My first twelve years of school had finally come to an end. Senior year, with its numerous college, federal financial aid, and scholarship forms was over, and there was a universal sigh of relief among my class as graduation neared. The time had finally come where I didn't need to give a shit about school anymore, and in response to this, my friend William and I began to make plans for a weekend long canoe trip up on the Allagash river in northern Maine. We were avid canoers and fly-fishermen, spending last summer fishing up in the mountainous Rangeley Lakes Region. William and I had been planning this trip for quite some time, and with the phenomenal weather forecast this weekend, we had a perfect window of opportunity.
Directly after school that Friday, I drove over to Will's house, having already packed up my things, and picked him up. He had overpacked, as usual, bringing two large backpacks. One of these was dedicated to food and socks, socks being especially important to William. He had once forgotten extra socks on a Boy Scout camping trip, and ended up wearing the same pair for three days. "You can never bring too many socks," he always told me, being one of the many mantras he had adopted throughout the years. Will was funny in that sense, and I admired him for it.
We left Bangor around three o'clock in the afternoon, and made our way up the long stretch of Interstate 95. In Maine, there's a point on this highway where all civilization seems to disappear in a flash. Between the cities of Bangor and Houlton (where we were headed), there's basically nothing but land owned by paper companies. Locals call this area of the state the "North Woods,"and that's exactly what it is. Miles of practically untouched wilderness, an idea that had always intrigued William and I. In these long stretches of forest, you could find numerous natural gems, hidden from the eyes of the world. I always thought that some of these places might be better off undiscovered, kept secret in the forest forever.
After exiting I-95, we navigated through Houlton and eastwards into the bumpy backroads of Aroostook County. It was around six o'clock at night now, and the sun was beginning to set in the pink sky. Will had since fallen asleep, his head jostling around as we drove through the poorly maintained dirt roads. Our campsite wasn't too far away, and we would spend the night here before making our way to the Allagash tomorrow morning.
We reached the campsite at seven o'clock exactly. It wasn't one of those big public campsites that you see full of tents and campers, but a simple, one acre lot containing a fire pit with brown, wooden benches, and an old lean-to in need of major repairs. Overall, the site was very remote, and the only things you could hear were the peeping frogs, and the sound of wind hitting the branches of trees. Will and I hopped out of the truck, set our things inside the lean-to, and hung our bear bag in a nearby tree. Clouds were coming into the sky, and the sun was now barely glowing through them.
"Dude, check this out," Will said, having strayed off to the perimeter of the campsite. He had been exploring with his flashlight as I got our fire started.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I think it's a trail or something," he replied, pointing to what appeared to be a narrow, seemingly forgotten stretch of trail that extended into the forest. An old sign with the paint chipping off of it was sitting in front of the trailhead. I crouched down to see if I could read the sign, and Will pointed the flashlight towards it. I could barely make out the words "Hayno Bog" as I slowly deciphered the carved letters.
Curious, Will and I made our way down the thin trail, pushing through the brush. The ground soon became saturated with water, and I could barely make out the extensive meadow of sedges through the trees and darkness. The evening wind seemed to be swaying them back and forth, a motion that I found almost hypnotic. "Look at that," I said to Will, noticing the sheer size of the bog. It seemed to extend far into the distance on all sides, creating a sort of aquatic prairie.
The trail ended at what appeared to be an old, rotting dock. It jutted out into a small pond, which paved through the center of the bog, getting narrower as it went deeper into the wetland. Will shined his flashlight around the area, trying to get some kind of perspective over the landscape.
"I don't think I've seen anything like this before," he told me,"It's huge."
"I know, "I replied, staring out into the distance. I felt oddly drawn to this area. Something about it had struck me. The way the sedges moved with the wind, and how the black, calm waters sat stagnant in the dark created an interesting feeling inside of me. I didn't know if it was curiosity, fear, or even a sense of inner peace, but it felt as if the landscape was drawing me into itself. I squinted my eyes, trying to take in every detail of my surroundings. As I turned my head, I noticed something odd in the distant sedges. Something was rustling around, and for a split second, I saw what appeared to be a black figure rise up from the grass. Immediately, I blinked, and the hazy figure disappeared. I attributed this only to the darkness playing tricks on me, not thinking much of it.
"Hey, Eric, are you alright?" Will asked, noticing that I was staring off into space.
"Yes, yes I'm fine," I replied, waking up from my daze, brushing off the illusion I had just seen.
"You wanna take the canoe out on this? The water's pretty calm, and I'd like to explore a little bit."
I hesitated at first, the image of the dark figure briefly resurfacing in my mind, but I again dismissed it. "Sure," I replied, a sense of excitement overtaking what had originally been more comparable to dread.
