Andrew & Tyler, asking them how their trip had been they were going at a much more relaxed pace, they were 20 some days into their trip, planning to finish in about 40 days. They asked us about our trip and we told them we on our 12th day in and planned to finish in the next 5 days. Saucer eyes and disbelief greeted us, much to our glee. They were baffled at our pace, we mentioned we would be a bit faster but had a down day in Richford, which hilariously we commiserated in our shared disdain of that awful town. 

We talked with them about a few of the places they stopped, namely a bakery called Boulangerie Owl’s Bread, a lovely looking bakery in Mansonville. We were salivating at the bread and pastry descriptions. As we talked Jake and I, with the permission of our new friends, started laying out some of our wet clothing around the fire on rocks to dry out. Shortly the fire was surrounded by wool socks, t-shirts and tank-tops. They asked when we found time to get dry cleaning done, we shared a look kind of laughing assuming it was a joke, but alas our new friends were disappointingly serious. We laughed saying we hadn’t had time to think of dry-cleaning let alone taking time for such a luxury. We were approaching the trail with vastly different mindsets, nothing wrong with going slow, just not our style. They looked too comfortable for a good trip in my opinion, clean clothes, plenty of food and options, no eye bags.  

Jake and I cooked cous-cous summer sausage and ate cookies, as a treat I opened one of the beers, Lunch by Maine Brewing Company, I bought back at the Oquossoc Grocery. The beer was amazing, notes of bright citrus, orange and grapefruit with subtle floral notes played on our palates.  With our malnourished state we were both feeling the 7% beer, we started to set up our camps as night fell in. We were met with one less hilarious surprise, Joe came marching up the path and started setting up camp, happy as a lark. He was like Pepe-le-pew, so nonchalant and happy just to be doing what he was doing, we were in rage- baffled he was keeping up with us. We vowed to not let him beat us in the course, the competition definitely was fueling us, giving us just what we needed to persevere. 

6/13/2024

We got a late start to the day, knowing we had a miserable grinding day ahead of us. We were up a little after 6 AM, breaking camp, making breakfast and coffee. We watched Joe get out a solid 45 minutes before us, in awe at his level of grit and dedication to the suffering; internally I was quite angry he was yet again, bafflingly ahead of us. I used the ten star facilities on the island an open air wooden port-o-pot, the smell was pleasant largely by the pine needles thrown in by previous users post use. The bird songs filled the air, a morning loon called it’s song across the waters, the sun glittered through the tree canopy, one might say the ideal setting for a shitting. 

We dried off the canoe before bed with toilet paper and did our best to cover the tears/holes with duct tape the bottom of the canoe was covered in duct tape, running long along the stringers. We focused on the bottom as this took the brunt of the low river punishment, long strips of black and silver duct tape covered every stringer along the bottom and side of the canoe. We finish our tape job, satisfied we are waterproof, so long as the duct tape holds, we started with a short portage back into the Dead River for some casual upstream paddling, then we got to the nightmare that was Spencer River. Continuous upstream Class I/II rapids, there were no roads nearby, it was apparent we were going to be river walking more than paddling. 

We tried to paddle as much as possible, we would go much faster paddling than river walking, the paddle bursts were frustratingly short lived. We did our best to make our turnover go quickly, getting out of the boat to walk when the water was too low. After a while it was apparent we would be doing more walking than paddling, Jake took his pack and food pack and I took the boat walking trying to guide it through the trickling river finding the ’deep’ (maybe 3 inches) channels and aiming for those. There were times when the river was so low we would have to lift the canoe over the “rapids” so as not to scape up our new tape job. And just as frustrating, the large creek would go from mere inches trickling between rocks and boulders to 3 or 4 feet deep. All morning long we would ask each other if we should paddle and jump to pass the shallow areas, or walk the entire time. There was never a correct answer. We wanted to ignore the little leak(s) the canoe had and just drag the hull over the rocky river bed, but we sacrificed time for the condition of the boat. It was exhausting work and infuriatingly slow going, we were moving about 1 mph. Near the end of the creek we stopped for a quick food break. We sat on a rounded river stone and watched dragonflies chase down mosquitos. It was a beautiful vignette of the wild places few humans trespass. 

