The last time the Upside-Down Canoe Club ventured on the mighty Allagash, we did so without the benefit of a tent. Somehow we managed to survive sleeping under a tarp, although I endured an unholy amount of abuse. (It wasn’t my fault). On last week’s return trip we brought two tents and never used them.

The last time we spent a night on Round Pond every article of clothing was wet. The tent was wet, the sleeping bags were wet. We were wet. This time, the weather was perfect. We slept inside a designer cabin on actual beds with L.L. Bean blankets and the guide actually started a fire in our wood stove.

How the mighty have fallen.

The canoe club is notably weak on logistics. Every year the vital transportation plans are left to the last minute. The question of who will drive vehicles in or out of the wilderness is always sketchy. Phil is our chief logistics officer. If Phil had been in charge on D-Day, we would all be speaking German. And the sad truth is he is the best we have.

This time as we drove in from Ashland (our favorite northern Maine town) on the American Realty Road (referred to, inevitably, as the “Reality Road”), we realized, as cell phone service disappeared, that we had no firm arrangements for the vital transportation link. The original plan called for spending the first night at the Coty Camp on Big Machias Lake, leaving the truck at the bridge over the Allagash just above Round Pond, spend a glorious night at Jalbert’s Cabins, then paddle to Allagash Village. But we had no way of returning to the mighty Toyota Tundra to which I have become unnaturally attached. Paddling back upriver seemed a bit excessive.

After we paid the ransom to enter the North Woods, we realized that we were stuck with no transportation. We would have to park at the bridge, paddle to Round Pond, spend the night, then paddle back to the truck, a humble five-mile trip. The other nights would be spent at Big Machias.

That decision was soundly applauded when we discovered the Coty camp, which came with a gas stove, wood stove, big deck and endless parade of moose bathing in the lake. I am the laziest club member and was willing to spend the whole trip, right there, reading Western novels, sipping cold beverages and watching the moose.

But wiser more energetic heads prevailed and we set off the next morning for the Allagash. We spent all of an hour paddling to Round Pond and the cabins. To someone who has spent a rain-driven night in a tent on the river, or camped without a tent, the classic Jalbert Cabins are the Ritz of the river. River guide Norman Marquis motored in to open the cabins.

We were used to roughing it and fending for ourselves and were guilty as Marquis started the gas grill for the evening’s chicken dinner. It was even worse when he asked if he should start a fire in our cabin’s wood stove, the answer was a grateful yes. But it really got bad when he asked if anyone wanted a sauna. A sauna on the Allagash? What ever happened to wilderness camping? I complained bitterly until the sauna hit 150 F and was forced to leave it.

The irony of the luxurious visit is that it occurred right across the pond from the disastrous, rainy campsite where we had spent our initial visit to the area.

Naturally, the time passed too quickly and it was time to leave. Marquis said he had to motor back to the bridge anyway and asked if anyone wanted to be towed back upriver. My hand went up involuntarily (I told you I was the laziest) and I was hauled regally up river, over the rocks and shallows while the others paddled furiously.

I wasn’t supposed to tell, but after Marquis dropped me off at the bridge, he motored back downriver for the others. I took pictures from the bridge at the end of the river tow job, much to the embarrassment of the paddlers.

I have been offered a king’s ransom for these incriminating photos. What I want even more is a full tank of gas.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.