8.19.2009

New photos have been uploaded to the Landscape, Other, and Wildlife sections of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

8.2.2009

New photos have been uploaded to the Landscape section of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

The 3.8.09 Experience

The End of Winter
We searched for awhile, quite awhile
And we finally found something seemingly alive
Nestled amongst the ends of raped and pillaged conifers

We built a five foot effigy laid two by two
With plenty of white held by a green support
Winter burnt away in a tower of astonishment

"Hey, you know what, come to think of it
I don't think we need that barrel now
But thanks anyway... for the effort, you know"

2.25.2009

New photos (from last November) have been uploaded to the Landscape and Other sections of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

The 10.9.08 Experience

It was a rainy day. Just two of us went. The rained turned to a slight drizzle so we took advantage of the moment and departed the jeep to take in what would soon be covered by too much impassible snow.

Here's the rest in a nutshell...

--Through Leafless Trees--
Discovering that all thoughts intertwine
I arrived at a conclusion within the Fall trees
One that came in a fleeting memory
"Everything is made of something"
"And all lines converge at one point
but come back just the same
no matter which set of eyes are used for viewing..."

There are some new photos from last weekend's trip in the Other section of the Photos page and there will be more to come within the next week.

Website: http://www.beaverbrookroad.net

BBR Website Redesign

The Beaver Brook Road website has been completely redesigned. The Photos page is especially great, so check it out. Lots of thanks to the BBR person that did that. I'm sure it was a pain in the ass, but it's seems all worth it now.

Sign the guestbook if you haven't already.

Website: http://www.beaverbrookroad.net

10.11.2008

New photos have been uploaded to the Landscape, Other, and Wildlife sections of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

9.19.2008

New photos have been uploaded to the Landscape, Other, and Wildlife sections of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

6.12.2008

New photos have been uploaded to the Landscape, Other, and Wildlife sections of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

05.25.2008

New photos have been uploaded to the Landscape and Other sections of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

10.8.2007

I uploaded new photos to the Landscape section of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

10.4.2007

I uploaded new photos to the Landscape, Wildlife, Industrial, and Other sections of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

8.23.2007 New Pictures

I uploaded new photos to the Other section of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

6.22.2007 New Pictures

I uploaded new photos to the Landscape, Wildlife, and Other sections of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

5.4.2007 New Pictures

I uploaded new photos to the Landscape, Wildlife, and Other sections of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

1.1.2007 New Pictures

I uploaded new photos to the Landscape and Other sections of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

12.15.06 Trip

It’s been awhile since I’ve written something new. It’s not that I haven’t taken a trip to the Beaver Brook Road (BBR) lately – I’ve actually gone almost every Friday since I last wrote. But the fall months for me are hectic and I’m usually at the office more than I am at home, so I’ve had little time to write or take pictures for fun. However, things at work are slightly winding down, so hopefully I’ll have more time to write and more time to take new pictures for the Beaver Brook Road website.

We were making a late start to the BBR this Friday night. It was 6:00pm by the time we began our drive, but in Northern Maine it gets dark around 4:00pm in December, so it didn’t really matter much when we left because we wouldn’t be able to see any further than what our headlights provide.

It was warm for December, about 34 degrees. 34 degrees might seem cold to some, but we had had several days in a row with highs in the mid-teens, so this seemed like a heat wave. There was a slight drizzle of rain in the air, which was helping to melt the few inches of snow that had accumulated over the past few weeks.

We stopped at the gas station on the way out to pick up a few snacks and some kindling that we could use to light the hardwood one of us had brought to help provide enough warmth to allow us to stay late into the night. Plus, the winter is no time to be scavenging the forest for pieces deadwood to burn in a fire.

The road turned from black to white when we reached the beginning of the unplowed Beaver Brook Road. And eerie silence filled the car as the whirring of the studs on my snow tires suddenly disappeared. I always enjoy driving the BBR when it’s covered in snow. It feels as if I’m gently floating above the ground as the snow cushions all of the bumps and insulates against any of the noises of crunching rocks beneath my tires.

We drove The Loop (see description of The Loop in previous entries) as we normally did every Friday night. The road was covered with thousands of animal tracks — bear, moose, deer, fox, coyotes, rabbits, and I'm sure many others had all left their mark. It was as if they were trying to intimidate us with their presence.