We had friends and family members following along our Garmin GPS drops, one of Jake’s good friends Aaron James was following along our trip as though it were the Superbowl. We found out later that during our miserable 4 mile slog along the Spencer River when we were moving at the disappointing 1 mph he texted Jakes wife convinced that something was wrong. Rest assured Aaron, something was wrong, we were moving too slow and it was not going to last. 

Eventually the river opened and water seemed deeper, the water was calm a nearly imperceptible  flow upstream was nothing for our energy. We got into the canoe and started paddling, as fast as we could to make up for lost time. The water had a red orange hue to it, it was as though we were paddling through a pool of oolong tea. Little did we know there were massive rocks resting right below the waters surface. We were going at a fast pace along the flat river and were jolted when we smacked into one of these hidden craft-wreckers. We assumed it may have been a one off we picked up pace again and BAM another smack, we were forced to go at a more slow cautious pace trying to keep the integrity of our craft. Even at a slow pace these boulders were next to impossible to see until you were atop them, our curses echoed through the valley with each bump and bruise. 

We made it to Spencer Lake, we rejoiced in depth free of rocks waiting to stack more misery on our day. We traded one misfortune for another, Spencer Lake had a hard headwind we fought the entire 6.5 miles along the lakes. The scenery along the lake was gorgeous, bald eagles dotted the trees, water lapped against the hull of Gnugnir, we talked sporadically during the trip, we were going over the best actors and actresses of all time. We were barely keeping a 4 mph pace, the headwind was vicious, eventually we hit Fish Pond and the wind seemed to let up a bit. The pond was very shallow the entire way, we could see the bottom most of the distance there were some fish beds dotting the bottom along the aptly named Fish Pond. We paused at what looked like an as of yet not open summer camp because the map said there might be a portage option running through it. Here we spent too much time deciding on whether or not to portage through or paddle up a little inlet first and then portage. We wanted to walk to avoid the wind and possible over grown creek we would be working up, but finally we decided to stay on the water. While the paddling was not superb, we caught a brief glimpse of a moose crashing through the undergrowth. We finally made it to the Spencer Road take out getting in some mercifully final big portaging. After just over an hour we got through the 5 ¼ miles to access Moose River, the downstream called to us- the water was low, but navigable without getting out of the canoe. We ping-ponged our way down the river, having to bounce from side to side to keep to the deeper channels. Paddling in the wild Maine twilight is a surreal experience, tonight was no exception the wildlife which was ubiquitous on the waters edges during the day was gone. The sky was heavy with blue-gray clouds sitting low overhead, the setting sun cast a blazing path on the river. In twilight the trees towered large along the bank; they seemed to close in and offering both comfort and a sense of unease. In the Maine twilight you could be convinced that you were the only people left on Earth.  

We made it to the Attean Falls campsite and called it for the day, there were sites dotting the bank on either side of the Attean falls. We’d wanted to make it to the last site to avoid the short portage around the falls, but the upstream work was more tenuous the nearer we got to the falls, and we’d been paddling in darkness for the last 30 minutes. We set up camp for the night on the far side of the river knowing we had a 100 yard paddle and short portage for our next morning. We covered a paltry 26 miles that day, we had so much ground left to cover and so little time to do it. 

6/14/2024

We woke up early at 4:30, we were both feeling the pressure of our self imposed goal. We’d nearly 150 miles left and only three days to do it. Our original goal was 16 days but the Richford layover pushed us to 17 days, we needed big mile days for the rest of the trip, which meant long days for the rest of the trip. Our bodies were exhausted, we had two weeks of nothing but movement with barely any breaks, long days were the last thing we wanted. We would have a few go to phrases we would pull out to spur ourselves along: “Anyone can do anything for 3 days”, “My mind is the boss of my body, if I say go my body will go until I say stop.” 

The goal was reaching the Northeast Carry for the day, this would be a little over 50 miles which would make the next two days easier. We stopped in Jackman for a quick resupply, we were ¾ of the way through our maildrop, 20 lbs of food in two days. Even on my high end estimations of our caloric intake we were going through it faster than I’d anticipated. We grabbed a bunch of food and duct tape because Gungnir was getting battered, shedding the duct tape as quickly as we put it on. Again, our quick stop turned into a longer delay as I had to wait for the store to open. I suppose we could have slept in a little after all. On the bright side, the moments of downtown allowed us an opportunity to call home and reconnect before our last few days took us all the way out of cell service. 

