What a mess!

I don't want to get too far off topic here, but dammit, this state budget merry-go-round is an embarrassing mess. What in the world is going on in Augusta?

First I hear about registration fees (taxes!) on canoes and kayaks. And now I find out that there is some sort of access fee proposed for wilderness users? C'mon. I was tolerant to a point, but no more.

What other fees and fines and revenue enhancements are hidden away in this proposed budget?

We'll likely never know. And that's the problem. Too much of it is flying under the radar screen. And as you well know, or if you don't you should, once these fees are implemented, they will never, EVER go down or go away. And you're going to pay dearly.

Now let me be clear: I am the last person to advocate for a tax increase of any kind. Too much spending is the issue, not a shortage of tax dollars. We pay plenty.

But at least the proposal to temporarily increase the state sales tax to 6% is something that's highly visible. It's out in the open. We can see it and understand it. And that also means when the appropriate time comes (i.e. we get ourselves out of this budget fiasco) we can also GET RID OF IT in one fell swoop.

But what do I know? I'm just a lowly taxpayer who likes to hike.

Wilderness access fees. Canoe and kayak fees. Bah! How come I haven't had any legislators inquire about the 2 1/2 cent tax on hiking boots I proposed earlier. I'm waiting by the phone. Surely someone will call...

Mini-snowman on top of Caribou Mtn. last weekend.

Given the spring weather, it looks like this could be the last snowman of the season...

Late last Saturday morning nine of us trekked up the backside of Caribou Mountain, in the Caribou-Speckled Mountain Wilderness, under perfect blue skies for one last glorious night of winter camping for the season.

The sun was actually hot as we made our way up the valley, and with our heavy winter pack loads on our backs, it was sweaty going. But the snow was cold and firm underfoot—perfect for snowshoeing—and we thankfully sank in very little.

Snowshoeing en masse up Caribou Mtn.

We arrived at the old shelter site in early afternoon and set up camp. It didn’t take long for the place to look well lived in. Colorful tents were erected, clothes and gear adorned the tree branches, connecting paths were stomped out, a fire pit dug, and stoves roared.

Brewing up in camp.

With everyone settled in, fed and re-hydrated, we made for the summit of the mountain, just ten minutes up the trail. And there, for the next several hours, we lounged and talked and napped in virtually windless conditions. Stunning scenery was all around us—the Presidentials, the Carters, the Mahoosucs, Pleasant Mountain, and a few mountains in between that we couldn’t quite identify—and we drank it all in, deeply.

The Presidential Range from the summit of Caribou Mtn.

After dinner, sometime near dusk, the fire was lit, and the pleasurable smell of wood smoke drew us together. Despite the warm day, it was chilly now, and we huddled over the orange glow and reveled in its warmth.

Enjoying the fire...

Around 7, most everybody headed back up to the top to watch the moon rise, but I was foolishly content to hang out by the fire and enjoy some alone time. But then, as I turned away from the fire to warm up my back side, there it was!

The moon—a spectacular blood-red and full—crept slowly upward. I stood there motionless for a minute, watching through the tree branches, in complete awe. That’s when I decided to dash to the top too.

Whack, snap… Ouch! OK, enough branches in the face. I switched on my headlamp and continued. And stopped frequently to look back at the moon. Still red, then bright orange. I hurried on.

The moon was a beautiful pale orange when I arrived at the peak, amid the shadowy shapes of my companions. We stood and stared for a long time. There are amazing moments in the wilderness, when you remember clearly why it is you go out. This was one of those precious moments.

Watching the full moon rise with my trail companions.

Back at camp, I took one last look up at the stars, crawled into my down sleeping bag and snuggled deep into its warmth. I left the doors of the tent open a crack and a refreshing wintery draft wafted past my face. Soon enough, the crew at the fire faded, and I heard them crunch over the snow back to their tents. Silence overtook the camp. Not a breath of wind or creak of a tree. Content and comfortable, sleep came.

I missed the Easter Sunday sunrise, forgot entirely about it. The trade-off was a long, restful night’s sleep. I’ll take it.

After breakfast we broke down camp and packed up. Then it was back to the summit on a now very familiar and well-worn path through the snow. We sat and lazed in the sun and stared out at a view that was impossible to tire of.

Happy and smelly and tired, we trudged back down the mountain under the same brilliant sky as the day before. We shed gloves and hats and fleece and soaked it up. Sunburned faces and big smiles all around signaled a good trip.

On the muddy road back to the cars I discovered that, yes, there really is a House at Pooh Corner. Plates of eggs and hamburgers in a Bethel diner weren’t much of a match for our ravenous appetites. All good. Not quite your typical Easter dinner, but we made do. We always do.

If the adventurous folks up in Skowhegan get their way, Maine may get it's first urban whitewater park in the not-too-far-off future, constructed right there in downtown on the Kennebec River.

What a great idea! I'm figuring that the area's recreational boaters and hard core kayak-crazies probably think so too.

If the idea comes to fruition, and I'll bet it does knowing a few of the key players, Skowhegan will join only a few other places in the world (at least as far as I know) with an urban whitewater park, including Indiana, Canada, New Zealand, Scotland and England.

Go for it! And good luck. Let me know when I can come up and put my kayak in for a little fun!

Hold on now. Don't worry. I wasn't serious. Much as I'd enjoy venturing off right now, I'm not actually going anywhere. I'm staying right here close to home. Really!

