During the fourth and fifth days of his extraordinary ordeal in July 1939, 12-year-old Donn Fendler followed the old Wassataquoik Tote Road, the same route that runs through this remote corner of Baxter State Park.
More than 80 years later, I’m following part of that route.
My primary goal on this five-day journey is to hike the Grand Falls Trail, a little over four miles of footpath that has eluded me through all these years of exploring Baxter.
A pair of mergansers drift lazily in the deadwater here at the merging of the south branch and main branch of Wassataquoik Stream. Boreal chickadees make their presence known in the spruce branches above as the sun slowly sinks in the west. Out that way are the forested flanks of Russell Mountain, flat-topped from this perspective. Farther on is the conical profile of Mullen Mountain and the rounded hump of Center Mountain.
I sit contentedly on the deacon seat of Wassataquoik Stream Lean-to No. 1, seven miles by historic footpath from the trailhead at Roaring Brook Campground. The summer evening is warm, the deer flies and mosquitoes are active, and the bourbon from the small container is, well, oh so good. There’s not another soul around at this place deep in the Baxter State Park backcountry as I relax and watch this scene I call Wassataquoik T.V.
Evening settles over Russell Pond as a park canoe glides across the water. Credit: Courtesy of Carey Kish 
Katahdin rises beyond the forest and water on the hike into the Wassataquoik and Russell Pond area. Credit: Courtesy of Carey Kish 
A campfire burns outside Lean-to No. 2 at Russell Pond. Credit: Courtesy of Carey Kish 
Wassataquoik Stream Lean-to No. 1 sits beside the water in a remote corner of Baxter State Park. Credit: Courtesy of Carey Kish 
From the deacon seat at Wassataquoik Stream Lean-to No. 1, the author watches the evening scene he calls “Wassataquoik T.V.” Credit: Courtesy of Carey Kish 
Grand Falls roars along Wassataquoik Stream on the trail that follows the historic Wassataquoik Tote Road. Credit: Courtesy of Carey Kish
The dark treeline swallows up the sun, and with that, the show is over. I lay back and drink in the peace and quiet of the coming night.
Morning light filters through the fragrant woods as I enjoy my coffee and another episode of Wassataquoik T.V. I empty my backpack, hang my food bag, pack a few things into the now empty pack and set off. Wearing sandals and carrying boots in hand, I ford the Wassataquoik’s south branch and soon after, the main branch, 50 feet across anyway, pleasantly cold and crotch deep on this hiker.
It’s a couple miles’ walk to Russell Pond. If there’s a beating heart in the middle of Gov. Baxter’s magnificent wilderness, this has to be it. A handful of lean-tos and campsites line the west shore, and I check in on Lean-to No. 2, which I find unoccupied and where I’ll be staying the next night. I’ve been here before but had forgotten what a nice site it is, with a pond view, not far from the privy and near the dock and canoes. Sweet!
After negotiating Ankle Knocker Bridge, 320 feet of continuous bog bridges, I turn onto Grand Falls Trail and head for the ranger cabin. Ranger Danielle is there and we have a great conversation, mostly about our mutual love of this spot, where she has worked for seven summers. I volunteer to count and map blowdowns on the trail ahead to help her with clearing duties in the coming days, then strike off for the big falls.
Inscription Rock is a giant boulder in Wassataquoik Stream, a monument of sorts to the logging era of 150 years ago. The inscription on its face is impossible to read, but I later discovered the words in “Katahdin: An Historic Journey” by John Neff: “Tracey and Love, Commenced Operations, on Wassataquoik, Oct. 16th, 1883.” Wow.
Here, the path turns north along the high western bank of the stream to a series of thundering cascades, Grand Falls. You can still see where the rock had been dynamited to ease passage of the logs.
Doubling back, I arrive at Ledge Falls and walk out onto the huge flat slabs, plop down and eat lunch. The water is music to my ears, trout swim in the pools and the sense of wild fills me.
This section of the trail from Grand Falls to Ledge Falls and back to the crossing near my lean-to follows the old Wassataquoik Tote Road.
“I was happy at last. I knew that road would lead me into a camp or out to another road,” Donn told Joseph Egan in the classic “Donn Fendler: Lost on a Mountain in Maine.” “I didn’t care which; so I followed it, going as fast as I could… I don’t know how long I followed that road but night came and I had to stop. I crawled up close to [a big tree] and dropped down, too tired to go another step. I slept hard…”
Incredibly, Donn continued along the Wassataquoik and found safety at Lunksoos Camps on the Penobscot’s East Branch after nine grueling days. Humbled and heartened, I, on the other hand, amble in the other direction back to camp, relax and read and do a whole lot of not too much in the shade, and fall fast asleep not long after sundown. I think of 12-year-old Donn, who bedded down for that fourth lonely night not far from here.
When I reach Russell Pond again the next morning with my full backpack in tow, my lean-to is empty, so I move right in. Then it’s on to Wassataquoik Lake.
Thanks to a tip from the ranger, and considering the heat and humidity, I abandon plans to ramble all the way to the Lookout above the far end of the lake. I plan to reach it from the Center Pond side on a two-night backpack trip this autumn.
Danielle told me there was a kayak at the day use site at Wassataquoik’s lower end. And lo and behold, there it was. For the next several delightful hours, I paddle on the wildly beautiful lake that’s hemmed in by the steep slopes of Wassataquoik Mountain and South Pogy Mountain. It’s a glorious scene, one that’s even better when viewed from the Lookout.
Back at Russell Pond, I take a canoe out for a lazy happy hour spin around. Then I spend a short time collecting downed wood a few minutes from the campground. Supper, book, look, journal. Another paddle at dusk; I would spend the night out here floating around with the loons amid the mountains and beneath the stars if I could.
It’s warm but I light a blaze anyway; it’s my last night and a fire seems a pleasant way to spend these precious hours.
The hike out on the fifth day is unremarkable, mostly because I erred by taking the slightly shorter Russell Pond Trail, which was rocky, rooty and muddy. I’d forgotten this detail.
In the Roaring Brook parking lot I meet a couple headed into Russell. We get to talking and I learn that they are best friends with Porter Fox, the author of the book I’ve been reading on this hike, “Northland: A 4,000-Mile Journey Along America’s Forgotten Border.” Go figure.
I take the long way out of Baxter State Park, driving to Togue Pond Gate but then turning north on the Park Tote Road. GPS coordinates lead me to an old park entrance road, long blocked off. I park and walk the half-mile out of the park to the dam at the southeast end of Nesowadnehunk Lake and the headwaters of Nesowadnehunk Stream. Check.
I don’t stop again until the Irving in Sherman, where I buy a cheeseburger for the trip south on I-95.
