While I was there, I met a man from Connecticut who had been fishing portions of the Upper Androscoggin River that day and he had opted to conclude his fishing adventures by returning to Bear River Rips at Newry Corner along the Androscoggin River.

Photo by Tom Remington

An angler from Connecticut, casts his nymph onto the waters of the Upper Androscoggin River in Western Maine. At this site is the confluence of the Bear River and the Androscoggin. The Bear River is fed through several brooks and streams coming down out of Grafton Notch, high up in the Appalachian Mountain region near the Mahoosucs, noted as being some of the toughest terrain along the entire length of the Appalachian Trail.

The cool mountain waters of the Bear River provides a great resource for cold water species of fish such as trout. These much sought after fish lay quietly in water eddies waiting to strike at the opportunity for a meal.

Photo by Tom Remington

I stood at the completed boat ramp and snapped this shot looking upstream. To the right in the picture is where the Bear River enters the Androscoggin just below the bigger rips. The top of the smaller mountain to the right in the photo is Mt. Will, a great and relatively easy hiking trail that provides some spectacular scenery. Far up the river and what you can see over the top of the last visible part of the river, are mountains leading up to the Appalachian chain and the Mahoosucs. That one visible mountain may possibly be Locke Mountain.

Photo by Tom Remington

Standing on the same boat ramp looking downstream the views are just as stunning. The above angler told me a large trout lurked in the little ripples of water visible in the photo near to where I was standing.

Difficult to see and further down the river, is the head of Hemlock Island. I grew up on this river and as you view the photo, I lived on the right side of the river and Hemlock Island was directly behind our house. Hemlock Island is most noted in Indian lore as being the site that Indian Princess Mollyockett buried the treasures she had amassed over the years. As appealing as that might sound, don’t drop everything and head for the island to scavenge for treasure. People have flocked there for years looking. (My brothers and I found the treasure years ago and that’s why I am now independently wealthy!……. NOT!)

The sun was setting and the mosquitoes and black flies were feasting on my flesh, so I gathered myself and headed for camp, leaving the Connecticut angler in his quest to out-maneuver that pesky trout.

Author’s Note: If you would like to learn more about the history of this river and the transformation that has happened over the past few decades of taking this river from one of the ten most polluted rivers in America to a clean water, destination fishing location, you can read a story I wrote several years ago called, “From Blight to Beauty“.

Tom Remington

All too often we are mired in the moment, striving to make a buck, worrying about what a neighbor might be doing to reduce your property values. I would suppose in lots of ways, we could say the world has gotten far too serious. I fear we are so far into ourselves that when the last of life’s true characters are gone, all that will be left are a few tales to tell from those who want to remember.

Last evening my wife and I went out to a nearby diner and had a bite to eat and decided, after satiated, we needed a ride in the country (it’s all relative you know). We found ourselves taking in some scenes as we slowly bumped along the Grover Hill Road eventually landing in Mason Township. For those who don’t know, Maine still has several “unorganized townships”. These are areas where there is no official town government to steal your property rights away and tell you what you can’t do with your land, etc. But don’t get too excited. The state is eager to step up to the plate and assume that role.

We took a drive up one side of the Pleasant River, past the old Mason Township School House, which now looks like it has been converted to someone’s residence. We didn’t go far and turned around. We later crossed a one lane bridge over the same river and turned left onto the King’s Highway.

I struggled trying to remember who lived where and where the old (now new, old) Grover Farm sat. It had been several years since I had been up that way. I did recall and shared with my wife a time perhaps as long as 25 years ago, that I traveled up the dead end King’s Highway to a wood lot owned then by Robert Swain of Andover. I had gotten permission to go on his lot and clean up tree tops for firewood. Mr. Swain had sent a logger in there with horses to selectively harvest some of his timber. When this is done, back then, the tops of the trees are cut off and left laying in the forest. This provided a great way for people like me to get my winter’s supply of firewood, providing I could find a willing landowner.