So when you scroll down to my earlier entry today, please understand that my quest to join the Taramuhara was purely tongue-in-cheek, an April Fool's prank a few days early. The Taramuhara will have to carry on without me.

Besides, I wouldn't want to miss mud season here in Maine!

I need a vacation. Circumstances demand it. An extended get-away. Something more on the order of a pilgrimage.

So, after brief but exhaustive research, I have decided on a suitable destination. I am packing up at this very moment, assembling the necessary provisions, arranging for the required immunizations and finalizing travel plans. It will be quite an adventure.

But I regret to tell you all: It may be some time before I return. I cannot possibly tie up all the loose ends or say good bye to everyone before I depart. My heart is heavy, but I cannot be concerned about that right now. I trust you will understand. I must go, and there is little time to waste.

Why the urgency and where exactly am I off to?

I am a restless adventurer. A trained geographer and anthropologist. But for much for too long now I've felt as though I've been sitting idle, spinning in place, watching the world go by, when there is so much to see and do in the world.

No more.

Deep inside of me, at my very core, I feel an extraordinary pull to seek out new places and peoples, to explore a foreign land and immerse myself in a new culture. I must respond to these urges. And that is precisely why I am off to Mexico, in search of...

... The Sacred Corn Beer of the Tarahumara!

For as we speak, deep in the rugged Sierra Madre Mountains of Chihuahua, the Tarahumara Indians are gathering in the village of Norogochi in celebration to drink their tesguino, or corn beer. In fact "the entire of town of Norogachi turns into a giant brewpub" right about now.

For the Tarahumara "beer is an elixir for healing, a barter item and a divine beverage," says Guadalupe Espino Palma, the traditional governor of the Norogachi district. "We make offerings of tesguino to God himself, and He drinks it also."

Can't go wrong there.

These are my people! I must go and be one with them. And have one with them. Soon. Before all the tesquino is gone.

Until our paths cross again... Bosasa!

NOTE: This is an early April Fool's joke! Much as I'd like to venture off, I'm not really going anywhere. The Taramuhara will have to go on without me...

Hah!

I thought that would get your attention.

Hey, since it looks like the proposed canoe and kayak tax, er, registration fee, is being nixed from the budget, I propose a 2 1/2 cent tax on hiking boots.

Or backpacks.

Or water bottles.

Or matches.

Geez, c'mon now. The state needs the money. Can't we hikers all do without an extra freeze-dried dinner or two to help out???

I always thought dashboard compasses were a pretty ridiculous idea. What in the world would you need to have one of those in your car for? Could your sense of direction be that bad... on the highway? That's what I thought anyway.

Until yesterday morning.

I was up in Norway (Maine, that is) on business (yes, I do have a day job). And when I was done I drove back out to Route 26, turned right and headed happily back to Portland.

Or so I thought.

I drove for a minute or so and suddenly realized that I didn't recognize a thing. Two lanes, double yellow line. But that's all.

This isn't right the direction, I thought, so I turned around.

Now, I've traveled up and down Route 26 more times than you can shake a stick at and thought I knew every mile, every building, every tree.

I drove the other way for a bit, but recognition still didn't come. And I started to get a weird feeling inside.

I found my way back into Norway--a significant accomplishment at this point--and pulled over for a moment. Sigh.

Ok, back out to a main road. This one looks like Route 26. So off I go.

Soon enough I came to a road sign that read "Route 26". NORTH.

I turned around. Again. And proceeded SOUTH, thoroughly embarrassed.

Maybe I will buy one of those dashboard compasses. A little one. I'll keep it hidden away in the cupholder, and put it up on the dash only when I really need it.

Like yesterday.

No one would have to know.

FYI...

Take a load off tonight and go see the Polar Bears of Hudson Bay with naturalist and photographer Bob Bittenbender, a special program offered by Maine Audubon, 7:00 PM @ Gilsland Farm in Falmouth.

Or get a little more crazy and and check out the 3rd Annual Kayak Safety Seminar offered by the Cape Elizabeth Water Extrication Team. It's this Saturday afternoon @ 5:30 PM at the Cape Elizabeth Fire Station. And it's free. There'll be safety gear and demonstrations going on, with a Coast Guard recreational boating specialist and professional kayak instructors and guides on hand. Good stuff. Call Julie @ 741-5135 for more info.

Don't be sitting around now! Go do something.

Well, here it is. Trail Head blog entry #100.

A small milestone in the grand scheme of things, maybe. But not to me.

Woo-hoo! I'm tickled, excited, giddy.

I'm so happy I'd do a back flip right here if I could. Of course, that would likely necessitate an immediate visit to my chiropractor. But I digress...

I'm having the time of my life right now doing two of the things I love most in life: Playing outdoors and blogging about it here in Trail Head. It's been a great opportunity and a lot of fun.

Nothing of any value is ever accomplished, however, without the hard work, support and encouragement of others around you. And that's where the good folks at MaineToday.com come in. I am very proud and fortunate to be associated with many of them on both a professional and personal level.

So I'd like to stop and say "thanks"!

Thanks to Editor Scott Hersey for spawning the idea of the Trail Head blog last summer as a place for ideas, thoughts, opinions and commentary on all things in the Maine outdoors. For having the confidence in me to actually fill in the blank spaces on a regular basis. And for the priviledge of being a little part of MaineToday.com. I hope to see you out there on your mountain bike again soon.