We arrived at our normal spot to have a fire and quickly unloaded the car. The fire was crackling in no time and we were quickly whittling our sticks to roast our kielbasa. We’d brought a lot of rolls and kielbasa, enough for the three of us to each have four. You’d think that’s too much, but the woods make you hungrier than usual.

As the night wore on, the clouds faded from the sky and millions of stars emerged causing the snow to twinkle around us. It was a great trip. We ate a lot, talked a lot, and best of all we enjoyed the Beaver Brook Road once again.


Our Website: www.beaverbrookroad.net

"You can't look in our one-way eyes." Isaac Brock - Modest Mouse

10.13.06 Trip

If there was one lesson that we learned from last week's trip it was that a good supply of wood is essential to stay out on the Beaver Brook Road for any amount of time in the month of October. And, after a week of heavy rain, we needed some dry wood to create a good base of coals, so we stopped at the gas station on the way out to buy a few bundles of wood.

Since we were later than usual, we didn't make any stops on the Loop (read last week's story for a description of the Loop), except when we spotted an old blow down lying on the side of the road a few hundred yards from our campsite. The logs didn't fit in the trunk. So we left the trunk open and let the logs hang out the back of the car and hoped they would remain intact until we reached our destination.

You'd think that since we drive the Beaver Brook Road so often, that one of us would own a truck, but none of us do. Our normal Beaver Brook Road vehicle is a 1997 Chevy Malibu. With four people inside the car, and a trunk full of folding chairs, other supplies for the campfire, and a guitar - there's very little room for anything else.

When we arrived at the campsite it was totally dark and really cold. I was glad that we brought dry wood to start the fire. We made a big fire using the dry wood, and stacked the wood we had found on our ride in around the fire, so it could begin to dry out.

As the flames leapt four or five feet in the air from the pile of burning dry wood, steam poured from the wet wood that we had placed around the fire minutes before. The fire illuminated the trees around the campfire. The white bark of poplar trees around the campfire looked like a zebra's stripes dancing around us.

The large amount of wood we had gathered allowed us to stay late into the night. It allowed us to roast our kielbasa and cook our sloppy joes. And best of all it allowed us to have another great trip on the Beaver Brook Road.

Our Website: www.beaverbrookroad.net

"Rows of lights to illuminate lines. Why can't they turn them off and let us see night?" Isaac Brock - Modest Mouse

10.6.2006 Trip

There were four of us tonight. The night's forecast of clear skies and a chilly 30 degrees didn't deter us from our weekly trip to the Beaver Brook Road. We'd been talking of the trip on-and-off all week, and a little cold weather wasn't going to stop us. At least we don't have snow on the ground yet (even though it was forecasted for early in the week, but it never fell). It was 6 PM, we were excited, and we were nearly to the beginning of the Beaver Brook Road.

As we drove out to the Beaver Brook Road, I noticed that the colors had changed from reds and oranges. The hills and valleys were now covered with yellowish brown colors and spotted with deep green from the occasional conifer. Late fall was here, and winter was nearly upon us. Soon all the leaves will have fallen from the trees, the grey would begin, and we would be isolated to only the plowed roads of Beaver Brook. They didn't plow many of the roads. Once winter sets in it's too cold to have a fire and be comfortable for any length of time. Luckily, the discussion in the car broke my train of thought, bringing me back to thoughts of fall and away from winter.

We pulled on to a road we called The Loop, which was a single-lane road that circled away and then back to the main Beaver Brook Road. It was probably 20 or so miles in length, we'd never actually determined how long it was, but it really didn't matter anyway. It was a road we had traveled since the beginning of our journeys to the Beaver Brook Road. Again, we had someone new with us tonight, and what better way to introduce them to our obsession than introducing them to what created our obsession - slowly driving The Loop, listening to music, and having random discussions.

October 1 started off Maine's ruffed grouse hunting season. I call them ruffed grouse, but the majority of Mainers call them "partridge". I've never really understood why - the two birds are from the same family, but they don't look at all much alike. Back to where I was going with this...Ruffed grouse season started this week, and every so often on our drive we'd encounter a tow-behind camper parked on the side of the road - each becoming some hunter's temporary inhabitance for the weekend, so they can spend their every waking moment hunting the tasty ruffed grouse.

