Who are they?

Hunters apparently.

According to John Glowa of South China anyway, who spoke at yesterday's hearing on the proposal to preserve Katahdin Lake and 6,000 surrounding acres as part of Baxter State Park. The plan as currently drafted will ban hunters as well as motorized recreational vehicles.

"Hunters, trappers and snowmobilers do not have a lock on Maine's outdoors and Maine's outdoor heritage. As one of the 90 percent of Mainers who don't hunt, I am tired of the outdoor extremists trying to impose their wills on the rest of us."

Well, I'm really not sure at this moment whether I'm going to pee my pants right here with laughter, or vomit my breakfast all over my laptop in disgust.

Maine's outdoor heritage just happens to include a tradition of access to lands for all types of recreational and sporting uses.

Not just the ones that you like.

Who's the real extremist here?

You guess.

And then there's Alfred Cooper, operator of Katahdin Lake Camps:

"I resent the fact that they're treating me like I'm inferior in some way because I like to hunt and trap. It's my heritage."

Cooper and others want lawmakers to ensure that the plan maintains traditional uses on the Katahdin Lake parcel.

Damn straight. Damn straight.

Further, as I understand it from a bicycling advocate friend, there'll be no mountain bikes allowed. And that would exclude differently-abled persons who use mountain bikes as their way of accessing and enjoying the backcountry.

That puts it right over the edge for me.

Let the deal fall apart. And maybe then folks will realize where they've gone wrong and come back to the table.

A preserved Katahdin Lake property will be a wonderful asset for the people of Maine, whether it is protected as part of Baxter State Park or as Maine Public Reserve Land, where many outdoor uses co-exist.

And it's this conservation part that really matters most of all, isn't it?

Isn't it??

So why not recognize the big picture?

Outdoor extremists. Jeez.

Attitash, just across the way in tax-free New Hampshire, is fast becoming a favorite 'local' ski hangout of mine.

The drive over from Portland is equivalent to Sunday River. Parking at the Bear Peak base is easy. The trails are scenic and interesting and well tended. And the apres-ski choices on the way back through North Conway are pretty good.

Maybe, after umpteen years of racing headlong to the River for weekend day trips, I've simply needed a change. And seeing as how Attitash is an ASC resort and thus season-pass friendly, hey, why not.

Don't misunderstand me, you River fiends. I still like it there. But an occasional twist in the routine is a good thing. If it's a full-on weekend thing, however, you'll still find me at the Loaf. That much hasn't changed, and may not.

Anyway, Attitash put on a fine day of skiing yesterday. A few inches of fresh snow had been groomed up well and made for some good carving. Except for possibly Kachina Falls which was a sheet of ice by the time we hit it.

Avenger, Illusion, Myth Maker were outstanding. Northwest Passage, Ptarmigan and Wilfred's Gawm too.

The day's downside proved to be the biting winds. With temps in the low teens and north winds gusting to well over 20mph, straight across the Presidential Range into our faces, it was ice cold-on-the-face skiing. Toes didn't fare too well either. And photography wasn't a big priority.

But we kept at it and had run after enjoyable run.

What wasn't enjoyable was the incessant pass and ticket checking at the lift line. On one hand I can understand because all lifts at Attitash are base lifts, so new people are getting into line all day right off the street, so to speak.

But once you've been zapped by the lift attendant and their funky little hand-held machine and are now cruising through the line for the nth time, how about giving it a rest? I figure it has something to do with capturing marketing information, but jeez. Note to ASC: This practice is annoying as all get out. And not just to me. Toss that around at your next marketing meeting.

Meanwhile, back in happyland... A stop at the Red Parka for a Mason jar of Long Trail Ale and some popcorn, followed by a steak in town rounded out yet another good day on the slopes.

Hot dogs vs. sushi.

The classic cultural struggle.

Which is better? More refined? Tastier?

Colleen's sushi tour in the Old Port?

Or my visit to the iconic Bolley's Famous Franks in Augusta after a hike up that way last weekend?

Is it gonna be the all-natural fish and rice of sushi? Or the chemical-filled meat ingredients, white bread and sugar-based condiments of the hot dog?

I give the clear edge to the Bolley's dog. Several in fact, loaded up good.

Bolley ain't famous for nothing you know. Ayuh.

What's yer favorite?

A regular Trail Head reader who is inclined to play a few rounds of golf occasionally (considered legitimate outdoor recreation by some, including myself), and therefore apt to work up a considerable thirst, took one look at the cooler-bobber for boaters the other day and exclaimed, "Hey, how about something like that for us golfers?"