Thanks to Content Producer Colleen Stone who writes a terrific blog of her own, and from whom I have gleaned an enormous amount about blogging. For your great sense of humor, support, technical help with my oft non-technical brain, for not making snarky comments, for keeping me out of trouble.

Thanks to Senior Designer Wendy Clark, who designed the Trail Head site (yes, she's the one who stuck my head on the post!). Wendy has read nearly every word I've written in the last three years, and has been a wellspring of support and encouragement to me for this and many other projects. I couldn't have done it without you. There are no words, W, just heartfelt gratitude.

And, of course, huge thanks to the many kind readers (even you Beer Troll) for, well, reading and following along on this path since August. From crashing down through Magic Falls in a raft to beer as a survival tool; madly skiing the summit slopes of the Loaf to cups of cheap coffee, it's been a hoot. For your many ideas, suggestions, comments and e-mails. It's been nice getting to know you all. And I look forward to having a whole lot more fun and adventures in the outdoors together. Keep in touch.

Thanks again. I've got to get outside now. See you soon.

Hmmm.

Do you think it's possible that the heady growth of Maine's microbrew beer industry in the 1990s could in any way be related to the extraordinary growth of the Maine Outdoor Adventure Club during the same time period, and all of its happy, fun-loving, and perennially thirsty members?

I wonder.

Canoe and kayak owners in Maine may soon have to pay to play if the legislature follows through on its proposal to mandate a $10 annual registration sticker for all canoes and kayaks.

It's an idea that's been kicked around before, but I guess when you're millions of $$$ in the hole and there's very little light at the bottom of the economic hole, you can make an easier case for it.

Fine. $10. I can live with it. The money will go to help the Department of Inland Fish and Wildlife cover their current budget shortfall. A good cause.

That's okay. For now.

There's a funny thing about taxes, fees and other "revenue enhancement" schemes, though. They're persistent. They never seem to go down, or go away, once enacted.

And I'm skeptical about the numbers. The DIFW estimates there are about 100,000 canoes and kayaks out there to be taxed, er, registered. That appears to be a reasonable number. Except then the DIFW says that in two years they will be counting on revenue from 180,000 canoes and kayaks.

Hmmm.

So, in two years Maine will have 80,000 more canoes and kayaks, almost double that of today? Where are these additional boats coming from? Is there a sudden surge in canoe sales predicted? Somebody please let Old Town and Lincoln know, okay.

The state is factoring this increase into their budget, straight-faced, and planning on the additional revenue. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but this appears to be more of the same shell game we've seen in Augusta for some time.

I'll pay the $10 fee, just like I said. No problem.

But how about including a sunset provision in the bill (duh!) that requires this new fee to expire in two years, or least trigger a review, so that when the DIFW budget is back in order, we're not left with another fee that just keeps taking and taking and taking...

Allright paddlers, ante up!

This lifestyle certainly allows plenty of time for introspection. Most days I spend six or seven hours alone, walking, out of sight and sound of any other human being. Some days my thoughts turn inward, and I pass the miles exploring memories of people and events that have shaped my past. Other days my mind nestles into a meditative daze, and I sense myself connected to the birds, the plants, the flowers, the trees, like a man floating on the breeze through a boundless garden.
--from As Far As The Eye Can See, the chronicle of a 1979 through-hike of the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine, by David Brill.

It happened this morning quite unexpectedly. But then, it always seems to catch me off guard. Maybe you too.

I rolled up the shade on the big picture window of my house and looked out for a few long minutes.

And then it hit me.

The fever.

Outside, I realized, everything had changed all of a sudden. The angle of the sun, and it's warmth pouring through the glass. The way the shadows fell across the ground. The receding snow, the thawing of brown earth.

Inside too, things had also changed. Inside of me. Much of the way I think, feel, act. Some ways I can see and understand, other ways are yet to be defined, if ever.

Spring is here and the cycle of life continues on its journey. It's a time for renewal. A time to reflect and take stock after the harshness of winter. Time to brighten up the dull gray of life. To break out with green leaves on the trees and grass on the fields. To break out with a smile, a peal of laughter. To enjoy a real deep breath of sweet fresh air.

We've made it through! It's spring!

Where to from here? Well, I'm not entirely sure.

But there's a path underneath my feet, and its leads off somewhere over that way. So I thought I might as well make the most of this fine spring day and start walking for a bit, and maybe see where it goes...

You're welcome to join me. A little company would be nice.

S is for the summit Snowfields! Friends and I hiked up to the top on Saturday, clicked in, took a breath and let loose. And for a half glorious hour we dodged rocks and stumps and krummolz, thrashed over bumps and down steep pitches of wonderful styrofoam snow, on the way down the backside to the runout. As if that weren't enough, we ducked onto Rip Saw and finished the job of beating the pulp out of ourselves. It was undoubtedly the best run of the weekend!

U is for Unbelievable weather! Two days of beautiful sun, clear blue skies and little or no wind. Maine spring skiing at its finest. How lucky do you feel when you're riding the lift up the big mountain on a day like this and, with a glance to the left you see the snowy shape of our beloved Mount Katahdin, and to the right, Mount Washington and the high peaks of the Presidential Range.

