Dartmouth Digital Commons (Dartmouth College)

Goodreau, Mark

English

In Grizzly Country: The Wonders and Hazards of Hiking Alaska\u27s Brooks Range

Accidents

Doyle, James

Appalachia 
Volume 56 
Number 2 Winter/Spring 2006: Winter in the 
Whites and Beyond 
Article 23 
2005 
On the Glacier 
James Doyle 
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Doyle, James (2005) "On the Glacier," Appalachia: Vol. 56: No. 2, Article 23. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia/vol56/iss2/23 
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5   aPPalachia
On the Glacier
Cold spun the hours
thin as cotton candy
and dark carved
impatience into bites.
We were bred 
out of the glacier, two stick
figures in a slick of soft
ice, a crevice by the ton
cinching our legs and a sky
ready to crack.
Just when we needed
a handhold,
the wavering light
slipped through our fingers.
winter/sPring 200   5
We skinned ourselves, pickaxe
and rope, across the surface.
The air had lungs and ribs. it
congealed our blood
in droplets, waited 
at the glacier’s edge with our breath.
The mountain shrugged us off
without looking,
let us carry the frostbite home
for a bouquet,
purple leaves, white buds sprouting
at our fingertips. 
 — James Doyle
James Doyle’s latest book is Einstein Considers a Sand Dune (steel Toe Books, 
2004), the winner of the 2003 steel Toe Book Contest. He has published poems in 
many journals, including Alaska Quarterly Review, Cold Mountain Review, The Iowa 
Review, and Poetry. His piece “severe Aunts” was read on national Public Radio by 
Garrison Keillor in 2004.



On the Glacier

Brown, Rebecca A.

The AMC\u27s Maine Woods Initiative:  Big Ideas  Lead to an Historic Step in Land Management

