It takes all kinds: Trip teaches tolerance

By GISELLE GOODMAN, Portland Press Herald Writer

Copyright © 2002 Blethen Maine Newspapers Inc.

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I am overwhelmed and maybe even a little bitter at first.

On the sandy bank below Swans Falls, at least 25 canoes jockey for a launching position to enter the slow water of the Saco River. Many of their occupants chain-smoke cigarettes and drink cans of beer.

Their canoes are loaded with coolers, cookstoves and chairs. Their tents and luggage are crammed into black plastic trash bags. Their radios blare everything from country to hip-hop.

It is July 4th weekend, and all of the canoes are headed in the same direction as photographer Gregory Rec and I: a 20-mile run downstream from Fryeburg to the Brownfield Bridge.

Greg and I are both officially grumpy by the time our green Old Town canoe launches into the 71-degree water. As nature lovers and compulsive "leave no trace" campers, we are offended by the apparent lack of reverence for the surroundings and for the river. We are disgusted by the cigarette butts floating by, the loud music that cancels out the songbirds and the beer cans stacked on the bottoms of the canoes we pass.

We pass a busy sandbar, one of many popular campsites on this part of the river. I remark how each group of campers seems to have brought along some kind of Budweiser merchandise, be it a folding chair or a flag.

"Well, don't you know," Greg quips, "it is the official beer of the Saco River."

I sigh and realize as we pass a barge of five canoes tied together, their occupants all singing along in unison to "Baby Got Back," that for the next few days I will have no choice but to become more open-minded about the people with whom we are sharing the water.

And along this section of the Saco River, there is a lot of sharing to be done. Of all the Saco's 134 miles, this is the most popular and most heavily recreated portion. As many as 7,000 people might visit here during a summer weekend to indulge in the best the Saco has to offer.

Here, the amber-colored water runs clear and warm. Most of the time it is wide and it is rarely more than chest deep. It tumbles 3 to 5 miles an hour over powder-soft sand. There really isn't a need to paddle, at that speed, the reason why the people who frequent this part of the Saco call the experience a "float and bloat."

The beige, sandy banks are lush with maples filled with singing sparrows, orioles and finches. The bends in the river open up to expansive views of forests and mountains. There are no houses or condos along the river's banks - just woods and sand. The air is scented with campfire smoke and the moist, faintly soil-like smell of the Saco River.

It is amazingly beautiful, which softens my attitude towards the other paddlers.

We soon discover that most of the people are really nice. They smile and wave as we pass them and mug for Greg's camera. One group, two happy couples, ask us where we are headed. They offer us a beer. We decline, but relish the gesture. Maybe, I think, the folks out here aren't so bad.

By the time our canoe slips over the water under the Route 5 Canal Bridge, I am already planning to come back with my friends some day. I have quickly learned what the thousands of people who trek to this section of river year after year already know.

This is a place to be free from the confines of the city, the office, the housework. It is a place where friends can get together and camp without the kids. And it is a place where nature is nonthreatening. The river is gentle and the sandbars are wide. You can't get lost out here and there is always something new to see around every bend of the river.

I begin to understand that the people sharing the river with us are, for the most part, not deep-woods backpacking kind of people. Instead, they'd rather enjoy this gentle stretch of nature while sipping a beer, smoking a cigarette, and jamming to their favorite music. Maybe I don't agree. But I understand.

The people I meet relish the freedom they find on the Saco and they celebrate it with props of all sorts. We pass by canoes fitted with torches and hibachis. One canoe tows an inflatable palm tree; another an inflatable pink-lipped pig. There is even the occasional blow-up doll.

The partylike energy of these floaters is sort of infectious and by the time we set up camp at the sandbar owned by Fiddlehead Campground, our mood has greatly improved.

Our neighbors seal the deal. Sean Hebert, his wife, Karyn, Ed Libby and his girlfriend, Tracy Rodgers, all from Gray, invite us over to eat dinner with them.

Tracy and Karen tell us that they used to come here with a larger group of friends to party loud and late. These days they party a little lighter, but still enjoy the experience.

"It's fun to feel like you're camping, roughing it and getting away from people," says Tracy. "It's a break that's not as costly as a hotel."

By the time we catch up with them the next morning at the take-out downstream under Walker's Bridge, we are still irritated that so many people along this river dump their trash on the banks and ignore the "dig a hole" rule when they use the bathroom in the woods. But overall, Sean, Karyn, Ed and Tracy have changed our general opinion of the people on this section of the river.

They really are enjoying the wildlife, the woods and the water. But they are doing it in their way, whether it involves a blow-up doll, a campfire, a mix tape of 1980s power ballads or a can of Budweiser.

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