The last glimpses of sun were fading through the trees, as we pulled to the top of a large hill about halfway through our journey. I pulled the car to the side, shut it off, and got out. As we stood staring into the distance, the overwhelming smell of autumn filled our nostrils. You could smell the forest readying itself for the long winter. It was an amazing smell - one I would remember for a long time.

We stood and stared until the cold crept into our bodies enough that we looked forward to the confines of the car. After all, we weren't in an ideal location to have a campfire. There was very little deadwood around. We had already decided that we would have our campfire in the gravel pit we ventured to the weekend before. The gravel pit is a nice place because it's very open and allows us to scan the sky for satellites, meteors and see the millions of stars. Plus someone had left some firewood earlier in the year for people to use.

We arrived at the end of the loop, turned left onto the main Beaver Brook Road, and then quickly took a right onto the Bull Brook Road, which would take us to the gravel pit. As we arrived in the gravel pit, we noticed that the wood that was there the weekend before had disappeared - probably taken away and burned by on of the many camping hunters. We got out of the car, unpacked the folding chairs and set them up around the fire.

It had rained earlier in the week, but I figured we had enough sun to dry the moisture from the wood over the past coupled of days. I was wrong. All of the wood we collected was dripping wet, but I was determined to start a fire. After all, we had brought hamburger for sloppy joes, and kielbasa sausage to cover in chili paste and eat in whole wheat buns. We couldn't let that go to waste.

We had stopped on the way out to pick up some dry wood at a local gas station, but after some contemplation about whether we needed it - we decided we didn't. I was regretting that decision as I knelt over in the darkness blowing on a small ember in the fire. My brother had taught me the correct way to make a fire several years ago. He wasn't much of the outdoorsy type when he was younger, but for some reason he understood the proper architecture to construct a fire using even the wettest wood. As the fire grew from embers to small then larger flames, I thanked him out loud for his instruction even though he was more than 200 miles away in Southern Maine.

After an hour or so of the wet wood burning, the fire developed a coal base sufficient enough to heat a cast iron skillet for the hamburger for sloppy joes. But before that, each of us cut a stick to roast a piece of the kielbasa sausage. It was delicious and quickly devoured. But a cold night in the woods makes anyone hungry, so we threw a couple pounds of hamburger in the skillet and cooked it over the fire. The sloppy joes were good, but not as good as the kielbasa sausage. Forget hotdogs! Kielbasa sausage would become the new campfire treat of the Beaver Brook Road.

As we sat under the light of the full moon, we recollected on our many trips to the Beaver Brook Road until we grew tired of searching the woods in the darkness for dead wood large enough to burn in the fire. As the fire turned to coals, it only kept the front side of our bodies warm. It felt as if I was inside a toaster with only one side of functioning heating elements.

The cold drove us from the Beaver Brook Road that night, but we were sure to return soon...


"Remember through sounds, remember through smells, remember through colors..." Isaac Brock - Modest Mouse

Our Website: www.BeaverBrookRoad.net

10.1.06 New Pictures

I uploaded new photos to the Landscape and Other sections of the Photos page on www.BeaverBrookRoad.net.

Enjoy!

9.22.06 Trip

It was just before 5:30PM, sunlight was fading fast, but we were determined to make it to the fishing spot I rediscovered the weekend before. Only two of us were venturing to the roads of Beaver Brook this weekend. We drove a lot faster than we normally did, but we had a mission - to get to the river with enough time to catch a couple brook trout.

I had told my friends of the fish I had caught last weekend, and the fun I had wandering the brook that I had fished so many years ago. None of them particularly liked to fish, but they were interested to see the new spot on the Beaver Brook Road. Plus, they were interested in eating freshly caught brook trout, battered in cornmeal and flour, and fried in a cast iron skillet coated with an entire stick of butter over a roaring campfire.

We arrived in the gravel pit to begin our walk to the brook shortly after 6:00PM. As I shouldered my backpack and removed my waders from the trunk, I watched the sun slowly setting behind the trees and realized that there was a good chance that this would be the last warm day of the year. I had checked the weather for tonight earlier in the day. It predicted daytime temperatures in the high 60s, but nighttime temperatures in the low 30s and a crystal clear sky.

The walk through the woods was quick. When we arrived at the banks of Beaver Brook, I hastily unpacked my fly rod, flies, and slipped on my waders. As I stepped into the water, my friend told me he was going to sleep on the bank and become one with the wilderness until I returned. It sounded like a good idea to me.