Publicover, Dave

Appalachia 
Volume 56 
Number 1 Summer/Fall 2005: The State of 
Maine 
Article 4 
2005 
Ecological Survey of the Katahdin Iron Works Tract: Locating 
Natural Communities as a First Step Toward Land Management 
Planning 
Dave Publicover 
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 Part of the Nonfiction Commons 
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Publicover, Dave (2005) "Ecological Survey of the Katahdin Iron Works Tract: Locating Natural 
Communities as a First Step Toward Land Management Planning," Appalachia: Vol. 56: No. 1, Article 4. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia/vol56/iss1/4 
This In This Issue is brought to you for free and open access by Dartmouth Digital Commons. It has been accepted 
for inclusion in Appalachia by an authorized editor of Dartmouth Digital Commons. For more information, please 
contact dartmouthdigitalcommons@groups.dartmouth.edu. 
20 Appalachia
Ecological Survey of the
Katahdin Iron Works Tract
Locating Natural Communities as a First Step 
toward Land Management Planning
By Dave Publicover
Appalachia.Sum05.all.final  5/18/05  2:56 PM  Page 20
Upon purchasing the Katahdin Ironworks Property inDecember 2003, the AMC had information about the land’s timber
types and volume, but no detailed ecological characteristics of the property—
information critical if the AMC were to practice ecologically sensitive manage-
ment. What areas were suitable for timber harvesting, and what areas should
be protected? Where could trails and other recreational facilities be responsi-
bly located? Under the supervision of AMC Staff Scientist Dave Publicover,
Jane Moscowitch of the University of Vermont and Jenna Hamm of Antioch
New England spent the summer of 2004 mapping the plant community and
identifying ecologically significant features or areas that should receive special
consideration during future management.
The natural community map developed by Moscowitch and Hamm shows
the distribution of thirty-one distinct natural plant communities. The prop-
erty includes about 40 percent of the seventy-five communities distinguished
in inland Maine by the Maine Natural Areas Program, demonstrating the
wide diversity of ecological conditions on the property. These communities
range from the Beech–Birch–Maple, Spruce–Northern Hardwood, and
Spruce–Fir forests that cover the majority of the property, to less common
upland communities such as Maple–Basswood–Ash forest and Spruce Talus
woodland, to a wide variety of forested and open wetland types with such ex-
otic names as Northern Whitecedar Woodland Fen, Sheep Laurel Dwarf
Shrub Bog, and Bog Moss Lawn.
Natural communities reflect the underlying potential mature vegetation
that occur in an area in the absence of human manipulation. They are dif-
ferent than timber types, which consider only trees and reflect what is actu-
ally present. As long as harvested forests regenerate naturally (as opposed to
planting exotic species), timber types bear some relationship to the underlying
natural communities. However, there can be significant differences—an ex-
ample is the Spruce–Northern Hardwood community, much of which has
been converted to hardwood timber types because spruce has been preferen-
tially harvested out of these areas. The natural community map will help the
AMC identify areas where a component of spruce to hardwood stands should
be restored.
Moscowitch also identified a range of ecologically significant areas—
something other than the younger stands that cover much of the property.
Most of these are areas with “late-successional” characteristics—stands that
Summer/Fall 2005   21
Opposite: Northern whitecedar swamp. Photo by Jane Moscowitch 
Appalachia.Sum05.all.final  5/18/05  2:56 PM  Page 21
have been less intensively harvested and contain more old forest features such
as large diameter trees and deadwood (logs and snags). Although not old