Moose River was a fun paddle and a great way to start the day, it was fast downstream paddling. We had a brief moment of joy when we portaged from Moose River to Little Brasua Lake, one of our final multi-mile portages. We got on the lake and were fighting a vicious headwind, our shoulders were aflame with each stroke fighting desperately to make ground on the water. We were barely making a 3 mph pace giving it all the effort we had. Waves kicked up with the wind, forcing us to focus hard on the task at hand, there was no one on the lake and dumping would have been devastating. I switched from sitting on the woven canoe seat to kneeling in hopes the lower center of gravity would make us more stable. It worked wonderfully though was aggravating my knee, I kept kneeling to keep stability. Eventually after too long we made it to Moosehead Lake, we were again faced with a battering headwind coming from the Northwest, and significant continuous 2-4 ft waves.  Thankfully, Jess (Jake’s wife), made us a spray deck and while ripped and torn from the prior two weeks it was keeping us dry. The waves continuously crested the bow of the boat and rolled off the spray deck and sides. By this time in the trip I felt like we had enough big water experience to push our luck a little on Moosehead lake. There were a few boats around and a spill would have ruined the trip, but would not have been deadly. As we made our way out onto the lake we were pushed via wave and wind toward a large pontoon floating and fishing in front of us. From the stern I tried to use my paddle to rudder us in a different direction, but we just kept getting closer. It was a little frustrating that the other boat didn’t motor away, but perhaps they had fishing lines out. Either way we passed by without incident and continued along our path, trying to keep the bow pointed into the waves. 

The waves continuously crested the bow of the boat and rolled off the spray deck and sides. The spray deck is attached through buttons along the gunwale, and bands around the bow and stern to fasten it tight atop the canoe. The only part of the spray deck not tight are the spray skirts around Jake and I allowing us to get in and out of the canoe without removing the spray deck. As the waves buffeted us and lapped over the spray deck it would gather in front of our laps in the loose spray skirts. Every few minutes we would pull the spray skirt up sending a couple of gallons pooled around our shins and ankles back to the depths of the lake. The lake was relentless and nerve racking, Jake and I would rock and sway to the waves and current. Moving with Gungnir as though we were part of the boat. We didn’t stop to eat during the entire time on Moosehead Lake, fearing that if we stopped paddling we would be pushed back by the headwinds or dumped by the waves which seemed to be growing in ferocity. Again, we played the coast of the big lake, staying close enough to try and cut the wind but far enough that the waves breaking on shore did not pull us off course. 

We were moving at a slow pace, going just over 3.5 mph, our arms burned with the strain of gritting our will against that of natures for the better part of the day. The sun was setting quickly, it was a beautiful blazing red and orange, clouds obscured the setting sun as it was high in the sky. Just before twilight as the sun burnt itself on the still choppy pane of Moosehead Lake; as it bid adieu ushering in the moonlit sky. The clouds still moved fast overhead, the water wouldn’t quite and gentle into that good night. It was becoming quickly obvious that we were not going to make our intended camp at Seboomook Point, close to the Northeast Carry. 

We looked on the map and found an inlet at Big Duck Cove with campsite dotting the edges. As we paddled toward camp I tried my best to identify the cove we had to enter. Every little curve seemed like the one we needed and I would tell Monty that this might be the one. We passed multiple coves this way and it started to get to Monty. Too much hope is a bad thing as it blinds us to the reality of our situation. We paddled along the coves edges searching for the campsites, now fully enveloped in the darkness of night with temperatures dropping quickly. As we closed into the shore the waves increased in size in the shallower waters making it treacherous to close the distance and get ashore. We set our bow to a point on an inlet where the map had a campsite at, as we closed the distance headlamps on full blast we had no luck finding any campsite. We found a small eddy with a steep shore leading to a relatively flat spot on the point and decided this was camp for the night. We rolled with the waves with one final burst ducking into the cove. We scrambled up the rocky cliff to the flat moss covered campsite, pulling Gungnir to the safety terra firma. We were wet, cold and starting to shiver. I set to making dinner instant mashed potatoes, salami, and ramen- Jake set to making a fire.

