# Down East Latch Strings/Chapter 13

These lakes, with their tributaries, are often styled the Androscoggin lakes, because they connectedly drain into that river. The main chain, counting from east to west (down stream), consists of five — Oquóssoc, (or Rangeley proper), Cupsuptic Mooseluemagúntic (or Great lake), Molechunkamunk (or Upper Richardson), Welokennbácook (or Lower Richardson), and Umbágog. Altogether they cover about seventy square miles. Into the first named flows Long pond, often styled the head of the Androscoggin, and several other small ponds and brooks. Into the second, comes Cupsuptic river, enlarging into Cupsuptic lake at its mouth; and into the Rangeley river, which empties Rangeley lake into Mooselucmaguntic, at its point of narrow union with Cupsuptic, is received the strong Kennebago river from the seven ponds and Kennebago lake on the Canadian boundary. The Richardson ponds and several brooks overflow into the next two lakes, which send their overflow through Rapid river to the remoter Umbagog, which receives the strong Cambridge river from the hills south and east of it, and out of which pours the Androscoggin. Into that river, about a mile below its head, comes the Magalloway, which drains Parmachenée lake some twenty-five miles northward (in a straight line), but whose source is on the edge of Canada. The altitude of Umbagog is 1,256 feet above the sea; of the Richardson lakes, 1,456; of Mooselucmaguntic, 1,486; and of Oquossoc, 1,511. No one need be surprised, therefore, at the torrential character of the Rangeley and Rapid rivers.
Except on the northern shore of Oquossoc and the southern shore of Umbagog there are no settlements, and the whole surrounding region is penetrated only by a few trails. These woods are still the abode of large and small game of every kind, and from them rise mountains that tempt the explorer. The fishing in the lakes has long been renowned, for they contain the largest brook trout known in the country, perhaps in the world, This fact, and their ​accessibility, has caused the lakes to be much resorted to by sportsmen, and upon the shores of each of them club-houses, small hotels, and private cottages, or "camps," have been built. Let me quote a few sentences, just here, from a recent pamphlet written by a Boston man of good authority:—
"Those unacquainted with the resources of this wilderness for fish breeding, would naturally suppose that the enormous drain on these waters would soon deplete them of fish; but such is not the case, owing to the hundreds of ponds surrounding and emptying into the lakes, each furnishing its quota of fish for the larger bodies of water, and to the hatching-houses which have been established for ten years, and from which every year millions of small trout are turned into the lakes, to furnish pleasure and food to the anglers, and keep good the supply. It is a fact, that many sportsmen, who have visited these waters for many years in succession, claim that the trout-fishing is better in the lakes to-day than it was twenty years ago.
"Land-locked salmon, which were introduced to the Androscoggin waters some ten years ago, have also largely increased, and specimens of these fish have been taken weighing over six pounds. The lakes are also well supplied with minnows and chubs, furnishing an abundant and agreeable supply of food for trout and salmon.
"The same praises that are advanced upon the Androscoggin lake region as a game and fish paradise, can also be aptly applied to it as one of the most beautiful summer resorts in the world. The combination in scenery of lakes, ponds, rivers, and mountains, coupled with the pure water and air, and a most agreeable climate, put it far ahead of competition. Persons of consumptive tendency will here obtain a great benefit, and those troubled with hay fever and similar complaints, will find immediate relief.
"The hotels, while not like those at the large mountain and seaside resorts, are neat, comfortable houses, well furnished, with tables supplied with plain, wholesome, and well-cooked food, and are run at a average rate of about $2.00 per day.
"There are three principal routes of entrance to the lake region from Boston: 1st, via Portland, Bethel and Cambridge, to Lake Umbagog; 2d, via Portland, Bryant's Pond and Andover to Lake Welokennabacook; 3d, via Portland, Farmington and Phillips to Oquossoc lake."
