.

Updated Site!

2012-02-05T13:26:00.003-05:00

click below

Under The Burn Of Going Without

2011-10-24T20:17:00.029-04:00

All year long my skin whitened under the burn of going without. -No travel in the most beautiful and aesthetic vehicle I know -no slap of wave against it’s hull -no satin surface to carve with the wood of paddle -no taste of that freedom only a river or lake affords -only obligations and responsibilities ate at any true sense of that freedom

until i went alone

the big boisterous sky ahead

under a hot mid-October sun

on a rocky outcropping

in a Thermarest with

a beer

and a smoke

above the lip of Lake Umbagog

my skin ripening

my legs crossed

the wave against rock

discussing their fears

of the weakening economy

the ignited hills above

gesturing towards the south

its orange airline traffic lights waving

the lone kayak passing by

complimenting the earth on her choice of weather

the tandem canoe in the distance clearly loafing in the sun

the bow adrift in no direction

the sequence skirt of the lake’s surface

showing off her goods

and my eyes when closed

were starry against the bright red

of that smoldering day

hot enough for a swim

“Time is an enormous, long river, and I’m standing in it, just as you’re standing in it. My elders are the tributaries, and everything they thought and every struggle they went through and everything they gave their lives to, and every song they created, and every poem that they laid down flows down to me – and if I take the time to ask, and if I take the time to see, and if I take the time to reach out, I can build that bridge between my world and theirs. I can reach down into that river and take out what I need to get through this world”

Going Solo

2011-10-11T19:15:00.001-04:00

Untitled from rick beaty on Vimeo.

When You Can't Put Your Boat In A Cold New Hampshire River

2011-08-29T20:26:00.005-04:00

...You can always find art in its folds

Bikerafting

2011-07-17T10:44:00.003-04:00

There's something Inspector gadget-like in pulling a fully capable class IV boat from your backpack...or even more -your noisy muddy pannier a craft capable of your 35lb pack AND your bike! The infamous Alpacka Raft has quickly become the most versatile paddle craft available. Your first time, blinds all others-it becomes impossible to forget the absolute and incredible fun packrafting in rapids alone can be, forget it's utility. It's like taking a recliner down a river only this lazy-boy carrys your food, your bed, your shelter and has room enough after all that -for a beer nestled between your feet.

Packrafting The Pemigewasset

2011-05-27T23:38:00.014-04:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3VP9dp3mOk

The Kank in the lonely White Mountain shoulder season

Last Tramp for Tea

2011-04-02T11:20:00.004-04:00

When the cold cuts a bleed from the skin, theres no better liquor than the crunch of snow under snowshoe, bundled and wrapped. The faint flirt of sun fondling eyelids and the hoof of late winter stomping plumes from your throat. Nothing seems more fitting than a cup of tea under it's thawing thumb. Cutting trail, shoveling camp, carving kitchen from snow above the silence of ice edging into river and the creek of tree leaning into the swing of a warm hammock.

2011-02-20T14:26:00.020-05:00

the culture of suspended droplets, riveted in sheets to the mountainside swarming, congregating, propositioning and quiet

quiet I say, as an arrangement of behavior unbecoming of quiet. quiet muddying the compass needle’s point, stung by frost -common looking quiet -until required to step through

and the curves, the swooping crowds of white pouring from the raked face of Allender Mountain, pour us as well, appearing from it’s folds without lack of clarity; we rummage through the vaporous waypoints

we are

after all

not looking for the trail

Dutch Oven Sourdough

2011-02-20T13:47:00.005-05:00

I can almost smell the aroma wafting through camp. The river as slow as bread is to rise. A little flour and water, mixed over a hundred years ago, bubbling in a jar in a dry bag, just waiting to be as beautiful as its surroundings.

"I rolled up some bread and tea in a pair of blankets

with some sugar and a tin cup and set off."

When asked what kind of bread he took to the mountains,

John Muir replied,

"Just bread."

Waiting, Waiting...

2011-01-31T19:18:00.003-05:00

I'm chomping at the bit, whittling the time away, scratching at the itch, to get out there, but the snow just doesn't want to stop.

low-fi and quite-lightweight

2010-08-24T20:35:00.032-04:00

I didn't want the extra 6 lbs of lenses and tripods, cameras and cases. I didnt want canon sureshot-snapshots of campy faces, I wanted lightweight and control over aperture so I brought along the Holga, the best and worst of modern photography.