Jake had a large boulder and a ring of rocks for the fire pit, dinner and the fire were ready at the same time. The fire was roaring being fed by driftwood and dead brush it was eating faster than we could feed it, it didn’t matter searching for wood was keeping us warm as did the fire. Eventually we got larger logs into the fire for some prolonged heat, we yard sale our socks and wet clothes around the fire to dry out. The day finished short of our goal but even with the miserable conditions we still managed to fill over 45 miles. We made camp after 10:30 PM, going to bed around 11:15. We’d be up and moving again in 5 hours. This was, maybe, my favorite camp of the trip. Impromptu as it was and too late in the evening to get much of a view, I tried to soak in the sounds and smells of where we were. Our camp was made on a point jutting out at the entrance of the cove. Our site was perhaps 10-15 feet above the lake and the water crashed against the rocks and the wind blew through the trees all evening. As I drifted off, finally warm in my hammock, I was content in the suffering that had brought me here. The true pain was knowing that I could not stay.

We’d need to make over 50 miles each day to hit our target. We joked that Gungnir was just as hungry as we were, but she only ate miles… and my oh my did we feed her! It was the small constant jokes that helped keep a small level of psych for the long days behind and ahead. For as serious as what we were doing was we kept the mood light with levity. 

6/15/2024

We awoke to a semi clear sky, at 4:15AM, with the calm sky we had hopes that Moosehead Lake would have calmed while we slept. While we slept, the temperature had dropped somewhat too. The morning always held a slight chill for us, but the day would not warm up fully until later in the afternoon. We would find no such luck. We made a fast breakfast tearing down camp, prolonging the next 17 hours of promised suffering. We needed to make the entry into Moosehead swift, if we were too slow the waves would push Gungnir into the craggy wall or exposed rocks giving the canoe damage we could not afford. I went down into the water trying to balance on some of the larger exposed boulders, Jake fed me Gungnir down with the packs in the canoe already coming down himself. We made the entry and paddled hard immediately to get ourselves clear of the shore. This was a shitty way to start a morning, our bodies were not recovered from the hard paddling yesterday, let alone the preceding two weeks of effort. We were mentally and physically drained at this point, we were really feeling the fatigue- not much was said that morning. Both of us ground away in silence fighting the waves and quickening headwind. 

We were getting soaked by the spray of the waves, the morning was not a warm one. After 7 miles and nearly two hours of hard paddling we got to shore to access the Northeast Carry, one of our final portages. We moved slowly under the cold conditions, like old machinery in need of oil. We marched to the Northeat Carry General Store, the last place to restock for the remainder of the trip, and stock up we did. We bought candy, chocolate, cous cous, salami, beef jerky and protein bars. We also ordered two breakfast sandwiches and large coffees each, allotting a 30 minute break before moving again. As the general store owners made our breakfast they chatted with us, we told them our goal and where we stopped yesterday and they looked at us with a look of awe veiling bafflement at our bull-headed stupidity. “You were out on Moosehead yesterday? In a canoe?” They said they didn’t want to take out there pontoon boat because of the choppy water, they were thoroughly impressed. My sore shoulders found a little salve in their expressions and my grin widened a little. 

We had a two mile walk on the NE Carry gravel road to access the West Branch Penobscot River, after our breakfast fuel we tackled it with renewed gusto. The owners mentioned that there was a black bear in the area she’d seen yesterday, we hoped we could scratch another animal off our NFCT bingo card. We only got lupine meadows of deep purple, pink and white greeting us on the roadside. We reached the Penobscot quickly, hoping the old man at the General Store was correct saying we’d have a nice wind at our back coming from the Southwest. We put in and found out quite quickly he was not correct, we were buffeted by a wind from the Northeast the exact opposite we thought it would be going. As we paddled along the 19 miles we had on the Penobscot the headwind pushing us back endlessly, the fear of delay built. The day wore on, 4 hours and 45 minutes later we got to Chesuncook Lake, unsurprisingly we had a wind fighting us. Another 6 miles passed as we crossed Chesuncook Lake into Umbazooksus Lake where we had a grueling portage playfully named “The Mud Pond Carry.” We ate a quick bite on the shore of Umbazooksus Lake and we saw three female moose far off on the opposite side of the lake grazing on the brush. My right knee had swollen from prepatellar bursitis, flaring up having knelt for hours trying to stabilize the boat- it was getting bad hurting more. 

