August 21, 2024 Edition
By Emily Patrick
Approaching five decades ago, in 1976, Maine saw its last log drive. As they made their way from Moosehead Lake down the Kennebec to The Forks and eventually the paper mill in Winslow, those logs marked the end of an era and way of life for so many Mainers.
Being that the log drives ended nearly fifty years ago, the number of living men who worked on the river is dwindling. As the last of this dying breed slip behind the veil, an entire culture will vanish into the ether with them. That’s why, in an effort to help preserve this significant period of Maine history, we travel North of Moosehead to Chesuncook Lake for this Edition’s People of the Lake installment.
Chuck Harris is a slim, quiet character who in the summer months at Chesuncook Dam dons sleeveless tops tucked into torn blue jeans, lace-up river drive boots, a colorful Native-beaded belt and, oftentimes, a bandana around his neck.
I’ve known him four summers now, but still haven’t adjusted to the way his perceiving eyes shift behind his large-lens, thin-rimmed glasses and an impish smile plays at the edge of his mouth when you say something he either finds amusing, or incredibly stupid. Whether it’s the former or the latter he’s grinning at, only Chuck knows. Chuck’s constant companion is a Rough Collie named ‘Suncook, or Sunny for short. Sunny will turn 12 on Labor Day of this year.
Chuck was born in 1949 in Delaware and attended the Maryland Institute College of Art in Baltimore, restlessly switching majors between sculpture, life drawing and painting before dropping out. He was turned off by the drug scene in Baltimore, the Vietnam protests, and didn’t like the city or sitting at a desk. He says, “I’m glad I didn’t make it a career.”
Having worked summers on the log drives in Northern Maine (an area Chuck’s family frequented in his youth) in 1969 and 1970, in 1971 Chuck packed up all his belongings and made the permanent move to our “neck of the woods.”
You may have made the assumption by now that Chuck Harris is our “People of the Lake,” but that assumption would be incorrect. Though Chuck is now one of the last gatekeepers of this rich period in Maine history, the real “People of the Lake” worked on the river, and Chuck wants to pay homage to these men. Chuck points out much of this period’s history is lost to time, because there weren’t reporters and writers and photographers out on the drives, and there wasn’t any “Log Driving For Dummies” book back then- or now. So much of what happened on the river, unfortunately, stayed on the river.
In an effort to preserve the memory of and show respect for the men who taught him how to make a good, honest living, among other invaluable lessons, Chuck and Sunny now live part of the year at the old Chesuncook Boarding House. Built at the site of the original Chesuncook Dam, constructed in 1834, and surrounded by water on three sides, this old building is now a museum completely imagined, executed and curated by Chuck. The Chesuncook Dam River Driving Museum is the second such historic river driving structure Chuck has saved from a fate of neglect and decay.
The historic building started as the dam tender’s house around the turn of the century. It was moved to its current location in 1916 when Ripogenous Dam was built to keep it from flooding and was then expanded and turned into a place for seasonal workers to stay. Later, it was used in the summers by river drivers. At one point, it could sleep over 20 men. During his river driving days, Chuck even had several meals in the old boarding house he now calls “home.” He says, “Here I am, all these years later.”
The inside of the museum today looks much as it would have during the peak of Maine’s river drives, right down to the tableware, hanging lanterns and rounded-frame beds in the bunkhouse. Each of the thousands of relics were hand-picked and curated by Chuck. It’s all part of an effort by the West Branch Historical Preservation Committee, a 501(c)(3) organization, to prevent Maine’s log driving history from slipping down into the depths of public consciousness, like the sunken river drive logs lost at the bottom of Moosehead’s dark and cool depths, so very valuable but inaccessible to most. One would be hard-pressed to find a local family whose fathers or grandfathers or even great-grandfathers weren’t involved in Maine’s log drives in some capacity. It’s part of our heritage, and our collective spirit.
That’s why Chuck says, “I do this out of respect for the men who taught me and didn’t have a chance to tell their story.” Still, the few donations Chuck gets in a jar at the museum from visitors throughout the year is not enough to sustain the project, and what will be the fate of the Chesuncook Boarding House when Chuck is no longer around? Please consider helping this very important cause. You can donate or learn more about how you can help at themaineboomhouses.org.
“Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away.” -Marcus Aurelius