Up the steep thin collar toward Nancy Cascades along the granite stairs only New Hampshire allows,

natural flume to cascade, through the thick choke of forest only a hammock allows sleep in

Norcross Pond and Nancy Pond, their two cold trickling arms pressing gulches into the fainting face of Mount Nancy

Holga, 35mm. Photos not in any way enhanced or edited

"Hangin'" (literally) on The Parker River

2010-07-06T07:26:00.001-04:00

Theres something sexy about a paddle that never leaves the water on returning from a J-stroke, the way it quietly slices and floats forward. The clicking Morse of crickets flick their Bics at the quiet the paddle mumbles out the sides of its lips, and I feel, as the artist does, pressing against her palette and panel, back and forth, moving forward through the life of a piece of art.

the day wheezing through the trees

that cackle and creek like the slosh of tide against hull

pine cones thumping

The rustle of light

and trot of curious ants

against reddening skin

the guttural rant of Plovers articulating lust.

Lightweight, Wood-Fired, Gourmet Range.

2010-03-20T17:30:00.015-04:00

You want food to match the collage, the confluence of color and smell the river represents. You want to taste it, its banks and eddies, in fresh ingredients the Native Penobscot ate.

The right tools, be it glowing birch coal, French sea salt or pair of tongs, coax the meal from the pot or grill, enliven the spirits of the ingredient, not the cook.

I think two burners, a knife roll of cutlery, spice and array of utensils, along with a little bit of balls, throw in two good stoves...?....you're talkin' "Napa high". (the feeling of intoxication achieved through the consumption of food - GOOD food - imagine 9 courses for lunch at French Laundry, [you cant get in a car and drive after that])

As a two burner cook, not a one pot slop shop, the extra cooking tools always added extra weight to my pack or boat. But, without the weight and space canister gas adds, one can carry more fresh food or more importantly -booze, with use of this stove.

Settling into the cool dirt of riverside woods getting down on your knees actually working for your fire is meditative. Arched over your stove it begins to shine its old world charms, it's hobo beginnings.

It is the eppitiome of simple, yet advanced, lightweight stove. Nothing compliments a rushing river more than a lighter tread.

Dreaming of Fresh Riverside Camp Cooked Food,

2010-03-13T13:05:00.009-05:00

...the chanting audience of birds whisked into the freedom of the North Maine sky, or deep golden chanterelles and shallots, fat Brook Trout, wild oregano and lemon against the crackle of a hot pan, the crackle of a beer can, ah, the two indistinguishable sounds of pouring beer and the faint cocktail chatter of river trickling through a downed birch strainer.

2010-01-30T21:48:00.007-05:00

there are no pews more suitable for prayer

than naked river rock or exposed cliff ledge

no votary impulse more satisfied than at mountaintop

or at the base of inexorable whitewater

under big bossy cumuli

the whole body seems tempted toward campfire

as it does toward sunshine

breathing such living air

your skin is summoned to drink

the fine atmospheric champagne that on its own

comes to its knees

by earthy drunkenness or faith

faith in the wildness of life

in the sturdy storm enduring tree

and the white stamen of shooting star

that has been
abhorrently commandeered

by creation

For The Love Of A River.

2010-01-23T10:30:00.012-05:00

When winter lacquers lakes and river tops, attacks breath and nose as it always does here in New England, when no bow can breach the white glass of January, we go along the waist, the feminine neck of what we would otherwise paddle, merely for our eyes to fondle the aching ice moaning under it's own weight, shrieking and shattering like a crystal chime on a windy day.

2010-01-23T10:27:00.010-05:00

Camping Alongside The Pemi

2010-01-19T22:23:00.005-05:00

2010-01-19T22:22:00.001-05:00

the Pemigewasset River

2010-01-19T22:17:00.005-05:00

2010-01-19T22:16:00.002-05:00

2010-01-19T22:15:00.009-05:00

photos by rick beaty

Final Night's Camp, Chesuncook.

2009-12-05T18:26:00.006-05:00

The Crooked Blue Spine Of Maine

2009-12-05T18:24:00.010-05:00

"a heaving, swelling, sea of color, chanting overhead."
"How deep our sleep, under the starry composite. Only the unwinding yarn of our exhausted fire, scribbles itself against the dark cluttered backdrop."

