By Anne Schlitt, Tom's of Maine
Once upon a time, the remote northern woods of Maine were threaded by great rivers, populated by wildlife such as moose and brown bears, and largely untouched by civilization aside from the lumber companies and the storied lumbermen who tramped the woods cutting trees and rode the logs down icy-cold springtime rivers.

Today, aside from the old-fashioned lumbermen, the story's still the same in northern Maine, thanks in large part to the conservation efforts of local communities, companies, and groups like The Nature Conservancy, who have partnered to help protect this special part of the state and make available portions of it for recreational uses.


In 2005, the Tom's of Maine Rivers Awareness Program held a sweepstakes to encourage people to volunteer for rivers in their own communities. The prize—a five-day paddling trip on the St. John River in far northern Maine. Our winners definitely deserved their prize! Dan Valleskey, from Indianapolis, IN, is an avid paddler and volunteered for the Friends of the White River with his son's Cub Scout group. Megan Suarez, from South Lake Tahoe, CA, is another experienced paddler and works as the Watersheds Program Coordinator for the Sierra Nevada Alliance. In fact, even the winners' spouses are water-lovers. Julie Valleskey used to race canoes (and does a mean J-stroke), and Jason Brand, Megan's husband, is an Associate Program Manager for the Nevada Tahoe Conservation District.

On May 22, 2006, Dan, Julie, Megan, Jason, Kate Debruyckere (a graphic designer at Tom's), and I (Communications Leader at Tom's) set off by floatplane from Millinocket, Maine to begin our adventure. Northern Maine has unreliable weather even at the best of times, and May 22 was no exception. The float plane trip was straight into the wind on a dim, grey day with the sky hanging low over the mountains. We bumped along in two six-seater Cessna 206 float planes just beneath the ominous clouds for the 45-minutes trip to Baker Lake, our put-in location. For those unfazed by the stomach-churning ups and downs (uh...not me), a glance out the window provided panoramic views of the springtime forests and lakes.

After touching down at Baker Lake, the group convened in a picnic area and met our master guides, Larry Totten (All Outdoors) and Ed Eaton (Maine Streams and Lakes Guiding). We packed our gear in waterproof bags, had a quick lunch in the rain, and received a quick orientation from Larry. For those of us with no paddling experience—Kate and I—he also went over some of the basic paddling strokes and instilled in us a strong desire to not dump the canoe. Because we were newbies, he split us up. Kate paddled in the bow with Dan, and I took the bow with Julie. Thanks to their skills and patience, we not only learned a lot about paddling, but also succeeded in staying dry!

And so, we pushed off for the first leg of a journey on the longest free-flowing river east of the Mississippi. The St. John, named for St. John the Baptist, flows north for 130 miles through wild, unsettled land and contains a mix of calm water and rapids. (The portion we paddled contained only low-level rapids.) In the weeks following ice-out (when the winter ice begins to melt and flow, generally in late April/early May), the water level rises enough to allow paddlers. This year, torrential rains the week before our trip raised the level even more, washing out many smaller rapids and submerging rocks that typically poke dangerously through the surface.

No sooner did we round our first corner than we spotted what would be the most challenging whitewater we'd see the whole trip. After following Larry and hooking around one side of the river, we all successfully made it through—an auspicious start!


The first day's paddle was quite brief, and before we knew it, we'd arrived at the first campsite, Turner Bogan. Along the length of the river, The Nature Conservancy has set up simple camps—nothing more than a fire pit, a picnic table or two, an outhouse, and sometimes a wooden shelter under which we'd gather for dinner, cards, reading, or conversation. We all searched for the perfect tent site and got to work setting up our gear, while Ed and Larry set up the common area—a large tarp over the fire pit and picnic table—and pulled out the first of many snacks and meals that we would enjoy. They brag that no one has ever lost weight on one of their trips, and we can all attest to the delicious and plentiful food!

The evening was extremely cold, near freezing in fact, but the stars were bright and hard in the sky and the critters were creeping (or splashing, as the beavers were, swimming around their nearby dam). After a warm breakfast of oatmeal, bagels, and fresh fruit, we pushed off for the day's paddle. I wore nearly every layer I had, which certainly made my bag a lot lighter! The paddling was fairly slow at first, without much current to help us along, but it sped up as we moved up the river towards our second day's camping spot, Northwest Branch.

The daily schedule quickly became routine. The early risers made the coffee and boiled the water for tea. Ed and Larry were usually up earliest, and Larry would get breakfast started. Our early-morning feasts included scrambled eggs and bacon, blueberry pancakes and sausage, French toast, and always plates of fresh fruit, everything made all the better by the fresh air and the view. Soon after the caffeine kicked in, people would begin to clean up their campsites and get ready for paddling. Every canoe carried its occupants' gear plus some of the shared camp gear, such as food. This makes for a heavy, sluggish canoe, and the experienced paddlers commented on how slowly they responded, especially in rapids. All the more reason to scout the rough water and plot a path through it—heavy boats do not provide leeway for last-minute decision-making!