growth, they may have good potential as target areas for old-growth restora-
tion. Moscowitch and Hamm also identified a few unusual communities,
most notably a stand of late-successional Maple–Basswood–Ash forest on the
northeast shore of Houston Pond. This community grows only in small areas
of more fertile soil and is a potential site for a number of rare plant species. It
is the only part of the property where less-common species, such as maiden-
hair fern and blue cohosh, have been found. Moscowitch also located one
rare plant population (pink pyrola, along the upper West Branch of the Pleas-
ant River) and identified more than 320 plant species and 120 species of birds
on the property.
Based on this information, the AMC has developed a land allocation plan
that will guide future forest management. Approximately 10,000 acres in the
northern part of the property, centered on the watershed of the West Branch
of the Pleasant River, has been designated as an ecological reserve. Another
1,700 acres will be in retention areas—smaller areas ranging from 8 to more
than 600 acres that will be reserved from harvesting to protect specific eco-
logical, recreational, or scenic values. The plan also identifies inoperable areas
(primarily slopes too steep for harvesting) and protective buffers along
streams, ponds, and trails. Overall, approximately 43 percent of the property
will be available for timber management and 57 percent will be kept as a nat-
ural area.
The AMC is currently performing additional fieldwork to further docu-
ment ecologically significant areas, and is establishing a permanent system of
monitoring plots that will allow them to assess the effects of management
over the long term. The data resulting from these efforts will help the AMC
develop specific goals and plans for timber management, as well as plans for
backcountry recreational trails and facilities.
DAVE PUBLICOVER is the AMC’s senior staff scientist and assistant director of
research. He authored “An Ecological Atlas of the Upper Androscoggin River Water-
shed” and has contributed to numerous conservation reports and studies. Dave has
supervised ecological inventories of 40,000 acres of conservation land in New
Hampshire and Maine.
22 Appalachia
Appalachia.Sum05.all.final  5/18/05  2:56 PM  Page 22
KIW’s Natural Communities
The Maine Natural Areas Program currently recognizes 100 distinct natural
communities across the state. Of these, one-quarter occur only along the
coast or in extreme southern Maine. Of the remaining seventy-five communi-
ties, thirty-seven are upland communities and thirty-eight are wetlands. The
AMC’s surveys identified thirty natural communities on the Katahdin Iron
Works Property, representing approximately 40 percent of all the communities
found across the inland portions of the state. Of these, eleven are upland com-
munities and nineteen are wetlands.
Summer/Fall 2005   23
Upland Communities 
Acidic Cliff–Gorge 
Beech–Birch–Maple Forest 
Fir–Heartleaved Birch Subalpine
Forest 
Maple–Basswood–Ash Forest 
Red Pine Woodland 
Red Spruce–Mixed Conifer Woodland 
Spruce–Fir–Broom-moss Forest 
Spruce–Fir–Mountain Sorrel–
Feathermoss Forest 
Spruce–Northern Hardwoods Forest 
Spruce Talus Woodland 
White Pine–Mixed Conifer Forest 
Wetland Communities 
Alder Shrub Thicket 
Bluejoint Meadow 
Bog Moss Lawn 
Cedar–Spruce Seepage Forest 
Hardwood Seepage Forest 
Leatherleaf Boggy Fen 
Low Sedge–Buckbean Fen Lawn 
Mixed Graminoid–Shrub Marsh 
Mixed Tall Sedge Fen 
Mountain Holly–Alder Woodland Fen 
Northern White Cedar Swamp 
Northern White Cedar Woodland Fen 
Red Maple Wooded Fen 
Sedge–Leatherleaf Fen Lawn 
Sheep Laurel Dwarf Shrub Bog 
Spruce–Fir–Cinnamon Fern Forest 
Spruce–Larch Wooded Bog 
Sweetgale Mixed Shrub Fen 
Tussock Sedge Meadow
Red maple with extensive growth of lichen.
Ph
ot
o 
by
 K
ev
in
 B
re
un
ig
 
