It was a sunny and warm 32-degree morning. Such a weather forecast would be welcome in almost any other endeavor, but we’d traveled only three miles before the knee-deep slush and direct sun drained the vigor from the team. We were not even across Chamberlain Lake before Sawyer resumed his leisurely ride in the sled.
An hour into the day, across the slog of sludge, a terrible realization flooded my mind. I have had a medical problem since childhood which requires frequent use of the bathroom. On this expedition, I had resorted to using a urinal since there was no electricity or running water. In my haste to leave Nugent’s, I’d neglected to dispose of it. I was mortified.
I stopped in the middle of calf-deep overflow on the lake and made a desperate call to my wife on the satellite phone. “Tammie! I need you to get ahold of them and have them head back to Nugent’s immediately! I left a bowl of pee by the bed!”
I later learned that the message was received too late. Stella at Nugent’s graciously replied that I should not worry, adding that she’s found worse things left by campers in the past. While I’d hate to know what could trump my parting gift, the thought that mine was not the worst was some comfort.
On the western shore, we traveled south through a short but beautiful portage to Mud Lake, which was even more miserable going than Chamberlain, and then onto Umbazooksus Lake. From there, we portaged onto Umbazooksus Stream. I traveled only a couple miles south until I was met by an oncoming snowmobile. The driver pulled aside and turned off his motor.
The snowmobiler called out, “Well, are you gonna stop and say hi?” I asked, “Are you Bill?” “No,” he replied, “I’m Don Hibbs.”
Don Hibbs. Retired musher. Yukon Quest veteran. Three-time Can Am Crown champion. A living Maine mushing legend. He built the sled I was using for the expedition. He was my mushing role model, and here he was.
Don had driven in on logging roads and traveled twenty trail miles just to show his support. We talked for at least an hour on the trail, sharing mushing stories. He complimented my dogs, particularly Druid, and pulled out some refreshing “trail magic” from his sled bag.
I arrived around 3:30pm at the Chesuncook House. A small crowd of snowmobilers greeted me and snapped photos. “I’m nothing,” I said to the group, pointing to Don. “This man right here is a mushing legend.”
The owners of Chesuncook House had a fire burning and suggested where I might bed the team. I asked Don if he wanted to drive my team up to the cabin while I ran ahead. He agreed, and I managed to snap a shot of a legend mushing my team.
The original Chesuncook House had burned down in 2018, and I hadn’t been able to reach the owners previously. However, David and Luisa were rebuilding and had a free cabin for me. Their food and hospitality were unexpected and overwhelming.
The dogs were also in for a treat. When I shared that my videographer Jeremy hadn’t been able to reach me with meat supplies, David offered to help. When moose are struck by logging trucks, the wardens give the meat to Chesuncook House. They had freezers full of it, which they snowmobiled over to thaw.
In short order, my dogs were gorging themselves on moose meat and falling into a gluttonous sleep. Now it was time for me to do the same.
Join me next time as we travel overland from Chesuncook to Seboomook. If you are enjoying these entries, please consider partnering with us to raise funds for the Togo statue.