What I recall most of going up there is that I was warned that in the last house on the end of the road, a man lived who claimed to be a caretaker of the property. It was a charming piece of property, nestled at the foot of the White Mountains, near or bordering directly on National Forest land.

The land may have been charming but the man living there surely wasn’t. On my first trip out with a pick-up truck full of cut and split firewood, I was greeted with the hollow end of a twelve gauge shotgun. The old recluse sprung from the bushes and stood between me and my truck and my destination. I had options but none I considered under the circumstances.

It took some time to talk him into believing I was there by permission and he let me go. I told him I would be returning in an hour or so. He didn’t bother me again.

As we plugged along the Highway, we took notice of several places where the road had some washouts from all the heavy rain we have been having. As we pitched over a rise, we came upon a man and his dog. As we passed him, I waved and told my wife I thought that was Richard Grover, one of the many members of the Grover family that fills this area of Mason with years of history.

We went a few hundred yards further and turned around, knowing the road would dead end shortly. When we returned, we stopped to chat with Mr. Grover and his dog Snuffy.

I have known to some degree a few of the Grovers over the years and it can be said that most, if not all, the Grovers fall into the category of being “characters”. Richard is no exception.

While living in Florida, my wife and I visit the website of the local weekly newspaper here in Bethel. If you visit that page, look to the right under the column of “Town News”. Scroll down a bit and click on the link for “Mason”. Richard has a weekly article there. For some you’ll enjoy it. For others, you are certainly missing out.

When my son and I began opening up our websites, one of them being Maine Outdoors Today, I was looking for great Maine writings to include. I wanted to get Richard’s articles republished but had some difficulty with copyrights, so I left it alone.

However, Richard remembered I had inquired about his writing and he commenced to tell me that after his father passes, he was sure to have some very interesting stories to tell. It seems that the elder Grover doesn’t care too much to have his stories spread around.

Although I hesitate to show my eagerness to hear the stories as it would mean the passing of a good man, it is important that his stories be told and passed down. I can only hope that somehow I can be a part of that.

As we reluctantly left Richard and Snuffy to battle the black flies and mosquitoes by themselves, I said to my wife, “What’s going to happen when all the characters are gone from this life?”

After a brief discussion, we both sat in silence for a bit and headed our vehicle back toward camp, somehow feeling a bit saddened, knowing that one of life’s greatest thrills might someday be only tall tales.

Tom Remington

Posted by Tom Remington

There is also a feature in the North American Whitetail magazine, January 2009 edition.

The first picture is of Fred on the day he took the Silver Ridge Buck.

Below are the scoring statistics.

A picture of Fred and his Silver Ridge Buck when Fred was in his 80s.

Fred on the left, pictured with Oscar Cronk at Fred’s 100th birthday party.

Tom Remington

The photo was taken by Milt Inman at the Andover, Maine Historical Society. Here’s his explanation:

What Is It? The machine was used to safely let a team of horses and a large sled full of logs slowly down from a mountain side to the valley below. The sled, with 4 wheels or pulleys, was taken up to near where the logs were cut and anchored to a large tree. The cable wound around the pulleys in away that it went around each one twice and then back down the mountain to a pulley chained to a tree and then back up to the braking machine. Moving the long levers on the rear of the machine would apply the braking force needed to do its job of snubbing up the load of logs hooked to the cable and going down the mountain. I think it was called a “SNUBBER” or something else. Milt

If you would like, you can return to the original post and read what some of the guesses were.

Posted by Tom Remington

Unfortunately, I think those bygone days are such that we’ll not see any again anytime soon. Today’s baseball player is more about themselves and how big a contract they can get while often times exemplifying a lack of respect for the game and the legend of America’s favorite pastime.

Griffin Whitman, a 10-year old who also happens to be a Boston Red Sox fan, sought ought the autograph of Yankees outfielder, Shelley Duncan. What he got surprised him. See photo to the right.

