Leeman trap on Chamberlain Lake

by Jim Metcalf

A Maine ice shanty is a temple reserved for those who consider ice fishing a religion. Being invited to enter a shanty is a privilege reserved for those few who can respect the language and rules of the house. All others must stand outside and only address the shanty’s congregation if the door is opened from the inside. Occasionally an exception can be made if someone falls through the ice and is freezing wet or if a member’s wife brings out a platter of food.

Leeman Ice Fishing Trap.

Archie Leeman’s Sheepscot Lake shanty was such a temple. It was placed off Bald Head where most of the lake could be surveyed. The congregation consisted of Archie Leeman, the builder of the shanty and skilled stone mason; Manley Scates, owner of the Scates General Store, in Palermo; Harold Sennett, owner of the blueberry barrens on level hill road; and Jim Grady, Palermo farmer and first snowmobile owner in town. These four friends could sit in the shanty for hours without ever talking. They communicated with each other only using sounds, grunts, mumbles, coughs, looks and the occasional word “flag” which was the signal for congregation members to look out the windows to determine whose trap had a flag and who had to walk or run, Other members would watch from the shanty’s warmth unless there was a yell for help.

Everyone’s fish traps were homemade ranging from a whip stick placed in a chiseled slot in the ice to a tip-up type trap with a red handkerchief attached as a flag. The line may be coiled on the ice or later wrapped on homemade birch spools. Although everyone sat quietly in the shanty the common thought was to always develop the ideal fish trap which would stay together in heavy wind, instantly notify the fisherman of a fish near or on the bait and finally set the hook and hold the fish until the fisherman got to the hole.

The only exception to fishing with traps was Manley Scates, a jig fisherman, who was damned if he was going to walk all over the pond checking traps. Manley never left the warmth of the shanty. His seat was over a jig hole next to the wood stove in the shanty where he would wrap the line around his fingers and sit quietly strumming his wrist like he was playing a guitar. It would not take very long for Manley’s head to drop into sleep. This was the time for Harold to mumble something about full bladder and leave the shanty. Harold would quietly move around to the corner outside of where Manley sat to reach under the shanty and yank Manley’s jig line. The explosion that occurred when Manley came alive sometimes kicking the stove off its stone while yelling, “Jaesus, wicked monster. Damn, lost him.” Harold would then enter the shanty zipping up to listen to the one that got away story. I don’t know if Manley ever figured it out or if anyone ever told him, but the rest of us never dropped off to sleep while Harold was with us in the shanty. Harold looked like a grumpy old man, but he had this twinkle which masked a full of fun brain, thinking about who would be next to experience his practical jokes.

Archie was the one who introduced all of us to ice fishing and the shanty. Since my wife Sandra lived with her Grammy Lil and grandfather Guy and uncle Archie during her younger years, we always enjoyed staying with family for a few days during ice fishing season. Archie and I or Norman would wake before dawn, drink a glass of milk with a couple raw eggs then stuff our pockets with Grammy Lil’s biscuits and head out on snowshoes down to the river and on to the lake. We chiseled our holes and set up our traps before we entered the shanty. Often others from the congregation would come snowshoeing in to join us. It was during these shanty meetings that I learned to love the rules and silent language of the shanty. No talking or humming unless you did it while walking around skimming ice holes. No questions, as you were an apprentice with the responsibility to watch, listen and learn. The ultimate compliment, if you did something well, was a pat on the back or a seat in the shanty to get warm.

Leeman four foot trap

Everything was going well during winters of fishing, grunting, pulling Manley’s jig line and reading the inside walls of the shanty which were covered with pieces of tintype from the Kennebec Journal. Then there was the day that Jimmy Grady came roaring down the river and out on the lake sitting on some sort of contraption which looked like a seat on skis with him in front and a noisy engine in back. Jim said it was a Polaris snow machine which could take him anywhere he wanted to go all winter. Further, he announced that he would be the local dealer for these “snow machines” and when would each of the members of the shanty congregation like to order theirs. Everyone’s words cannot be repeated or printed, but they mentioned that nothing would replace snowshoes or driving out on the ice in the trucks when it got safe enough. However, by the end of that winter each of the congregation had to eat their words as they rode their own snow machines purchased from Jim Grady’s snow machine dealership.