Appalachia.Sum05.all.final  5/18/05  2:56 PM  Page 23



Ecological Survey of the Katahdin Iron Works Tract: Locating Natural Communities as a First Step Toward Land Management Planning

Blessington, Francis

Appalachia 
Volume 56 
Number 1 Summer/Fall 2005: The State of 
Maine 
Article 24 
2005 
Fear of Cahows (pterodroma cahow) 
Francis Blessington 
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 Part of the Poetry Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Blessington, Francis (2005) "Fear of Cahows (pterodroma cahow)," Appalachia: Vol. 56: No. 1, Article 24. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia/vol56/iss1/24 
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contact dartmouthdigitalcommons@groups.dartmouth.edu. 
Summer/Fall 2005   71
Fear of Cahows (pterodroma cahow)
Those wings loomed too sudden-
ly or their importunate crying, intermittent
as gunfire on the “pernicious” island,
when Juan de Bermudez and his men
fled these “devil birds,” leaving only his name.
—Francis Blessington
FRANCIS BLESSINGTON has published two books of poems: Wolf Howl (BkMk
Press, University of Missouri-KC, 2000) and Lantskip (William Bauhan, 1987). He
has also published many essays and short stories. His latest book is a novel, The Last
Witch of Dogtown (Curious Traveler Press, 2001).
Appalachia.Sum05.all.final  5/18/05  2:57 PM  Page 71



Fear of Cahows (pterodroma cahow)

