X marks the spot

On dusty old treasure maps, “X” always marked the spot. Or so we thought as children.

Granted, some people don’t have the foggiest idea of where they are even with a map, but I have always been fascinated by them. There’s a little piece of the world right before you, albeit in only two dimensions. The lines and markings, however, allow the mind to easily upgrade the image to three. This, of course, gives us distance and topography which then allow us to estimate the fourth dimension involved in navigation time.

Maps are manly. We all know that any self-respecting guy would rather die than violate the secret code prohibiting American males from asking directions from a stranger. But that same individual will eagerly consult a map.

Holding that magic paper, peering out intently, and uttering an occasional harrumph or growl while chomping on the stub of a cigar creates a take-charge image for the holdee, even if someone else has to bravely note that the map’s upside down.

In Maine, those seeking a definitive guide to the back country have few choices. For years, there were mostly out-of-date government-produced U.S. Geodedic Survey (USGS) topographical maps.

Anecdotally, I would say the average freshness date for Maine topos is about 1942. The Cherryfield quadrangle, which includes the Narraguagus River, undoubtedly is among the oldest, having been updated as recently as 1902.

Sure, the mountains haven’t changed that much in the last 91 years, but the roads and infrastructure have. The best example of which is the fact that the large dam and lake shown on the Cherryfield map are long gone. A new, much smaller dam and extended marsh with a  winding stream bed now take its place. Look for a large lake at the end of that river, and you may be there awhile.

And then, lo and behold, it came unto us: the gospel according to Delorme.

Delorme Mapping is a small company in Freeport that produces the bible of how to get there from here — The Maine Atlas and Gazetteer.

If actor Karl Malden did commercials for Delorme instead of  American Express, the slogan would still be the same: “Don’t leave home without it!”

On a recent trip to the environs north of Moosehead Lake, I did not fail to see a single party without one. They were folded up and battered on the seats of dusty pickup trucks, tossed casually on dashboards of sedans, and rolled up in back pockets. Along Interstate 395 in Bangor, I saw a state cop standing with a woman on a median strip consulting an Atlas and Gazetteer  as to which exit might be best.

You can bet that when Delorme shows the road turning to a line of dashes it’s time to put your vehicle in four-wheel drive, as it will be little more than a skidder trail.

Personally, I keep one in the truck, one in the office, and still another near the phone at home, so that when I’m discussing upcoming expeditions the people on the other end, who of course have their own, know exactly where we’re going.

The Atlas  divides Maine into boxes, with each one in effect its own map. There are 70 in all, with number one being Kittery and number 70 being a triangle of unorganized townships along the northwest border with Quebec. You are getting into the middle of nowhere when you get into maps with the high numbers. Most paved roads stop around the lower 40s; into the 50s, you are out there. Tell me you’ve been north of map 66 and I’ll shake your hand.

My problem is that it seems whenever I’m planning a trip the area I want to visit invariably is smack-dab at the intersection of four maps.

With the Atlas, you can flip the page or skip ahead. With the USGS maps you need to buy a slew of them and, except for the University of Maine at Orono Bookstore or L.L. Bean in Freeport, few places stock them all.

Thinking about pages of maps and navigation reminds me of an old “Bert and I” story, penned in the days before Delorme, about being lost in the fog. The chart for the bay they were in had unfortunately  blown over the side of their boat.

After hours of pondering, Bert finally seizes on a plan. Cigar, no doubt clenched firmly in his teeth, he announces that he has the solution. They’re going to weigh anchor, put up the sail, and run straight ahead until they get to the middle of the map on the next page. “Then,” says Bert, ”we’ll know exactly where we are.”