I got an early start this morning after a beautiful, cool night.
It was only 60 degrees inside the cabin when I got up.
Perfect sleeping weather.
First order of business was checking the rowboat.
Still there.
Excellent.
While I was eating breakfast, I received a notification from the camera at the Camp Hidey Ho driveway entrance.
Someone was coming in.
I pulled up the camera and saw a truck drive past it and continue down the driveway.
That got my attention.
I wasn’t expecting anybody.
I waited to see the truck leave, but didn’t see it come back out, so I got into my truck and headed up the driveway to investigate.
By the time I got there, I figured out what had happened. They were looking for the cabin that’s for sale farther down Democrat Ridge Road and had simply turned into the wrong driveway.
They realized their mistake, turned around and continued on to the property they were actually looking for.
Since I was already at the road, I decided to take care of another job on my list.
I’ve been posting No Trespassing/No Hunting signs around the property. Where there aren’t suitable trees for signs, Maine allows purple paint markings to indicate that the property is posted.
So I grabbed my purple paint and started walking down Democrat Ridge Road, painting trees along the property.
I made it almost to the end of my property, turned around and started walking back.
That’s when I heard something.
I’m still not sure what it was.
It sounded like a snort or a forceful exhale—something that sounded big.
My immediate thought was moose.
But I really didn’t know.
What made the situation slightly more interesting was something I’d noticed earlier along the road. In a muddy low spot, I’d seen a very large paw print.
And whatever made it had claws.
Bear immediately came to mind.
Suddenly I wasn’t particularly interested in hanging around to identify the mysterious snorting animal.
I started moving a little faster toward the truck.
Then I thought, I should take a picture of that paw print.
Reached for my phone.
No phone.
Excellent.
So there I was, walking alone through the Maine woods, possibly near a bear, without my phone—and with my bear spray safely stored back in the truck.
Very useful there.
I made it back without incident and once again resolved that when I’m walking around in the woods, I really should carry the bear spray.
The spray actually came with a little bear bell that attaches to your belt. The theory is that the ringing alerts bears that you’re coming so they can move away before you surprise them.
Sounds reasonable.
But I do have one concern.
Has anyone explained to the bears that it’s a bear bell and not a dinner bell?
Because I’d hate to ring the thing through the woods only to have a bear think:
“Oh good. Lunch is coming.”
After that adventure, I turned my attention back to the bog walkway and made some progress for a couple of hours.
Not enough progress.
I finally decided that what this project really needed was heavy equipment.
So I started calling equipment-rental companies.
Unfortunately, “civilization” is an hour and a half to two hours away, but I eventually found a place where I could rent a Dingo—a stand-on compact loader with a front bucket.
The idea was that a Dingo would be smaller and lighter than conventional earth-moving equipment and hopefully wouldn’t disappear into the bog.
There are apparently two sizes.
Naturally, the only one available for the weekend was the bigger one.
The rental guy told me it weighs about 4,400 pounds.
That’s more than a lot of cars.
Suddenly “lightweight” seemed like a relative term.
But I brought it back to camp anyway.
The good news is that the Dingo can move dirt considerably faster than I can with a shovel.
The less-good news is that putting dry dirt on top of a wet bog basically creates…
More wet dirt.
It’s remarkable how quickly the fill absorbs moisture from the peat underneath.
Still, I made good progress. I probably got about 30 feet out into the bog, building up the worst section.
There was one exciting moment.
I was driving onto the bog with a bucket full of dirt, which made the machine very front-heavy. As I reached the soft area, the front end suddenly dug in.
The Dingo pitched forward.
And kept pitching.
For a moment, I thought I was going directly over the top.
Fortunately, the bucket hit the bog and stopped us.
There I was, standing on the machine at something approaching a 45-degree angle, looking almost straight down at the mud.
I tried backing up.
Nothing.
The machine wasn’t going anywhere.
The solution turned out to be pretty simple. I dumped the load of dirt and lowered the bucket, which pushed the Dingo back toward level. Once the weight was off the front, I was able to reverse out.
No harm, no foul.
But it certainly got my attention.
Every time I travel over the newly filled area, the machine compresses it a little more and brings more moisture to the surface. So the farther I venture out, the more I wonder whether I’m eventually going to reach the point where my 4,400-pound “lightweight” machine decides to become a permanent part of the bog.
We’ll see.
Tonight, I was sitting in the cabin watching television and talking with Trudy when I noticed something about a foot away from my foot.
My first mouse.
I think the mouse was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
He quickly scampered away.
No big deal.
Frankly, I’ve been surprised I hadn’t seen one sooner. I knew they were here.
And really, when you think about it, I’m the visitor.
I’m here for one month a year.
They’re probably here for all twelve.
So I suppose they have a stronger claim to residency at Camp Hidey Ho than I do.
Tomorrow I had been planning to visit the Machias Blueberry Festival. I think I’ll still do that—maybe get a little work done first and then head down for some blueberry-related entertainment.
See you tomorrow.