"The light, its cheek pressed against the lake, burns the skin of the deep unsettled. Over in the trees that spring from shore, as arrows do from the chest of an unfinished man, labored breath laps at the shore I can hardly see, my squint filtering nothing. My blindness on this day, that took so long to arrive, is more apparent than the clear-cut scars along the soft crooked spine of Maine."

Leafing Through The Last Days "Journal Quotes"

2009-12-05T18:22:00.015-05:00

"The lake jostles in it's earthy cup -reverberating against stars that tonight are tourists that flock to my magnificent sleep."

"So big a lake, after being confined to the hallways of the Penobscot, you feel and hear; rising and cowering tides."
"Paddling open wind swept lakes -keeps shores at a distance and arms strong."
"No matter how glorious the river is, rushing beside this campfire I enjoy alone among the quiet; it is meant to be shared!

On Chesuncook...

2009-12-05T17:51:00.014-05:00

the hours wait, hanging in the sky smelling of charred arrangements, the sun expelling itself wringing the lake of light so that emptiness could only be more emptyto voyeur the nudness of loons and the great body of Chesuncook curling its shoulder into the corner of the open rock, accepting it’s loose advances,

so that underneath the retracting tide the hips of rock hiking skirt, reveal the dried bone and warmth, bed and coal of what we could and shouldn’t be.

bivouacked in moonlight and sound so that escaping the wheeze of shore in a scattered lace written out along the beach you can read you, in a scribbled, tide-abandoned tongue, the hours waiting and smelling themselves.

Prose Flows Down The River

2009-12-05T17:50:00.010-05:00

the linoleum reflecting cheap 70’s blue sky, the covers of magazines trickling through the limbs of downed trees, newsprint smoldering above poorly enunciated fires and books, books stack, leaning and reaching towards the sun, telling no stories, inventing no truths about eddy foam swirling, panting after crawling through the lungs of wheezing channels and roads that swell and slosh against the creek of camp, searching the cracking and aging, the pale and smooth bed its flesh sweats against.

The Burden Of Watch & Motor

2009-11-23T21:13:00.030-05:00

The quiet opened and revealed the end of the Nob, which seemed to widen with each paddle stroke as it nudged its shoulders toward Chesuncook; the end of the trip, the final night. The sound of phones and traffic, nines & fives, un-raked leaves and the burden of watches and noise of motors arrive, the machinery of everyday life, all seemed closer now, and our beers were warmer than the water we fought through on our way towards Gero Island. The quiet was heavy until it was ripped through.......

Taut Cellophane

2009-11-13T20:37:00.023-05:00

The late afternoon brought a slow river of taut cellophane, it's flat sheets disturbed only by the random surfacing bubble. We cut through it easily, slow and quiet. The river's soundlessness only amplified the slosh of paddle-blades, cutting at the flesh of the Penobscot. The water dripping, littered a trail of cylindrical ripples that echoed through the corridors.

This stretch between Big Island and Chesuncook was the most flat, dead water we had yet encountered; which lent to a mood of childish boredom. Every turn had something new, every stump erect in the distant water was a staring moose, every downed tree and protruding river stone an obstical worthy of a skate park.

As we approached (pronounced in a low baritone native accent): "Chesuncook".... the winds seem to hold their breath.

Purging Itself Of Light

2009-11-13T20:15:00.010-05:00

The Productive
Prolific
Repleting River

purging itself of light.

Flies Only!

2009-10-31T10:52:00.010-04:00

Along the Penobscot the average bobber and beer fisherman is not aloud. It is fly against fish on the Upper West Branch. So our only recourse was to drink and watch the fine art the angler employs in deceiving trout with a deliciously swooping artificial fly....from shore.

The white Hips Of White Water

2009-10-31T10:32:00.008-04:00

Theres something about the white, the crumple of flesh in the hip, where water decides to fold itself, attack whatever object its white fists engage. Something ultimately feminine that draws men towards it. Some seduction only understood when you touch it, walk through it or are finally engulfed by its power. Something that makes you feel triumphant when you emerge from its persuasion.

wha?

2009-10-11T15:14:00.008-04:00

photos by rick beaty

Crooked, Stuttering and somewhat Bored

2009-10-11T14:46:00.011-04:00

The boredom, the slowness of time the river affords creaks in the trees, foams in eddys, crackles and taps it's wings against the surface of the water and removes all concerns one might have about their "aliveness". Fluvial you make your way, as if through the arteries of some great spiritual body, crooked, stuttering, quiet and somewhat bored, in the slowness of things you make it, thoughtfully.

