Sunday, October 29, 2000
No sign of live moose ...
Stunning scenery around Moosehead Lake makes the trip worthwhile
Copyright © 2001 Blethen Maine Newspapers Inc.
Some historians say Moosehead Lake earned its name because it's shaped somewhat like a moose's long snout and rack of antlers.
But viewed from the top of Big Squaw Mountain on a frosty morning, the landscape reminds me more of a Bengal tiger.
The brilliant orange-red tones of the north woods surround and cross the undulating outline of the 40-mile-long lake. Along the shoreline, Lily Bay Mountain and other peaks bulge like muscles in the crouching tiger's shoulders. In the distance a snow-covered Mount Katahdin cowers like the wild cat's trembling prey.
We haven't come here to see tigers, however. This is moose country, as we've been reminded by every gift shop in Greenville, the lumber town at the base of Moosehead Lake. We've chosen to stay in Rockwood, a much smaller lakeside village about 20 miles due northwest of Greenville. From there, we've been treated to the stunning scenery of the central section of Moosehead Lake and the dramatic, barefaced Mount Kineo.
"(Tourists are) drawn to Moosehead Lake because there are very few places you can go and have basically unfettered access to undeveloped, wild lands," says Craig Watt, manager of the Indian Hill Trading Post in Greenville and member of the local chamber of commerce. "It is still a wilderness. It is that spirit and that essence that we are trying to preserve right now."
We arrive at The Birches Resort in Rockwood after 2 p.m., less than an hour before the departure of the "moose cruise." This two-hour tour of the lake and a nearby stream by pontoon boat is designed to offer visitors a glimpse of the region's famous wildlife. We have enough time to throw a few logs into the small wood stove in our lakeside cabin, dress warmly in boots and Gore-Tex, then head for the boat.
Our captain, a man with bristly gray hair and a crooked smile, tells us that during October, the moose are no longer feeding on the tender streamside plants they eat during summer. Their whereabouts are therefore more unpredictable. He estimates the chance of seeing a moose at 60 percent to 70 percent.
A family of five from New Jersey joins my 6-year-old daughter, Laura, and me for the trip. Their youngest child, age 15 months, snuggles in a blanket and drinks milk from a bottle as the boat chugs off across the lake.
As the boat picks up speed, we smell whiffs of the diesel fuel and feel dwarfed by the immense scenery. Rounded mountains along the shore look like scoops of ice cream lined up on a banana split. Above the brilliant orange hillsides, enormous cumulous clouds fill the sky like thick layers of whipped cream. The sun occasionally breaks through the clouds, sending rays of golden light tumbling onto the lake.
Expectations are high as we reach the mouth of Socatean Stream. It surely looks like a place moose would roam. It's a desolate-looking waterway, littered with dried tree stumps and decaying branches. As we leave the lake and enter the 40-foot-wide stream, our boat gets stuck in the mud, forcing our captain, Max, to pry us out with a wooden paddle.
At first, we all look attentively along the shorelines. We spot a great blue heron, a large hawk, a flock of Canada geese, and several ducks. Max says on one trip early last summer, he and his passengers spotted eight moose, several white-tailed deer, and smaller animals such as otters and mink.
After another hour of eyeing the shorelines and several stops to dislodge the boat from the mud, our enthusiasm for the moose cruise begins to sink. Our colleagues' toddler is now howling from discomfort as the sun dips below the trees, and our fingers and toes go numb from the cold.
One of the children, a 9-year-old boy, raises a telling question. "Have you ever seen a dead moose out here?" he asks. Like the rest of us, this young man has given up hope of seeing these huge mammals wading in the brook. But he'd like to have a good story to tell when he gets back to school in New Jersey.
Max answers wryly that he hasn't seen any dead animals along these shores -- but he'll see plenty in town over the course of the next week. Moose hunting season was to begin at 6 a.m. the next day.
Max's prediction turns out to be true. We don't see a live moose during the moose cruise -- or any other time during our visit to Moosehead Lake. We do, however, see plenty of moose carcasses the next day, draped in the backs of muddy pickup trucks.
Hunters bagged some 86 moose in the Greenville region on opening day, says Mark Latti, public information officer for the Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife. Of the 3,000 hunters who received permits, 2,536 tagged moose during the six-day hunt. The overall success rate of 84.5 percent was one of the lowest in the hunt's 20-year history. But compared to the 20-percent success rate for deer hunters, the moose hunt is one reliable venture, he adds.