Sheffer, Roger

Appalachia 
Volume 55 
Number 1 Summer/Fall 2004: 50 Years of 
Climbing Everest 
Article 8 
AT Hikers Believe in Magic 
Roger Sheffer 
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 Part of the Nonfiction Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Sheffer, Roger () "AT Hikers Believe in Magic," Appalachia: Vol. 55: No. 1, Article 8. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia/vol55/iss1/8 
This In This Issue is brought to you for free and open access by Dartmouth Digital Commons. It has been accepted 
for inclusion in Appalachia by an authorized editor of Dartmouth Digital Commons. For more information, please 
contact dartmouthdigitalcommons@groups.dartmouth.edu. 
2004 Summer/Fall 67
AT Hikers Believe 
in Magic
By Roger Sheffer
EARLY JUNE, I’M DRIVING—not hiking (too seldom hiking)—tenmiles east of Front Royal, Virginia, in search of the place where the
Appalachian Trail crosses US-522. Chester Gap. It’s still light out, and my
meeting in Harpers Ferry is not scheduled until nine the next morning. I’d like
to spend one good hour on the trail, do a couple of miles either north or south,
and add to my meager total of 20 miles in Virginia. I’d like to hang out with the
thru-hikers. But I can’t find the damn trailhead. There’s nothing, no visible
sign, just a bunch of little dirt roads and private driveways going off in various
directions. Crawling southeast on 522, I hit the downhill side of the gap and
realize I’ve overshot the trailhead, so I turn around and drive back to town.
Then I see an encampment of gypsies in caravans and tents on the left side of
the highway and almost miss the two backpackers perched on the right shoul-
der, thumbs out. I pull over, open the trunk, try to clear my obvious non-hik-
ing stuff out of the way (boxes of books, a printer, a guitar). I’m embarrassed
by the hamburger wrappers strewn about the back seat, but these people
aren’t particular.
John (a.k.a. Pack Mule) and Emily (Pokey-Hontas) are Dartmouth stu-
dents who hope to make it back to Hanover in time for fall classes. I drive
them five or six miles to the Blue Ridge Motel, just north of town. I tell them a
few stories. They tell me about Lone Wolf, a thru-hiker who scared a few peo-
ple that spring. I hand them my card, with my email address (but never hear
from them again). They keep thanking me. I have given them trail magic. I
probably feel better about it than they do. 
Afterwards, driving north out of Front Royal, why was I crying?  I didn’t
know at the time, but I do now. I cried for my old self, the kid too scared ever
to set out on foot like Pack Mule and Pokey-Hontas—except that one time in
the Adirondacks during the summer of 1969. I was hiding from the draft, and
Appalachia_FINAL_gg's  5/27/04  3:43 PM  Page 67
68 Appalachia
I realized now that at age twenty-two I could have hid myself on the AT that
whole summer, invisible and perhaps more protected from reality. Later, in
1977, I did just 100 AT miles in Maine, but I could have kept going all the way
to Georgia. Someone might have given me a ride, money, a place to stay. It
really would have felt like magic. Nowadays, “trail magic” has become so com-
mon, it’s almost like a gratuity that hikers have been conditioned to expect, a
welfare check of sorts. 
But in the following account of “trail magic,” recorded three years ago in a
Pennsylvania AT register, MacGruff sounds sincerely grateful:
As I was crossing Rt. 325 a man in a white T-shirt asked me the
“where-did-you-come-from” question. We began sharing our stories
with each other. Then he asked me how I was doing on cash. I said,
“Okay, I just have enough to get to Maine.”  This kind soul went to
his car, came back to where I was standing, and handed me two ten-
dollar bills. The support from people you meet is oh so overwhelm-
ing. Thank you, Dave. 
The man in the white T-shirt is a trail angel. Dave. Sometimes trail angels
give cash or food in exchange for a good story. This is the best kind of charity
for the giver: no administrative costs, immediate gratification, but of course no
tax deduction. The angel may think, If I’d spent those twenty dollars on myself,
they would have been wasted. For the hiker, though, twenty dollars makes a dif-
ference. Even though MacGruff has enough cash to make it to Maine, what if
he gets lost and has to backtrack ten miles on some side trail? In that case, the
twenty bucks will turn out to be essential.
Another thru-hiker in Pennsylvania did even better in his encounter with
trail angels, though he needed their help more desperately. He’d lost his
pack—which had contained everything he owned. 
When I asked the locals if they had seen anything, they immediately
responded. One family gave me a ride to the police station in Jon-
estown and ten dollars. Amazing!  Then another two couples about
my folks’ age said they heard my story and drove to the station to ask
if they could do anything for me. I was still in severe shock and had