I sloshed through the water at a fast pace with the intention of fishing the beaver pond that was several hundred yards down stream. As I walked, I cast aimlessly into small pools that looked like they might contain something that would strike my fly. Focusing my eyes downstream, I danced my fly beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a ripple in the water and immediately yanked my rod to set the hook in a plump 9" trout. As I broke its neck and slid it into the front pocket of my waders, I heard a loud boom in the distance. "Beavers", I thought.

A little note about beavers. When they sense the danger of something intruding in their territory, they quickly dive into the water, and splash their giant tail behind them. It creates a loud boom, which is comparable to that of the noise firing shotgun would make. If they catch you offguard it can be quite startling.

As I rounded a bend, the water began to deepen. I knew that I was close to the beaver pond, but I hadn't seen any beavers yet - just the occasional boom from their tail in the distance. As I stood up to my waist in water, I cast my fly into a spot very deep spot in the river that I remembered from the weekend before.

As I began the articulate retrieval of my fly, a very large splash engulfed it. I tugged the line, but it was slack. I had missed. I cast again, and the same splash resulted in the same slack line - I had missed again. I cast again, concentrating on every movement around my fly and keeping my line as taught as I could. Again, the splash came, and I tugged my line, and felt a large pull at the end. I hooked him, but I wasn't sure how well.

I took my time pulling him in. He fought hard, so I wasn't surprised to see that he was a large trout - probably 13". As I placed him in my front pouch, out of the corner of my eye I saw something moving in the water. It was a beaver, not just one beaver, but three. As quickly as I noticed them, they noticed me, and disappeared under the water in a loud thunderous splash.

Beavers are rarely dangerous. They only attack when they are cornered and are only outwardly aggressive during mating season, which is during the winter - but attacks are very rare. However, when you're up to the bottom of your ribs in the water, and 3 relatively large mammals with teeth capable of felling trees dive into the water around you, it's sort of unnerving.

As I waded through the water, I'd occasionally see the beavers surface. Not in any general direction, sometimes in front, sometimes in back, sometimes to the side. They were definitely interested in why I was encroaching on their territory. I ignored them for the most part.

The rest of my fishing trip was filled with tangled fishing line and it ultimately ended with the loss of a fly in the top of tree on the edge of the brook. But, I had two fish in my pouch, which was enough for a campfire snack.

It was really dark by the time I made it back to the trail to the gravel pit. My friend was no where to be found, but I could hear some crackling in the woods, so I knew he wasn't far. I took my waders off, cleaned the fish in the brook, and readied my stuff for the walk back to the gravel pit. I found my friend nearby in the woods. He was making circles inside of circles by poking sticks into the ground. The no-seeums had waked him from his slumber, and he decided to venture into the woods in search of something fun to do. He finished his work of art and we walked back to the gravel pit.

On our walk back, I told him about the fish I caught and the beavers I saw. He said he could hear the beavers splashing their tales from time to time. It was starting to get really cold by the time we made it back to the gravel pit, since the sun had disappeared from the sky. As the stars sparkled above us, we collected enough twigs to start a small fire. Someone had cut some firewood and left it there for people to use, so we helped ourselves. In no time, we had a roaring fire and all thought of being cold had drifted from our minds.

After the fire burnt down enough, so there was a good base of coals, I took the cleaned fish out of my bag and began to roll them in my mixture of cornmeal and flour. I placed the pan off to the side of the coals, and tossed in the stick of butter. Once the butter was completely melted and the pan was thoroughly warm, I tossed in the fish. They crackled and popped in the boiling butter as their delicate aroma filled the air.

In no time they were done. I took them from the frying pan and dished them on to plates. The fish fell apart in our mouths as we devoured every last bite. I could say that the fish were cooked perfectly, but they probably weren't. But the fact was that we were starving, and anyone that has camped in the woods, or ate over a campfire after, a hike through the woods knows that just about anything tastes delicious. However, I had the feeling that they were cooked perfectly, and that they were really delicious, but since the end of fishing season is Sept 30, I doubt I'll have time to catch and cook some more for comparison.

The rest of the night was filled with talk about the "what ifs" of life and of course, much talk about the delicious brook trout we had eaten.