G is for Great snow! You know it can't get a whole lot better when your 3:00 PM run down Narrow Gauge is just as good as your 9:00 AM run was. The snow just got better and better and better. It's been awhile since I've experienced anything like it. This will be the best spring skiing is years.

A is for Ale, Pick Pole Pale Ale, that delicious elixir of the Gods and all-around good-for-what-ails-you beer, served with a smile in the the best apres-ski place on the planet Earth--The Bag.

R is for the unusual and even bizaRRe terms and stories I heard over the weekend, and which I will leave "as is": "Canadian ballet", "monoboob", "tube Scotch" and "pot Jiffy Pop". 'Nuff said. Oh, and R is also for Reggae Fest which is happening in just 18 short days. Ya mon!

L is for Life is good. It really is, and on ski days like this, weekends like this, being outdoors having fun with friends, well, we are some kind of fortunate for all that we have. My eyes are sure open.

O is for the big "O", that feeling of pure ecstasy when you point 'em off the crosscut and launch down the steeps of Upper Gondy or White Nitro, and make turn after satisfying turn, so good that, despite the burn in your legs, you just keep going at it harder.

A is is for Ale, Pick Pole Pale Ale! No, I'm not repeating myself here. I'm just having another one, thank you.

F is for Friends! Damn good ones. Lots of them. And I was very happy to share the slopes with them this weekend. We had loads of fun and more than our share of belly laughs, some good heart-to-heart talks, and a few big hugs that only close friends can share.

The Loaf from Oh-My-Gosh Corner late yesterday.

Apres-ski in The Bag with The Joker. (By the way, S is also for "sunburn!")

Ever on the prowl for new places to adventure, a friend just sent me over a link to a cool place for hiking and climbing in West Virginia called Nelson Rocks Preserve.

So I clicked through and took a look.

And it looked pretty cool. Trail hiking opportunities, lots of rock climbing and a via ferrata, which is basically a trail consisting of bridges, ladders and cables that takes you into wildly exposed places.

Well, that all sounded pretty good. Definitely worth a visit, I'm thinking.

Then I scanned a bit further down the page and came to the disclaimer, and my jaw dropped. It is like no disclaimer of any kind I have ever read. Did Hunter S. Thompson's attorney draft this, flying high on coke and a bottle of Wild Turkey?Reading through it, I thought I was going to pee my pants with laughter, until I realized they were serious.

Here are a few of the more "interesting" excerpts. Hmmm. I'm still scratching my head. You read them and tell me what you think...

Trail features made or enhanced by humans, such as steps, walls and railings (if any) can break, collapse, or otherwise fail catastrophically at any time. We don't promise to inspect, supervise or maintain them in any way. They may be negligently constructed or repaired. They are unsafe, period. Live with it or stay away.

A whole rock formation might collapse on you and squash you like a bug.

...climbing is extremely dangerous. If you don't like it, stay at home. You really shouldn't be doing it anyway.

The Preserve does not provide rangers or security personnel. The other people in the preserve, including other visitors, our employees, agents, and guests, and anyone else who might sneak in, may be stupid, reckless, or otherwise dangerous. They may be mentally ill, criminally insane, drunk, using illegal drugs and/or armed with deadly weapons and ready to use them. We aren't necessarily going to do anything about it. We refuse to take responsibility.

Oh crap, you're killing me here!

If you are lucky enough to have somebody try to rescue you or treat your injuries, they may be incompetent or worse. This includes doctors and hospitals.

We promise you nothing. We do not and will not even try to keep the premises safe for any purpose. The premises are not safe for any purpose. This is no joke. We won't even try to warn you about any dangerous or hazardous condition, whether we know about it or not. If we do decide to warn you about something, that doesn't mean we will try to warn you about anything else. If we do make an effort to fix an unsafe condition, we may not try to correct any others, and we may make matters worse! We and our employees or agents may do things that are unwise and dangerous. Sorry, we're not responsible. We may give you bad advice. Don't listen to us. In short, ENTER AND USE THE PRESERVE AT YOUR OWN RISK.

And my favorite:

... have fun! NRP Management

Oh, that's too good. Sounds like more of a Jurassic Park than a place to hike or climb!

Erin Go Braugh! Luck O' the Irish to ye! Happy St. Patrick's Day to all adventurers, Irish or otherwise!

It's a good day to don your green sweater and socks, lace up hiking your boots, and tramp on over to your favorite Irish pub to raise a pint or two, wouldn't you agree? And while you're there, maybe plan a big trip or two on the back of a cocktail napkin. Surely, that's how my best trip planning gets done!

Given the spirit of the day, why not consider a walking trek in Ireland? On the famed Dingle Way, or maybe across the entire country!

Hmmm. Now I wonder how many pubs you'd pass on a trek across Ireland on foot?

You know you're having a good winter when you get a chance to ski out west twice in one season. In Vermont, that is. (Hey, that's west... of Maine!).

So what is the skinny on skiing out west (ok, I'll give up on the 'west' thing now)?

Vermont's famed Killington and Pico: Damn good.

Killington is huge and the terrain is incredible. And what of the famous Killington crowds that we've all heard about? Not bad at all. Really.

We pulled in early (key!) on a Saturday morning two weeks ago, and got a parking spot just a few rows down from the main K-1 Lodge. We hopped the gondola (which had a funny, but vaguely familiar odor inside when we got in. Hmmm...) and rode directly to the 4000' summit of Killington.

