Backwoods Blog

THE TRESTLE

The Isolation Blues;

reflections during covid-19

By most estimates this has been a rather lean snow year for Northern Maine thus far.  The old-timers used to say 100 inches was a good snow year so at approximately 30 inches we are lagging far behind our norms at this point. Of course one good storm could double our numbers overnight and we still have a long ways to go until Spring thaw…I’ve been keeping my own unofficial snowfall records here in the woods for the past thirty years and measuring temperatures on my classic thermometer tacked to a tree by the cabin, but I must admit, now that we’re living at the farmhouse I’m more likely to check the weather app on my iPhone than go outdoors and take a look. My father had an old copy of annual snowfall amounts that went back to 1902 recorded by the Great Northern Paper Company when they had a logging operation in Monticello. They had a damn, saw mill and boarding house located at the railroad trestle where the north branch Meduxnekeag River crossed just upstream from where my cabin is located. Here is an old journal entry about skiing to the trestle one Saturday morning in a snow storm.

Journal Entry
January 13th, 1996


Looks like there is a storm on its way as the static-prone radio
is promising snow for the entire state; 6-10 inches turning to 
sleet along the coast, all snow inland.  Ahh…there’s nothing 
like the anticipation of a good storm. While Middle-Atlantic 
states may be a bit apprehensive when it comes to handling snow, 
New England likes to provoke and challenge winter’s worst head 
on. It gives us a sense of north tradition and snow-belt 
superiority. 


I turned off the radio
stoked the fire
waxed my skis
and waited for the storm.


The next morning the snow had arrived and was still falling; it 
was 25 degrees, calm, with close to six inches of fresh snow on 
the ground. I carried my skis down to the river, strapped the 
bindings and headed up the frozen stream on my way to breakfast 
two miles away at a little restaurant. The river was quiet, 
insulated from sound by the fluff of snow and the isolation that 
comes from living in the backwoods, the only sound the ocassional 
trickling of water under the ice and the swooshing of my ski 
through snow. When I came to the old railroad trestle (about a 
half mile up stream from the cabin) I left the river and climbed 
the bank to the I-83 snowmobile trail. The iron trestle was 
constructed turn of the last century and stands 84 feet above 
the water and 400 feet long making it the longest span on the 
Maine Snowmobile Trail System. 


I continued on my way and noticed I was the first person on the 
trail. Usually a Saturday morning on the I-83 is like a rush hour 
commute, but not today. It was almost as if the snowmobiles were 
afraid of a little bit of snow on the trail, waiting for the 
groomer to come and plow it for them. I skied through old 
Monticello station, skiing by E.L. Nason’s abandoned potato house 
where Dad would take me as a child - the nostalgia of old run down 
America. When I got to the restaurant I stood my skis on the open 
porch and brushed the snow off my wool clothing.


I could smell the wood smoke from the stove inside.
I could almost taste the coffee…

“Old Bangor & Aroostook Railroad trestle (built 1894)

In the woods,

 
Dave

February 16, 2021