Diary

August 15, 1975

5:30 a.m.

It was a typical humid day in the mountains of Maine. I woke up just like any other day, slapping my alarm clock till it stopped ringing. I was looking out at a small lake, the sun just beginning to pour its light in my face, the cracked window I needed to x before fall reminding me of my lazy summer days. I had two rods next to the door, and a small bucket of live bait. Two eggs, bacon, and bread was my breakfast. It was a short hike to the lake, with the sound of heat bugs ringing in my ears and the heat coming o the ground like a space heater. It was going to be a really hot day. I looked down at my bucket: my bait minnows were still alive. I was at my spot where I could sit down and relax before I baited and cast. My hands secured my seat, the rocks still cool from the night’s kiss. I dipped my feet into a small pocket of water, checking to make sure no bears were around. I felt the water trickle through my toes. My rst cast sizzled through the air, the plunk of water splashing up.

6:30 a.m.

The fish continued to bite, but there was nothing in my bucket yet. I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Was it a bear? I had to turn my head to see. Something was creating a bustle in the trees about 120 yards away from me. I didn’t know what it was, so I unbuckled my deer-skinning knife and stared at the wooded area. I decided to go up the embankment on the other side of the lake, putting myself

BY PAUL DESIMONE

in a direct line with my campsite and ensuring me a way out. I grabbed the bucket, and as I started to move I heard a loud howl unlike anything I’d ever heard before. Should I end this trip now? at was not a bear. Maybe a wolf, but I could handle that. Wild wolf attacks were rare, especially a lone wolf. I moved faster just in case, every few seconds making sure my knife was within reach. I climbed the embankment with my legs cold from the water. Another howl, but this time it sounded farther away.

7:30 a.m.

I have not heard anything since. Should I go back over to my old spot? Oh wait, I think I just hooked one.

8:30 a.m.

My bucket has two sh in it now. Both of them will make a great lunch! Hopefully I can get a few more. is spot seems to be even better than my last spot. I think I’m going to move a little farther east and see if I can get one more big sh, then head back.

9:30 a.m.

That loud noise again. is time it sounded much closer. I think I’m going to go—

August 18, 1975

A police o cer puts a book in an evidence bag. “Two dead sh in this bucket. Nothing else.”

Another o cer walks over. “It’s like he just vanished.” n