Me being a "certified recreational cooler specialist" and all, I got right to work.

I cracked a cold one and began an exhaustive search.

Soon enough my cooler-sleuthing paid off.

Thirsty golfers, here's your answer:

The Original Covert Cooler. Made to discreetly carry the life-sustaining liquids essential to a fine round of golf.

Loaded with cool features, it easily transports and conceals your thirst-quenching golf necessities.

A downside to the Covert Cooler that I have observed is its volume. It only holds nine 12 oz. cans of adult beverages vs. the cooler-bobber which holds a full compliment of 12 brews. So the average thirsty golfer may run a bit short on a typical round of 18 holes.

But the way I see it, you're much less likely to get thrown off the course with the Covert Cooler and nine beers tucked neatly away in your golf bag than by trailing the the rather obvious cooler-bobber along behind you as you play.

The cooler-bobber, however, would seem to make a handy toy to kick around on the fairway somewhere on the back nine after you've consumed its contents and couldn't really give a crap anymore about your golf game.

As you can see, there are pluses and minuses that will require your serious consideration. You make the call.

But I digress...

The Covert Cooler comes complete with a detailed user's manual. Easy as 1-2-3, even for, well, persons a minumum level of skills and abilities.

And, as you might expect, the Covert Cooler is multi-talented and performs well beyond the golf course. "On the beach, at the park, for tubing, snowmobiling, mudding, canoeing, horseback riding, camping, fishing and hunting."

Now that's an ambidextrous-type piece of gear for sure, dontcha think dee-yah!?

So there you have it my dry-mouthed golfing pals. The stealthy, efficient, highly functional Covert Cooler. A wonder of modern man's ingenuity. And a must for the active outdoorsperson.

Next question please???

I noticed in the latest issue of AT Journeys, the magazine of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy, that the new A.T. Thru-Hike Planner is now on sale.

AT thru-hiker wannabees will certainly be interested in this helpful guide, and many of the other trail publications that the ATC makes available.

A caveat: You can overwhelm yourself with too much information. Especially when it comes to a major untaking such as an AT thru-hike. And that can lead to frustration and maybe questioning yourself and your motives.

So be careful.

If you aspire to hike the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine, all 2,150 miles of it, that's tremendous.

But be easy on yourself.

It's important not to let the details get in the way of your dream.

You might, even now, be thinking,"I've always wanted to do it, now would be a good time, but it's already late February. How can I possibly get ready in time for a late March or early April start?"

See, you're overwhelmed already.

Relax.

Buy the AT Planner, the Data Book and the trail maps and call it good. Get your gear together. Then go.

That's the important thing, the going part.

But first you have to make up your mind.

Commit yourself!

After that all else will happen as it should. I promise. You'll truly be on your way to fulfilling your life's dream of hiking the AT. Not next year, but now, this spring. And you'll feel so good about it.

Read the following quote. Then read it again. And again.

And believe.

Until one is committed there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans; that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never have otherwise occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way. I have learned a deep respect for one of Geothe’s couplets:
"Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”
--W.H. Murray

Still uneasy?

I can fix that.

Call me. We'll go for a couple of drafts (you're buying, of course) and I'll sketch the whole AT trek out on a cocktail napkin (where most great adventures are born anyway). Everything from mail drops to equipment lists. A trail pep talk like you've never heard. I swear it's not that big a deal to make it happen.

Stop dreaming. Go do.

And in a handful of frenetic but satisfying weeks you'll be standing on the top of Springer Mountain, on a classic warm and sunny Georgia spring afternoon, ready to hike north with the seasons. North through your dreams. Which will no longer be dreams, but reality.

Sure, at that point, a bit nervous and unsure, you may ask yourself, "What the hell have I got myself into?"

But that's only natural. And thankfully it's too late by then.

Breathe deep. Smile. Take your first steps forward on the grand AT. Don't look back.

It's gonna be a heckuva an adventure!

Be sure to send me a postcard, OK?!

The dream. Hiking the entire AT.

The goal: Katahdin, a good, long, life-altering walk from Springer Mountain, Georgia.

OK, maybe it hasn't been the best winter for skiing, meteorologically-speaking.

If you've been out there, you know it hasn't been that bad.

But still, numbers are down to date.

Ski area marketing gurus will tell you that it takes snow in the dooryard to get a lot of people out to the slopes. And that hasn't happened much this winter.