As The Campfire Wanes

2009-10-06T23:02:00.010-04:00

As the campfire wanes, ceases to illuminate the underskirts of trees, turns to more smoke than flame and you lean back to the left or right dodging its moonlit spiral, no more perfect a time arises that the post smoke rondevous with the moon.

Clogged Highway of Peacock Feathers

2009-10-05T16:05:00.016-04:00

The water of the Penobscot, on the upper west branch, wove flamboyant gowns full of color through the banners of rising heat. The sun near Throreau Island turned the river into a clogged highway of peacock feathers. The swarms of bugs allowed only a handful of jerky, a couple cigarettes and a can of Coors, if such can be considered measurements of time. We plunged back into the color, and the next few hours dissapeared into a finely rolled, mid-river-float, which turned conversation, bow and stern like the arms of a clock.

Canoeing On Glass, Lobster Lake

2009-09-20T20:48:00.020-04:00

Flesh Colored Poems

2009-09-20T20:41:00.011-04:00

There's something about the air in Maine that gives clouds, whether going or staying, the language of incarnation.

Two silent sensations creating a charred alphabet, that against a great mirror, blosoms flesh colored poems in the wind.

These days are the keys and lamp-posts by which we gain access to ourselves.

Bow & Stern

2009-09-20T20:16:00.006-04:00

Nothing is as sweet as the burn of a good tequila, in the middle of nowhere, the evening sun on your face, a fire crackling, lakeside.

Ogden Cove, Lobster Lake, Piscataquis County, Maine

2009-09-20T19:50:00.029-04:00

The first night on Lobster Lake we woke to the over and over grunting of a moose trampling through camp. The familiar sound we learned from the Allagash startled neither of us. The moose went on into the water and into the woods, and we followed.

Over the coals we grilled Mahi marinated in the simple holy trilogy of olive oil, salt & pepper. Served over scallion, green pea, panchetta and feta farro.
Golite Shangri-la 4+ for 1

Dutch Oven ButtermilkBuscuits

Farro is a firm meaty whole grain found at most specialty food stores, even Whole Foods. It's meatyness is what is all together missing from other rice. Either hot or cold, the snap of it's skin, under the grind of your teeth, not unlike the snap of Tobiko, young salmon roe, is glorious.

It is the perfect outdoor starch. It's hearty, packable, durable, easy to prepare and adorned with nearly anything.

We chose feta, frozon peas, scallion and cookset seared panchetta. A bed any self respecting Mahi would be proud to be supine upon.

It's heritage is italian, (blame wikipedia if I'm wrong). A whole wheat grain more ancient than all others. It looks like an obese mcdonalds fed brown rice, imagine the flesh of peeled spikes or ears of cultivated emmer wheat.

It requires 10-20 min of soaking begore its boiled, like pasta, strained (with a bandana of course), and served with what ever garnish you can dream of.

Add this to your drybag pantry, I promise boners and popping clits under the picnic table.

As for the mahi, it's mahi, slather it in good ev-olive oil, kosher salt and fresh cracked pepper, grill it, skin on. It's hard to fuck up.

Photos By Rick Beaty

Slicing Our Way Through the Entrances and Exits

2009-09-17T20:05:00.007-04:00

can you hear the silence?

We put in at Roll Dam headed for Lobster Lake. The pile of gear next to the newly wet empty canoe scrambbled our brains with excitement. You could feel it in your toes and in the maiden mosquito bite, "This is your brain on the drugs of canoeing".

It was a real river. Not an anemic excuse for a river, but the bloated, thick-necked exaggeration of one, and we were about to slide the feminine body of our canoe into its belly, and we did.

The gurgle of water, the drippings off paddles, all of it! Slicing our way through the entrances and exits of one century and the next.

The NOB!

2009-09-16T15:26:00.003-04:00

The Upper West Branch of The Penobscot River, Maine!

Photos by Rick Beaty

paddlemaking.blogspot.com

2009-08-23T12:28:00.000-04:00

September Trippin'-Upper West Branch PENOBSCOT!

2009-07-26T12:51:00.010-04:00

September 6th-12th Lobster Lake to Umbazooksus Stream on the Norther Forest Canoe Trail.

