Date: 2004-09-24
From: Pierce Pond, ME

To: Crossing the Kennebec River
Miles today: 16.7

I have hiked over two thousand miles on my feet. This morning, I stood on the bank of the Kennebec River, seventy yards wide. It is the widest body of water to cross without the aide of a bridge.The river seemed low. A local man told me that the water levels would rise whenever the dam upstream released a spike flow. He told me that this release had already happened, but the water from the release would take 34 of an hour to reach this spot.Some hikers utilize the services of a canoeist to cross the river. The canoeist offered me the use of a life jacket, which I accepted. He asked me to sign a release. I gave him my backpack to ferry across.I studied the current beforehand. In some places there were riffles representing shallow water. There were smoother flows indicating deeper water. I ascertained that the best and safest approach would be to ford the river wherever the riffles were located.I zigged zagged about ? of the way across the river, using my wooden walking sticks for balance. The water depth was up to my knees. On the bottom of the river was a jumble of rocks. The current was stronger than I had anticipated. I had initially swished my walking sticks through the water as I moved along, but the current soon became too powerful to move them. It became necessary to lift them up from the water and place them back in spots where I sought leverage.The surface water near the further bank was less turbulent and therefore deeper and more forceful; this was the main channel. I entered this part of the river and the water rose up to the top of my legs. As expected, the force of the current was much stronger. I walked sideways to the current, lifting my walking sticks high up and then placed them down. I kept my eyes peeled on the rocks along the bottom. I knew that if I lost my footing and got swept up by the current, it would be hard to regain my footing. There seemed to be a slope angling to my left, an upstream direction. I followed this slope and avoided the deeper water. The next thing I knew, the water was getting shallow. At that moment, I knew I had successfully forded the river.During the afternoon, I climbed up and over Pleasant Pond Mountain. It was not a high mountain, but it wore me out. Late in the day I reached Moxie Pond. A gravel road bordered the shore. I looked for a place to camp, but the woods were brushy and unappealing.I came upon a grassy clearing where two trailers were parked. A middle aged man and an elderly man were sitting around a huge fire. A blue tarp was rigged over them. All kind of stuff lay around. I approached them and said hello. They said that this place was their fishing camp and they had been occupying the spot all summer. I asked them if they could suggest a place for me to camp. They offered me a place in the clearing, but I declined because there were no trees with enough space around them for a hammock and tarp. One of the men told me that an old section of The Appalachian Trail, prior to a rerouting, used to follow a course behind an adjoining swamp. I thanked them for the advice and left.The men were correct; an old trail led into the woods. I found a nice place to string up my hammock and tarp.The moon is almost full; it is casting beams of light into the woods. The white bark of the birch trees in the swamp are glowing from the moonbeams.It is a Friday night. The vehicles of weekend fishermen, at least that's who I think they are, have been passing by on the gravel road. On the other side of the swamp, other people have pulled into the clearing. There is a festive mood, people are shouting at each other in a friendly way. By contrast, I am lying in my hammock on the other side of the swamp, barely able to keep my eyes open.