“There. Proper there on that time. I’m gonna construct a camp there,” my ice fishing buddy exclaimed as we drove our snowsleds up and down the south shore of Seboeis Lake.
It was February of 1967. I used to be a younger man simply out of the Navy and again in Maine, able to make up for misplaced time. My spouse’s cousin, Ron Hastie, and I had fished the north finish of the lake after accessing it by snowsled from the freeway between Brownville and Millinocket. In these days, the lake was all however uninhabited.
Hastie was a decided, purposeful man. By spring, he had a shore lease from Prentiss Carlisle. He employed a skidder to chop a tough path to the lake from an outdated chopping street. The skidder introduced in development materials. Quickly, Ron and I and Dana Younger had been sawing 2x4s and driving nails and sleeping in a close-by trapper’s shack. By August, Hastie’s Hut was a actuality: a 16-foot by 24-foot camp on the lake shore with a wide ranging view of Mt. Katahdin.
Come each November, a bunch of us spent every week at this camp deer-hunting the close by beech ridges. We put deer on the pole, and we had a grand ole time at this new deer camp. Quickly we fashioned a membership, known as the Skulkers of Seboeis. The hunt grew to become a much-anticipated annual affair. Our friendships deepened. We even composed a signature track: ”In Hastie’s Hut we map our day, to slaughter these whitetails as they play. Our meals is unhealthy and our water is worse, however venison quickly will grace our fork, sauteed gently with just a little salt pork.”
Sure, sir, through the years, 56 to be actual, Hastie’s Hut grew to become greater than only a camp. It was a founding place, a repository for irreplaceable reminiscences, all of which revolved round looking, fishing and lasting fellowship. For Ron Hastie, its proprietor, it was his “place within the popple” and a quiet retreat from the hustle and bustle of metro Massachusetts.
In time, the Skulkers of Seboeis outgrew Hastie’s Hut. We discovered a much bigger place down the lake a methods. Father time stepped in, as he at all times does, and outdated legs and hips started to take a toll, particularly on ordinary out of doors actions. Ron had just a few years on most of us, and in later years, a lot of his time was spent with a pipeful having fun with the lengthy views from the camp porch.
However most of us by no means didn’t get pleasure from revisiting the hut and swapping lies with Ron on his porch. Hastie’s Hut grew to become fabled amongst out of doors people for its rough-cut authenticity and character. To a first-time customer not aware of the camp’s historical past, it might need seemed a shambles. Nothing, completely nothing, ever bought thrown out. It was an outdoorsman’s museum or junk yard, relying upon your perspective. Outdated spark plugs. Pipe cleaners. Fishing lures. Outboard elements. Empty wine bottles. You identify it. However the “proprietor” knew the place all of it was, if he wanted it. True story: A person from Brownville Junction introduced a Tennessee acquaintance into Seboeis for one function — to easily see the within of this distinctive hamlet within the hardwoods.
Hastie’s hut nonetheless stands. However the place’s namesake, who’s simply this facet of ninety, has had well being points. As you may surmise, a few of us puzzled what would turn out to be of this man’s citadel from the town. Would he depart it to household, or maybe a buddy? You surprise, however you don’t ask, even of an in depth buddy.
The reply got here this week in a textual content from my buddy. He wrote: “Large modifications in retailer for Seboeis, Paul. I simply bought my camp holdings.”
The sudden liquidation got here before any of us had anticipated. The proprietor can also be promoting his Massachusetts dwelling and transferring to Florida.
Promoting a camp, nevertheless steeped in reminiscences it could be, just isn’t a dying within the household, however there are similarities, particularly whether it is the place a few of life’s most profound and treasured reminiscences had been piled on each other like gold cash.
After 56 years, Hastie’s Hut has left the household. Nothing is eternally. We should be pleased about the time we had at this outdated camp, and for the fantastic characters who shared it, with out whom there would have been no reminiscences.
V. Paul Reynolds is editor of the Northwoods Sporting Journal, an writer, a Maine information and host of a weekly radio program, “Maine Outside,” heard at 7 p.m. Sundays on The Voice of Maine Information-Speak Community. Contact him at [email protected]
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