How do you follow up a run on the Allagash, it's moose, it's diversity, it's natural beauty? More Maine river! Only this time we bring enough beer.
I'm thinking two nights on the remote Lobster lake fishing, cooking and talking rivers, nature and art. We roll in with a canoe full of fresh vegetables, fine cuts of game and beer on ice along with passages from Thoreau's "Maine Woods" to prepare us for days of river alone with the moose. From Lobster lake we head up upstream to the Penobscot, the upper west branch. We make camp the first night at Thoreau Island, where the author himself camped along with his Penobscot Indian guides. Im thinking fresh grilled trout pulled from the very river we dine near on a bed of pea and pancetta faroah. Food snobbery seems fitting for such priceless ambiance.

Our days never require a hard paddle, moving a mere 6-10 miles a day. "Lazy" is the pace I imagine. We have five nights to do what could be done in 3. Yes, we have time to chill, time for long drawn out chess games and ideas for collaberative installations that'll never come to fruition.

From Thoreau Island we paddle to the one of the numerous campsites near or on Big Island. Big Island isn't really that, it's a small island in the middle of the West Branch offering the river a road block that creates our only quickwater and class I rips. After fish tacos and many cans of coors we continue on toward Chesuncook Lake. The winds at Chesuncook lake might make crossing to Gero Island, where we camp our final night or two, difficult. A little planning and an early start should put us on the island with no problems. From here we wind down the trip, begin having the conversations of how little time we have in life and what our next trip might be before we head into Umbazooksus Stream and our take out in the North Maine Woods.

For now, we have only the featureless map, a few google image searches and a month of desire.

Packrafting The Parker River

2009-06-29T19:21:00.020-04:00

"The Parker River Wildlife Refuge is 4,662 acres of upland and wetland habitat with sandy beach and dune, shrub, thicket, bog, swamp, freshwater marsh, saltwater marsh and associated creek, river, mud flat, salt panne" and some dude with a coors between his feet.
The idea comes across my mind quite often to packraft the Parker River, find the perfect perch (seen below), sling a hammock, listen to the tide drag barges of marsh debris along its banks and the sound of piping plovers wings tap tapping on the water as they scurry off

"The Parker is a feeding, resting, and nesting habitat for migratory birds. Located along the Atlantic Flyway, the refuge is a vital stopover for waterfowl, shorebirds, and songbirds during pre- and postbreeding migratory periods."

The Parker river isn't "wilderness" but its blocks away. The quiet you feel on the Parker is tangible. The birds, whether you're an aficionado or not are amazing, almost as amazing as a beer and a hand rolled cigarette, your legs hanging over the edge of your boat, your feet skimming the surface of cool water.

photos by Rick Beaty

All Under The Cloak of Mosquitos

2009-06-22T18:35:00.034-04:00

Fire making, let alone gourmet meal making, gets tough under the weight of dense camp drenching clouds. Cooking over steaming, sand-buried coals, with the knuckles of wind at your face SUCKS.

On The Saco River, in a late August storm, sand and rain in nearly everything, thanks to the wonders of foil, we managed to pull off a couple seasonal vegetable courses to remember.

Fire Roasted Beets with Chives, Fresh Parsley, Coarse Salt and Dark Green Olive Oil, steam bursting out of the foil when you first pry it open. STOP. Picture that. Really. Picture it. Pulled from the coals, small pocky char-marked beets........................ Now crumble Feta over that. Yea.

Mexican Street Corn. Simple shucked fresh sweet corn, butter and crema (crème fraîche), wrapped in foil with salt, pepper and lime, buried in coals. finished with more crema, queso seco (or parmesean) and dried chiles.

With each reaching cloud the darkness

set in deeper over camp.

The night moved in on us,

made the river groan and rise and our stomachs turn.

The water level rose up on our sandy beach

which would easily be swallowed if the rain continued

the rain continued

coming down hard on our wind bent fly tarp,

our gear and wood tucked in its belly.

we had to build a fire

had to cook

had to build a fire in the rain

in wet sand

all under the cloak of mosquitos.

B.H. took to the task

Dug a wide hole down to the dry sand

propped split logs up

hung the wet husks of corn

strung like a curtain around the fire to shield the wind.

even created shelves within the fire place

for multiple heat zones

with channels for air dug into the sand

feeding it from underneath

we had a fire

a good fire

and a bed of cooking coals quick

despite the rain

photos by Rick Beaty & Bryan Harland

Camp Kitchen

2009-05-24T19:39:00.000-04:00

This camp kitchen is like the "Letherman Multi Tool" of culinary underbosses.