Now you could set your traps further away from the shanty as the quick 8/mph ride to a flag made for more lake to fish and less fish lost. Everyone started living happily ever after until the snow machine cowboys started racing, spinning out and doing tricks on the lake. The straw that broke the camel’s back was the number of times these machines ran over and destroyed fish traps. This destruction by snow machine yahoos resulted in loud shanty meetings trying to find a solution. Of course, the first idea was to ban machines from the lake, but with the shanty surrounded by members’ machines banning would not work. A couple of guys cut six-foot ash poles to mark the fish holes. Another shoveled up piles of show to protect the fish traps. Instead, Archie Leeman figured he had to make a fish trap which was big enough to be seen and unique enough not to be ignored.

One day Archie caught a beautiful 17-inch brown trout. The light went on. Why not pay tribute to this brown, the most sporting of all trout, by putting the fish on the trap as the tip up. When Archie got back to the farm, he laid out the brown on a piece of plywood and traced the outline. He sawed out the profile and determined where the balance point would be. If the trap upright was notched and a bolt positioned across the notch, the fish profile could pivot on the bolt. The bolt could also pass through a line spool. It all sounded easy, but the fish trap had to be tested and modified so Archie would sneak down to the lake when no one was around to fish with this new trap. It didn’t take long to figure the Leeman fish trap could be introduced to the shanty members. Archie set up five traps with the brown trout profile as the tip up then came into the shanty and sat down. Harold offered the first comment, “Putting a fish decoy on top of the stick could call the keepers into the ice hole.” Archie replied, “That’s what I was thinking.” Manley’s contribution was, “Craziest thing I ever saw. No way am I going to give up my jig hole for a flatlander fish trap like that.” Jimmy Grady said, “Crazy or not no sled operator is going to hit a trap that visible.”

As luck would have it, Archie had a busy day of getting flags and catching fish. But he also began catching people on the lake. Everyone on the lake had to swing by the traps to try to figure them out. More people stopped by the shanty to ask why would anyone put a fish on a stick. The replies ranged from every conceivable reason which resulted in people walking away shaking their heads and four old friends filling the shanty with laughter. The immediate result was that three members, each wanted a set for themselves. Manley still refused to fish with a damn trap when his jig hole was right in front of him.

Sheepscot Lake Fish and Game club held a derby on the first Sunday in February. This was the ideal time to show the world the Leeman fish trap. Surrounding the shanty was 25 or 30 Leeman fish traps tended by the shanty crew and a few nephews who wanted to be part of this showcase of the Leeman trap to all at the derby. Snowmobilers, fishermen, and just people visiting the derby had to surround the shanty to see this trap in action. In fact, there were so many people attracted to the traps that the shanty members couldn’t see flags. But it didn’t matter as people would yell flag and run over to the trap just to see how fish were handled. That derby was a success as was the Leeman fish trap. Archie and Norman Leeman estimated they made 3,000 – 4,000 Leeman traps in the years following the introduction.

For the next few ice fishing seasons, the Leeman fish traps could be seen from Eagle and Chamberlain lakes to Moosehead to Sebago lakes, and constantly on Sheepscot Lake, in Palermo. Mainers were identified as members of the ice fishing congregation if they set out the Leeman traps. Unfortunately, over the years, the trap lost the name of the inventor Archie Leeman as it became known as the Sheepscot Fish Trap paying tribute to where it was first used in the Sheepscot Ice Fishing Derby. Even today Norman or one of his sons build a set of these famous traps as a prize for biggest derby fish. There is even a trap made with a four- foot fish which sits on top of an eight-foot pole which only comes out for the Sheepscot Derby to keep the story of the revolutionary Leeman Sheepscot Ice Fishing Trap alive.

Lee Hargadon, front, joined her son Geoff, back, and his daughters Ashley, left, and Stephanie. (The Town Line file photos)

Reprinted from August 9, 1997
by Dorothy Templeton

The Leaning Elm cottage boasts one delightful addition called “the Bolt Hole.” Barbara Jones Haskins describes its construction: “My daughter Lee and her family spent several years in Colombia, South America. When they returned and came back to the cottage, Lee’s five children and her husband, plus my husband and I, all stayed in a cottage with partitions like tissue paper. An architect friend drew up a plan for an addition for privacy, with a bedroom, bath and kitchen space. Lee’s sons Geoff and Bob, teenagers (15 and 13 respectively) at the time, helped with the construction.”