To accommodate visitors and to aid the commercial enterprises of the region, steamboats have been placed upon each lake and upon the Magalloway river, and wagon-transfers provided at the carries between them.
It was upon the uppermost of the chain of lakes that we were now embarked. The water was smooth and the air deliciously moist and cool, while the sunshine was rapidly cutting long swaths in the mists that still lingered upon the sides of the drenched hills in irregular clouds. About the upper half of this lake, farms overspread the sloping shores, but the forest has only been nibbled away at the edge.
At the foot of the lake, six miles from "the city," near where Oquossoc outlet, or the Rangeley river, goes sliding noisily down its ledges, stands a handsome private cottage and a hotel, the Mountain View House, at which we proposed to spend the night. Baily at once hired a boat and a boy, who paddled him out somewhere near South Bog island, and placed him where he hooked enough trout to establish his reputation on the piazza, and to make us happy at breakfast, next morning. This is where Mr. Page's famous eleven-and-a-half pounder was caught, the skin of which we once saw in the office of a New York angler. Near by is a fish-hatching louse, where a million or so brook trout are brought to life every winter and distributed among the various lakes below, as well as put into Oquossoc. Eggs of land-locked salmon and whitefish are also propagated here.
June and September are the prime mouths for angling in this locality, and during that time the hotels are filled with family parties, who do not care to "rough it" in the remoter camps, and who can here indulge in rowing, driving and hill-climbing more conveniently than elsewhere. The north-shore road from Rangeley City continues two miles further to Indian Rock.
Early next morning we sere set across the head of the outlet, and then walked leisurely through the flower-strewn woods behind a buck-board carrying our baggage, until, at the end of a mile, it emerged into the dooryard of the boarding-house at Haine's Landing on Mooselucmaguntic.
But the neat steam yacht which was to transport us down the lake to Upper Dam was ready, and, with the loss of one or two members, the party of passengers speedily put themselves aboard, quite as many sprawling upon the baggage and hanging their feet over the side, as took respectable sittings in the sternsheets. Two or three boats were tied behind and away we went.
Our first destination was Indian Rock, ta reach which we headed through the Narrows between this lake and Cupsuptic, northward.
"Well, I shouldn't call these narrows," declared Prue. "How can you tell where this lake ends and the other begins?"
The steamboat traces this old channel in a most devious course, past many headlands and islands of rock, where bristling fir and feathery birch tuck their toes in common poverty between the bowlders; and sails within stone’s throw of Senator Frye's "camp" on top of a mass of well-shaded, solid granite, over-looking the lake, mountains and the mouth of the Kennebago.
Cupsuptic lake, whose small size permits the whole of it to be taken in from one point of view, is the prettiest of this series. It has islands, coves, and good camping-places in the unbroken forest, which sweeps from the water's edge up to the hills around its whole circumference. It is fed by the winding Cupsuptic stream, up which the small lake-steamer can generally ascend as far as the falls (five ​miles) "through a meadow or swamp, dotted with dead trees.…This was once a favorite feeding-ground for moose, and they are still occasionally met with." At the falls are fishermen's cabins, and a carry a quarter of a mile long to the rapid water above, in which there is canoe navigation eight miles to the beginning of the eight-mile carry across to Parmachenée lake,—a path said to be good, though hilly.
We did not venture into Cupsuptic lake, but turned to the right and entered the mouth of Rangeley river, a flock of herons rising lazily from their feeding on the flooded flats, and trailing off north-ward with outstretched neck and hanging legs. A young passenger, who was perhaps only thoughtless, and not really abandoned to evil, and who may escape a felon's fate, pulled out his gun and was about to fire, when captain, and engineer, and crew, and cook of the steam-yacht, all leaped forward with one impulse, and stopped him, much to our satisfaction. There is no quicker way to spoil the interest of the wild scenes we have come so far to sec than to kill off these birds, and many others, that are not game, yet lend so much charm to the frontier landscape; and it is entirely shocking to all right-minded people, that anybody should want to do so. (The gratifying unanimity of the crew, by the way, was partly due to the fact that one gilt-banded cap covered the steamer's whole personel.)