You can't ride the gondola if you ain't gotcher teef in!

We spent the next couple of hours making almost-fresh tracks on super black and blue trails off the North Ridge Triple and Canyon Quad. Double Dipper was fun, as was Rime, while Conclusion's bumps beat me up good.

When the crowds caught up to us (and I'm not kidding--they weren't bad anywhere all day, and this was a very crowded Saturday) we made off for Snowdon Mountain and then Ramshead Mountain. All good stuff.

We chowed down a quick lunch back at K-1. I got a good chuckle listening in to the odd mix of New York and Boston accents around me. In that crowd I fully expected at least some kind of reaction from the New York Yankees ball cap I was wearing, but no one cared.

After lunch we had our longest lift line wait of the day--11 minutes to get back on the K-1 Gondola. And with bellies full of PBJs, cookies and chips we screamed down the double-black steeps of Superstar and then a wild flight down Ovation. Woo-hoo!! Tremendous! Superstar demanded a second look before we headed further on to Bear Mountain.

Killington's K-1 Lodge with the Superstar trail in the background.

Outer Limits is reputed to be the steepest lift-service trail in the East. Ok, so? Just kidding. It's steep alright and had just enough strategically placed afternoon ice patches to make for a please-God-don't-let-me-fall, but fun run.

The famed Outer Limits trail.

Just to say we'd been across the entire mountain (and we had never expected to do that) we visited Sunrise Mountain. Don't bother. Unless you enjoy views of condos, and ski trails that seem as if they are going uphill.

We doubled up on some of our favorite runs to get back to the lodge before taking off for Great Ski Day, Phase II: Happy hour!

We passed many a pub and restaurant on the way down the access road. And for good reason: There's no apres-ski pub in the area like the Inn at Long Trail at the top of Sherburne Pass on Route 4.

Home away from home: The Inn at Long Trail.

The Inn at Long Trail is tucked right underneath Deer Leap Mountain, and one wall of the bar is actually a granite face of the mountain. Inside, McGrath's is a REAL Irish Pub (as I was to find out later), and one that I frequented during my 1995 thru-hike of the Long Trail from Massachusetts to Canada.

Revels Glen was entertaining the crowd with traditional Irish music as we ordered up a round of Long Trail Ales and relaxed into that fine, apres-ski, good-all-over feeling and recapped an excellent day on the slopes.

Considering a second beer, I noticed that the barkeep was pouring an awfully fine pint of Guinness that afternoon, but the Harp looked enticing too. What to do? Order a mix of the two, a Black & Tan. So I did. And the bartender said...

"We don't serve that kind of beer here." A bit stunned, I quickly determined this to mean: "We don't serve no stinkin' English beer here, you butthead."

Ooops. I had made a major mistake apparently.

A Black & Tan is a mixture of Guinness and the English beer Bass Ale. A big no-no to an Irishman. Thankfully, a more experienced Irish bar-goer was right behind me and observed the whole, unsavory affair. He came to my rescue and whispered, "Half & Half. Get a Half & Half."

Ok.

"I'll have a Half & Half, please."

And that's all it took. Whew! And like George Constanza and the Soup Nazi, I took my beer and stepped aside. No bread.

It was barely an hour after lasagna, salad, bread and dessert back at the condo that the coma set in. Zzzzzzzz...

We hit nearby Pico Peak early on Sunday morning.

Pico is not a resort like Killington. It's quaint with a capital Q. Old-style skiing at an old-style mountain. The floors in the lodge creak, the lifts groan, and we loved all of it! The place reminds me of a big Shawnee Peak.

But don't be misled. This is a big mountain with plenty of challenging terrain. And we went right after it.

It took two lifts to get to the summit (nearly 4000') before we could blast down Upper Pike, a straight-shot cruiser down the center of the hill. Then a couple of us figured we'd better take on the very gnarly looking double-black Giant Killer before we thought about it too much.

We slipped through a narrow opening in the trees out to the edge. And then plunged down the steep, narrow, bumped-up headwall. The slope was relentless and we both got thrashed about pretty good, but we made it and it was a hoot.

It was all fantastic cruising after the Giant Killer: K.A., Forty Niner, Bronco, Sidewinder, A-Slope, B-Slope and many other fun trails.

We were happy and beat by noon. It was just starting to snow, and having heard the forecast for a big storm, we beat feet out of there.

What a weekend: Half and half on Killington and Pico, and a Half and Half of Guinness and Harp. Not too shabby.

Like many of us around the state, I was stuck inside during Saturday's big snowstorm, unable to get to the ski area as planned. So I had to come up with an alternate plan to fill the time.

Housecleaning! That all-important, but loathsome task.

Now, for me, housecleaning mainly amounts to picking up and moving gear that has been scattered about from room to room, trip after trip, for weeks. Skis, snowshoes, boots, packs, fuel bottles, clothes, you name it. It's all part of the near constant spin cycle of packing and unpacking that characterizes this outdoor life.

In the middle of this flurry of activity I came across a pile of cards and letters and assorted memorabilia that had been living on my staircase for sometime. So I took a break and sat--cup of coffee in hand and snow falling heavily outside my window--and rummaged and reminisced.