We generally pushed off around 9 every morning and paddled for 3-4 hours. Sometimes the river current pushed us along, and all we had to do was dip a paddle in every so often to control direction. Other times we'd be paddling into a headwind with little help from the river.

We'd stop for a quick lunch—sandwiches, fruit, and cookies that went very fast indeed. Early afternoon found us at our next campsite, where we'd find our tent sites, set up camp, then have the afternoon for exploring, reading, or munching on the ever-present cheese and crackers (different cheese and different crackers every day!). Our best lunch included a pit stop at a former air strip where the logging companies would fly people in to their lands. It felt deeply incongruous to stroll down the center of a long paved runway atop a bluff overlooking the river, with no other sign of civilization anywhere in sight. Back on the river, we paddled under a flock of mud swallows as they dove, twisted, and spun with absolute precision and speed near the surface of the water.

The guides served dinner around 6 and we ate every last bit of it: fat juicy steaks (and one veggie burger) with potatoes and fiddlehead ferns, chicken stir fry, and spaghetti with garlic bread—all washed down with beer, wine, or water. Ed took charge of desserts and either baked fruit crumbles in a pan set into the embers of the fire or offered us homemade pie that miraculously made it through the travels in one piece. As the sun set, we'd all move closer to the fire and the tale-telling would begin: stories of bears in Alaska, big fish in South America, and other adventures closer to home. Both guides are full of knowledge about the history of the river and its environment, and more than that, they kept us safe so effortlessly that we often didn't notice. One evening, for example, I left a book and my bag of chocolate bars sitting on a bench by the fire. After I got into bed, I remembered with a start and ran out to pick up the book and move the food safely into a locked chest. Of course, Ed and Larry had already done it. Experience and professionalism like that makes the guides worth every penny.

On our second to last night, we stopped at Burntland Brook. The day was already warming when we pulled in—good, because it gave us a chance to wash a few pieces of clothing and generally air things out; bad, because it meant the black flies started to emerge. After two days of chill and overcast skies, though, it wasn't too much of a hardship to don our fly gear (hats or shirts outfitted with netting to stop the flies). Even better, we admired a rainbow over the river before dinner. That evening was very pleasant sleeping indeed, and the next morning a fine, misty, warm one. As we moved onto the river, the flies dropped off, and we enjoyed a gentle, sunny paddle. That day, we also saw what everyone hoped for—moose! As we rounded a bend in the river, up on the left bank stood two yearlings and a cow taking the waters, no doubt escaping the black flies. They watched us warily as we floated past, finally galloping off noisily into the underbrush. One remained and stared a moment longer before joining his/her companions.

A little farther downriver, we stopped at Nine Mile Bridge to explore. Formerly a logging outpost with a bridge, the location was made famous by a book written by one of its residents in the 1940s, Helen Hamlin. The bridge is long gone, done in by ice, and the original cabin of Hamlin's time no longer stands, but scattered along the shore nearby are just a few camps, simple log affairs without any amenities but with remoteness and serenity to spare. Hiking just a short distance into the woods from the shore, Larry showed us an abandoned steam shovel, rusting away slowly. These shovels were used to break roads for logging and they were often left literally at the end of the road after completing a job.

After another hour's paddle, we arrived at our final campsite, Seven Islands. As you approach it, you find yourself in open territory; after days in tight forest, the long vistas felt spacious and free. Various shades of green—trees, grasses, vegetation—beckoned from the shore, and we set up our tents on an open field atop a small rise next to the river. Seven Islands, the largest community on the St. John at one time (there are actually seven islands), consisted of numerous farms growing food for the logging companies because it was cheaper than bringing it in every winter. Things began to decline in the 1930s, and today, nothing remains but some grassy foundations and farm implements left to rust in the former fields. It may be a cliché, but it is breathtaking how quickly nature erases the traces left by man.

Our final day's paddle was all too brief. After only an hour, we pulled up to wait for our float planes. It was warm enough by this time to wear shorts, and the spring sunshine felt good on our bare skin. The float planes land and take off right on the river, a slightly nail-biting affair made even more so by listening in to the pilots' chatter about rocks on the surface and getting just enough speed to lift off before reaching the river bend ahead. Once in the air, however, we enjoyed a stunning view of the land beneath and of the mountains around us, including Mt. Katahdin, the loftiest peak in Maine and northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. Flying through a valley between two mountains really cannot be beat. Our pilot explained how different companies used different logging methods and pointed out how each method looked, and we even saw a moose in a lake! It was too soon when we finally landed back at the air service dock.

I think I speak for everyone on this trip when I say that it will not soon be forgotten. Our sweepstakes winners do important work for rivers as volunteers and in their careers. Larry and Ed shared their wisdom and their fun and made the trip educational, safe, and filling! The Nature Conservancy's work on the St. John river sets a precedent for the value of partnerships and visionary conservation policies. Mix all of this together, and you have the recipe for one amazing experience. If you ever have a chance to paddle the St. John, don't miss it!