Yet.

You've gotta remember that March is the snowiest month of the year in Maine's mountains. April is second.

So don't give up hope. The best is yet to come.

And besides, a little March and April sun on the slopes will be nice.

In the meantime, get on out there. Because the skiing really is pretty good, all things considered.

By the way, I feel bad for the poor folks out west in Flagstaff and the Arizona Snow Bowl, a fantastic place to ski that I last visited a few years back. From the top lift at about 11,000 feet you can see right down into the Grand Canyon. Now that rocks, eh?!

Anyway, northern Arizona has only seen 20 inches of snow this season and the Snow Bowl has yet to open. That's after a record 460 inches last year.

At least here in Maine we're skiing...

I was thumbing through the latest issue of Field & Stream last night when I came across an item that might be of interest to kayakers, rafters, canoeists and other like-minded fringe elements of the outdoor world:

A cooler-bobber.

Yep. Holds 12 adult beverages plus ice.

Seals up nice and tight. And floats!

Just tie it up to your rig and voila! Your cooler takes the ride through the waves right along with you.

And just when you've battled the rapids and your thirst level has peaked, you simply reel in your bobber and pop out a cold one.

Can life on the water get better than that?

Damn.

My bags were all packed and everything.

But, alas, my hopes have been dashed once again.

Guess I'll stick around for awhile, keep my day job. Unpack, make a ski plan for the weekend.

And get myself over to Cumberland Farms for another try.

Despite the unseasonably mild weather, it has actually been a pretty good winter on the ski slopes. If you've been staying home 'cause there's no snow in your yard, you've been missing out.

But even better, in my opinion, it's been a fine winter for hiking. Regular hiking, kind of, sort of. Unencumbered by the usual snowshoes and many feet of snow on the trail. A real treat.

It's odd, but I've enjoyed it tremendously. Strap on the traction devices and go.

And so I have. One recent weekend to the Oxford Hills, a favorite and reasonably close by area of underused trails and mountains.

I like that. Always have. Figured you might too.

Mount Tire'm in Waterford and then Sabattus Mountain in Lovell were on the hiking docket. A couple of easy peaks just over a thousand feet.

Small, yes, but big in solitude and scenery. And low in people numbers.

I like that, too. You get what I mean.

So grab your AMC Maine Mountain Guide. And your DeLorme Maine Atlas and Gazzetteer. And make your way into Oxford County from wherever.

And have some good hiking fun...

Hiking up the icy Daniel Brown Trail on Mount Tire'm in Waterford.

View of Bear Pond and Bear Mountain, with Long Lake in the distance.

A well-preserved stone wall in the forest just past the summit of Mount Tire'm.

No showshoes were required on this rather balmy winter day.

Brilliant quartzite outcrop on summit ridge of Sabattus Mountain in Lovell.

The dramatic cliffs on the southwest face of Sabattus Mountain.

A park bench, strangely perched on the clifftop on Sabattus.

Hiking along the spectacular cliffs atop Sabattus Mtn.

The snow-covered White Mountains and Kezar Lake from Sabattus Mtn.

My new Yaktrax didn't hold up very well after just one hike.

End-of-trail stop in Naples: Some call Bray's the center of the universe. At times I do believe it is.

Have you hiked in the Oxford Hills? What are your favorite trails?

When my mountain bike was stolen right off my car in my driveway in Portland six years ago, I angrily searched throughout the neighborhood for it (and the rotten thieving scoundrels, too).

But, for some reason, I never bothered to check with the police to see if they'd picked it up.

I'll bet a lot of folks do the same.

And, like me, never see their missing bike again.

Maybe that's why the storage locker at the Portland Police Dept. is filled to capacity with bicycles of all kinds. So much so that they're considering turning to an auction company to help get rid of them.

So you just might be able to help take one off their hands. Yours!

So if you've had a road or mountain bike stolen in the city in the past year, there's a pretty good chance it'll have turned up and been taken to the police storage.

Worth a call or a visit anyway.

You never know. Your trusty bike might be there waiting for you...

Yep.

Stealthy boggers are out there. Infiltrating. Lurking.

You may catch them in the corner scribbling with pen and notepad. Or whipping our a digital camera at the most inopportune (for you) moment.

But maybe not.

More likely you'll catch them with a beer in hand.

That won't necessarily ID them, though.

But now you'll know. The truth will be out there. The warning. Anything you say and do, especially the stupid things, may just end up on a...

