This post continues from where Maine by Midnight left off, with me driving slowly on a logging road deeper into quiet woods around 3 o’clock in the morning.
It seemed to be getting lighter out, so I parked the car for an hour or two of rest. Upon daylight, there were the most beautiful sounding birds singing that I’ve ever heard!
Here’s a photo facing east from where I parked. ↓
Now this is my kind of parking lot! ↓
Facing west, the direction this logging road began. ↓
The above three shots where taken within the same minute of that early dawn.
Just outside of the car hungry bugs could be seen. Never before did I ever smell such a strong scent of pine woods as I did that morning! It was marvelous to have air pollution so far, far away and nature so abundant!
Instead of heading back towards Mountain Road at daybreak, curiosity demanded driving deeper into the woods. The road progressively got rougher. The bugs swarmed around the car along the entire way. It was no longer possible to drive faster than five miles per hour. The deeper into the woods, the less opportunities existed to turn the car around. It was moose heaven, but no moose in sight. The woods were thick and bogs abounded. I regret not having taken photos of how rough that ‘road’ (more like an all-terrain vehicle trail) got! It was a gamble to pursue its path, since there was no way of knowing if there would be enough space ahead to turn around (driving backwards became impossible). There came a point where it was no long possible to continue on forward, so back to Willimantic and into Guilford I drove for my first cup of hot coffee since leaving home.
Instead of continuing on Route 150, I headed north-west onto Route 6/15 towards Moosehead Lake. Baxter State Park was no longer my goal. I was craving water for kayaking by this point and Lily Bay State Park looked like the ideal place to go. Never could I have imagined that there would still be so many people in that part of Maine, but maybe it’s because there are so few State Parks that people flock to whatever ones are existing? Needless to say, I was tired and in dire need to rest and relax. Campsite number 245 was the ideal niche to settle into. It’s off to the side, on Dunn Point, so no one would be driving by.
The local welcoming committee came out to quackfully greet me when I brought my kayak to the water.
A coyote happened to trot on past the campsite that afternoon, but no bear or moose were seen. It was early enough in the day when I arrived for me to kayak.
Moosehead Lake is 40 miles long and has over 300 islands. According to Moosehead Lake Region Chamber of Commerce, “Moosehead can also rear up and bite you. Due to its size, wave heights can exceed 5′ in windy weather, and the lack of traffic means that you may find yourself all alone if you get into trouble. We strongly recommend that you use caution when wind speeds are forecast to be high or when the skies darken, signifying an approaching front.”
I smoothly paddled along in a south-westerly dipped direction, towards the blue Big Moose mountain (3,196 feet). How could anyone not be captivated by such beauty and not crave to see more when it looks like this?
Off in the distance, the cry of a pair of loons rippled across the quiet lake… calming my nerves before I realized what was coming my way draped in a darkening blue clouded ominous sky.
To me, it looked like heaven was shining down onto this island. It was still early enough in the evening for me to have time to get to it, but that wasn’t the problem.
As far as I could see, there was no one else out on the lake. After having paddled for almost 3 miles, it was soon time for me to turn around and start paddling as fast as my arms could take me!
There was no wind nor were there any waves, but instead something far more frightening. The peaceful evening came to an abrupt end with a loud crack of thunder!
Taking pictures was no longer an option. I wasn’t quite attracted to spending the night on Sugar Island (as seen in the above silhouette), especially without a sleeping bag. That island is 4 miles long and 2 miles wide, with a population of zero).
I’m guessing it took me about 35 minutes of serious, hard-core paddling before I made it back to my campsite. Rascal (my Chi-Poo dog) had been in the bow of my kayak until becoming frightened by the thunder. I had to keep shoving her back inside to be able to continue paddling by adrenal power. The thunder boomed overhead and encroached closer the further I went. Right when I jumped out of the kayak onto shore, the downpour of rain hit! My legs were like rubber and my face had to be beet red from how fast my blood was circulating.
It rained heavily for about 10-15 minutes and then the sky started to clear. By the time it was dark, I was well beyond being ready for some sleep. After a couple of hours of deep sleep, I awoke suddenly from a nightmare with still some residual adrenaline racing through my system.