"Do you need a lot of what you've got to survive?" Isaac Brock - Modest Mouse


Our website: www.beaverbrookroad.net

9.17.06 Trip

We didn't have our usual Friday trip to the Beaver Brook Road last weekend. But I had the entire day of Sunday free to go out to the Beaver Brook Road and do something I haven't done very much in the past several years - go fly fishing. Almost every year I purchase a fishing license with the hopes that I'll return to the days of being a kid — but I'm lucky to go once or twice during the summer, and when I go it's usually for only and hour or so. Oh, to be a kid again.

The days of September in Maine can fluctuate wildly in temperature - one day could have a high of 75 and the next could have a high of 45. Even though the month started out in a cold spell with frosts at night, the middle of September turned out to be relatively warm in temperature. This Sunday it was 73 and it was time for some late-season brook trout fishing.

As I drove from my home in Caribou, Maine to the Beaver Brook Road, I noticed how the foliage had begun it's seasonal transformation from green to bright shades of orange and yellow, and deep shades of red and brown. It was like a painter had randomly dotted the landscape. It's now that I started wishing I had brought my camera, but I left it home for fear of dropping it in the river. Hopefully, I can get some fall pictures next weekend to post on our Web site www.beaverbrookroad.net.

After 30 minutes of driving down the winding roads of the Beaver Brook Road, I arrived at my destination. When I first moved to Maine in 1990, at age 10, my neighbor (who was probably in his early 70s at the time) showed me this fishing spot on Beaver Brook. It's probably from where my fascination of Beaver Brook stemmed. I had also done some camping at this very spot when I was 13 with one of my childhood friends of the same age. It was a memorable spot - one I had not visited in over 10 years.

I parked the car in one of the many gravel pits on the Beaver Brook Road, rechecked my backpack, and began my walk down the 1/2 mile trail through the woods with my waders in hand. The trail was the same as I had remembered it and it seemed that someone had been keeping the trail through the woods limb and blow down free. After a short walk, I arrived at the banks of Beaver Brook, put on my waders, and stepped into the water to catch some fish.

As the fly softly landed on the water from my first cast, I gave it a couple quick tugs, which were met by a small splash, and me quickly reeling in a fish. It was a small brook trout, only 3 or 4 inches in length, but it felt good none the less. I returned him to the water, so he could grow larger, and one day give someone a good fight.

As I began my walk upstream, I noticed a round and colorful object moving at the bottom of the river. I gave it a nudge with the boot of my waders and a turtle quickly sprang to life. I reached my hand deep into the water, grabbed him by the back of his shell, and hoisted him into the air. It was a wood turtle. His shell was about 15 inches in length, and his feet were bright orange. I saw one of these turtles earlier in the year, but this is the first I've seen in the water. He snapped at my fingers and hissed in his disapproval. He didn't seem very happy with my prying eyes, so I returned him to the water and watched him slowly swim away.

Even though my first cast resulted in a trout, the next 100 casts resulted in nothing. Maybe it was just the ignorance of the young trout that caused it to strike at a fly didn't resemble any insect living at this time of year. I tried a few different flies, and received a few strikes on what I think was a blue dunn. I used to know all the names of the different types of flies, but those names have mostly disappeared from my memory.

I remembered quite a few of the twists and turns in the river. I tried a few of what I thought I remembered were good fishing spots, but nothing. As I came around a bend, I was sure I would see a river bank that I used to camp on when I was a child, but what was there was only a small mound of sand and rocks - nothing like what I remembered. Just like me, over time, it had changed. It had become something different. Each year the violent spring thaws it endured molded it into something entirely new.

I kneeled on the bank where I had thought I camped several years ago and cast into a deep pool of fast moving water. I tugged my fly through the current, and let it rest in an eddy. Not more than a second after I had stopped the dancing of my fly, a large shape burst from beneath a submerged log and quickly engulfed my fly. I yanked my rod and solidly set the hook. Knowing the hook was set solidly, I quickly pulled in my catch. It was a large brook trout, probably 14 inches in length. Its bottom jaw hooked upwards at the end. It was a beautiful fish. After short admiration of my catch, I returned him to the water only to remember that I had told one of the women I work with that I would catch them some trout at some point during the year. Oh well, there was plenty of daylight left, and the fishing only got better as the sun moved lower and lower in the sky.