Blog!

I bought my blogger T-shirt last week.

Thanks to my friend John for the tip.

This is all the info I could find right now.

Apparently he took a 50 foot screamer off Cathedral Ledge in North Conway NH and is now being treated at Maine Med.

Damn.

We're pulling for you Scott.

Friday morning I awoke around 5:30 and snapped on the radio to get some news. Ken and Mike of the WGAN Morning News were just getting things rolling with their usual bantering back and forth.

I woke up just enough to hear Mike describe how he'd seen an owl now four mornings in a row. Perched right on top of the dumpster at the Tim Horton's drive-thru in South Portland, which he visits like clockwork each morning at 4:15 on his way into the studio.

A real live owl. Right here in the city. Cool. Nice find.

The dumpster location made sense, I thought. An easy source of human food (owls scavenge, don't they?) and likely small rodents. An owl with a good plan.

And besides, hadn't we heard of coyotes sighted within the city limits just a few days prior? Didn't seem too odd.

And with that thought I fell back asleep (it's usually do to Ken's blathering on, but not always).

I woke about an hour later to find a stunned Mike declaring that the owl was a fake. A plastic owl. I missed the details, but somebody who knew better must have called in during the hour I'd dozed off to say that the owl wasn't a real one.

Mike had been duped big time. And now he and Ken--and me--were laughing our butts off uncontrollably. Mike had been so serious and sure about the initial report, and now everybody was peeing themselves.

Mike, with all due respect, if I had to get up every morning at 3AM and drive into the city from Poland to start work at 5AM, I'd likely be seeing owls too. Or worse.

So thanks for the laugh. And you two keep the good work, or entertainment, or whatever it is that you guys do.

And keep us posted on any other "wildlife" sightings, okay?

Just for yucks, I had to go visit Tim Horton's Saturday to check out the mystery owl for myself. Sure enough, there it was. Swivel head and all. A beautiful thing.

These photos are for you Mike. Enjoy!

Anybody else out there seen any "wildlife" they'd like to share with us??

With sunny skies and temps in the 50s, Thursday seemed as good a day as any for an afternoon hike.

So it was on with the hiking boots, the camera and my notebook, and off to nearby Mackworth Island.

A gregarious Tom and his dog Hunter greets me at the gate, reminds me of the 5PM closing time and waves me over to the parking area. I've been here a hundred times, but why argue, so I smiled and happily did what I was told.

On the path joggers cruise past, as did a healthy handful of walkers. I seem to be the only person making the circuit clockwise. Hmmm. Always going against the grain, it seems I am. Oh well. At least this way I get to see people's faces and exchange smiles and hellos.

The sun casts the pines in a warm orange glow. Long afternoon shadows cross my path. Ice chunks cling to to the shoreline at the high tide mark.

Several sets of stairs lead down to the rocks and beaches. I scamper down each and poke around. More ice. Golden sea grass. Yellow lichen on a rock. Sea birds groan just offshore.

I come to Percival Baxter's dog graveyard, a circular enclosure of rocks, down a short side trail over a soft carpet underneath tall pines.

"To my Irish setters," the bronze plaque begins, "Life long friends and companions, affectionate, faithful and loyal."

Crap. Who isn't broken up a little after reading that?

The names of Baxter's canine pals,"Skip, Carry, Deke, Mike, Pat, Fanny, Eirie, Carry," are listed.

I think of my precious cat Attila.

Then I shuffle on, passing a few folks who are now making their second circuit.

The stacks on Cousin Island come into view. And The Brothers, two small islands in the foreground. Then Great Diamond Island, Fort Gorges, the Eastern Promenade of Portland.

I linger for a while on the granite pier and take in, at once, the island and city views. It's no damn wonder I live here, I think for at least the thousandth time.

The sun is low and flowing through the trees and into my face as I round the far side of Mackworth, past the Baxter School and the ball fields. The parking lot is full when I reach it minutes later. It's just 5 when I drive past the gate and out over the long causeway, the setting sun on my left shoulder.

Supper time. Mud on my boots and filled with fresh ocean air, I feel good.

Mackworth Island is partially Maine Public Reserve Land.

Tom and his dog Hunter greet island visitors.

Walkers on the Mackworth path.

Sun on the trees along the path.

Clam shell in the leaves.

Stairs leading down to the sea.

Lichen provides a splash of color to this mid-February day.

A resting spot along the path.

A tribute to Baxter's canine companions.

One a several beaches accessible from the Mackworth path.

