First I see a brown mass just behind the brushy bend around which I am negotiating the kayak. Then as my view widens past the bend, I see the legs and the head submerged in the water.

It is a moose. The beast is feeding along the bank of a stream that spills out on Moosehead Lake in central Maine.

I slow the kayak so as not to get too close and spook the animal. She raises her head, shakes and plunges it back in. My paddle makes a splashing sound and she looks up. She sees me. She ignores me.

Another paddle splash, and her head turns in my direction again. The animal’s long face is colored tan, which indicates her gender, and the rest of her is a dark-chocolate brown. She steps with gangly grace in my direction. I remind myself that moose, despite their size and weight of up to 1,400 pounds, are typically passive. Her interest in me fizzles and the head goes back in.

For five minutes I watch the moose feed, take some more gawky steps, feed again. She seems unperturbed by my presence, looking my way only occasionally. I move on.

Moose can consume 40 to 60 pounds a day of grass, flowers, leaves, bark and moss. If I wait for dessert, I could be here a long time. So ends my first encounter with one of Maine’s estimated 30,000 moose.

It is around 11 a.m. in late June. A delicious breeze is blowing, kicking up five-inch silvery swells on Moosehead Lake that make kayaking just enough of a challenge.

Hot Weather in Maine?

Yesterday, as I arrived at The Birches Resort after a 10-hour drive from Long Island, it was brutally hot and humid. I had thought losing myself in central Maine for a few days would provide adequate refuge from the humidity of a Long Island summer, but my expectations were promptly corrected.

The locals weren’t complaining. They had a wet, cold spring and they welcomed the hot weather.

The Birches sits on the western bank of the massive Moosehead Lake, offering log cabin accommodations; various aquatic activities such as kayaking, white-water rafting, fishing and moose-sighting cruises; single-engine plane rides over the lake and a full-service restaurant and bar. But don’t let anyone fool you, the main attraction here is Serenity.

View from The Birches Restaurant

"It’s certainly quieter and cooler than Houston, Texas," says engineer Ray Birch, summing up why he and his family return here yearly. As he and daughter Caroline put on life jackets to go kayaking, he reflects on the appeal of the place. "It’s the beautiful scenery, first of all. Then, there’s the nice, friendly people."

Three or four years ago, his wife opened a Maine guide and the first thing she saw was a page on The Birches. "Our last name being Birch, she thought it was cosmically aligned."

License plates on the vehicles parked outside the cabins include New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Rhode Island, Massachusetts and New Hampshire. Visitors come from as far as California, Florida, and even overseas, to enjoy the central Maine tranquility.

You’re in the Woods Now

Planned in the 1920s and built in stages over the next decade, The Birches is not for those tethered to the accoutrements of modern life. Owner John Willard has endeavored to keep the cabins and the main lodge as authentic as possible. Exposed pipes in the cabin bathrooms offer a reminder this place was built when human needs were more modest.

Want TV? Go to the main lobby, where usually it is off. Internet? Sure, there’s a desktop bordering on antique in the ski room. You can use a dial-up connection to wait, check your e-mail and wait. Oh, and cell phones? Forget about it. I try to call my wife several times on the first day but can keep a connection for only 20 or 30 seconds. I resort to calling collect from the guest phone stationed next to the computer. The cabins have no phones.

If you absolutely must have a cell phone, Internet connection and TV while on vacation, you may find yourself adrift at The Birches. Up here, where deciding how far you venture into the woods or paddle out on the lake is the day’s biggest decision, the idea is to connect with nature. "This is the best place in the Northeast where people can come and hear the sound of the wind," says the 54-year-old Willard, a licensed pilot and registered Maine Guide.

Up here pleasure is drawn from the rhythmic sound of the wavelets lapping at the bushy shore, the song of the birds hiding in the trees, the rustling of leaves by a mild summer breeze. Watching a flock of mallards march in quacky determination by the lakefront porch of your cabin. Catching site of Bambi’s cousin while kicking up dust on an unpaved road. Coming face to face with a feeding moose and reveling in the pleasure of the encounter. Gazing at the pre-dusk metallic blue lake from the restaurant’s window. Serenity.