So what’s wrong with that? Probably nothing to most people today but as you might guess, I’m not most people today and I find it childish and ignorant. Here’s how Duncan described the act.

Duncan tells the paper he’s surprised that Griffith and his parents were offended. “I thought I was back in middle school or high school, where you try to make a joke or say something funny, and you end up saying something that gets you in trouble,” Duncan says. “I try to be interactive with people, be funny, have a good time and have a laugh. It’s not always Yankees fans that have us sign stuff. I try to rile ’em up and be fun. I don’t expect anybody to make a big deal about it. Nobody ever has before.”

And herein lies the problem. Someone forgot to explain to Duncan that he’s not in middle or high school anymore. It reminds of the Bible verse that says that when I was a child, I acted and spoke as a child and did childish things. When I became a man, I put those things away.

As a businessman, I would take issue with a representative of mine demeaning the game of baseball. Writing “Red Sox Suck” for a kid with an autograph isn’t representative of multi-million dollar salaries, say nothing about $50 parking prices, $6.00 hot dogs and $35.00 bleacher seats. As a parent, I would think it quite inappropriate. But heck, that’s just me and I think I am now clearly in a minority on such issues.

Tom Remington

An anonymous person gave this photo to the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife claiming to have seen a mountain lion in the Sydney, Maine area. According to an article in the Sun Journal, Mark Latti of MDIFW says the photo is authentic but cannot confirm the animal in it is a mountain lion.

Officials are investigating the scene to measure the rocks and surrounding objects to help better put to scale the size of the animal in the photo. As is usual with lions, experts use the tail as the first positive indicator of a lion. A puma’s tale is long and a pretty definitive trait. None can be seen is this photo. Officials hope to also be able to find tracks and scat.

I certainly am no expert on identifying animals but I question that the animal is a mountain lion. Here are two photos. One is of a mountain lion, the other a Canada lynx. Granted the photos are a considerably different setting but it should give you an indication of some of the key features of each of the animals.

Mountain lion, cougar, puma, catamount – these are name common to the lion.

Markings and colorings on the Sydney photo don’t seem to match those of a mountain lion. It is difficult to say as some of the color variations could be caused by shadows, etc.

Either way, these sightings have gone on for decades and MDIFW officials still report that there are no wild mountain lions in Maine. Until it is easily proven that Maine has a breeding pair of lions, that status will remain.

Tom Remington

Remember last years stories of the mystery beast?

Tom Remington

On July 17, 1939, Donn Fendler who lived in Rye, New York at the time, was hiking on Mt. Katahdin with family. He got lost and spent a week roaming the woods of what is now Baxter State Park. By following a stream and an old telephone line, he found his way out. The event got national attention.

After the event, Fendler teamed up with Joseph B. Egan to write the book of his experiences while being lost. He says the book mostly tells of what not to do when lost in the woods.

Back in 1939, then Governor Lewis Barrows seized on the opportunity to get some mileage out of the event, so he invited Fendler to the State House in Augusta and also promised to give him a lifetime fishing license. He never received the license.

Last year Fendler met up with Department of Conservation Commissioner Pat McGowan. During their meeting Fendler mentioned the promise in passing to McGowan who passed that information on to the present Gov. Baldacci.

Fendler was invited back to the State House to meet with Baldacci. He received a decorative paddle signed by the governor and his once-promised fishing license. He intends to use it.

Fendler, who now lives in Tennessee, returns to Maine every year. He says he will be on the East Branch of the Penobscot River next week. The East Branch is the location of the sporting camp where he emerged after being lost nearly 70 years ago.

Tom Remington

The employment agencies “raked over the large cities” with the result that men of all nationalities, many of them recent immigrants, were sent into Maine by the train load. The writer complained, “Many of these had never had a cant dog in their hands, nor seen a tree felled. … It is calculated that after a few weeks experience, three of these newly arrived foreigners are about equal to one good woodsman.”

Worth the read!

Tom Remington