Free Lost on a Mountain in Maine by Donn Fendler Page A

Earl W. York on the Greenville-Millinocket tote road side, and the other one in charge of Roy Dudley, veteran Maine guide, on the Chimney Pond side. The State Forestry plane was pressed into service and, for two days, flew over the mountain and surrounding country. This proved to be merely a gesture, however, because from the height that the plane had to travel, the boy could not have been seen.
    During the first five days of the search, from Tuesday to Saturday, no attempt was made by the searchers to look below the timber line. It was felt by all the veteran woodsmen and guides that Donn could not possibly have gotten down off the bare mountain that first treacherous night. In fact, it was generally believed that the boy had perished. The hunters, then, were searching only for his body. The crevices between some of the boulders were thirty to fifty feet deep, and the searchers, traveling about twelve feet apart, looked into every possible hole where the boy could have fallen. It was not until late Saturday that Mr. Fendler, who had a strong feeling that Donn had reached the timber line and was still alive, was able to convince the searchers that possibly he was lost in the wooded section somewhere below the timber line.

    Sunday, the army of searchers, numbering between four and five hundred individuals, began to give up the search, and only faint hope was held out for the boy’s rescue. Mr. Fendler never gave up hope, however, even though no encouraging clues had been found since the bloodhounds lost Donn’s trail on the plateau.
    Monday and Tuesday found only a small group, chiefly volunteers, continuing the hunt. As it turned out, of course, Donn, after the first night, was never within ten miles of those who were looking for him. Losing his sense of direction in the mist, he had gone down off the mountain on the north side, into a region seldom explored. The only trail which runs through it is very obscure, overgrown and poorly marked. Known as the North Peak’s Trail, it runs almost directly north until it reaches one of the little streams that help to form the headwaters of the Wassataquoik (pronounced Wa-see-tah-cook) River.
    The rivulet Donn followed eventually led him to the main stream, and he paralleled that until he crossed over to the East Branch of the Penobscot River, on the opposite shore of which is the McMoarn Camp.
    Even when Donn reached the camp, known in the Maine Woods as “Lunksoos,” he was far from any real civilization. The easiest approach to “Lunksoos” is by way of the East Branch of the Penobscot River itself, the nearest civilization being fourteen miles down the river, at Grindstone. The village of Stacyville is eight miles away, but can be reached only over a tote road which is in bad condition and must be traversed on foot.
    As soon as Donn was safe in the McMoarn cabin, Mr. McMoarn notified the telephone operator that the boy had been found and the good news was rapidly spread. Three hours later, or about four o’clock in the afternoon, Dr. Ernest T. Young, accompanied by Chief of Police Picard of Millinocket, arrived at “Lunksoos” to look after Donn. A few hours later, the boy’s two uncles, Dr. Arthur C. Ryan and Harold Fendler, arrived after a trip on foot from Stacyville along the old tote road.
    The next morning, Donn was carried down to the shore of the river, where a canoe awaited him. Meanwhile, Mrs. Fendler had reached Grindstone, fourteen miles away.

    In the course of the journey down to Grindstone, the river runs quite rapidly and is very shallow in spots. Huge boulders, some of them completely hidden, are abundant in the stream bed. Here, only expert and experienced hands prevented a river “spill” from being added to Donn’s record of adventures. But, while racing through white water, Donn merely looked on, as any interested spectator would. It was just another example, in his eyes, of what may happen in the