I came to a birthday card from a good friend that had a picture of Mount Rainier on the front and the following anonymous inspirational quote:

"A wise man travels light on the road of life. Wisdom is his map, wonder his fuel, and a good story, his favorite souvenir."

I like that.

But then, I'm a real sucker for a good quote. And I have a notebook chock full of them to prove it. We all need inspiration from time to time, and sometimes the right words really help to do the trick.

I don't know the author of this one, but if you recognize it, let me know. And please, if you have some good quotes to share, please send them along. I can make more room in my notebook!

Last Friday's big snowstorm caught up to me before I could get out of Dodge, so decided to skip my original Sugarloaf weekend ski plan, and avoid the messy, white-knuckle drive to get there. Instead, I frustratingly waited out the storm at home all through Saturday.

Finally, on Sunday a group of us got an early start and blasted up to Sunday River to find out what Mother Nature had left on the slopes.

The answer: Tons and tons of snow!

Now, on a normal day I would have launched into it with a big "yee-hah." But on this day, a very difficult personal matter weighed heavily on my mind, and that, combined with the heavy, wet, chopped-up snow made it difficult for me to get into anything resembling a decent rhythm. In other words, I uncharacteristically flailed about. Horribly.

I had hoped that a few runs would push me into my usual "fun mode" and help to dispel the devils that were racing through my head, but I couldn't make it happen. I quit the slopes a little after noon, and holed up in the lodge to wait for my ski pals, who were all having a considerably better day.

Now, I know that there are bound to be a few bumps on this emotional road, but this was a truly joyless day, and I hope to goodness that they are few.

Today is a new day, thankfully, but damn, I sure could use a big hug...

This morning over coffee I turned the final pages of A Salty Piece of Land by Jimmy Buffett. The book has been a real companion to me over the past month or so, traveling to Texas, on two backcountry ski trips to northern Maine, to Vermont twice, to Sugarloaf.

Now, I normally don't take this long to read a book. But it's a great book, and with Buffett, I like to turn the pages slowly and savor the adventures. Sailing through the Carribean, visiting the tropical islands and coasts... the Bahamas, Cuba, Belize, Mexico. Skiffs and sailboats, sunsets and palm trees, beaches and warm waters, tiki bars and music and cold Coronas with lime.

There's something about travelling with Tully Mars, er, Buffett, that just puts me off in a different world, far away from the day-to-day, as Buffett masterfully weaves his own philosphy of life--a life very well lived--into the pages, among the many adventures, the twists and turns of the story.

Buffett never fails to ignite that spark of escapism in me that lives, ever-present, just below the surface. You end up wanting to throw a few things together in a duffle, turn out the lights and turn your back on whatever you knew before, and head straight for the unknown, for life's adventure, whatever and wherever the next one is...

"Leap, and the net will appear"
--Jimmy Buffett, A Salty Piece of Land

What do you get when you put together a telephone pole, an array of nozzles and hoses and pumps, water, -56F temperatures and a group of people with way too much time on their hands?

You get your very own ice climbing wall!

Follow this hilarious account of members of the Alaskan Alpine Club, as their ice wall grows, and changes, and morphs... into a real thing of beauty. Something only a semi-deranged ice climber could love.

These guys are nuts!

And it may be contagious.

I hear rumblings already from the local underground ice climbing community. Garbled whisperings about "northern exposure" and "vertical drop," "water access" and "hose lines." "The Big Drip." And mutterings about "radiation exposure from the antenna towers."

Oh God. They're serious.

Want to see the proposed 180-mile hut and trails system through the mountains and lakes of western Maine become a reality?

I sure do.

Wouldn't it be incredible to be able to cross-country ski in winter and hike in the summer along a new long distance route, and be able to stay overnight in rustic huts along the way?

Yes, but it won't be easy.

Opposing sides are arguing their case before the Maine legislature right now.

The Western Mountains Foundation is spearheading the project. The group argues that the trail and hut system will be a boon to the region, providing new recreational opportunities and bringing a much needed economic boost to an area of Maine that sorely needs it.

I agree.

The folks at Friends of Bigelow oppose the trail system, arguing that the proposal smacks of development and that passing across the state-owned lands of the Bigelow Preserve is a no-no. They also say the price tag for the project makes it unrealistic and unworkable.

I prefer to see it from a different angle.

Highly successful, well-managed trail and hut systems have been developed and are thriving in many other places around the world: in Europe, New Zealand, South America. I've trekked along a number of these trails systems in the Alps--through Switzerland and France--and stayed in the remote mountain huts there. I found it to be a very comfortable, friendly, low-impact and rewarding outdoor experience.

In the US, a few hut and trail systems already exist. In Colorado for one. And closer to home, in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, where the AMC has pretty much written the book on huts and trails, using the huts as a base for environmental education and stewardship among the public, as well as a revenue source to support their efforts.

Seems like a win-win to me. So why not here in Maine?

No reason.

The proposed Maine hut and trails system presents a satisfying blend of multiple-use recreation and economic development. A new means to explore the woods and waters. Another step toward eco-tourism. An exciting opportunity for outdoor education and awareness. Private sector partners working together with public agencies. All good. We should encourage more of this type of cooperative project, not less. I hope the idea can be supported.

Build it and they will come. And I'll be there too, skiing and hiking and tucking into a cozy hut bunk at night.

Dream big, and big things will happen...