no idea what to say. They went home and came back an hour later
with the following: two backpacks (boy scouts), two pairs of jeans,
two pairs of socks, a few sweaters, long underwear (size small, I’m
Appalachia_FINAL_gg's  5/27/04  3:43 PM  Page 68
6'5", 220 pounds. I really didn’t care; I knew I would make anything
fit!), jacket, hat, two flashlights with four sets of batteries in Ziplocks,
four fresh apples, and an unbelievable amount of food.
The best detail is the batteries in the Ziplock bags. And the question is
this: Did he give back equal value in his story? The hiker usually gives back to
the trail angel in the form of intangibles. Like the respondent to a register sur-
vey in 2001 who, in answer to the question “What’s the finest trail magic
you’ve given or received?” answered: 
On top of Killington in Vermont I talked with a grandfather and his
grandson. The boy, about age ten, offered me his water. His eyes
were wide with amazement about a thru-hike. He gave me Trail
Magic in the form of water, and I gave Trail Magic in the form of a
dream.
2004 Summer/Fall 69
Four AT thru-hikers were delighted to find trail magic of sodas and snack food at the
base of Clingman’s Dome in the Great Smoky Mountains.
Ph
ot
o 
by
 Ja
so
n 
“K
ro
nk
” 
T
hr
es
he
r
Appalachia_FINAL_gg's  5/27/04  3:43 PM  Page 69
The story of that survey is itself the story of a small gesture of charity, or
trail magic, on my part, which happened far from any trail. While going
through a box of registers sent to me by the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club,
I found an amusing pictorial narrative inscribed by a thru-hiker named Rook,
who wrote his permanent address in the margin and requested that some kind
angel send his page to him after the register was full, promising “goodies” in
return. So I sent it off, and the goody he sent me was a photocopy of an entire
register he had left in the shelter at Wilson Creek, Virginia, during the summer
of 2001. Pure gold! Here are ten top answers to his question, “What’s the best
trail magic you have received or given”:
1. A college acquaintance of my mother’s (forty years ago) ran into
my mom at a reunion. She now lives in Waynesboro [VA] and told
my mom to have me call for hotel/restaurant suggestions. When I
called several days out on the trail, she invited me to her home for two
days with hot meals, a spare car, a spare bedroom and a fridge full of
beer!
—Shaggy
2. I’ve knocked down all the spider webs for others. 
—Wrong Way
3. Finest received:  In Palmerton, PA, I was adopted from the PO by 
the Kratzer family. Brought back to their home for dinner, beer, hot
tub, and bed. Taken out to breakfast, dropped off at trailhead, and
given (actually forced, she threw it out the window while pulling
away!) 45 dollars! Yep, they were complete strangers. Finest given:
Rounds of beers at the Port Clinton Hotel until the 45 dollars ran out. 
—Gander
4. In Massachusetts I injured myself, and a lady named Joan Canby
helped me off the trail and to the emergency room. She didn’t know
me, had to be in her seventies. But she knew I was in trouble and she 
came to my aid. 
—Village Atheist
PS—I’ll leave a couple of pens here.
70 Appalachia
Appalachia_FINAL_gg's  5/27/04  3:43 PM  Page 70
2004 Summer/Fall 71
5. A foot rub on top of Swarts Mtn., VT, and a real conversation with
a listener. 
—Unsigned
6. A ride offered by a complete stranger at 4 A.M. on a frostier than
expected night near Harpers Ferry (This incident was relayed by
Easy Goer, a good friend who barely avoided frostbite). Easy had to
walk out in the dark with his dog to avoid dying frozen and crossed
paths with a guy who’d been out all night with his girl, but was glad
to take Easy and dog miles opposite his way home. Refused pay, too!  
—Big T
7. A family in Great Barrington that took us into their home. Fed us
dinner as soon as we arrived, then left us alone with the run of the
house thirty minutes later. They insisted that we take a zero there
when it was raining the next day. Fed us the whole time. 
—Panama Red and Peanut
8. The best trail magic occurred when my parents were hiking a few
miles of the Shenandoah National Park with us and one day we
parted ways so they could get back to the car. We got caught in a real
nasty ice storm. My parents are great outdoors people but novice
hikers so I was very worried about them. We were due to rendezvous
at Waynesboro. When I saw their happy smiling faces at the hotel
and learned by freak chance the owner of Rockfish Gap Outfitters
gave them a ride (or rescued them) I was never so grateful to trail
magic in my life. 
—Sparrow
9. Betty “Nightingale” Cather brought me treats at the Black Oven
Trail Center, and also her black mini-schnauzer “Magic.” Good times 
to play with. [Sticker: Appalachian Trail Hike for Diabetes] 
—Cesar and Maud
10. The Flying Pork Chop’s mother took me to the doctor’s in Gatlin-
burg and wouldn’t leave me until she knew I was okay. 
