“I want to kill a Kodiak Bear”
My two closest friends are Tom Jones (no, not that Tom Jones) and The Reverend James Bruce Hamlin, or J.B. as he preferred to be called. Two better guys I’d challenge you to find. Out of the blue, one day, Tom says, “What I’d like to do is go to Kodiak Island and bow hunt Kodiak bears.” What the F___??? I mean, have you ever seen a Kodiak bear? They can stand 8 feet tall and average 1500 pounds! They can fit other bears’ entire heads in their mouths. Apex predators, to say the least, and Tom wants to bow hunt them? “Are you nuts?” was my reply. But Tom dreams big and is an adventure seeker, no doubt. Kodiak Bear would truly be an adventure unmatched if you lived through it. But Tom wanted to hunt bear.
The three of us talked a lot about the things we’d like to try or die trying. I usually contributed my desire to experience a fly-in Alaskan trout/grayling fly fishing trip. It’s a bucket list trip, and hopefully someday you’ll read my account of it right here. JB, being JB and of a calmer demeanor, only wished to find an upscale restaurant that served funnel cakes. No kidding, he did say that. To each his own. I imagine we all wanted to try something different from the antelope hunts of previous years. Since Tom was consistent with wanting to bear hunt, we decided it was possible. We did substitute black bears in place of the Kodiaks. Black bears are more abundant, and we could pick and choose the state we wanted to hunt. So we started planning our next adventure. We were going to bow-hunt black bears.
From Kirksville, Missouri to the thriving metropolis of Allagash, Maine.
Kirksville Missouri to Allagash Maine takes 27 hours thats 1800 miles more or less. We saw Columbus, Akron, and Cleveland in Ohio at 85 miles per hour. We swear we witnessed the same firetruck at three consecutive exits and unsuccessful gas station searches. We passed through Erie Pennsylvania en route to Rochester, New York. There, JB procured some “awesome high-end free hotel sunglasses in neon pink, blue and green from the hotel lobby. The following day, we took a planned stop in Portland, Maine to experience some fresh seafood, salt air, and local culture. Crowds were mingling along the bayfront’s many shops and restaurants. There was every kind of establishment you could ask for, from the upscale two-story Paddleboat to the seafood shack on a dock. The cold beer, an overabundance of food, music, and people were an improvement over the grab-and-gulp gas station fare we had been surviving on. As beautiful and bustling as the bay area was, there were still no funnel cakes to be had. Perhaps another day J.B. Be patient.
North to the Border
I had never been to upper Maine. It was an experience I will not forget. Old Town lived up to it’s name. There I managed to find Tim’s Little Big Liquor Store on the Penobscot River, I was not actually looking for it, but thats part of the fun of a road trip with friends. Tom, was the navigator. I had nothing to do with that stop, but we did need supplies. By suggestion of a woman I spoke to along the river, (who seemed quite fond of JB), we took a small detour. Just across the Penobscot River was the Penobscot Indian reservation. We went without reservation to the reservation just for a look. And no, they had no funnel cakes, so we left in haste. Nevertheless, we certainly did learn something driving through there. I don’t know what that was but I’m sure we did.
Once out of Old Town we venture over rolling hills covered with dense forest and through spots in the road marked as towns. We continued North. Without warning, just a few miles south of the Canadian border, we encountered a gathering along the road. It looked to me like a flea market. A surprising number of cars were parked around tents and there was a staging area of sorts you could see from the road as we sped by. It seemed a little odd in the middle of a field along a two-lane secondary blacktop, but from my vantage point in the back seat, it was a bit hard to view. All of a sudden JB screamed, “Tom, Tom, stop stop! Back up.” What he had spotted was unlike anything we had expected to see, an organized drag race on grass. Oh, you bet we stopped. We weren’t going to miss this.
I likely failed to mention that this drag race was a snow machine drag race? Yes, you read that right, a snow machine drag race. And, no, there was no snow (or funnel cakes, Dammit). But I have never witnessed anything quite like this spectacle, anywhere. And I never imagined I would, especially in Northern Maine along a secondary blacktop road in a field with no town nearby.
On a wet, worn strip of grass and mud lined with snow fencing, snowmobiles took to the starting line, just like they were top fuel funny cars. And man, I tell you they flew! Almost literally. From the poles, the front end of the sleds launched off the ground and screamed by almost too quick to catch on camera. I stationed myself along the fence, mesmerized. JB and Tom were walking through the pits. This was right up their alley. They work drag races in Florida every February. I think for a few moments, they actually forgot we were there for a bear hunt. Other than the lack of the elusive funnel cakes, this day was perfection for the Rev James Bruce.
Fort Kent and the Canadian border crossing lie ahead. Beyond that, we had 30 miles to go to Allagash and our destination, Tyler Kelly’s Camps. The entire 30-mile stretch, and within full view of the Canadian side of the border, the good folks of Maine had posted colors. Old Glory was hung from posts and houses for every couple of hundred yards. The patriotism was quite moving. I imagine the canucks didn’t see it that way. Oh well. Up yours, Trudeau!
Destination Allagash, Realized
I have to say that the pictures I had viewed online in preparation did not do Allagash justice. Crossing the bridge at the confluence of the Allagash and the St. John Rivers, we had arrived at a town of around 250 residents, and it was beautiful. The rivers flowed gently on both sides, almost coming together at a narrow point of the peninsula, and that was where we found Tyler Kelly’s Camp. Life, or at least my life, is best lived for trips like this. The peace I felt at that moment, looking out over the river, I had felt before. Always on adventures like this. Always near a river or a stream. Always looking forward to the next days of my life, wherever I was.
Well, we made it. Thanks for riding along. I’ll continue about Allagash, Wade, Sue, Steve, and Jake in my next post. I hope you enjoyed this part of the trip with me. Take care and God Bless.
