My River

It is a raw November day along the Maine coast. The fog is sweeping down off Mount Battie, and our backyard is covered with a wet blanket of fallen leaves. Most of the maples and oaks behind the house are bare now. As a result, the view of the Megunticook River is unobstructed from the bedroom window. Looking at the river this morning put me in mind of the joy I felt moving to this place a few years ago. It reminded me also of this essay I wrote for the magazine.

Having just returned from the far side of the continent, I've been dwelling on the concept of personal geography — how we define ourselves and are defined by the landscapes we choose to inhabit. And I realized that, for the time being at least, this river is me.

Lynx and the Law

Many years ago, I had the privilege of visiting Clayton Lake*, way up in northern Maine, where the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries & Wildlife was conducting a live-trapping survey in the hopes of determining how many Canada lynx live in the Maine Woods. For years, biologists had dismissed the historical records of lynx in northern and western Maine. It was just easier for wildlife bureaucrats to pretend there were no lynx—except for a few individuals that "went rogue" and roamed down from Quebec. To admit otherwise might invoke the Endangered Species Act beloved by environmentalists but hated by Maine's powerful and influential timber companies (not to mention trappers). I don't think the biologists wanted the hassle, honestly, and so it was easier just to say that there were no lynx and not spend the money looking for them. (That's my story anyway, and I'm sticking to it.) Eventually, though, commonsense won out when lynx advocates began pointing to evidence of the elusive cats turning up over the entire northern half of the state.

Courtesy WikipediaLo and behold, IF&W field biologists discovered lynx as soon as they began looking for them, and not just a few random cats but breeding populations, complete with kittens.

It turns out too, though, that trappers, biologists, and landowners were correct to be concerned about how animal rights activists would try to use this information for their own purposes. Very soon the Wildlife Alliance of Maine and the Animal Welfare Institute were crafting lawsuits to ban all large-animal trapping in the North Woods ostensibly to protect lynx (which are anything but endangered in Canada, by the way).

Now a U.S. District Court Judge has sided with the trappers, concluding that not enough lynx are taken in bear, coyote, and other sets as to pose a risk to that spectacular cat's continuing presence in our northern forest.

This strikes me as the best, or at least most intellectually honest, ruling. One can despise trapping for all sorts of ethical reasons, but I dislike lobbying groups that disguise their actual motivations in court. I'm sure the Wildlife Alliance of Maine and the Animal Welfare Institute hate all trapping, but if they want to see the practice banned outright they should be straightforward enough to make their case to the courts—or the voters—without using the non-representative case of lynx for cover.

*It was on this trip, incidentally, that I met the late game warden pilot Jack McPhee, who helped inspire the character of Charley Stevens in The Poacher's Son. 

Pre-Tour Day #7

Now I'm at the Sea-Tac airport facing a long day since there's both a storm here, as well as a nor'easter in Newark, where I'm connecting back to Maine. We're already delayed in fact.

As I said earlier, this tour was simultaneously an inspirational and exhausting experience. Minotaur really has gone to bat for this book. As a new author I couldn't ask for more, and no matter what happens with the sales of the The Poacher's Son, I have some incredible memories of these dinners and the wonderful people I met. As the countdown proceeds to April 27, 2010, I am increasingly hopeful.

But also very glad to be going home.

Pre-Tour Day #6

The last official day of the Portland-to-Portland tour, and it was just as well because my body has decided to give out on me. Spend enough time in airports and you're destined to catch a cold, which I did just in time to meet the most influential librarians in Seattle and the surrounding areas.

On the way we stopped at a B&N where I met a fellow Mainer who buys books for the store. When you're the editor of this magazine you find Mainers everywhere.

Then we had lunch at Cafe Campagne that looked excellent for everyone but me since I had no appetite by that stage and an increasingly sore throat. I tried to summon my inner reserves for the conversation with local librarians (the lunch was organized by the one and only Nancy Pearl). This was a great group who had really read and reflected on the book. The conversation that took place was very engaging, but of course you always hope to bring your A game to these events, and it's hard when your dragging. In any case, I wish the lunch had gone longer.

Despite my illness, my hosts were gracious and understanding and I promised them that I would return some day at the beginning of the trip and not the end, so they could meet my usually charming and witty self.