Category: St. George

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Agog on Magog: Leaf-peeping on the St. George River

If you watched from space with a time lapse camera, you could see the broad band of fall foliage — the brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows  — move southward down the east coast like a wave.  That wave crested over the midcoast sometime last week and has now moved on more than 200 miles to the south.  Credit for this calculation goes to the Fall Color Guy, who states, “fall colors tend to move south at rates between 28 and 47 miles per day, depending on longitude.”

The 2.5 inches of rain that fell on the midcoast eight days ago brought local rivers to their own peak.  The Ducktrap River crested at 4.5 feet and 400 cfs, the highest levels since last spring.

The confluence of these two “peaks” made for some great paddling and leaf-peeping on local rivers.   Canoeists and kayakers were out on the St. George and the Passagassawakeag last weekend — and we were among them.  I also paddled the Little River (rain-swollen and newly wild) on Friday.

I know some 14-year old boys who would have made fun of us, but it would not be overstatement to say we were “agog” — awestruck, enthralled — as we paddled the St. George River south from Searsmont in the brilliant sunshine last Sunday.  The video below is an attempt to capture some of that beauty.

By the way, do any of you readers out there know the origin of the name for “Magog Falls”?  Magog is a city in southern Quebec.  The Magog Smelt is an old-time fly developed to fish for landlocked salmon.  And Magog (of the Gog and Magog tradition) is also a powerful nation/king/prince/giant who fights on the side of Satan in a war against God.  For which, if any of these, was the Magog Falls on Maine’s St. George River named?

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Fall Whitewater and Other Well-Kept Secrets

The morning of November 29 started sunny and seasonally cool, with temperatures in the low 30’s. By 11:00 AM, there we were, paddles wheeling through the bright water, embarking on a trip that would include a heretofore unexplored stretch of our favorite Maine river. We had planted a vehicle in Appleton, some 10 miles away. Besides a few sentences in a guidebook printed 20 years ago and a quick perusal of the section on Google Earth, we had nothing to go on — which suited us just fine. Seeing something new, in essence, is what river travel is all about.

We put in on the St. George River in our usual spot in Searsmont. The water level at the put-in — several feet up over the “summer banks” proved to be an omen for good paddling. The river south of the Ghent Road bridge was fast, deep, and full of standing waves. The drop at Magog (usually considered a Class III) was fun and easy.

In the past, we’ve taken out at the Route 105 bridge– and looked wistfully on downstream, but this time, riding the swift current and with the late fall sunshine full on our faces, we were on our way down a wooded corridor that (if all went well) would bring us out at the Sennebec Road bridge in the center of Appleton.

The Class I-II rapids south of the Route 105 bridge transitioned into flatwater a few hundred yards below. Much of the rest of the trip to Appleton was flatwater, mixed with some easy Class I. At one point, an eagle soared high overhead. A beaver crossed the glassy surface in front of us, creasing the water with his wake. Stands of hardwoods lined the banks. Lazy trees extended far out over the water, their trunks just above our heads.

In a few places, downed trees formed strainers and thickets that we had to “river-whack” our way through. A hundred yards above the Appleton bridge, the current picked up and the rapids become a Class II. We took out above the bridge and then walked the bridge and the river, studying the drop and plotting our next trip in which we are pledged to “paddle on through.”

Previously I subscribed to the myth that whitewater season here in coastal Maine is limited to a couple of months in the spring. This year, beginning in March, we got out on the local rivers in every month but August. Even now, in late November, the water levels are high — and the water temperatures are warmer than in March or April.

In fact, the greatest “hardship” of paddling this time of year is that the southern trajectery of rivers like the St.George together with the low angle of the sun combine to light the whitewater like silver fire. This makes seeing (and avoiding) the rocks more difficult. But, especially for those who might feel sunlight-deficient this time of year, it is an easy hardship to endure.

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Swimming the St. George

An early season “swim” is always good for helping maintain humility. Maybe I was feeling a little too confident after my clean run down the St. George on Friday.

The river level dropped about 8 – 12 inches in the last two days, which made the rapids a little more technical. And somehow (see photo above) a large log has positioned itself in an unfortunate spot, just below the drop immediately upstream from the Ghent Road bridge. As my bow nosed off the drop, it hit the submerged portion of the log, the rest of my boat swung sideways, and over I went.

So be careful out there, y’all. Scout those tricky sections even when you don’t think you need to. The river is always changing.

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Different Day, Different River (Again down the St. George)


 
“You cannot step in the same river twice,” says Heraclitus. I would add that you can never paddle the same river twice. Six weeks ago the St. George River was a shining filament amidst a winter forest stamped with deer trails. Four weeks ago, the St. George was a muddy torrent roiling with the weight of spring rains. Yesterday, the St. George was a glassy passage through a forest newly soft with spring buds.

Not just the river changes. At the put in, I am a bit tired and world weary, purpose-driven, edgy, wanting something I know not what. Just six and a half miles downstream, I have forgotten almost all of that. Time has folded over into a new dimension. Whatever it was, that was pressing on me is gone somehow. It is not the same man who pulls the kayak out of the river. And from the moment on, my life will never be the same, because in subtle ways I have changed. I am different for the time I have spent on the river.

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Which way to the ocean?

This and other photos of the recent St. George River Race can be viewed at Village Soup.