There’s a reason that the actual location for Libby Camps is known to Google as Seaplane Base: Libby Camps. That reason probably has something to do with it being located in a region so sparsely populated they don’t even bother to name the towns, but refer to them instead by numerical designation.
Or maybe it’s the fact that there are seaplanes.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, my Dad had actually debated offering to let me take my car up to the Libby Camps last week. Instead, the two of us made the five plus hour in trip in his Ford Explorer. Which was fortunate, as it turned out, because while my Volvo does have four wheel drive, the washed out Oxbow Road we took into the North Maine Woods would have destroyed it. The roads had suffered cruelly at the hands of the worst winter Maine’s seen in years, or ever as far as snowfall is concerned.
And if a car’s going to get trashed, I’d very much prefer it be someone else’s.
This trip traces its origins back to Christmas, when my Mom, desperate for a gift for myself and my father, stumbled across the Libby Camps and thought that it would be good fishing and good downtime both. My mother is unquestionably a brilliant woman in most every aspect, but even she could not have known how accurate this assement would prove to be.
The North Maine Woods, where the “Seaplane Base” resides, is an organization of private and commercial landowners who jointly steward three and a half million acres of undeveloped land. For a nominal per person fee, visitors are entitled to enjoy the bounty of one of the largest yet least occupied counties this side of the Mississippi. Said fruits to include trails, ponds, stream, whitewater, lodges, cabins, and all manner of guided trips. Oh, and fish.
The Libby family’s connection to the area dates apparently to 1890, and besides the accomodations which, while rustic, are quite comfortable and of relatively recent vintage, it’s easy to imagine that not a lot’s changed in the last century on the north of two Millinocket Lakes in Maine. Certainly commercial developments are few and far between (logging aside), as are the people. On Thursday, my Dad and I took a boat down to Round Pond off Millinocket, and in the seven or so hours we fished and bushwacked up the river beyond, we saw precisely zero people.
How often can one say that, in this day and age? While individual appetites for such isolation will understandably vary, it would be difficult to argue that it’s anything but uncommon.
Even better, the sacrifices necessary to achieve this tranquility are minimal. Our cabin was comfortable, with running water hot and cold. Though the word “lodge” might conjure up images of primitive fire cooked food served to the chilled occupants of nylon tents, nothing could be further from the truth. We were told when entering the Maine Woods that we would eat well, and we did. The Libby family takes their guests’ comfort seriously. Dinners ranged from the traditional Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings to the largest prime rib I’ve ever seen. Even the lunches they pack for you to take out in the field are outsized and freshly made. Breakfasts, well, I never got up for any, so I can’t comment personally on those.
As to the particulars of our stay, it was excellent in spite of the heavy rain, and we did indeed catch fish. Both my Dad and I. We can’t prove it, because neither a canoe nor a pack carried through the pouring rain are optimal environments for cameras, but between the two of us, we picked out 14 or 15 brook trout in 2 days. Far from a mighty haul, it’s true, but given my Dad‘s lack of experience fly fishing and my lack of ability, we counted ourselves lucky.
Besides, as I told my father on the return trip, there’s just something about sitting chest deep in the middle of the cold water of a river gorge in the pouring rain that makes you feel alive. Even if your waders are half full and you haven’t caught anything in a while. As in hours.
Sleep came early every night as might be expected, and we were only periodically interrupted by the banshee wailing of the local loon population. We were fortunate to see no bears, and the only moose we ran into were viewed from the (relative) safety of the Explorer. Which I’m thankful for, since we ran into a mother with her offspring, and instead of being trampled, the awkward and ungainly looking creatures raced into the underbrush.
If you’re considering Maine for a fishing trip, or you’re just seeking a respite from your Blackberry, TV, or laptop, I cannot recommend Libby highly enough. Continuous partial attention will not be a problem: I guarantee it. My father, who rarely sleeps past 4:30 these days and is on his Blackberry more than a teenager (though maybe not this HS sophomore), got a solid ten hours in per night. And that, at the risk of venturing into cliche, is priceless. As was spending a weekend with my Dad.
Whoever you go with, Libby’s is a family run operation where the guests are treated as extended family – witness the return rates. On one night, we were the only newcomers: everyone else was making second, third, or fourth trips.
Three suggestions if you’re going:
- Consider flying into Presque Isle and being picked up
- If you can’t fly, make sure you have a four wheel drive (with clearance) to get in
- Bring your own libations: Libby’s doesn’t serve wine or beer, and you could have charged me well for the latter after a cold day on the river
Pictures of the trip, for those interested, can be found here.
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