County life rugged, yet rewarding

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For many who grew up in the greater Bangor area – or farther south – the mere mention of the words “Aroostook County” spark a variety of responses.

Sadly, there are plenty of people who dismiss our northernmost county as nothing more than a wilderness wasteland. “There’s nothing up there,” you’ll hear some say … though they may not have ventured north of Millinocket in their lives.

“There’s nothing to do,” others will tell you (as they sit on their couches and watch TV). “How can people live there?” others will ask, blissfully unaware that about 200 miles to the south, there are undoubtedly plenty of people saying the exact same thing about those of us who choose to live here … in the thriving little “metropolis” known best for our top-notch resident horror writer.

As a half-County descendant, once removed (that means my mom was born and raised in Bridgewater, but I’ve lived outside Aroostook my whole life), I’ve got a few opinions to share.

Of course, real County residents will tell you that attaching a “County” tag to yourself under such dubious circumstances is somewhat akin to calling the offspring of a barn cat a calf, since he was born in the same neighborhood.

I accept that. I haven’t earned the right to say I’m from The County … or that I really know what the place is all about. I have, I hope, earned the right to share a few thoughts … as an appreciative outsider.

I just got back from The County. It was, I figure, much the same way it was when I last left it.

That won’t sound too appetizing to people who earn their living crunching important numbers and focusing on terms like growth and revenue and GNP and global markets.

To me, it sounds just fine.

No, you won’t find a strip mall on every corner in The County. And when people up north talk about sprawl, they’re probably talking about what the cat does when he gets done eating his afternoon snack.

That’s fine with me.

This column is, by definition, about the outdoors and the people who enjoy hunting and fishing and hiking and biking.

In The County, you’ll find all of those, and more. You’ll find people who not only enjoy the outdoors, but who accept Mother Nature, even when she’s not being cooperative.

In The County, people don’t batten down the hatches and hide when the weather turns ugly. They go to work, and school, and everywhere else they’ve got to go. (Except, of course, for this past Monday, when whiteout conditions forced their collective hand. But believe someone who saw the weather that day: If we got the same kind of wind and blown snow down here in Bangor, someone would have called in the National Guard.)

In The County, some people don’t lock their doors at night … and most of those who do so don’t have to.

In The County, folks do all of the same things you do. But many do more.

Like the teens I saw the other day, standing on top of a 10-foot-high snowbank off Route 11 just outside Fort Kent. From their vantage point, they had a perfect view of the valley below, and the hillside farms a couple miles away.

That’s what I saw, at first … before I even noticed the teens.

But they weren’t sight-seeing. They were snowboarding. Off the bank. Down the hill. Into the valley below.

No $50 lift ticket. No lift at all. But they were happy. Try telling them there’s nothing to do in The County.

And in The County (I re-learn, each time I visit), folks are a bit more polite. They’re a bit more apt to say hello. And they’re a whole lot more helpful.

Case in point: A few years ago, a confused sports reporter who bears a slight resemblance to the one in the photo you see at the top of this column was in Presque Isle … looking to cover a high school track meet (and not knowing where the track was).

He stopped in front of a house, flagged down a man mowing his lawn, and asked him for directions. The result wasn’t a “can’t-get-there-from-here” response, but it was close.

“Do you know town at all?” the man asked.

Not too well, the reporter admitted.

“Hmm,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, let me go get my car keys,” the man said.

Then he hopped in his car and led me all the way cross town … right to the track … and drove off with a wave and a smile.

True story.

Tell that story to your pals the next time they’re telling you how bad things are in The County.

Then try getting the same treatment in Bangor … or Portland … or wherever you call home.

For the past few weeks, ice anglers have been wondering how the folks down in Augusta would greet LD 468, a measure which would have changed the landscape of ice fishing here in Maine.

In essence, the proposals would have lopped a month off the fishing season, limited anglers to just two traps (instead of five), and restricted ice fishing derbies to one every other year per each body of water.

The answer is in, and anglers will likely be pleased: The legislative committee responsible for weeding through such bills voted on Tuesday to scrap it.

The official tally of the legislature’s Inland Fisheries and Wildlife Committee was 13-0.

According to a wire service report, the committee said no supporting scientific data was presented to the committee.

Rep. Matt Dunlap, D-Old Town, introduced the bill at the urging of several constituent anglers, but admitted several weeks ago that he thought the bill had no chance a passage.

It turns out Dunlap was right.

For those who think our elected officials don’t listen to the masses, the widespread uprising by those opposed to LD 468 ought to make you think twice.

In an unrelated matter worth considering now that we’ve dealt with the hot ice fishing issue: There’s just 26 days until the opening of open-water season … if only some of that ice would begin to let go of our favorite trolling haunts.

John Holyoke can be reached at jholyoke@bangordailynews.net or by calling 990-8214 or 1-800-310-8600.