1 GSI Telescoping Spatula & Spoon

1 Lexan salt and pepper shaker (full of ground chiles)

1 GSI Extreme Cookset

2 Orikasa Folding Dining Sets

2 ultra lite cutting boards

2 light my fire sporks

1 snow peak Giga Stove

1 Brunton Optimus Multi Fuel Stove

1 small tupperware of kosher salt

1 small tupperware of fresh cracked pepper

1 small tupperware of adobo,

1 small tupperware of pico de gallo spice mix

1 medium bottle of extra virgin olive oil

1 small bottle white truffle oil

My own chef's knife wrapped and taped in cardboard

My favorite tongs

The smallest cheese grater I could find

2 MSR Camp-towels

1 small bottle Dr Bronner's All-In-One Soap

1 2 gallon bladder

1 small backpackers folding grill

2 cheap throw away sponges

Look At These Beauties.

2009-04-30T16:31:00.004-04:00

http://www.merrimackcanoes.com/index.html

We Got To Do This!

2009-04-30T16:06:00.006-04:00

Theres a whole mgazine devoted to canoe and kayak sailing?
http://www.canoesailingmagazine.com/

or how about an ultralite handheld sail?
http://www.quiversail.com/quiversail/home.html

http://dory-man.blogspot.com

2009-04-30T15:50:00.003-04:00

Small boat lovers will love the Dory-man.

2009-04-22T20:24:00.003-04:00

The Dangers of Canoe Camping Deficiency.

2009-04-21T14:46:00.008-04:00

Recently my doctor prescribed either a trip to the Caribbean or the sun equal to sitting in the stern of a canoe for a week or longer.

Canoe Camping Deficiency rivals all but schizophrenia in neural imbalance disorders. Symptoms include or can lead to depression, vitamin D deficiency, heart disease, chronic pain, Fibromyalgia, hypertension, arthritis, inflammatory bowel disease, obesity, PMS, Crohns Disease, cancer, MS and other autoimmune diseases.
The American Society of Anesthesiologists released a report in October of 2007 that stated approximately one in four patients who have chronic pain issues were also found to have experienced low levels of Canoe Camping.
According to the Canoe Camping Council, if you are someone who completely avoids the sun you will need to take approximately 4,000 units of Vitamin D per day. You would have to drink 40 glasses of milk a day or take 10 multivitamins a day to get the required amount of Canoe Camping.

the Saco Underbelly

2009-04-20T22:45:00.006-04:00

Believe it or not, beyond the puking teens pissing from their canoes, there is still a loud quiet floating past the beaches and banks of the Saco River. When the sun begins to set on you, stretching the tops of trees across the river in shadow, the sun leaving you there in the dark with the river, there still exists a sense of timelessness.

Canoe The Glendale Narrows, L.A. River?

2009-04-15T12:40:00.025-04:00

I remember climbing down the green rebar ladders, the ends of tree branches wrapped with old tee-shirts, doused in lighter fluid setting out to explore the tributary tunnels along Verdugo road in Glendale, kicking up water from the anemic trickle that is the LA river on a hot California summers day. Never did we think to lower boats down underneath the Glenoaks Bridge. Never did I expect to see the LA River in the May issue of Canoe and Kayak.

"A dozen intrepid Angelenos successfully navigated kayaks and canoes down the full length of the 52-mile L.A. River (from headwaters at Canoga Park to estuary in Long Beach) in a three-day exploratory expedition, demonstrating that the whole river merits a determination as a "traditional navigable water"

http://pr-usa.net/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=125188&Itemid=30

Biologist Heather Wylie hit with suspension over LA River kayak trip.
http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2008/10/remember-the-mu.html

http://www.peer.org/news/news_id.php?row_id=1117

http://www.the-la-river.blogspot.com/

photos by someone else

Just For The Love of a Creek

2009-04-15T10:52:00.017-04:00

The plan was the Sawyer Pond "float & fish", two nights three days, in the cold of the white mountains, yanking trout from the fridgid water, smoking, drinking and melting over ourselves because of a campfire gourmet meal. Plans fail, desire doesn't.

Saturday morning I decided I needed a fix. I left my concerned and loving wife, huffed it to the white mountains, hiked a measley hike to a trail passing creek, hiked up the babble and slung my hammock, just for the love of a creek, just for the sound of moving water, not 200 feet from the trail, not 200 feet from a water source, illegal, totally illegal, and happy, furiously happy in the meat of solitude.

one good leg and a machette is all a man needs

fridge in a post hole

photos by iphone-atard

Look At The Hips on That!