I don't fish anymore, and haven't for years now. I still have my rod and reel and all the accessories stashed away somewhere. But my interest waned and I've never gotten it back.

Even so, I still strongly support the right of other outdoorspeople to pursue their respective sports. And that includes the student members of the Bates College Fishing Club, who have recently come under attack by a PETA activist.

Fishing is inhumane, according to this un-sportsman, and he wants to see Bates College un-fund the student fishing club.

Give me a break.

Is anything sacred? Does everything that's fun have to be ruined?

Fishing is an age old sporting pasttime, especially here in Maine, passed along from generation to generation. Fishing gets people out into the woods and onto the waters, and provides recreation and relaxation for many.

So a few fish end up in the frying pan, all nice and flour-coated, sizzling away in butter. So what?

Clearly some people just have too much time on their hands.

Go away. And leave the the Bates students to their fishing fun.

Do you know how to do an Eskimo roll in your river kayak or sea kayak? It's a pretty important technique to know if you're going to be running the big river rapids and paddling the cold ocean. Try as I might, I still haven't gotten it down.

MOAC President "Tugeye" Dan figured it would be a heckuva an idea to do a demonstration on kayak rolling technique at last week's MOAC meeting in Portland. So, being the imaginative guy that he is, he designed and built a contraption to practice kayak rolling indoors. In theory, anyway. Leave it to Dan to engineer the world's first and only dry-rolling practice machine.

Well, he got the thing finished a few hours before the meeting, hauled it in and set it up in the meeting hall just in time. You just had to be there to see this. Wooden stocks, a big steel tube, kayak cradle, and the whole thing rotates to allow the roll (again, in theory).

Sea kayaking guru Al, clearly a very brave and daring man, came forward to test out this new dry-rolling set-up. The "crew" strapped him securely into the cockpit of the kayak and, after a brief preview of rolling principles...

Over Al went.

And over everyone in the audience went too. Bent over double and roaring with laughter. It was hilarious. I damn near peed myself.

Straps loosened, the boat slipped, and I swear the whole contraption was going to come undone and dump Al right out onto his unhelmeted head! There was muttering about "mechanical advantage" or "center of gravity" or some technical mumbo jumbo (you gotta love engineers!), as Al hung upside down with apparently little or no hope of ever turning back up.

But finally, with just a bit of assistance from the crew (well, maybe quite a bit of help!), and exhibiting superior dry-rolling technique, Al came back up and over to the cheers of the crowd, completing a semi-successful indoor Eskimo roll.

It was quite a visual experience. I can't honestly say that I learned much, but I got a helluva a good belly laugh out of it!

See if you can pick up any tips...

Thanks to photographer Becky Delaney for providing the photos!

Kayaking guru Al starts to roll, as inventor Dan looks on...

The "Dry" Roll, Phase 1.

The "Dry" Roll, Phase 2.

The "Dry" Roll, Phase 3.

The "Dry" Roll, Phase 4.

The "Dry" Roll, Phase 5.

OK, now what?

Back up and over (with help!)

A successful Eskimo roll (sort of!)

Last weekend was a cold and blustery one at Trout Brook Farm in the northeast corner of Baxter State Park. Nighttime temperatures plummeted to around -20F, according to the tenters in our group who squatted out in the field.

Inside the bunkhouse, however, temperatures were a balmy 70F or higher, often forcing the occupants (including yours truly) to strip down to long johns to avoid any uncomfortable sweating.

The bunkhouse at Trout Brook Farm.

"Put another log on there, would ya Andi? It's dipping below 80F in here and I'm feeling a bit of a chill."

"Peppermint schnapps in their cocoa anyone?"

"Jeff, there's a knock at the door. Must be those damn tenters again wanting to get warm. Tell them they can't stay long."

"More cheese and crackers?"

"Great Scott! I've only two more cans of Boddington's Ale left!"

Yes, it was hard, but we managed...

Saturday's objective was nearby Trout Mountain. A hour of fun snowshoeing got us to the top and rewarded us with wonderful views of the Baxter wilderness, including Traveler Mountain, Bald Rock and Long Pond. Disappointingly, the big one, Mount Katahdin, wasn't visible from this vantage point.

Traveler Mtn., Bald Rock, and Long Pond from Trout Mtn.

We lunched in the lee of the summit, in a windless, sunny little bowl. We munched and chatted and warmed our faces in the sun.

The trail down the other side was hard to decipher, so Phil led us off on a bushwhack, slipping and sliding and hooting and hollering on the steep pitches, all the way down to beautiful, quiet Littlefield Pond. From there, we chugged our way back to the bunkhouse and happy hour.

Snowshoeing along Littlefield Pond.

Jeff signals his approval of the bunkhouse as the woodstove heats up.

We're back by late afternoon, tired and happy, and we sit about the bunkhouse and relax. I am slouched in a chair by the woodstove, beer in hand, semi-comatose, and loving it, until...

Suddenly there is a whole lot of activity. A loud hissing sound. Lots of shouting. Bodies scattering in all directions.

Somehow the gas canister of one of the lanterns has come loose in Andi's hands and is now spewing a jet of butane-propane mix into the room.

This is not good.

Another lantern is also on. A gas stove is running. And eight people in very flammable clothing are in a very small space. If spewing gas meets open flame, we're gonna have one big time indoor barbeque.