—Chaser
Appalachia_FINAL_gg's  5/27/04  3:43 PM  Page 71
For most thru-hikers, it’s their buddies—hiking partners they started out
with or met along the way—who look out for them. They try to reconnect
when separated, pass notes to each other, leave beers in the stream to cool,
exchange directions to the best spring or the most comfortable and cheapest
beds in the next town. Or thru-hikers have nonhiking partners who meet them
at highway intersections and hand them the next care package: fresh socks, a
six-pack of Moosehead, Preparation H. 
I was a trail angel once in the Adirondacks, many years before I knew the
term. I had hiked south three miles from the Blue Mountain Lake trailhead to
eat my lunch at Stephens Pond lean-to. There I met a solitary end-to-ender
from Barre, Vermont, who had stopped to rest. He was about halfway from
Northville to Lake Placid, an eight-day hike mostly along rivers and
lakeshores. I gave him a slushy—a box of fruit juice that I had taken out of the
freezer that morning. On a hot and humid July afternoon, it was the perfect
treat. In return, he gave me stories, about weird bear encounters and a troop
of blind hikers moving south from Sacandaga, all hanging onto the same piece
of yellow rope. 
In southern Vermont, I
pick up the trailhead near
Bennington so I can extend
northward the continuous
line of AT miles I’ve com-
pleted beginning south of
Dalton, Massachusetts. I
meet no thru-hikers until
Congdon shelter, where I sit
at the table outside and eat
lunch. I have a full box of
Freihofers oatmeal-raisin
cookies—much better than
any supermarket cookie, the
kind of product you’d have
your mother buy and FedEx
to you because you can’t get
them where you live most of
the year. Two Leki poles are
72 Appalachia
Trail magic is a welcome sight any time of the day
for tired hikers. But sometimes, animals can
invade coolers, so it is wise to keep containers
tightly sealed.
Ph
ot
o 
by
 Ja
so
n 
“K
ro
nk
” 
T
hr
es
he
r
Appalachia_FINAL_gg's  5/27/04  3:43 PM  Page 72
propped against the side of Congdon, one of them bent from a bad fall. A hiker
is inside eating his lunch (noodles and fake cheese). I give him two of my
cookies, and I talk with him as I copy the meager entries from the register. His
trail name is Jiffy, and he tells me he started out in Georgia on March 3. He
had just graduated from Rhodes College in Memphis as a history major. He
tells me about a hiker in Massachusetts dressed in “office clothes,” buttoned-
down shirt and nice slacks (fair exchange for the cookies). I start back to my
car and lie down in the tall grass at the top of Harmon Hill, skipping the view.
Jiffy catches up with me. 
“What town is that?” he asks.
“Bennington. You could buy just about anything there. More Freihofers
cookies. A car, if you had the money.”
He gazes at the horizon. “No thanks.”
We hike together the next mile or so. I tell him to apply to grad school. He
kicks a pebble into my boot. I let him pass me; soon, he’s out of sight. After
greeting a trio of southbounders I step on an unstable rock that looks solid. I
pitch forward and land on my face, scraping my knees. I could use an angel
with bandages and iodine. But day hikers like me don’t rate. My car’s only a
half-mile north, anyway. I’ll make it on my own. If I see any obvious thru-hik-
ers walking into town (five miles to the nearest convenience store), I’ll stop
and give them a ride.
Why not end, then, with a little more trail magic?
4-25-91 Cold Springs, North Carolina
When I came out of the Winn-Dixie yesterday at noon, a woman saw
me loading my pack. She offered me a ride back to the AT. She was a
stitch—80 years old and full of stories!
—The Blister Sister
7-23-00 William Penn, Pennsylvania
I passed some guy today on the trail who had a daypack on. As I passed
he told me to check the “mailbox.” I didn’t know what he was talking
about. But sure enough down the trail there was a mailbox next to the
Yellow Springs Village site, and inside was a register and two beers! I
left one and hiked with the other all day. It is cooling now in the spring.
I think I am ready for a cold one.
—Unsigned
2004 Summer/Fall 73
Appalachia_FINAL_gg's  5/27/04  3:43 PM  Page 73
74 Appalachia
7-2-00 Calf Mountain, Virginia
Hikers Beware! If, somewhere along the next twenty miles, you run
into a thirty-something man with a pickup truck and a brown ponytail
who goes by the name of “Paul”—BEWARE! He should be considered
extremely generous and could attempt to corrupt and subvert hikers
into accepting free beer and yellow-blazing. Tell him T. Snake said hi.
—Unsigned 
ROGER SHEFFER teaches English at Minnesota State University,
Mankato. He is a published fiction writer and a frequent contributor to
Appalachia. Mr. Sheffer is currently at work on a book about the wit and
whimsy he has found in registers along the Appalachian Trail, which he
has been reading since 1988.
Appalachia_FINAL_gg's  5/27/04  3:43 PM  Page 74