I hadn't caught many fish on the mile or so walk I took upstream. Only two small fish resided in the plastic bag I kept next to my fly box in the inside pocket of my waders, so I decided to wade back to where I had entered the river and try some fishing downstream. From what I remembered, the fishing downstream had never been very good. The river had been very shallow, but the river had changed upstream, so it gave me some hope.

As I passed the spot where I began my fishing, I noticed that that the water was deeper than what I had remembered. The farther I went the deeper it became. After a few hundred yards, the water was almost to the top of my chest waders. As I rounded a corner, I could see a beaver damn far in the distance. I pulled several extra yards out of my reel, and cast as far as I could. I let the fly sit, and then gave it a few quick tugs, and the water exploded beneath my fly. I wasn't sure if I hooked the fish well, so I took my time pulling it in. It was another good sized trout, probably 12 inches in length. I quickly broke his neck and placed him in the plastic bag inside my wader pouch and continued fishing. I quickly landed 2 more good sized trout - making my limit of 5. I was done for the day...

When I got back to the trail home, I removed my waders, cleaned the fish, and began my walk back to the car. As I moved through the darkening woods, I thought about the day and all that I had experienced. It's already a good memory.

"I'm not sure who I am, but I know who I've been." Isaac Brock - Modest Mouse

9.8.06 Trip

Last Friday night, we welcomed a new face to the Beaver Brook Road. It's always nice to see the look on someone's face when they finally see what we've become obsessed with over the past year and a half. The look is usually amazement — especially when they realize they're at least 15 miles from any type of civilization.

At the beginning of the trip, we attempted to walk to McCluskey Lake, but with daylight fading earlier than it did a few months ago, we were only able to make it halfway to the lake. Damn our 9AM-5PM jobs that keep us from enjoying the things we love so much. Even though the trip to McCluskey Lake was cut short, the walk was still filled with plenty to see and much to talk about.

It was almost dark when we got back to the car from our walk. We piled in, turned on the lights, and drove to one of our favorite spots to have a campfire; roast some hot dogs; eat our kippered snacks, pesto with french bread, and cheddar cheese. As we ate our treats and talked about the happenings in our lives over the past week, the full moon began to poke through the trees and quickly took its place high in the sky.

Without a doubt, the highlight of last weekend's trip was the fact we were finally able to see a flare from an iridium satellite. I say "finally able to see" because we've attempted to see one of these satellites on a several different occasions, but always ended up forgetting either a watch, so we can stare into the sky at the correct time or forgetting the papers to tell us when the iridium satellite flare will occur.

The iridium satellite flare was -8 in magnitude, which is the brightest of all iridium satellite flares. However, its brightness was overcome by the full moon that illuminated everything. I'm sure if it was completely dark the iridium satellite would have shown like a spotlight in the sky.

If you want to find out more about iridum satellites, use the above link to the Wikipedia article or if you want to know what times and where to look for iridium satellites in your area, visit www.heavens-above.com and enter your locale. On this site, you can also learn the times in which the International Space Station will be soaring overhead - it's quite a sight to see. You have to register for heavens-above.com, but don't worry; they won't spam you, or even send a confirmation e-mail for that matter.


"As I sat confused, it became apparent that I would eventually straighten out."

Beginning of The Blog

Almost every weekend, we venture out on to the roads of Beaver Brook. Each of these trips is a new story and a new adventure. It's my hope that we can write a brief story of each week's trip in this blog – we'll see how it turns out.

www.beaverbrookroad.net

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About The Beaver Brook Road

The Beaver Brook Road (BBR) is a privately owned roadway used and maintained by the Seven Islands logging company. While Seven Islands has the ability to prevent patrons from accessing their roadway and land, they have graciously kept the BBR and its tributaries open to the public 365 days a year.

Located between Perham and Portage, Maine, the BBR and its surrounding area is named after a relatively small waterway which the road crosses at only one point, this waterway is called Beaver Brook. The Beaver Brook Road itself is roughly 17 miles in length, but contains many hundreds of miles of one-lane offshoots that meander into the wilderness.

While most would think that the wooded area owned by one of the largest logging companies in the nation would be the last place you would find thriving wildlife and majestic natural beauty - you would find that nature and natural beauty is not only present, but it is flourishing.

In Beaver Brook you'll find many different species of fish, including brook trout and landlocked salmon. The surrounding area is inhabited by an abundance of wildlife including moose, whitetail deer, black bears, snowshoe hares, and ruffed grouse.