We searched for the entrance to the Mud Pond Carry, not finding it initially kindling Jakes rage. Eventually trecking up the shore a bit I found it and called to Jake running back to the  canoe to help him carry it. The Mud Carry march opened with a nice stony creek bed but quickly became tangled with trees, maneuvering the canoe, gear packs and oars through this seemed like a bad idea. I suggested to Jake that we double carry this portage, Jake had been feeling crunched under the self imposed deadline and was pretty pissed at the double carry. He told me in hindsight that it was the right call, which helped my imposter syndrome a wee bit. We took the bags and oars on our first pass, basically running the entire 1.6 miles. The stony creek was replaced with a varying depth muddy creek, we would be hiking/running in ankle depth mud then would suddenly our next step would take us thigh deep. It was very frustrating, on a day we were trying to make up time we had to do this damned mud carry three times once there with our bags, then back free of weight then with the cumbersome canoe. Most of the portages we had crossed were somewhat maintained. Either with crude planks to walk on or trees trimmed to give room. This portage had neither. And on a normal trip I would have relished the suffering, but on this day the tree branches slapping and scrapping our boat was beyond frustrating. As we reached the end of our portage my frustrations got the best of me and I had to let out an angry yell. Monty was there with a kind word and a reminder that we still had miles to cover. Shake it off and keep moving. 

We made it through the final portage arriving at Mud Pond a bit after 9 PM. As I walked into Mud Pond leading Gungnir in I found the meaning of the name. With most ponds there will be a stony shore or a small muddy bank, Mud Pond had mud for the first 15 feet, I was at my thighs pretty angry but as always Jake joked and brought some levity to the dismal situation. We paddled into the setting sun, this was always a highlight in Maine the sunsets were gorgeous and helped lighten the mood. We made it across Mud Pond quickly, getting to the next ‘portage’ at 9:30 PM. We did not portage, rather we drug Gungnir through Mud Brook Creek until around 10 PM. The creek was cold, depth varying and I was slipping endlessly. I took my turn to be unreasonably mad for the day. We eventually made it onto Chamberlin Lake, where our campsite was, the wind had finally died down and we felt like we could squeeze out a few more miles. We were paddling with headlamps lighting our way, another very long day, reason won over and we made camp at Mud Brook campsite with 41 miles for the day. This was a difficult decision for me. The dangers of paddling at night are obvious, but desperate was our need. My fatigue, for once, was the driving factor in a continued march into the darkness. I was so tired of paddling into the headwind. We set up camp soaked from the last walk in the brook. We made dinner, a fire and collapsed for another few hours. 

6/16/2024

We woke up at 11 AM, well rested we figured we could use a break. Taking our time making breakfast getting a nice slow start to the day. …Well, at least we could dream of fanciful luxuries, the 4:15 AM alarm went off calling us to more suffering. We were pleasantly surprised at the lack  of wind that greeted us. We made good time on the rest of Chamberlin coving the 6 ¼ mile in an hour and 20 minutes, we had a crappy portage to access Eagle Lake. Along an old tramway that was built to transport logs the short 3000 ft distance between Chamberlin & Eagle Lakes. The portage was rocky with many railroad trusses we needed to go over another portage we basically needed to shoulder carry. My knee was grossly swollen at this point, but that would be something to worry about when we were done. The last 100 miles was beckoning us, we could feel the end nearing. 

We got across the portage into Eagle Lake from Eagle it was a lot of lake hopping, going from Eagle Lake to Round Pond to Churchill Lake and finally Heron Lake. A 13 ½ mile journey we ate up. As we were passing from Round Lake into Churchill Lake, I saw something on the railroad bridge truss separating the lakes. I pulled my phone out zoomed in and found it was a lynx! Our bingo card filled ever more! The lynx trotted along with purpose, eyes forward it was visible for maybe 45 seconds right as it got across the bridge it darted into the woods camouflaging itself with the woodland surrounding it. We felt very lucky having seen that elusive beauty. 

