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This is Rainbow Lake

🌲 Puddle Jumper Pilgrimage: An Adventure in the Maine Wilderness

We were not outdoorsmen—at least not the typical, rugged type called “Grizzly Adams”—and maybe I’m dating myself there! We were, however, weekend warriors.

Every Memorial Day weekend, my dad and I would load up the car and drive to Maine. This annual trip was preceded by Dad spending the entire week planning: taking meticulous notes, listing necessities—tent, sleeping bags, clothing, gear, and, most importantly, toilet paper. That last one could make or break the whole adventure!

The Journey to the Puddle Jumper

We’d drive through the night to reach our first destination, Greenville, Maine, if I remember correctly. But that wasn’t the final stop. No, the real fun began: we would load all our gear into a little seaplane, or “puddle jumper,” (that’s a floatplane, for you city folks). The pilot would then fly us deep into our lake of choice, which we’d selected long before.

These pilots definitely have a sense of humor. I vividly remember one foggy flight when a pilot asked, “Do you see a mountain to the right?” and I had to shoot him a look that said, “If we crash, I’m going to smack you first!” I guess they needed a way to amuse themselves with us nervous weekend adventurers.

It’s called a puddle jumper because, as you guessed, it flies and lands directly on these “puddles”—which are vast lakes in the middle of the wilderness. Maine is enormous, far bigger than my home state of New Hampshire. Looking down from the sky, it’s hard to imagine living in places so beautiful; we tend to forget that at eye level. It’s an endless tapestry of trees, dotted everywhere with these lakes—and trust me, they’re pretty big puddles when you land on them.

Watching the plane descend and land on a lake may seem scary, but it’s actually quite cool. Once we landed, we’d float over to a sheltered spot to unload and set up our camp. Since the day was starting early, we were usually ready to cast our lines and begin our outdoor adventure—fishing—by 10:00 AM.

Fishing and Finding Solitude

This is what we did for the next four days. We fished, and you’d better hope the fish were hungry! The solitude was absolute: there were no other people, none. The next human you saw would be that pilot coming back in four days.

If you’re a fisherman, you know it’s called fishing and not catching. Sometimes, those fish just don’t cooperate, which can make the day go by very slowly. But this is where the adventure truly begins. You pull into shore for small hikes and see beautiful nature you won’t find anywhere else: loons, ducks, beavers, and, of course, moose. 

🦌If you’ve never seen a moose in the wild, trust me, it is a sight to behold. They can be incredibly quiet for a gigantic animal. Once, one walked up right behind us, about ten yards to our left, then calmly walked into the water and swam the entire length of the lake.

🐻 The Unexpected Visitor

We are quite sure Yogi Bear made a stop while we were out fishing. When we came back for the day, the tent was torn and on the ground. That certainly made for an interesting night! After all, we had to remember: it is their home. We are just visitors.

Some years we caught a boatload of fish (pun intended); other years, we caught absolutely none. Zero. For a fishing trip, you might say those “zero” years were a disaster, but here is the best part—the actual best part.

How often does life give you the chance to spend four days completely uninterrupted with your dad, talking about anything and everything? At night, we’d listen to hockey games in French on an AM radio. It’s in those moments that you realize how great and amazing your dad is and how few people get that opportunity.

A year goes by fast, and a lifetime goes by fast, but we always had those four days every year where nothing else mattered, and we had the best time.

🏕️ Reflection on Rainbow Lake

Rainbow Lake. Back in the day, fifty years ago, we used to take the puddle jumper to reach it. The last time we visited, however, you could get there by car. Time changes everything. Some things, like this lake, almost seem like they should be left untouched, but while time did change the access, it did not change the memory.