Red River Camps

Day 7
It's a struggle to ford through the traffic of the seaside towns.

Pete's exasperation says it all.

Finally, we hit open road.

Route 11 in Aroostook County, Maine.  North or bust!

I pay my toll to enter the privately owned North Main Woods and I'm cautioned that the big logging trucks have the right of way, and will not yield. I had the opportunity to try out that claim 7 times. Claim is absolutely true. 5 times on the way back, I thought the soft shoulder or rocks would be the end of us. 
And rocks, there are a plenty, sharp tire slicing shale and rocks that I had to dig out and move to be able to pass.

This one was too big to move, but the car scrapped by.  To be fair, everyone else drives trucks or SUVs, and the road conditions keep tourist with less fortitude away.
23 miles of these roads later, we emerge in Shangri La.

Our very own 100 year old log cabin named Gardner. The exhausting schedule book is shelved for 6 glorious days.

My joy increases with each new discovery:
No cell phone service. (Paradise)
No electricity in Gardner, only propane lights and head lanterns. 

Stocked firewood.

Making Garrett the biggest fan.

All the comforts of home, including our bedding from Alabama... can't be good guests if we use their nice linens.

Bonus:  laundry facilities.

The two hosts who cooked for all the guests in the main lodge.

Angel Gloria and Angel Jen.  Affirmative, I'm in Heaven.
Sold.  We'll buy it.

Whaddya mean it's not for sale and we can't stay forever???
Cole, did you hear that?

Shake a leg.  We have a mere 144 hours to explore the 30 miles of trails.
The historic 130 year old Red River Camps sit in Deboullie Township.  A +20,000 acre ecological preserve.

I've hiked, canoed and camped in all four corners of North America, including Alaska, and nothing compares to Deboullie.  I lack words to explain why it moved me so... it fed my soul and I'm infinitely richer from the experience.  Maybe my pictures, that I will share in the next post, can help me explain.