Lee Hargadon takes up the story: “It was to be a glorified bedroom. They worked on it the summer of ‘69 with Ralph Austin. In South America, Spanish had become their primary language, so that’s what the boys used to talk together. It was frustrating for Ralph: he didn’t have a clue as to what was being said.”

“We were paid 30 cents an hour,” Geoff (visiting for two weeks with daughters Ashley and Stephanie) recalls, “and I hated getting up early in the morning. Someone put in the supports and we all did the sawing. It took all summer, nine to four, with Saturdays and Sundays off. We couldn’t get to swim when we wanted to.” The Bolt Hole (so dubbed by visiting English cousins because one could “bolt away” to it), is connected to the cottage by a short wooden walkway, provides a delightful escape, is of good size, high-roofed, with a window wall overlooking the lake.“We always spend all winter thinking how we will get back to South China,” Barbara admits. “People from the colony are scattered from coast to coast. But when we return here, we pick up relationships as though we’d been all year together. Hugh Weed’s mother and aunt lived ion the front of the inn at one time and Ella would walk down and visit me. (Hugh’s parents, Hazekiah and Ella, were the second of Wilmot Sr.’s friends to build a cottage, in 1900).”

A sense of timelessness prevails on the porch of the Leaning Elm. Bird song, wind in the trees, voices from nearby cottages blend. Nobody hurries, their activities repeating those of a century ago. The porch steps where the family has gathered to eat watermelon must have witnessed this event countless times. Lee insists, “The steps are crucial to family life at the cottage. We drink our morning coffee sitting on them, eat a luncheon sandwich there, have an afternoon drink, watch the kids water ski, and sun set.” It’s also a spot from which to greet a neighbor who is walking along the waterfront path to another’s cottage and make a quick plan for later in the day.

Memories of Lee’s father, Wilmot Rufus Jones Jr., flow and enhance our porch conversation. He owned a thistle class sailboat which he named Do It. Lee recalls, “In the days when he was planning our annual expedition to Pemaquid Point, he would always buy the lobsters steaming hot at the pound in New Harbor, which is now Shaw’s, and take them to eat over on the rocks. During World War II, when gas rationing was on, we would come up on the East Wind train from Wilmington, Delaware, straight through to Augusta, and we’d give our gas stamps to Ralph Austin (who was our caretaker and handyman) to pick us up.”

Later, as Lee’s five children were growing up, she remembers that there always seemed to be others the right age (and sometimes friends they brought from home) for tennis, swimming, boating, water skiing, and lots of card playing. Someone always had a boat to share for water skiing, so taking turns at it and watching others from the raft consumed many afternoons.

Now, on this breezy day, Ashley, 14, and Stephanie, 12, have plans to go sailing with their grandmother (Lee) in the small boat that spends winters in the boathouse at the water’s edge – waiting for their return. When Stephanie reports in parting, “This is a great place to see relatives, relax and have fun.” Ashley comments. “It’s also a great place to watch sunsets.”

Stephanie then shares a poem she wrote, inspired by happy summers in South China.

The Leaning Elm, South China

by Stephanie Hargadon

My favorite place in Maine my be
The Leaning Elm cottage in South China, you see.
All the rainy days around the fire, reading,
Playing cards at the table, eating,
Long walks around the water’s surface,
Fun and relaxation must be South China’s purpose.
Waking up late, seeing neighbors at late hours,
Swimming, making cookies and picking flowers,
My favorite place in Maine for me
Is South China, yes, South China, it just might be.

Killdeer lodge from a few years ago. (Contributed photo)

With the demise of the old Killdeer Lodge recently, which over the years had fallen into disrepair, the following article represents a history of the lodge, from its inception in 1929, to the razing in 2018.

This is a reprint from The Town Line, September 18, 1999, issue, from a recollection written by Ben S. Dillenbeck in 1975 for the China Bicentennial History Book.

One beautiful clear summer’s day back in the latter half of the 1920s, my brother-in-law, Earle Eli Wagner, who lived on the Pond Road, about two miles south of China Village, desired to go bass fishing with Eli Bush, who lived on the west side of the same Pond Road.