As we passed into Churchill Lake we ran into the NFCT stewardship crew, one of the members of the crew, Ethan Israel had been messaging with Jake on Instagram and we tentatively were planning on meeting him that day. Luckily the stars aligned and Ethan came scooting up Churchill Lake next to us with a canoe fitted with a motor on the back. He chatted with us asking if we had any time to stop and chat, as always, we were on a tight schedule; we said we’d have maybe 30 minutes. At first I said we did not really have time, but Ethan mentioned rustling up some food for us and Monty gave me a hard look. I suppose we could pause for some grub. He told us to meet him at the Churchill Dam takeout, we paddled hard to meet him there, we arrived at the Dam taking out and were quickly surrounded by the NFCT stewardship team. Ethan had been talking us up, sharing our speedy journey with the team, it was great to take a few minutes to make lunch and chat with people. Ethan had built a skin on frame canoe as well, he showed us his gorgeous canoe free of duct tape and battle scars of low water. Our envy was palpable.

As we talked with Ethan Jake went out to pay for camping along the Allagash, Ethan was kind enough to share some of the extra food they had; he hooked us up with a gigantic bread loaf, four pounds of lunch meat, 4 pounds of block cheese, two dozen granola bars and a bag of apples! Fruit never tasted so good, we would devour this food over the next two days. It was great getting to say thanks to these stewards taking time out of their lives to maintain this wonderful waterway and adjoining trails. Ethan chatted a bit more with us as we finished lunch, we’d arrived to the Dam at noon right as they stop letting out water into the Allagash. Jake must have turned on his charm because they said they would be letting out water another 30 minutes for us to run the Chase Rapids. Without the water, we would be walking and dragging our boat along and among all of the stones. 

We asked Ethan about the best beta for running the 8.6 miles of Class I-II rapids ahead, he said the most serious bits were moments after we put in we’d want to run down the left side in a deep channel and cut hard right to avoid boulders, then cut back left and stay left anytime you could. This would make up the first serious class II section about 2 miles long, Ethan reassured us saying “This will be a cake walk for you guys, with all the paddling you guys have done.” Little did he know our pace was not built on experience rather it was built on stubborn stupidity. As we set off, to run rapids we had no real scouting on trusting what we’d been told and our dumb luck to get us through. I had a fear we would mess up and dump immediately as Ethan looked on being disappointed in us. However, we ran the rapids perfectly covering 8.4 miles without so much as a bump. On the last 50 yards of rapids We misread the river trying to make it around a large boulder, we got pinned between that boulder and another and the boat immediately started to take on water. (If enough water gets in the boat and there is sufficient pressure in the river it could break the canoe.) We jumped out immediately, pivoted the boat and brought it closer to shore, luckily we lashed (almost) everything down only losing Jake’s Nalgene and our A&W bottle of crown royal in the spill. We bailed out water checking the boat for damage to the stringers, we lucked out again making it free of the rapids without breaking the boat. 

We got back in paddling down the river, keeping our eyes open for the Nalgene and Crown. After running these nearly 9 miles of rapids our the adrenaline was at an all time high. We were forced into a world as big as the river, that is all that matters at that moment, you’re forced into being hyper aware of your surroundings; dodging rocks, shooting for channels correcting one way then the other- tough paddling. A little over a mile down we see the purple Nalgene bobbing in an eddy- a lucky day indeed! The rest of the Allagash we paddled that day went through with little difficulty, we were in awe of the expansive wilderness and surroundings. The Allagash Waterway Preserve is a massive 92 mile protected waterway with few roads, the pleasures of modernity will not be found here. 

The river opens into several lakes, the first of which is Umsaskis Lake, a flat lake with a number of smaller brooks feeding into and out of it. We stop here for a few minutes to eat on a rocky Eastern bank. I stuffed my face as quickly as possible so I could continue a favorite hobby of mine, finding some rocks, Jake took his time eating, joking about my childish obsession. In turn I joked about him talking with his mouth full, a tell-tale tubby sign. We shared laughs the digs becoming more vulgar and pointed, there was a lightness to the verbal jabs where we both left feelings unscathed. There was a sort of brevity to the jokes, a shared comradery based on shit giving specific to our shared version of idiocy. After I find a few rocks to toss in my bag, the weight becoming more rock than camping gear, we head out to tackle the remaining 19 ½ miles to reach Round Pond our intended campsite for the evening. 

