An Excerpt from a Wanderers Journal

The early morning fog, hanging over the lake like a thick blanket, came with a chill. However, snug in my sleeping bag and with coffee in hand, I was not uncomfortable sitting on the rocky shore near our campsite. Staring into the fog at what I took for granted was a large expanse of water, I watched images gradually come into view as the heavy grey curtain slowly lifted. Every few minutes, the haunting cry of a solitary loon echoed from beyond. I was subtly aware of the stress I had been carrying for months slowly being replaced with a feeling of serene calm. I didn’t bother to turn when I heard the snap of a twig behind me.

“Hey”.

“Good Morning,” I said.

“It’s friggin’ cold,” was the reply.

“Yep.”

Jack, wrapped in a wool blanket and sporting a Peruvian fleece hat that was two sizes too small, had finally emerged from his tent and was sitting on the rock next to me. I couldn’t help but jest about his poor excuse for headwear. He was quick to point out that I was wearing a rabbit Ushanka cap and looked pretty ridiculous, myself. Chuckling, we both stared into the fog in silence. Again, the loon cried.

Jack and I had arrived at Long Pond late the night before. The plan had been to leave work early to beat the Friday evening traffic. Instead, late afternoon found me working on a last minute problem, resulting in a late start. Without traffic, it’s normally a 5 hour trip. It took us 7 hours to reach our destination. We pulled into the dirt driveway of the family land at 11:30 pm , started a fire, and broke out the Dewar’s. Nearly two hours later we finally moved away from the warmth of the flames, made camp, and went to sleep.

Long Pond is three miles in length (hence its name), and is the result of glacial melting. The shoreline is made up of rocks and boulders that had been picked up along the glaciers route and ended up where the glacier finally stopped. Surrounding the lake are various mountains and a wilderness that has managed to remain nearly untouched by human hands for many decades. Due to the remoteness of this area, the wildlife is abundant. Moose, Bear, Beaver, Great Blue Heron, and Eagles are among the animals that can be observed.

After a relaxing breakfast of eggs, pancakes, bacon, and more coffee, we spread the topographical map out on the large telephone wire spool that was our table (one of the few permanent fixtures on our site), and began planning the trip.

“Do you think it’s still there?” I questioned.

“It’s been years. It could be just a pile of wood by now.”

“Let’s bring a tarp for shelter, just in case,” I suggested.

We were talking about a small hunters lean-to we had found while mountain biking the trails on that end of the lake. It had been 10 years earlier when we vowed that someday we would return. It was located on the shores of Isolation Pond, a smaller body of water to the north of Long Pond, set deep in the woods. The trip we were planning involved canoeing the three mile length of Isolation Pond followed by a 5 mile hike into the lean-to where we would spend the night.

After we were confident about our plans, the rest of the morning was spent lounging around what we were now calling “Base Camp”. Both Jack and I had been stressed out with our jobs for months, and the relaxed feeling of the moment was too precious to ignore. It wasn’t until after a lunch of freshly caught grilled pickerel (not much meat, but tasty) that we started packing the canoe. We had to bring enough for an "overnighter", but had to pack light enough to be able to carry it all. As always, water was the deciding factor. September in the Northern Kingdom is typically chilly and we had to be prepared for the cold night that we were most likely to encounter. Warm sleeping bags and fleece long underwear were in order. Since we would be sleeping in a lean-to, we did not require a tent. However, we would bring a tarp.

By 3:00 in the afternoon the canoe was packed. We doused our fire with water, climbed into the canoe, and headed north. A stiff wind was blowing from the east, creating some minor chop on the lake. To avoid this, we crossed to the eastern shore, where it was calmer, then continued toward our destination. At our casual pace, it took us about 45 minutes to reach the northern-most shore. In that time, we noticed that the sky was beginning to darken.

“Looks like rain.” remarked Jack. “We’d better hide this canoe and get a move on.”

Camouflaging our transport took little effort because of the dense undergrowth. After unloading our gear, we dragged the hull up on land and literally pushed it into the bushes. A bear would have tripped over it before actually seeing the 17’ length of formed cedar strips.

The start of our trek was up a cascading waterfall that dropped into the lake after winding its way off of a nearby mountain. We checked the map, and then continued to follow the stream. All the while, the sky continued to darken and an occasional drop of rain could be felt.

Although we had been to the lean-to once before, it was via a different route, on mountain bikes, many years earlier. For this visit, we decided on the current approach because it seemed like a more direct route, as shown on the map. It indicated an old logging road that connected Long Pond and Isolation Pond. Had we studied the legend on the map, we might have noticed that it was twelve years old. It then might have occurred to us that the logging road had since become overgrown and would not be as obvious as we naively expected.