AT Hikers Believe in Magic

Coffin, Stewart

Appalachia 
Volume 55 
Number 1 Summer/Fall 2004: 50 Years of 
Climbing Everest 
Article 13 
My Black Spruce Journals: Chapter 3: Dead and Kennebec Rivers 
Stewart Coffin 
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 Part of the Nonfiction Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Coffin, Stewart () "My Black Spruce Journals: Chapter 3: Dead and Kennebec Rivers," Appalachia: Vol. 55: 
No. 1, Article 13. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia/vol55/iss1/13 
This In This Issue is brought to you for free and open access by Dartmouth Digital Commons. It has been accepted 
for inclusion in Appalachia by an authorized editor of Dartmouth Digital Commons. For more information, please 
contact dartmouthdigitalcommons@groups.dartmouth.edu. 
Book Excerpt
My Black Spruce
Journals
Chapter 3: Dead and Kennebec Rivers
Stewart Coffin
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE MAINE TURNPIKE and interstatehighway system brought many more rivers within weekend driving dis-
tance from Boston. Accordingly I had acquired topographic maps covering
much of western Maine and spent many long evenings with them laid out on
our living room floor, looking for canoeing possibilities. The Dead River,
which I had not even heard of before, immediately attracted my attention. The
maps showed it flowing for fifteen miles through a remote valley with a con-
stant gradient of thirty feet per mile—truly a white-water canoeist’s dream.
At the time, I was working at the MIT Lincoln Laboratory. One day in
July of 1958, a tall, athletic looking guy appeared in the doorway of my office
cubicle and introduced himself as Les Wilson. He said he wanted to go white-
water canoeing and had heard that I was the man to see. I asked him if he was
gung-ho to drive for five hours the next weekend just to check out a river in
Maine. He said he was, which turned out to be an understatement.
The twin sources of the Dead River, the North Branch and South Branch,
rise in remote mountainous country along the Maine-Quebec border and then
join together and empty into Flagstaff Lake. Below here the Dead River
meanders northward for seven miles, drops for thirty feet over spectacular
Grand Falls, and is then joined by another major tributary, Spencer Stream.
Here it turns abruptly eastward and flows in nearly continuous strong rapids
for fifteen miles to The Forks, where it joins the Kennebec River. 
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When Les and I arrived at The Forks we went to the general store there
and asked proprietor Ed Webb if there might be someone who could drive us
in, so that we might paddle back down the Dead River. The Maine Woods are
mostly one vast tree farm for producing pulpwood, with logging roads every-
where, so access is usually not too much of a problem if you know the way and
can get through all the gates. Ed warned us that the river was utterly
unrunnable, but if we wanted to see for ourselves perhaps his younger brother
Billy could be found to drive us in.
When we finally arrived at the river’s edge, just one glance at the splendid
rapids was enough. We eagerly unloaded my Grumman and sent doubtful
Billy back to The Forks with Les’s station wagon. Despite his inexperience, I
had Les take the stern because of his size, and all went well. Four hours later,
we pulled into shore right next to Ed Webb’s store, much to his amazement.
The rest, as they say, is history. The Dead River is now one of the most popu-
lar white-water runs in New England, and for good reason. 
[photo 3-2. Les Wilson and Shirley Parker running Poplar Hill Falls on
the Dead River, 1958.]
I had also been studying maps of the Kennebec River, especially the wild
twelve-mile stretch below the Indian Pond power dam (Harris Station)
known as the Gorge of the Kennebec. The same weekend that Les and I ran
the Dead River we also scouted parts of this spectacular gorge by driving in a
couple places as far as we could and then scrambling down the steep banks. It
looked challenging, but I thought it might be runnable under just the right
conditions.
By the following year, Les had found an equally intrepid canoeing partner
named Ken Jones, and we figured that the time had finally arrived to explore
the Kennebec Gorge. At five o’clock in the morning, July 25, 1959, Les and
Ken quietly launched their canoe just below Harris Dam. The reason for the
start at crack of dawn was to escape detection by the dam personnel, because
we knew that they did not approve of anyone attempting this run and might
even try to prevent them.
At this early hour the generators were not operating and only about 150
cubic feet per second was being released. This allowed Les and Ken to easily
wade and lift their canoe over the shallow drops and continue on through the
gorge. In midmorning every day the generators were suddenly turned on,
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releasing as much as 5000 cfs in a sudden surge. The fear by the power 
company was that anyone caught in the gorge might be swept to their doom.
In the meantime, Jane and I had launched our canoe near the mouth of
Moxie Stream and were tracking upstream to meet Les and Ken. The footing
was terrible because of slippery, slimy rocks, and we made slow progress. In
mid-morning, right on schedule, the river began to rise, although not very rap-
idly down where we were. By that time Les and Ken had already negotiated
the rough upper part and were enjoying a fast run down. We met part way
and coasted back down to The Forks together.
[photo 3-3. Jane tracking our trusty old Grumman up the Kennebec,
1959.]
Three weeks later Jane and I, together with another couple, John and
Darst Tuckerman, put in at the East Outlet of Moosehead Lake, ran some
rapids there and paddled down Indian Pond, camping along the way. When
we arrived at the dam we found the Kennebec running at 6500 cfs, with all
three generators going plus the sluiceway spilling pulpwood down through the
Gorge. It was quite a wild sight, unlike anything we had ever attempted to run
before. As expected, the supervisor tried to stop us, saying no one had ever
before attempted such a foolhardy stunt. However, the other dam keeper, a
Mr. Campbell, befriended us and offered to transport our camping gear down
to The Forks. We also learned from him that, in spite of their stealth, Les and
Ken had indeed been observed starting down three weeks earlier.
By that time I had established a reputation for caution and avoiding
mishaps when running canoe trips, and Jane had complete faith in my ability
to do so. We spent four hours arduously negotiating the first mile and a half
down to the Z turn (which we named on that run) and another three hours to
The Forks, lining down many drops and lifting the canoes over in a few places.
To this day, it stands out in my memory as one of the most exciting scouting
runs we ever made. Nowadays, of course, the great advancements in skills and
equipment have made this run routine for canoes and kayaks, not to mention
the regular flotilla of rafts. How quickly the times change.
For more information about My Black Spruce Journals or to order a copy,
visit the publisher’s website at www.naturalheritagebooks.com.
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