2009-04-06T22:38:00.001-04:00

photo by Bryan Harland

Mid April Packraft "Float & Fish" in The White Mountains

2009-03-31T21:26:00.009-04:00

photoa by someone else

Late Afternoon, Early Spring, Afterwork Desires.

2009-03-30T20:09:00.015-04:00

The Parker River

The put in

The portage
The Fish Ladder

The take out
Easy After Work Dusklight Float Photos By Rick Beaty

A Truly GREAT photo from the Saco River, ME

2009-03-25T22:45:00.003-04:00

photo by Brayan Harland

The Macal River, Belize.

2009-03-02T11:02:00.016-05:00

The Macal River is in the Cayo District of Western Belize. Canoeing through the Mayan Mountains is enchanting and other worldly. What a chill float. The stretch up river of the small town San Ignacio has caves full of bats, wild boars you can smell from the canoe hoofing through the bank trails and deep lush jungle. As it enters San Ignacio down on river left the town market is the perfect stop for "ah-oo-ten-tico" Belizian food. Try to find the "fo-we-chicken" its the peoples chicken, the national dish with rice and bean. "Belize it" or not, theres a killer Indian restaurant in the town of San Ignacio too.

photos by Rick & Robin Beaty

Yea! I'd Rather Be Down There!

2009-03-02T10:49:00.014-05:00

The Rio Grand, South of Hispanola, New Mexico.

photos by Rick & Robin Beaty

The Ipswich River

2009-03-01T22:08:00.013-05:00

The Ipswich River is a "local watering hole". Camping is restricted, which is cool because it keeps the riffraff at bay. I had to become a member of the Mass Audobon Society to be able to rent one of their three beautiful sites on Perkins Island. The most recent night we went I rented all three as to not share such quiet nature with other transients or Cub Scout groups.

The best time out on the Ipswich is for the day. You can go for 3-5 hours, picnic at Perkins island(illegal according to the sign) Foote Bros' swampy site at "Something Or Another" Island, or float your lazy ass the entire way through the towns of Wilmington, Reading, North Reading, Middleton, Topsfield, Hamiltion and Ipswich out towards the sea(the later three being the best sections). You're on river time, and yet closer to work than I live.

photos by Rick Beaty & Bryan Harland

Packrafting the White Mountains

2009-03-01T09:55:00.017-05:00

The Androscoggin River

http://www.avcnet.org/arwc/recreationmap1.html

http://www.riverfacts.com/maps/11853.html

Next time we are in the Whites and want to dig our teeth into some river -the Pontook Section of the Androscoggin River in NH. It's 2.4 Miles long and according to "American Whitewater" It's a class II section. This section is short so we'd have to walk our boats back to the put in a few times(like when we were kids flying down mountains on our skateboards huffing it back to the start to do it all over again). It's just north of Milan on Rt 16. The Pontook Dam releases, supposedly, most weekends.

photos by American White Water & endurefun.com

Tumbledown Mountain

2009-02-27T15:52:00.022-05:00

Tumbledown Mountain hides near its worn peak

a pond stocked with trout and a couple days worth of floating in the quiet.

Im thinking rainbow trout stuffed with cilantro, lime and chiles on an open wood fire

where the skin crisps

and the bones chill

some a late May evening.

(photos by someone else)

transientcanoe.blogspot.com

2009-02-22T22:29:00.002-05:00

Unlike backpacking where weight is a major concern and space is limited, Canoe Camping allows anything and everything you'd would if you were "drive-up" camping. But, if you bring ultralight-backpacking equipment on a canoe, it allows you to bring even more food and beer along, ie. "essentials". Instead of a 15 lb, two burner Coleman stove, two 2.5 oz Snow Peak Giga Power backpacking stoves make more sense, they weigh less and take up less space; hence, more wine and cheese.

This is where pure gourmet gluttony enters the picture. Ok, so camping doesn't scream out fillet Mignon with black truffle potato gratin or soft shell crab sandwiches on fresh camp cooked sourdough, but that's only because you don't have the balls!

I'm fucked up. People accuse me of over-doing-it or "doing-it-up". Yes, I am a guilty motherfucker. For me, it's not just camping with freeze dried dinner and trail mix snacks, its a gourmet adventure. A waterfall or gorgeous mountain view from a river bend-beach is why we come, but, that experience can be enhanced by a prosciutto,cappicolla, bufalo mozzarella, tomato & basil panini on fresh baguette, drizzled with a fine extra virgin olive oil, kosher salt and fresh crackedpepp, which just happened to be our first lunch on the river. I mean, come on! Am I wrong? While your eyes and ears are getting high from the views and sounds of nature that some consider spiritual, why not engage the tongue?