According to the map, and based on our estimations, the logging road should have come along side the stream within about 2 miles. After an hour of slogging through the water, I became concerned that we might have missed the linking route.

“We should have found the road by now. I think we missed it.” I stated. “We should retrace our steps.”

I’m not sure if the uncertainty registered in my voice, but the truth was that I wasn’t sure if we had followed the stream far enough. For all I knew, our next objective could have been right around the bend. However, Jack didn’t question my suggestion, and we reversed our direction, keeping a sharper eye out for anything that resembled a man-made clearing. Along the way, I pulled out the map and attempted (with little success) to compare the bends of the stream with those illustrated. A few times I thought I had it, but then the stream would bend one way, and the map would show an opposite turn.

By the time we had determined the logging road was not to be found, dusk was settling in, the wind was whipping up something fierce, and the rain was making itself known. It was decision time. Spend the night in the woods or abort the trip and attempt to head back to base camp. We had no tent, so attempting to sleep under a tarp in a storm would certainly not mean a night of comfort. We also knew paddling an open canoe at night in the storm would be dangerous and foolish. We agreed to find a place to make camp and that we needed to make haste before all of our gear became soaked.

We donned our headlamps and proceeded back upstream where the ground leveled off. From there, we bushwhacked our way west just far enough in to find a clearing with a couple of white pines from which to hang our makeshift shelter. On the way, we had been collecting anything that looked like it might burn. Within an hour, I had the tarp up with all the gear underneath, and Jack had a roaring fire going a few feet away. We were wet and cold, but somehow managed to stay in good spirits.

“We should try to keep the fire going throughout the night,” My companion suggested.

“We’ll need to get more wood now so it will have time to dry by the fire.” I remarked. “We’ll also have to take turns staying up to tend it.”

As it turned out, neither of us really slept. The storm was so severe that the tarp did little to deter the rain from soaking us and our gear. We each dosed sporatically throughout the night. But, I probably totaled an hour and a half of restless sleep. The one saving grace was our fire, which we did manage to keep burning. Not only did it provide warmth, but it gave us something to do. Still… no night ever seemed longer.


A deer stood shivering in the cold darkness of the night. Hungry, he had been plodding through the belly-deep snow looking for anything edible. He knew he needed to eat… Eat or die. It had been 5 long days since the blizzard, and the will to live had gradually subsided. The temptation to just lie down in the snow and let nature take her course was a feeling that the weakened deer had been fighting for the past two days. Now, the feeling was stronger than ever as he stood, contemplating whether or not to take yet another step. At that very moment, an intense light rose, as if from out of the ground. It was blinding but still, not unpleasant. The warmth from the glow was immediately felt by the deer, and with it came the knowledge that all was going to be alright. Suddenly, a large figure appeared and blocked out the light…


"Dylan… Dylan, wake up!!!” The figure was talking to me in Jack’s voice.

“Dylan!!! You’re not going to believe this.”

Gradually, my groggy mind passed from a state of dreaming to that of reality. I lifted my head. Where was I, and what was that intense light.

“The lean-to… We were so close,” Jack exclaimed excitedly.

“What are you talking about?" I asked, barely audible even to myself.

“The lean-to is on the other side of the pond.”

“What pond?”

“THAT pond!!!” Jack responded with a chuckle.

By now, my head had cleared, I understood that the bright light was actually the sun shining through the forest, and I was almost sure that I was not a deer. Instead, I was a cold, wet human with an immediate need to find a tree. I wriggled out of my soaked sleeping bag, stood up, and froze. The ambiguous babbling from Jack that had woken me, all of a sudden made sense.

Apparently, in our effort to find a clearing in the dark the night before, we had just missed falling into Isolation Pond. I was now looking at it, not 20 feet from where we had made camp. Furthermore, on the other side of the pond was the lean-to, it’s reflection a mirror image of itself in the glassy water. All I could do was laugh.

The morning, in contrast to the night before, was bright and warm. Based on the sounds coming from all directions, the woodland creatures were taking advantage of this good fortune and had begun their first light rituals. Most amazing was that our fire was still burning. I was convinced that every living creature was content at that moment.

Our first order of business was to dry everything out on a line we had strung along the trees surrounding our fire. Next, we made breakfast. Since neither of us had wanted to deal with dinner in the conditions experienced the night before, we were now starving. Jack and I have similar vices, two of which are the love of a well-cooked breakfast and the immediate need for coffee upon wakening. Steaming bowls of oatmeal with brown sugar, apple slices, and raisins accompanied by large mugs of coffee (made cowboy-style) never tasted better.

“Well, what do you think?” I asked.

“About what?”

“Do we head back or finish what we came here to do?”

