Maine Misadventure

This post was buried in an older thread. I feel so proud of it I want
it up front.

It's about a recent experience I had in Downeast Maine.

***

I already have an amusing anecdote about fishing (or not fishing) in
the
region. When I was up in November for the home inspection, I had a
Saturday stayover on my frequent-flyer ticket, so I decided to find a
place to fish, preferrably for trout. Now one feature of Maine
fisheries is that most moving water is closed from October until
Spring, so I only had a few places to choose from.


I went and bought a Delorme Atlas, a fishing license, a bright orange
hat (they hunt up there), and some bear spray (just in case). I mapped

out a route from Machias where I was staying (Hello Broadway B &B) to a

promising flowage between routes 1 and 9 in Washington County, North of

Cherryfield, if anyone know where that is. Oh, I need to tell you that

the jokers at Bangor Airport gave me a convertable car to rent when I
left Bangor. The sad thing is that at first I was excited about it-
excited to get a convertable car- in Maine- in November.


So anyway, I took Route 1 (the main route along the coast) about
halfway there, but there was this great meandering path through the
wild blueberry fields, which Delorme said was paved. I had a full tank

of gas, water, beer, and my lunch in the car, and it was 8:00 am, so
onto the meandering path I went.


The road was enjoyable albeit somewhat monotonous. Occasionally I
passed a house or a barn, but mostly it was scrub and blueberry fields,

some with large boulders stranded in the fields from the last glacier
that went through.


Everything was going great until I climbed up a long hill where the
fields dropped off on both sides. I came down the hill and was in the
middle of a vast field that was level into the distance. Then the road

became dirt. At first it was well packed dirt, so I went on. Keep
going, I thought, the road is straight and the pavement will pick up
again. Then the road ended in a T. I had to turn. I turned north.?.
(My destination was north-west). I kept going; sooner or later I had
to find a road that was on the atlas. One turn turned to two which
turned to twenty, and I was lost . . . lost in Blueberry fields. It is

hard to describe how extensive they are, but on the map they are
probably 15 miles by 30 miles square. What could I do? I kept
driving, field after field, turn after turn for two hours. Alone
except for the radio, no sign of humanity other than the road.


After two hours, miracle of miracles, I saw an SUV coming down the road

coming toward me. Now the dirt path was narrow, so we would both have
to slow down and pull to the side to pass. I could see that the driver

was about to nod and pull past, so I rolled down my window and waved my

arms frantically.


He stopped, lowered his window, looked me up and down, and said in a
ringing down east accent, "You picked a pretty fine car for running
around in the blueberries fields." I had to smile at that comment.
I had no choice, I stuck in the middle of the blueberry wilderness.
Without his help I may be stuck forever. I quickly described my
plight, and asked him to guide my out of the fields. He said to turn
around and follow him, which I did. We took innumerable turns, went
past a lake, and down and up a gully where I also got stuck. After
about twenty minutes we were on hard packed dirt, approaching a paved
road. He stopped at the intersection with the paved road, and I pulled

around him to thank him for the help. Before I could open my mouth, he

pointed his arm out his window, past my car and said, "The road to
the Bangor Airport is that way." I thanked him and went on my way.
Of course, I wasn't going to the airport, but he figured that after
getting lost so dumbly, I couldn't be from around there and would
probably benefit from leaving as quickly as possible.


Lessons learned: Maine is big, and Eastern Maine is more rural than you

can imagine, probably more rural than any other place east of the
Mississippi. Blueberry farms in Maine are big. Roads in Maine end
abruptly. Finally, the only way to be sure where you are is to have a
GPS.


I didn't get to fish that day, but I am not discouraged. I am moving
to an area with much wilderness- more every year, and I will enjoy
exploring it.