Pete was a tough old buzzard but had a heart of gold. I met Pete while me and my crew were on a salmon fishing trip up to the West Branch of the Penobscott back in the nineties. The transmission in my GMC blew about ten miles north of Greenville at about midnight. The sherrif came by and saw the trouble we were in and called Pete. The rest is a wonderful story of country folk and the trust they show to all people.

It was just after his 75th birthday... Thanksgiving morning and family were at his home at Lily Bay. It was a cold and windy morning and there was a big chop on the lake. Pete decided to take his son's PWC for a spin on the lake... You shoulda heard Pete tell that story!!

John, that river looks a lot like the Kennebec between Greenville and Rockland.

The grouse around there in the "Big Woods" seem to have no fear.
In a similar experience I stopped the truck and stepped out when a grouse walked fearlessly out of the woods. I proceeded to throw seven or eight golf ball size rocks at that bird and he just chased them and pecked each one when it stopped bouncing. I got tired of missing him and gave up. (I don't do a whole lot better with a Parker).

Hi Dean!

I know the feeling about throwing rocks by hand or pellets from a Parker ;)

OK - since I'm on a tablet, not sure how to post a screen capture? Anyway, it's the Kennebec .. Look up on Google Maps Indian Pond in Maine. Scroll North to the head of the pond. You'll see the Kennebec East Outlet which runs down from Moosehead. About 2/3 of the way down, north side of the river before it enters into Indian Pond, you'll see a small wooded island. No roads there, but wonderful country...

John

East Branch, West Branch, it's all God's Country. I run up to Rockwood about once a summer for mediocre pizza from a great little shop.
All the people I have run into up there have the same quality you describe Pete having; Heart as big as the lake. Unfortunately, there is an obnoxious undercurrent amongst some of the young towards 'Flats'. They really couldn't get by without them but resent them at the same time.
My wife seems to have more relatives than Zip's ass in that town. Some are quirky,but all-in-all, a great bunch. Her two cousins, brothers about a year or two apart, could go on the road, they're so funny.
My wife's dad had one of the little mill houses going out of town. Like a lot of the places up there, they just plunked down a few big rocks, laid the sill on them and went from there. We just jacked the house up, and put it back down on 24 precast pylons. Now, you can set a bowling ball in the middle of the house and it won't roll. Before, LOOK OUT.
We're a 2 minute walk to the dock where I keep my launch.

Thanks John for the great pics and account of the hunt with your wonderful wife and the pups.
I remember shortly after the War, '47 I think, my Dad took my Mother and me on vacation at Wilson's camp at the Kennebec outlet northwest of Greenville. There was a big timbered dam there to control the flow for running logs down the river. There were a couple of steam powered tugs towing log rafts on the lake. Dad had a guide named Charlie who paddled a canoe, not liking the newfangled outboards. Dad caught a number of lake trout and square tails, one exceeding four pounds. Have to go back some day, time's running short.

Fred, you really shoul go back but don't expect to find what you experienced there before. Everything has changed. Nothing is the same except the woods and the water and the land. Log drives ended in Maine in 1974 and the huge log dams are gone... replaced with concrete and steel and aluminum.
I was snorkeling in the West Branch of the Penobscott in the pool below Ambejackmocomus Falls about fifteen years ago and littering the bottom in ten or fifteen feet of water were dozens of pulp logs from the earlier days of log drives on the river.