We could get up the Rangeley torrent only as far as the mouth of the Kennebago, a swift current in blue and white that comes rushing down from Kennebago lake and the grand peaks that hold it in their arms. Nevertheless that lake is not reached by an ascent of the river, but by a buckboard road through the woods, seven miles from Rangeley City. There is an inn upon its horder, keeping boats and other conveniences for sportsmen, who should go there late in the season alter the pestiferous insects have subsided. The same warning applies to all the Dead River country.
At the month of the Kennebago, where we made our first stop, is a prominent mass of stone called Indian Rock, and opposite it, on the western banks of the Kennebago and Rangeley rivers, are the headquarters of the Oquossoc Angling Association, occupying a large clearing with several comfortable houses for lodging and board, and a spacious boat-house on the wharf, in which scores of beautiful boats, each bearing the owner's name, are kept and cared for.
We ran in here, but did not stop, except for a few moments, not having an introduction to the privileges of the club. Indian Rock is a postoffice, and is connected by a road with the Mountain View House and Rangeley City, and by trails and canoe routes with the Parmachenee lake and other interior waters. This association has among its members many men of wealth and prominence in all parts of New England. and it has exerted a strong influence for good in aiding its enforcement of the game laws of the state.
​Threading our way back again, we headed down the lake, and soon got out far enough to take in the view of the mountainous and wooded surroundings. To the eastward, the fine range of the Bemis borders the shore. Down from their dark bulwark rattles and roars that Bemis brook which stands so high in the estimation of autumnal anglers, and has at its mouth a hotel-camp which forms one of the favorite resting places of the region, and is so well-known that you can buy a ticket from Boston straight thither. Northward, right up Cupsuptic, is planted the isolated cone of West Kennebago, its slopes forming an equal-sided and smooth triangle, meeting in a sharp apex; over its left shoulder peers the more distant East Kennebago, but its
Nobody awaited us on the little wharf except a French boy, leaning on his yoke of oxen which looked ridiculously powerful in front of the small dirt-cart they had dragged down as a baggage wagon. But this did not mean either solitude or incivility. When we had walked a quarter of a mile along the shore, we came to a low-browed cottage, whose appearance was as inviting as its architecture was nondescript. This is the headquarters of the superintendent of the dams, and has become a hotel by force of circumstances, rather than by intention, now hiding under its spacious roof and ​ Aziscoos mountain, Rangeley lakes, from Mooselucmaguntic. ​modern additions the "huge log cabin," where Church and Winthrop were offered the freedom of the settlement in a tobacco box. "Its architecture," the latter records, "was of the early American style, and possessed the high art of simplicity. It was solid, not gingerbreadesque. Primeval art has a rude dignity," etc., etc. The old cabin still stands, but is so imbedded in the new that it takes an antiquarian to find it.
Half a dozen ladies and children strolling about in sunshades and comfortably loose gowns were the only persons visible, for all the men were either busy at the repairing of the immense dam and lumber chutes (which can raise the height of the lake fifteen feet and are worthy of careful attention), or else were away fishing. But we found our way to quarters without trouble,—what a glorious big stone fireplace that is in the hall!—and neither worried, nor had cause to, about the accommodations. Indeed, I can remember no place where we felt so immediately "at home" and contented as in this little stopping-place at Upper Dam.
By-and-by, as the day declined, canoe-load after canoe-load of anglers and angleresses began to come in, hold up strings of fish to our unstinted admiration, smile through tanned and sunburnt faces their honest satisfaction, and presently reappear in fresh coats and slippers, eager for supper. This meal introduced us to the quaintest little dining room in all Maine—half of the old log house—ceiled to the farthest angle of its steep roof, and so gaily painted in white, red and blue, that one couldn't decide whether he were eating in a Gothic chapel, or in a steamboat cabin.