The gas canister gets booted outside into the snowbank. We are saved from immolation. Heart rates return to semi-normal. Nervous chatter subsides.

The night sky is brilliant. Orion. Pleiades. Big Dipper. Moon rise. A spectacular show. But it's cold again and we can't stay outside for long. Except, of course, if you're a tenter. Hah!

Breakfast. I'm sitting quietly at the picnic table, stove going for coffee water, reading a book. Not paying real close attention to any activity around me.

My dear friend Andi is now handling her stove. A gasoline stove. The fuel bottle is overpressurized and suddenly begins spraying white gas in my direction, where, conveniently, my roaring stove is also located.

Good God, I think, am I really meant to die this way? Flash-fried to death in a wilderness cabin?

I can see the ugly headline now...

CAMPER INCINERATED. BODY PARTS CARRIED OUT IN SMALL ZIP-LOCK BAG.

But nothing ignites and the fuel bottle is tossed out into the snowbank. Whew!

It's an uneventful, but cold ski out under blue skies. As I glide along, though, I ponder buying a lightweight fireproof suit for Andi's next hut trip...

Headed out...

I can smell a late breakfast in Patten already!

It's last Friday morning and I'm on my way to Baxter State Park with ten others for a weekend ski trip into the bunkhouse at Trout Brook Farm. It's a long haul up I-95, so we decide to take a quick break at Burger King in Orono before making the last stretch of highway to the park.

I'm standing there in line, a bit road-weary, when I have a personal Twilight Zone-like experience. The menu board reads 89 cents for a small cup of Joe. I don't think another thing of it. I step up, announce my order to the pleasant woman behind the counter, step back and wait. All systems normal, right?

She punches the keys of the register and walks off to pour my coffee. The register rings up 27 cents. Hmmm. That's odd. Coffee is 89 cents. What's the deal, I half-think in the under-caffeinated, groggy little world of my mind.

Returning with my coffee, she smiles and says, "27 cents" please. Confused but coming around a bit, I inquire quietly, "Uh, but isn't the coffee 89 cents?"

She smiles again, leans forward and says, "Oh, that's because I gave you the senior discount."

(do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do) {theme from Twilight Zone playing here...}

Stunned to silence (which never happens), I take my coffee and walk off, elbowing my way through the guffaws of my trip mates.

Not even close, I'm telling you. Not even close! C'mon, this adventurer is only is his 40s for chrissake. Must be the beard, say my oh-so-supportive friends.

Don't any of you say a word, not a single damn word. Leave it alone. No more AARP jokes. I'm warning you...

It's been a heckuva winter, hasn't it? Lots of snow. Good snow. And it doesn't appear there'll be a let up any time soon. For us ski and snowshoe types, that's just fine. But some of you are probably itching to get it over with, to do something else that doesn't involve snow. I can't understand that, of course, but...

Here's a few things going on in the next week or so that'll make for a good distraction for those of you needing one:

* Traveler's Club: Thursday, March 3rd, 7PM @ Maine Audubon, Falmouth. Journey to the island of Tristan da Cunha in the South Atlantic Ocean with Harold Nilsson, do some research on the continental drift, and end up drinking cognac and eating albatross with the local islanders.

* David Ngure, East Africa naturalist guide. Monday, March 7th, 7PM @ Maine Audubon, Falmouth. Journey to Africa with David and experience its unique landscapes, animals and people.

* Seacoast Sailing Expo. Friday, March 11th, 6:30PM @ Red Hook Brewery, Pease Tradeport, Portsmouth NH. Explore opportunities for getting out on the water this summer with the folks from the Piscataqua Sailing Association.

Thanks to the many readers who keep me posted on this stuff. Keep it coming. And have fun! The snow can't last forever (or maybe it can...).

Every day of this life is an adventure in some way, shape or form. We never know what each new day will bring, where life's path will lead us, or when, ultimately, we will reach our final trailhead. We need to be reminded occasionally of how precious life is and how important it is to live it, really live it.

I got one of those reminders yesterday...

For two Portland area men, Larry Roukey and Chris Gelineau, their paths took them to Iraq last year, in the service of our country. Larry to Baghdad, Chris to Mosul. Tragically, both men were killed just a few days apart in late April.

I didn't know Larry, but I knew of him through his wife Ryann, who I had worked with on Commute Another Way Day. I didn't know Chris personally, either, but rather through his wife Lavinia, who worked for me as a USM intern.

From all that I do know, both were fine men. Giving, caring, loving, happy men. They sacrificed their lives so that others might live free. So that we, ultimately, might live free. I am so very thankful for their service. My heart goes out to their families. It is almost a year since their passing, but I suspect the pain of their loss has diminished little.

These thoughts hit home pretty hard last evening, when I stopped in to the Portland Post Office on Forest Ave. to mail a letter and buy some stamps. As I was leaving, a display in the main lobby caught my eye. I took a closer look and found it was a beautiful tribute to Larry Roukey, who was a postal employee.

I read through it and learned much about this man's life. And their was much to know of his 33 short years. Hard worker, loving father, good friend, Red Sox fan. He had hoped to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail one day.

It was all very moving, and it shook me up good. I am so sad for their loss, so very proud of their service. Take a moment and read it the next time you're in the PO. It will change you.

Thank you Larry and Chris, and the many others...