We spent the week on a remote, northern Maine lake learning the arts of canoe paddling and poling.  Cooking every meal over the open fire, watching the bald eagles fly over the lake and land in the white pines, listening to the songs of the loons who would sit in the water off the point each sunrise and sunset and fish.
We camped on the point of a large peninsula, connected to the mainland by a narrow strip of wetland.  The edge of the peninsula is similar to the other lakes in the region, with cedars, alders, balsam fir and white pine lining the shore, but the interior was all hardwoods.  Beech, birch, ash and maple some near four feet in diameter, formed a dense canopy and left the forest floor open and sparsely vegetated.  It’s an awesome place, but don’t ask me where it is because I’m not telling.  I will say that we travelled across a lake and up a stream to get there, but that’s it.

Next week we’ll be carving canoe paddles from wood we’ll harvest on Monday, as well as take a poling trip in the Aroostook river.  We haven’t had any rain in a while and all the rivers are low, but we’re supposed to get some this weekend.  We’ll also be moving to our river camp, our next long-term campsite.  Our new location, and all that it has to offer, continues to amaze me.