All who wander are not lost. But some sure are.
When the shattered, battered remnants of the Upside Down Canoe Club drove into the town of Eagle Lake on Route 11, we knew something was wrong. In our many canoe trips in the North Woods, we had never been to Eagle Lake. When all else fails, we consult the Maine Atlas and Gazetteer. We had made this trip to Round Pound and the Allagash so many times, certainly we would not need a map, we thought.
But need it we did.
The real purpose of the Upside Down Canoe Club is to solve the world’s problems. It can be done on the water or the land. We were solving so many problems along Route 11 that we sailed through Portage, our destination, at 60 mph. There couldn’t have been any signs, we agreed, as we backtracked on Route 11, already late to meet our guide. We sheepishly drove back to Portage, where there was a “Welcome to Portage” sign, the Portage post office complete with a flag, a sign for Portage Lake and a sign for Portage Airport.
We had missed them all. The Upside Down Canoe Club is used to travails, even disasters, but they usually happen on Maine’s rivers and lakes, not the damn roads. Jefferson Phil, the founder, commander and treasurer of the Upside Down Canoe Club blew at least two gaskets at the missed turn onto Realty Road.
When in doubt I always say “Let’s eat.”
Already late, we stopped at a perfect spot called Dean’s Motor Lodge and Restaurant in Portage. While chewing on the world’s most perfect hamburger (we had been driving since 6 a.m.), we asked about the connection to the “Reality Road.” That set off the familiar North Woods argument between waitresses Elaine and Tracy over whether the road was pronounced “Realty” or “Reality.” In my sparse experience in the North Woods, I had never heard it pronounced anything other than “Reality.” But the Gazetteer, the bible of the woods, spells it “Realty.”
I will leave that up to you, and to Elaine and Tracy.
The argument and discussion was moot anyway, because the road in question ran out of Ashland, not Portage. It ends up that we didn’t need Portage when we couldn’t find it. Typical. Ashland was another 10 miles south. We had bought some beets there, oh an hour ago. Now, we were really late.
All of this was for the belated wake for departed Upside Down Canoe Club member Walter Griffin, our favorite bowman. On his death bed, he insisted that we hold his Irish wake at Round Pond cabins, which we considered the Ritz, after a few years camping in tents. We had to bring Paddy Irish whiskey for the campfire ceremony. Many years ago, we spent the worst night ever in the woods, just across the pond from the cabins. On that chilly morning, Jefferson Phil paddled out to the middle of the lake to talk to another canoeist. Still shivering, he told the paddler that he was “sick of beer,” a rare malady among the Upside Down Canoe Club . This saint disguised as a paddler produced a bottle of Paddy’s and a legend was born.
Naturally, we must have Paddy’s on Round Pond, especially for the Irish wake.
After the Portage burgers, we raced and rammed along 40-odd miles of dirt road on the Reality-Realty Road (take your pick) to Henderson Bridge, more than an hour late. Guide Norman Marquis was far from upset. As I told Jefferson Phil, I was sure it happened all the time.
“Happens all the time,” said Marquis.
Since we had an official guide and all, I packed dangerously light for the Maine woods. I forgot a coffee mug (vital), notebook, (also vital) an appropriate novel, any Polartec at all (I must have 15), a phone charger and Fiddle Faddle. Walter, our departed bowman, was as cheap as they came and always bristled at spending his money on foolishness like Fiddle Faddle, which he wolfed down as soon as the box was opened. It should have been part of the ceremony.
In Donald Trump luxury, Marquis motored us to the legendary cabins in the woods. We never touched a paddle.
Now, that’s canoeing.
Well, we got there as Walter insisted. We were late. And I forgot the cup, notebook, novel, Polartec, phone charger and the damned Fiddle Faddle. Walter would have expected no less from the Upside Down Canoe Club. But we remembered the Paddy’s and toasted him around the campfire. In the morning it would be back to Reality. Or Realty. Take your pick.
But now, he will always be part of Round Pond. Round Pond will always be part of him.
Emmet Meara lives in Camden in blissful retirement after working as a reporter for the Bangor Daily News in Rockland for 30 years.