Canoe camp-cooking is a pain in the ass. The more you can do ahead the better. I got my mandolin out the night before we launched, and dealt out the thin cards of a potato dish that drives you out of your mind. Potatoes, butter, cream and truffles, dude.

8-10 purple potatoes (red can substitute)

4 cloves garlic, diced

1 large shallot, diced

1 1/2 cup Parmesan, grated

1 cup heavy cream

1/4 extra virgin olive oil

3/4 cup melted butter

kosher salt

fresh cracked pepper

1/4 cup white truffle oil

1 black truffle (if you cant find one, use more white truffle oil)

Slice the potato super thin on a mandolin (don't have a mandolin?, get em consistently even and as thin as possible).

Butter a Pyrex baking dish

Lay out a layer of potatoes

Drizzle with heavy cream, butter, extra virgin olive oil, a sprinkle of garlic, a sprinkle of shallots, salt, pepper and Parmesan.

Lay out another layer of potatoes,

Drizzle again with heavy cream butter, extra virgin olive oil, a sprinkle of garlic, a sprinkle of shallots, salt, pepper and Parmesan

Repeat this until the Pyrex is full

The cream, butter and oil should fill up 3/4 of the height of the Pyrex

dust the top with an extra sprinkle of parm and bake, cover in foil, at 350 for 45 min

remove from oven when you have a nice light brown crust and the insides are bubbling out the edges.

let sit to cool

slice into 4 in squares

shave black truffle over each piece

drizzle each with white truffle oil

and serve beeyotch

(or in this case put in Tupperware and refrigerate 'til you leave)

More Moose Than People

2009-02-22T22:24:00.001-05:00

Northrunner

2009-02-22T21:57:00.004-05:00

Close to two years ago I bought this dvd. Within the first nine minutes, the first nine miles vibrated through every odd corner of my body. Chase Rapids & the Allagash River, who I never even knew existed, found an avenue of veins to motorcade.

http://www.state.me.us/doc/parks/programs/aww/video.htm

northernforestcanoetrail.org

2009-02-22T21:37:00.002-05:00

The Unknown Masterpiece

2009-02-22T20:38:00.006-05:00

Allagash Falls

2009-02-22T20:19:00.001-05:00

2009-02-22T20:09:00.000-05:00

2009-02-22T20:08:00.001-05:00

2009-02-22T20:06:00.000-05:00

2009-02-22T09:58:00.001-05:00

2009-02-22T09:57:00.000-05:00

2009-02-22T09:56:00.000-05:00

2009-02-22T09:55:00.001-05:00

2009-02-22T09:54:00.000-05:00

2009-02-22T09:52:00.000-05:00

To Allagash Falls

2009-02-22T09:51:00.000-05:00

2009-02-15T14:04:00.001-05:00

2009-02-15T14:03:00.000-05:00

2009-02-15T14:01:00.000-05:00

2009-02-15T14:00:00.000-05:00

2009-02-15T13:59:00.001-05:00

2009-02-15T13:58:00.004-05:00

2009-02-15T13:57:00.000-05:00

2009-02-15T13:50:00.000-05:00

2009-02-15T12:46:00.000-05:00

2009-02-15T12:33:00.001-05:00

2009-02-15T12:32:00.001-05:00

2009-02-15T12:13:00.000-05:00

2009-02-15T12:12:00.003-05:00

for 3 for 1

2009-02-15T12:11:00.002-05:00

Camp at Dead Water North

2009-02-15T10:00:00.003-05:00

The camp at Dead Water North proved out. From what we heard the Allagash was beautiful from up on the highbank. The slosh of moose heads dunking and grunts of hooves over river rock butted into our conversations at camp. The sun seemed anxious to close up shop on us as we had blown through our poorly allocated supply of ales. The river was wide and the colors the sun revealed over the surface of the rips, like a hiked silk over thigh, heavied the longing for women left behind.

2009-02-14T10:15:00.000-05:00

2009-02-14T10:13:00.001-05:00

Musquacook

2009-02-14T10:11:00.003-05:00

Dead Water

2009-02-14T09:59:00.001-05:00

2009-02-14T09:51:00.000-05:00