"We get people that are like that: ’Where is the action?’ There isn’t action. You make your own," says Willard, who points out the resort’s lounge closes at 10 p.m., and that’s for a good reason. "Lakes are great places in the summer to bond with families. People might actually learn to communicate with each other again."

My cabin has two bedrooms, a kitchen and a bathroom with what looks to be a portable shower doing permanent duty. The kitchen has a woodstove for heat, a gas stove for cooking, a refrigerator, a small table and three chairs. The cabin’s furniture is rustic; backsides accustomed to soft office chairs will protest prolonged exposure to the Spartan seating. The kitchen windows offer a pleasant lake view broken by a handful of birches, naturally, and some spruce. Beyond the trees, I can see Mt. Kineo, which rises more than 800 feet from one of the islands in the lake.

The author’s cabin

The logs on my cabin are painted a chocolate-milk brown. Willard says it’s the only cabin that was ever painted. No one knows why.

The cabin doors do not lock. This is disturbing news when I arrive, considering I brought a PowerBook, a digital camera and an iPod. I am assured everything will be safe. To put my mind at ease, I am advised to lock the valuables in my car. I take the advice.

Through the Years

The Birches exists today because of one man with an idea. Logger Oz Faye in the 1920s thought it would be great to have a retreat in the wilderness where guests could fish, hike swim, hunt and relax. The lodge that now houses the main lobby, restaurant, gift shop and several guest rooms was completed in 1930. Guest cabins were built in subsequent years and now number 20.

In 1969, Willard’s father, the late John Sr. of Manchester, Conn., bought the resort. It was the best thing that could have happened to John Jr. "I always felt like I grew up in the wrong place. I was always in the woods. But the woods kept disappearing."

Willard, who was attending forestry school, started spending summers on Moosehead Lake as soon as his father bought The Birches. In fall, he would go back to loading milk trucks first thing in the morning to pay for the classes he was attending. John and his brother William took over the resort in the 1980s and later bought 11,000 acres of surrounding property with the purpose of protecting it from unwanted development. More recently, John became the sole proprietor. He runs the place with the help of his wife Patricia, their children Jaime and Joel, and 20 employees.

Birches owner John Willard

"I always thought if I could get 500 acres of forest I could live on that," he says. "I never thought I would end up with 11,000."

Having control of that much acreage reduces the risk of unwanted development. A proposal by Seattle-based Plum Creek Timber Co. to develop 426,000 acres in the region for residences, commerce and a golf course has caused a lot of concern among the locals. Dick Billings, an employee of The Birches for 13 years, registered Maine Guide and central Maine native, has reservations about the proposed development.

"You’re going to have steady lines of traffic going back and forth," he says. "On a Sunday here if you see 50 cars all day, that’s busy. I’m afraid that’s going to change. This is not a town, and I’m afraid it’s going to become a town."

Giving Yourself a Chance

Willard says it takes about three days for people coming from New York or other big cities to decompress and give in to Serenity. I confess I worry as I steer the Element into the dirt road leading to The Birches. I worry when I see the Spartan accommodations. Then I sit on the porch, watch the lake and start making mental plans for the next day’s activities: kayaking in the morning and a moose cruise on a pontoon boat in the afternoon.

Billings, who keeps The Birches’ vehicles running and helps kayakers drag the craft into the water, among many other duties, proposes an itinerary when I meet him at the marina to sign out a kayak. He recommends I paddle close to shore as I round a couple of coves and steer up Baker Brook where moose tend to graze. He cautions that moose often hide in the thicket during daytime hours, coming out early in the morning and at dusk. So my chances of a sighting are iffy.

