With a majority of the spring gardening underway, I tossed a tent into the pickup and headed for the mountains of Maine. As a few sprouts pop from the fertilized ground, I’ll be fireside, with my feet up. We pulled into a remote campsite late in the afternoon and carefully chose the area in which to plot out our tent – flat ground, no rocks and not in a low area (in case it did actually rain). I feel that we’ve locked down our routine fairly well. I setup the tent and begin splitting wood. My fiance makes it a home – sleeping pads, sleeping bags, pillows and finding a nice spot for the dogs to rest in the shade. Equitable division of work.
Weekend home in a box.
A bit of starter fuel for this evening’s fire.
Old faithful travels religiously wherever I step foot.
I tend to carry enough wood for all-day fires. I enjoy cooking meals over an open flame – it tastes better.
The bugs are beginning to surface and even through a plume of afternoon smoke, they drive us into the tent. Sometimes when you’re deep in the woods – there is no safety.
Armloads of kindling.
Fuel for the fire addiction.
Any campsite you choose with access to decent fishing will be a trip worth taking. We find a few worms locally and take to the water. Trying several points on the lake shore, we cast and slowly reel in, throwing some movement into the line. Two small native brook trout take bite, but we catch nothing large enough to brag about, but the fun comes in the adventure!