A bench with a heckuva view.

Late afternoon sun pouring through the trees.

I think I'm finally returning to a reasonable state of normalcy (that's a relative thing, of course) after last weekend's Big Chill event.

There's nothing quite like 20 or so warped college friends in an enclosed space for two days and nights. As well as an unlimited amount and variety of food 24/7, a regular stream of cocktails, frequent soaks in the hot tub, and painful bouts with uncontrollable belly laughs. And a beautiful day out on the ski slopes at Bretton Woods.

Whew!

Anyway, it was mega fun and I can't wait to do it again in another year. But lemme get some more rest first, okay?!

The movie and music that inspired it all... "oooooo, I heard it through the grapevine..."

The center of our Big Chill universe: The hot tub. 106F in, 2F out!

The skiing at Bretton Woods rocked, with an excellent selection of speedy cruising trails...

...and a killer view of Mount Washington and the Presidential Range. Not too shabby.

Several 22-pound lasagnas (I'm kidding, but they were heavy) formed the basis for this overindulging weekend of food intake.

Big Chill dinnah with some of da gang.

Brrrrr!

If you were at the Banff Mountain Film Festival at the State Theater last night you know what I mean.

It was just as Colleen said: No heat.

The upside, of course, was that your beer stayed cold right down to the last
slug.

So between that and the nine great adventure films, it was an excellent time.

A modicum of heat would've been good at last night's Banff show.

What is it?

Inquiring minds want to know.

And so does ski expert Bob Mentzinger.

To date, we've got the Back Side at Sugarloaf, Squaw Mountain, and Sunday River's White Heat, Spruce Cliffs and Shock Wave.

OK. Good start.

You?

C'mon all you crazy downhillers, add your vote for the most challenging ski run in Maine.

I've added mine (aka "Digger").

The Back Side of the Snowfields at the Loaf gets my vote.

Yes, it's Valentine's Day today.

But it's the Banff Mountain Film Festival tonight!

Show 'em your love by taking them out for a wild and romantic evening at the State Theater in Portland.

Nine hot adventure films are featured that will no doubt thrill you and leave you and your SO aching to cut out from the day-to-day routine and follow your adventurous dreams.

Life is short. Go tonight. Then go!

Tix are available from Eastern Mountain Sports and Nomads (formerly MMW) in Portland. You can also get them for a couple of bucks more at the door.

Here's a a few shots of what you'll see in tonight's films (Courtesy of the Banff Centre)...

See you at the show!

When you think of wildlife in Portland you're probably apt to think of the Old Port.

Understandably so.

Things can get pretty wild and rough and tumble around the Fore Street area on any given night for sure.

But there's some new "wildlife" in town apparently.

Coyotes.

At least one anyway.

Spotted out by the the Jetport near Stroudwater recently.

And images taken at the scene have been confirmed by DIFW folks in the know.

I'm happy to know the critters are around, although I suspect they may not mix well in the city. And neighborhood cats and dogs might not be too excited about it either.

Guess we'll have to be on the lookout for more of 'em.

Yes, it's that time again.

The Big Chill.

And it appears Mother Nature's gonna come through with the appropriate weather.

The Big Chill is my annual weekend of skiing in Vermont and hot tubbing in New Hampshire with a large and rather unruly contingent of my most excellent college friends.

Time for extra large doses of food and fun. A continous laugh track to recharge the spirits. Practical jokes. Teef and clown noses. A cigar or two.

The skis are on top of the car. Duffles in the trunk. The big lasagna is ready to be plucked from the fridge. The cooler is sufficiently stocked with life sustaining beverages. The cats are fed and watered and soon to be free to tear apart the house to their heart's content (please just leave me a little unshredded toilet paper!).

Nothing more to do but hit the road. Yes, hit the road. My favorite thing to do.

Hope your weekend is a fun one too.

Let's compare notes on Monday.

Unless, of course, the big snow storm strands us an extra day in ski country. It could happen. Got to plan for the worst you know.

Later...

Yeah, now that's the spirit.

Hey you, Plum Creek, get out. We don't don't want you and your corporate kind here.

And don't let the door hit you on the bum on your way out.

Or so today's guest column in the Portland Press Herald appears to say regarding the Plum Creek Moosehead Lake region proposal. (I know. Yawn!).

I would be grateful only if Plum Creek folded its corporatist tent and took its playground to one of their three other states of operation.

That's nice.

Let's further disparage "wealthy out-of-staters" and now our Canadian neighbors.