Boarding for a moose watching tour

I set out, taking Billings’ advice to stay close to shore. Though an experienced kayaker, I am unaccustomed to Moosehead Lake’s currents, and the sit-in craft I am paddling handles quite differently from the sit-on-top kayak I use on Long Island Sound.

Paddling toward Baker Brook, I take in the vast expanse of Moosehead Lake, which is about 40 miles long, 20 miles wide in the widest spot, and 240 feet at its deepest. It is the largest body of water within a single state. Other large lakes, such as Champlain and the Great Lakes, typically sit in two or more states. Moosehead has more than 25 islands and, once you take into account all the islands and coves, it has nearly 500 miles of shoreline.

There are fish, mostly lake salmon and trout. "Big fish come out of there, 30 pounders come out of there," says Billings, who fishes about three or four times a year. Some Birches visitors haul in their boats and spend a good portion of their time here fishing. The stream where the salmon spawn is protected; get caught with a fishing pole anywhere in the stream, even if it is just lying on the deck of your boat, and pay the State of Maine a hefty fine.

I see no fish as I paddle toward Baker Brook, but I spot several osprey and, inside the brook, I acquire an escort of mosquitoes and other sundry bugs. My encounter with the moose happens early in my foray into the stream. After the encounter, I paddle as far as I can go and stop only when blocked by two fallen logs. As it happens, the stream turns into a babbling brook just beyond the falling logs, and taking the kayak through that would have been impossible. The brook starts at Baker Pond, which sits on Birches land. Though I cannot paddle into it, I will see it from the air two days later.

More Moose

My first attempt at taking the afternoon moose cruise fails. With thunder clouds threatening the lake, pilot Fred Erving, also a registered Maine Guide, recommends passengers come back tomorrow for the moose-sighting boat trip. The boat holds about 20 people and rides on metal pontoons, a potential lightning magnet.

The next day I board "The Discovery" again, and this time we’re off. It is a gloriously successful trip with no fewer than eight moose sightings. We see a mother with a young buck and an assortment of other moose, all of which vamoose as soon as they spot us. Except for one: a huge bull with 18-point antlers. He regards the boat with mild curiosity and continues to feed, moving regally in the fresh water. Unperturbed by our presence, he goes about his business. We aren’t important or frightening enough to interrupt him.

The next day I have the pleasure of two more moose sightings, this time from the air. I catch up with Willard after he taxies his pontoon plane back to the marina, having just taken two Birches guests for a ride above Moosehead. Thirty minutes later I’m in the air aboard his 1947 Piper Super Cruiser.

From the air, I get the full visual clue as to the lake’s name; indeed its massive shape resembles a moose head with antlers. Willard, a licensed pilot with 2,000 hours of flying, steers the Piper close to the top of Mt. Kineo, then takes us further north. The view is gorgeous: a nearly uninterrupted cover of fir, beech, birch and spruce blankets the hills surrounding the lake and beyond.

Mt. Kineo Island from the air

Willard dips the aircraft a couple of times when we spot moose. The first one looks at us, impassive. The second one has its head in the water, and as we circle back to get a second look, the animal sees us and takes off.

After about 30 minutes in the air, we touch down with a couple of bumps as the pontoons slap the lake water hard. Willard opens the plane door as he taxies into the marina. He later tells me the open door is to facilitate an escape should a wayward wave flip the craft. Of course, he tells me this in his low-key way as we are standing on terra firma.

But had he told me in advance of the flight, I still would have gone. Getting a glimpse of the surrounding wilderness from the vantage point of an airborne 56-year-old plane is not something you do everyday.

And visiting a place like The Birches, where you can momentarily forget the stresses of daily modern life, is a rare treat. Sure, getting there is a long haul, and embracing the wilderness is an adjustment for those accustomed to the trappings of the city and suburbia. But once you embrace the serenity, you will be sorry when the time comes to check out.

"I’m not worried about selling serenity," says Willard. "There’s so few places where you can really find it. What we have here is really, really special."