We paddle 10 miles to the AWW old Dam portage, the remnants of the dam still visible under the white peaks of the narrowed river. The stone reinforced with metal holds on stubbornly to the riverbed slowly being torn away section by section over time. There is a reassurance seeing geological time play out before you. The river has been here for millennia, the obstacles we place before it here for centuries only, humanities timeline on the geological scale is so insignificant. 

Another 9 miles pass, down the Allagash before we reach Back Channel Campsite on the Southwestern edge of Round Pond. We end the day with 50 miles at 7:42 PM, the sun is setting long over Round Pond- leaving 62 miles for Gnugnir’s final meal for tomorrow. The camping is simple, rustic- rough sawn tables, rock firepits and drying lines made of small thin sticks driven into the ground ten feet apart with a stick across the top to lay your items over to dry. We make a fire and hang out clothes to dry out, the site’s simplicity is so nice- the crackling fire is the background music to our final dinner- a gross amount of sandwiches, cous-cous and chocolate. The evening is bittersweet, it’s going to be difficult to adjust back from going all day every day to working again. We talk about highlights as the fire dies down, going over the best and worst moments. We set up camp, setting our alarms for 3:30 AM for our last early morning and biggest day of the trip! 

A few minutes after I get into my hammock, near the edge of the lake strung up between two large birch trees the nights frog symphony is broken by a sound particular to the Northeast. A lone loon calls out almost mournfully across the lake it echoes from the trees and back. As though Maine was offering one fitting final goodbye.  

6/17/2024

The last morning woke us from the loon call dream of last night with a cold fog draping the lake and shore. We were slow to get moving, packing up camp making our last breakfast, wrapped in our sleeping bags. We broke camp, putting our sleeping gear away we were shivering from the morning cold and dew- making our efforts of drying our clothing last night entirely useless. As we got started back in the Allagash we had to do a lot of weaving to and fro in the river finding floatable channels. There were sections we had to get out of the boat and carry or float in the extremely low channels between deeper channels. We felt like we were going too slow this morning, when we checked our pace we were moving at just below 5 mph which was a pleasant surprise to us both. 

Jake messaged Jess on the Garmin Inreach phone to give her an estimation of when we would be in Fort Kent. We crossed our finger for favorable conditions along the remainder of the Allagash and St John Rivers. We stopped at the ranger station to check out of the Allagash preserve, only a day in the Allagash- the ranger was impressed. The ranger told us to wait a moment, he darted into his cabin coming out with duct tape moments later. we quickly dried off the canoe and applied some duct tape praying it would hold for the last 45 miles, as we dried and applied the ranger told us how to navigate for the deep channels of the Allagash reassuring us that once we reached the St Johns River it would be smooth sailing. We were nervous about the upcoming Class II on the St Johns River, however with the rangers advice and beta on running it we got through it with no issue. On one hand I knew we had to finish the trip today and possibly pulling the boat through a rock garden might destroy that goal. On the other hand, the idea of walking our boat across the finish line felt like a mockery 9of the trail. It was great running it, finally it felt like we were moving through these rapids well. 

Thankfully the St Johns was moving fast, we moved with the speed. Running the river at 6 mph for several hours. We were spurred on, by the promise of a finish line and the pressure of the clock. We took a few rests in the boat letting it float while we snacked. At some point on the river I got a burning sensation in my left arm, this was likely a pinched nerve we’d paddled over a million strokes on each arm at this point. Anyone can do anything for a few hours, a few hours of work left then I could worry about my body. Until then my body was a prisoner to my mind doing what my mind demanded of it- move forward. The fatigue of going at point break speed all day was getting to me. I could pull of periods of intense effort or go at a leisurely pace. It was like the dial controlling my effort was broken and I had only two options, 10 or 1. So, I would go for broke for as long as I could and then paddle easy for a handful of breaths and repeat. The fatigue was frustrating and I would pull at my paddle until I thought I would snap the shaft. Rage could not have carried me these 740 miles, but it would work for this last day. 