Jack didn’t take more than 2 seconds to consider this question and responded that he would not feel right about bailing out, now… Especially, being as close as we were. I’m guessing he had already determined this long before I asked, and I was glad for it. Now that we knew where we were, we had plenty of time to get to the lean-to and back to base-camp before evening.

It was decided that drying out the sleeping bags was our first priority. The fire was going strong and its effect on our gear and clothing was already noticeable. Besides, the view of Isolation Pond, glowing in the morning light, and the sounds of birds making ready for the coming winter were pleasing to the senses… we were in no hurry. We sprawled out around the fire with a couple of books. I with “The Complete Nature Writings of John Burroughs” and Jack with “Selected Short Stories of Nathaniel Hawthorne".

After a lunch of cheese slices, crackers, apples, grapes, and beef jerky the gear was packed and we proceeded to follow the pond counterclockwise around its northernmost shore. Except for some marshy sections, causing us to detour away from the pond, the going was not too difficult. However, it was taking longer than anticipated. When close to the waterline we frequently scared up frogs and turtles that excitedly plunged into the safety of the pond. A Great Blue Heron startled us when it shot out of the brush with a loud squawk, its long wings just grazing our heads. Signs of deer were everywhere in the form of scat and tree scrapings.

We reached the lean-to by late afternoon. We were tired, given the lack of sleep from the night before, and it felt good to sit. The view from this vantage point was spectacular. The entire pond, ringed in Purple Loosestrife, was visible with the surrounding mountains looming overhead. For 20 minutes we sat in silence.

“Are you going to suggest it, or do I have to?” I finally asked.

“Let’s spend the night” Jack responded without hesitation.

We both had taken Monday off from work, so the idea was logistically feasible. The thought of hiking back to the canoe was not high on my “things I wish to do at this moment” list. It would start getting dark in the next couple of hours, and the view was too beautiful to turn our backs on. We made ourselves at home, unpacked our gear, and had a fire going in under a half-hour… we were getting good at this part. Finally, the obligatory bottle of Dewar’s surfaced and we were officially settled in.

Dinner consisted of pancakes and slices of cured ham grilled with onions and slices of apple. By the time we sat to our feast, darkness had crept in and headlamps were required to see what was being eaten. However, the mountains still being lit by the setting sun, glowed a golden hue above the tree-line… spectacular!!!

We were in our sleeping bags shortly after cleaning up from dinner. I don’t think I was awake for five minutes after my head hit my makeshift pillow. I woke up once during the night to relieve myself. The moon was high in the sky and full, so I didn’t need artificial light. It was then that I wished I had paid more attention to my father when he had tried to teach me the constellations, as a kid. However, at that moment I supposed I would have paid closer attention had my lessons been conducted with the “visual aid” that I was currently viewing. One doesn’t appreciate the stars as much when observing them through the filter of haze caused by suburban street lamps and pollution. But, out where the only light for miles was from our campfire, the stars seemed close enough to hand pick out of the darkness. I had to force myself to return to my sleeping bag.


The deer fed on the foliage by the edge of a fog covered pond. The morning sun was warm on his back and a feeling of contentment had spread through his body. In the distance, a woodpecker was hammering away at a rotting tree, looking for its breakfast. Frogs croaked their satisfaction to the world, and the splash of a small fish implied it had found a morning morsel. At that moment, the deer had not a care in the world.


I slowly opened my eyes after a long and comfortable sleep, thinking it odd that I had dreamt, two nights in a row, of being a deer. As my eyes adjusted to the light pouring into the lean-to, I gradually made out a figure moving about in front of the shelter. My mind registered that it must be Jack bent over the fire, and was about to ask what was on the menu for breakfast, when the image cleared and I recognized the unmistakeable shape of a deer. I held my breath and remained motionless. However, I soon realized that my presence was already known by this creature. One eye was fixed on me as it fed on the nearby foliage. The hammering of a woodpecker could be heard in the distance. Was I still dreaming?

I’ve never been sure how long that moment actually lasted. It could have been a second… it could have been an hour. But, it ended when Jack, completely unaware of what was happening, woke and let out a yawn of one who has just woken from a great sleep. The deer did not appear startled, but simply lifted its head; looked straight at me as if to say, “Gotta’ go now” and winked (I’ll swear to the day they bury me, that deer winked). Then, in one leap, it was gone.

We were back at base camp by late morning. We had a long car ride ahead of us and wanted to get started before noon. After finding a place for the last of our gear in my old rusted-out Land Cruiser, we went down to the lake for one last look.

Sitting on the rocks, Jack remarked, almost to himself, “Another great adventure.”

As we stood to leave, a loon cried from the other side of the lake.

“Yep,” I replied. “Another great adventure.”