According to Eli, they carried a picnic lunch and, when noon came, beached their boat on the long point, across the lake, to the east of the Neck. Many folks today call this beautiful spot “Lone Pine Point,” but on the map it is referred to as Killdeer Point. When the lunch was finished, Eli decided to do some exploring and climbed up the steep path into the open field above. At that time the only trees worth mentioning were in a small fringe along the shore; the remainder of the point being pasture land of the Seward, Edson and Sinclair farms. From this position, Eli saw two other higher levels of land to the east, which, arousing his curiosity, he proceeded to investigate. From the next highest elevation, which runs parallel with the big ledge or outcrop, he faced west and was thrilled by the unfolding beauty of that magnificent view across the lake!

The Killdeer Lodge dining room. (from a Town Line file photo)

Later, as it turned out, he was to have a road here, which on the map, would be named “Mountain View Drive.” From this level he climbed onto the big ledge, where the remains of the Killdeer Lodge Dining and Recreation Hall now stand. As he looked westward he was dynamically thrilled by the awesome beauty of the giant panorama, with the East Basin of China Lake in the foreground, separated from the West Basin by China Neck – while in the stunningly clear background were, what he learned later to be, Mt. Blue [in the Farmington area]; then to the right most of the Rangeley mountains, and further to the north, the twin notch-formed profile of Mt. Bigelow, with Sugarloaf nearby. How impressed he was at the sight and how quickly he was in deciding that this was a spot which should be seen by many people! Thus, the idea of a development of some kind began to form in his creative mind. But at that time it was nameless. As he returned to his boat there were numerous small birds scurrying along the water line. Eli thought they were baby Killdeers and decided the peninsula should be called “Killdeer Point.” (Several times through the years the Killdeer have been seen by the writer, on the upper levels, but never has he seen them at the water’s edge. Birds often seen down there are commonly called Sandpipers, and, even in adulthood, are much smaller than the Killdeer. There are those who feel that Eli named the point after the wrong bird!)

Postcard advertising Killdeer Lodge.

The more Eli envisioned a summer development, the more enthusiastic he became. Through his consultation with officials at People’s Bank, in Water­ville, he because acquainted with Charles W. Vigue, its president, and was able to sell him his idea of a Killdeer Point summer development. Subsequently, the Seward, Edson and Sinclair farms were purchased, totalling 250 acres, more or less. On July 17, 1929, a plot plan called “Killdeer Point Highland, China, Maine,” was recorded in the Kennebec County Registry of Deeds.

That same year, Eli made elaborate plans to start a very active promotional program. It was his idea to get as many people as he could to come here and look at what the Killdeer Maine Company had to offer. In 1929, he engaged Frank Vigue (no relation to Charles), of Winslow, a carpenter-contractor, to convert the old “Bragg Barn” (which was on the Edson Farm and which had been there since the very early 1800s) into a Sleep Lodge which would accommodate 40 persons. This old barn was transformed into an attractive, rustic, white-cedar-lined sleeping unit. That same year, Frank Vigue and his crew of carpenters built the big 100- x40-foot dining and recreation hall, with a dining room, serving room, kitchen, storeroom, restrooms and two bedrooms for personnel. Its 120 feet of porch allowed an unobstructed, expansive view of that picturesque, one-of-a-kind view to the west.

An extensive advertising program was carried out by Eli in the Boston, Providence, Worcester and New York papers in which he advertised a three-day excursion trip to China Lake’s Killdeer Point at a below cost fee, which included transportation, lodging and meals. The first prospects, 40 of them, arrived in the early summer of 1929 (probably a Friday afternoon in late June or early July) and were assigned to rooms in the “Sleep Lodge,” as Eli called it. It is vividly recalled that there were no room numbers on the doors. The numbers were cut from a big calendar and pasted on the doors where they are still in good condition after a lapse of 43 years.

The first afternoon, after arrival, provided an opportunity for guests to explore the place or do pretty much what they pleased. Then came a good dinner provided by a very efficient hard-working, pleasant person, Mrs. Harriett Martin, assisted by her granddaughter (whose name is not recalled). Florence Plaisted (who married Earl Brown) and Glenis Hall (Lawrence Hall’s sister) served as waitresses. These young ladies also assisted with the kitchen work, dishes, etc., and helped make up the bedrooms. I did the buying and hauling supplies for Mrs. Martin and supervised the booking of guests at the Sleep Lodge.

Next week: Part 2.

Only the fireplace remains. (Contributed photo)