Our last break came about 11 miles out from the Fort Kent finish line, we’d been going full tilt the entire day. I cooked dinner stuffing down the last of the cheese Jake had no appetite for, we pounded cous-cous looking across the St. Johns River to the Canadian shore, we were breaking on a small island in the river stuck in the nebulous zone between the US & Canadian borders. I picked up a few final stones, these were the biggest of the trip and now adorn my front yard in my ‘vanity rock garden.’ We got back into the canoe with renewed vigor, we paddled hard to reach the end, against the clock of meeting Jess and the clock of record setting. With 1 mile left we switched from our kayak paddle to the ‘Heron blade’ canoe paddles Jake had made for the trip. We paddled silently exercising what Jake and I referred to as ‘hunting mode’ Gnugnir moved fast, silently cutting a figure through the water, we said nothing to one another as we went through the last mile. We passed through the bridge ending at a park in Fort Kent Maine, Jake’s wife and girls were cheering for us as we paddled into camp. We paddled hard into the shore beaching Gnugnir, I sprinted (more a jog in hindsight due to the bloated knee and utter exhaustion) to the final sign in sheet. 8:04PM 6/17/2024 we completed the NFCT. Jake and I were overwhelmed having completed this, it was awesome we finished so many miles that day. The biggest day of the entire trip, the end of the trip was so anti-climatic you expect a big finish line some postage noting your tremendous achievement, no there was a simple sign denoting the NFCT Fort Kent sign in same as the other sign ins along the way. I had thought about the moment when I would be reunited with my girls again throughout the trip. I wasn’t sure what state my emotions would be in when I finally saw them. It was pure joy. Knowing Monty was headed up to sign the last registrar I took time to give them all a big hug and laughed at their wrinkled noses. Apparently my poor hygiene was worse than I had thought. Hilariously I expected some sort of fanfare, just like the dam in the Allagash, our achievement means little. However, the amount of life Jake and I packed into these short 17 days will stay with us endlessly. 

There were a few people using the park who could care less about our record setting pace, from their point of view I imagine they saw two seemingly homeless stinky men walking a canoe ashore and a woman and her children taking pity on them taking them somewhere else. Jess brought big sub sandwiches and two beers for us, we stood Gnugnir upright setting the bow on the ground to commemorate the achievement. I had one final surprise for Jake, I’d taken a small stone smaller than my palm out and set it next to the final NFCT sign in sheet- I picked it up 17 days and 740 miles ago in Old Forge. 

Jake and I lift the canoe overhead one last time putting on Jess’s car. We feel horrible getting in the car with Jess and the kids, forcing them to sit with the stench we’ve become over the last 17 days. Jess heads off to the Fort Kent Airport where I’ll be staying overnight before my morning flight. As Jess drives there, the entire time abiding by the speed limit normally no faster than 40 mph, Jake and I both felt like she was driving well over the speed limit. It is wild how our perception of speed changed in a short two week period. I had to grip the door handle and breath deep to calm my nerves a little. It wasn’t so bad that I would have a panic attack, but I had to stop myself from yelling at my poor wife to slow down. Thank goodness I did not have to drive. As we made it to the airport and said our goodbyes the end of the trip still setting in. I hug Jake, darting into the airport for sleep unfortunately my sleep is disrupted a nightmare that would be recurrent for the next two and a half weeks. The nightmare took place in the seemingly endless 180 degree turns, slow going Nulhegan River, we are nearing the end of the trip, on a tight deadline that we almost inevitably will miss. 

Reflecting on the trip months later some of the most important take-aways for me are the benefits of voluntary suffering. We went weeks running full-tilt on little sleep, food and energy overall- we managed to complete the NFCT in the fastest known time, but more importantly we had moments where we were near broken. I believe, it is crucially important to test yourself throwing yourself into discomfort; you’ll be rewarded with knowledge you can survive any mild comfort becoming a luxury. Remember our time here is short in scale, if you are able pack some voluntary discomfort and suffering in that short life. Prolong that time, for when you look back if you’ve done it right you’ll look back fondly.