"It seems to be Friday all summer here," Prue remarks, as we leave the table, after one of those substantial meals at which every-body assembled so promptly.
"Why?"
"Because one gets fish—fish—fish, at every meal."
She refers to stories rather than to provender. Though, in the unhappily short time vouchsafed to most visitors here, no one gets tired of the eating of the ever-present trout, it was the re-catching and re-measuring of them in the conversation of the enthusiastic sportsmen, that had excited my wife’s comment. I have sometimes wondered whether there were not more enjoyment in this postmortem sport than in the reality; but Baily says he believes that the most fun of his year's angling comes in working over his tackle and getting ready, each spring. It is indeed marvelous to one not (as Prue scornfully told Baily he was) to see what labor and exposure and privations will be cheerfully undergone here by men, who in town are peevish over getting up before nine o'clock, or at the least irregularity in comfort. Here they are boys again, and net only take their punishment pluckily, ⟨but⟩ kiss the rod, be it split bamboo, or lance-wood, or what-not. ​What a lovely picture was that before us as we sat smoking our cigars on the porch after tea! In the foreground, a cyclopean wall of granite, some massive part of the dam-structure, slanting away at the best angle for composition, Beyond that a broad space of dead water, stuck full of stumps and floating logs, which reaches far to the right,—a tangle of snags—hacked by a strip of dense forest stretching across the left half of the scene. This forested point is only a Deer mountain, Rangeley lakes. quarter of a mile away, and is made up of all sorts of trees, whose ruddy tops blaze in the evening light against the background of dappled hillside beyond Molechunkamunk. Only a glimpse of that lake is visible, gleaming white in the heart of the picture, and bounded by a russet-and-indigo slope rounding upward into the ridges of the farther hills, and behind it all the eye is caught and held by the far-distant silhouette of the Grafton mountains—miles and miles away as a bird might fly—washed upon the warn white sky in pale cobalt, even and smooth, with a sharp, clean, attractive outline. It was an evening like that of the burial of Minnisink:—
​Baily declined to go anywhere except a-fishing during the three days we had allotted to Upper Dam; but Prue and I spent one day in a run to South Arm and back on one of the steamers which the Androscoggin Lakes Transportation Company have put into daily service upon the Richardson lakes. South Arin is the southernmost extremity of the Lower lake (Welokennabacook), and is one of the points of entrance from the outer world. The route thither is by the Grand Trunk railway to Bryant's Pond station. From there, daily stages run northward through the pleasant towns of Milton and Rumford to Andover, where the night must be spent and good inns will be found. Andover is in the broad meadows of Ellis river, and has many good shooting and fishing localities in its neighborhood, and some very pretty mountain scenery. From here it is a ride of twelve miles in a buckboard through utterly uninhabited woods and over high hills, yet upon a decent road, to the A. L. T. Co.'s very comfortable little hotel, the Lakeview Cottage, on the steep shore of the South Arm. Though this entails twice as much staging as the route to the lakes by way of Phillips, the total distance from Portland is much less, and it may be regarded as the direct road to the lower lakes.
"The fishing at South Arm, from the time the ice goes out, up to about the middle of July, is as good as at any other point in the lake region, and trout weighing from a half a pound to five pounds are taken there.…Ladies and young people can here indulge in boating with less danger than at any other point on the lakes." So wrote Captain Farrar, in his Guide; and he added, as a viva voce supplement, that in '85 six trout were caught just opposite the hotel, by one angler, in one excursion, which weighed together thirty-eight pounds. We jarred cruelly upon Baily's sensitive soul, by telling him of this, with due enlargements, when we got home that night; but he retorted by equally large statistics from Upper Dam, where a single fish of seven pounds was caught the same season, and one of over twelve pounds is on record.