"One reason is the number of moose -- people are seeing them," says Latti. "Moose also don't have any predators. Deer have a flee reflex to run away from something unusual. But these guys (the moose) are the kings of the forest."
For Lindley Fortier, age 70, and family members, the moose hunt was worth the 130-mile trip from Oxford. He, his wife Jelna and a few other relatives entered the woods at 6 a.m. and shot a cow moose before 9 a.m., he says. They used a rope pull and pulley blocks to drag the animal back to the truck.
"There's a lot of work to it, a lot of patience, and a lot of skill," says Fortier as he waits his turn to have the 700-pound moose tagged. His family will use the moose meat for burgers, roasts, and stews. He sees no moral objection to hunting "as long as it's done right. With us, it's always one shot," he adds.
After the moose cruise, my daughter and I thaw out by the huge stone fireplace in the main lodge of The Birches. We decide to stay there for dinner -- we've had enough driving for one day. We're happy to see that moose meat is not on the menu. We enjoy the baked haddock and kid's hot dog meal, though the service is rather slow.
I'd read of a few other good restaurants in the area. Pittston Farm seats about 60 people for its evening meal and invites diners to tour the barns to see llamas, pygmy goats, horses, and chickens. The Greenville Inn, a former lumber baron's mansion, sits on a hill overlooking the length of Moosehead Lake. Its chefs are considered among the best in the state, according to one travel guide. Other recommended restaurants are the Boom Chain and Auntie M's in Greenville.
After dinner, we enjoy the music of talented singer and guitarist Anni Clark, who plays regularly at The Birches. We look forward to returning to our cabin. It's a very rustic, one-bedroom cottage overlooking the lake. For my daughter and me, it feels like a playhouse. Together we tromp out on the porch to gather firewood. We get the wood stove piping hot, get into our pajamas, climb into bed, and read a few chapters of Laura's book about a baby dragon.
We awaken in the morning to views of morning mist hovering over the lake. We pull our jackets on to gather wood and shoot pictures. The bright red leaves scattered on our lawn appear to be edged in delicate lace. The frost has also made tiny icicles of the blades of grass. We take a walk to see the other cabins, each named after a different Broadway musical: "Hello Dolly," "Tea for Two," "Catch a Falling Star." Ours is named "Born Free."
As we check out, Laura watches the rainbow trout swimming around the lodge's indoor fish pond. We ask about hiking on The Birches' 11,000 acres of woodland. Although moose hunting isn't permitted on the property, bird hunting is allowed. The staff suggests hiking the trails on Mount Kineo since hunting is prohibited there.
We opt instead for activities in town. As we head south, we drive by a few other inns I've seen recommended in guide books: the Blair Hill Inn on Lily Bay Road overlooks the lake from its eastern shore. The Greenville Inn is high on a hill within the town of Greenville. We browse the Halloween costumes and toys at the Indian Hill Trading Post, where the hunting department seems to be enjoying brisk business. We head over to The Corner Bookstore to buy a few souvenirs.
Then we drive to the Big Squaw Mountain Resort, about five miles outside of Greenville on Route 15. Laura begins to lobby for a trip up the mountainside by chairlift. At first, it looks like a futile exercise to me -- clouds cover half the mountain. But the friendly lift operator says there are great views at least partway up. He offers to scrape the snow off the seat, cover it with a quilt, then drape a blanket over my daughter and me. We gather up our camera equipment, get the Gore-Tex back on, and head up the slope.
It turns out to be well worth the effort and the fare, $6 each. We climb high enough to see the lake and surrounding mountains for miles around. It's awe-inspiring, especially at this brilliantly colorful moment.
Our chairlift rises into the clouds and the snow-covered mountainside. We've heard predictions of up to 7 inches of snowfall in the area later in the day. I'm reminded of trips to Mount Hood in Oregon, where visitors can ski on more than 100 inches of snow even when nearby Portland enjoys summer weather.
As our chair cruises back down the mountain, I tell my daughter that Henry David Thoreau wrote about this beautiful area about 150 years ago, after climbing one of these peaks. In "The Maine Woods," he described Moosehead Lake as "a gleaming silver platter at the end of the table." We think the image sounds lovely, but not exactly accurate.
If he were riding on this chairlift with us, looking out on this vast, colorful panorama of mountains, woods, and lakes, he'd surely agree. It looks more like a tiger.
Michele Pavitt is a free-lance writer who lives in Brunswick. This article first appeared in the Vacationland Guide.