South Arm cove is closely shut in by the lofty, rocky, jungle-covered, bear-haunted spurs of the massive mountains southward; and coming out we can see little, except the fine pyramid of Mt. Dustan on the New Hampshire line, which stands squarely ahead, until we get opposite the outlet of the lake, near its centre on the western side, where is the Power Company’s middle dam and hotel, toward which our course is shaped.
The names of these dams are given in relation to each other; the lower, or Errol dam, being at the outlet of Umbagog, the middle one here at the outlet of the Richardson lakes, and the upper at the foot of Great lake; several lesser dams obstruct tributary streams.
Middle Dam left behind, we take farewell glimpses of some tall peaks about the Dixville notch, and, there, as we get near to The Narrows, conducting from Welokennabacook, into Molechunkamunk, ​we catch sight of Aziscoos and Observatory peaks for a few moments, over the near ridges in the northwest. The day is sunny and just breezy enough to roughen the water with little ripples that break the glare. Long patches of deepest Prussian blue lie athwart it, alternating with the sepia tints reflected from the clouds, and touches of color near shore reproducing the bright September tapestry of the hillsides. What a wonderful variety of colors was contained in that tapestry, while every shadow that lurked underneath the crowding leaves was brightest navy blue. There was no white nor black nor gloom anywhere,—all color and sunshine and warmth. Yet Prue wrapped her shawl closely about her, for the air was cool.
As we turn northward into the Narrows, a mob of mountains rises behind us over the lowlands in the south-southwest, in the centre of which, Washington and all his northern companions stand up, filmy and cloud-flecked, but distinct and unmistakable. At this distance inferior heights take their true place, and the shape, the poise, the overtopping height, the color of the Presidents, all testify to their natural supremacy. On the left, towers the nearer and shapely mass of Speckled mountain, at the Grafton notch, and at its left, a little later, the triple-peaked Saddleback, between Andover and Grafton, which stands somewhat this side, and, properly speaking, is a range.
As we emerge into Molechunkamunk lake, the mountains beyond Rangeley come finely into view ahead; the symmetrical cone at the north end of the Observatory range reappears at the left, and is quickly followed by the remaining nameless peaks of that handsome series. On the right, Mettaluk point juts out between the Narrows and Mettaluk brook. The name is that of an Iroquois Indian who lived upon these lakes about forty years ago, and left his name attached to various localities here and elsewhere. Mettaluk brook is frequented especially In July and August, when the fishing in the lake is likely to be dull. Trout of five pounds' weight are said to have bean taken from certain pools four or five miles up the creek.
Just beyond, we catch sight of the luxuriously furnished cabins of Camp Whitney, the resort of a coterie of veteran fishermen who never tire of returning.
As the steamer's head turns northward opposite Camp Whitney, slowly there rises over the hills ahead, the rocky, olive-tinted, ponderous poll of Mount Aziscoos, the greatest of all the hills in the lake district and one whose dignity grows upon the beholder the longer he regards it. Passing the row of commodious log houses which entertains the Boston club, we touch at the Upper Dam landing; but as the steamer is to go to the northern extremity of the lake and buck, we stay aboard and go with her, passing several fine camps on the shores, and calling at Birch Lodge, "probably the most complete camp in arrangement and equipment of any in the lake country." It stands on the northern shore, between the outlet of the pretty ​Richardson ponds, and Beaver brook. Trails lead from there to the summits of both Aziscoos and Observatory peaks, but their ascent is very laborious from this side.
Bidding farewell to our friends at Upper Dam, the next morning, when the sky was overcast with thick clouds fitting our reluctant mood, we took the steamboat for Middle Dam, and there found a buckboard ready to carry us five miles through the silent woods to Sunday Cove on Lake Umbagog. Thinking of its name, that little bay, when we had wearily attained to it, seemed fitly named after the line in old George Herbert's Sabbath Hymn, it was "so cool, so calm, so bright;" but, alas! for us sightseers, the "bridal of the earth and sky" was a bank of impenetrable mist.