Let's savage the "corporatists" some more.

Talk about tired rhetoric. There's some for you.

Out-of-staters = bad?

For goodness sake, our state would be broke without visitors from away spending gobs of money here! You know about that little cottage industry we've got going here called "tourism," right?

And while we're at it, let's also knock the folks at LURC who are overseeing the regulatory process re Plum Creek. And all the concerned local folks who've participated in the public process. And the economic development folks. And the environmental and recreational people and sportsmen who've spoken their minds and added their comments.

These good people, real people--the "living, breathing beings" as they've been referred to--have engaged Plum Creek. And their efforts are having a positive effect. They are moving the process. In response, Plum Creek has indicated it's making significant adjustments to its plan. Changes that are hopefully reasonable enough to satisfy both sides.

And I am hopeful.

Plum Creek IS going to happen. And, yes, it is going to have a major impact on the Maine's north woods.

Not everybody is happy about all of it, for sure. Me, you, others. Change is difficult and the uncertainty is real. That makes people understandibly anxious.

But we can't (forgive the tired phrase, please) bury our heads in the sand and hope the big, bad corporate monster just goes away.

By engaging Plum Creek as has been done we are helping to mold the project into something better than what might have been.

I know a lot of folks in the outdoors community who in their hearts oppose Plum Creek, but realizing this fact, have come to see opportunity as the path to take, rather than blunt opposition.

I agree.

Much as some would like, there'll be no gate at the NH border with a KEEP OUT sign. We're better than that. Smarter than that.

...You'd take me to the Banff Mountain Film Festival on Tuesday, February 14th. Which also happens to be, um, er, ah, Valentines Day.

Yes, that's right my outdoorsy sweethearts, it's a dilemma moment.

How you gonna handle it?

Hmmm.

A romantic dinner on the town with your spouse, SO, or whatever.

Or, three hours of wild-eyed adventure films.

What will you do?

Do both.

Promise her (or him) an early dinner out somewhere in town. Leave work early if you must. And beat the crowds and hassles of a later Valentines reservation.

Leave plenty of time. Remember the card and flowers. Relax. Have a bottle of wine. A nice meal. Engaging conversation.

Then change out of the nice dinner duds, throw on your jeans and hiking boots (that you've strategically stashed in the car) and bolt on over to the State Theatre for the 7 o'clock Banff show.

Get your free goodies on the way in, enter the raffles for cool prizes, buy yourselves a couple of drafts, and settle in (and strap yourself in) for the next few hours of outdoor film madness.

And oh, be sure to tell her (or him) repeatedly throughout the show that you love them. And thank them for their flexibility and understanding. It's a quality you love about them anyway.

Back to the Banff show.

Nine films are on tap ranging from paragliding over the Grand Canyon to a mad kayak descent down through the Sierra Nevadas to skiing fun with Nepali children to crack climbing at Indian Creek, Utah.

Surely enough to satisfy the adventurer in all of us (and hopefully keep your Valentines date happy!).

Tix are $12 in advance ($15 at the door) and available from Eastern Mountain Sports and Nomads (formerly MMW) in Portland.

See you there (after a nice dinner, of course!)...

Many thanks to my friend Tom Widing at Chestnut Mountain Productions for contiuing to bring this great show to Portland.

Well, as far as new funding for conservation goes anyway.

Yes, that's right.

A Maine land conservation project in Grafton Notch topped out at #1 in the country on the federal to-do list of projects to fund this year.

$2 million bucks is on the table to purchase nearly 4,000 acres to help fill in a gap near Grafton Notch State Park, a magnificent area of lofty mountains, steep rock walls and wild forests. A favorite of mine and no doubt yours.

The newly protected parcel is near where the Appalachian Trail cuts through the notch. And soon--this summer I believe--the western half of the 42-mile long Grafton Loop Trail will be complete and will pass thruough it, too.

Finishing a respectable 11th on the same funding list is a plan to protect some 42,000 acres of my old stomping grounds around Chick Hill east of Bangor.

All good news for us hikers and backpackers and outdoors lovers to celebrate.

On the Grafton Loop Trail looking towards Sunday River Whitecap near where 4,000 acres is proposed for acquisition with new federal funding.

Call it "An Act to Deter Environmental Terrorism in the State" or "An Act to Strengthen the Crime of Aggravated Criminal Mischief."

I don't care.

But please Rep. Nutting (D-Leeds), get this measure up for a vote by the full legislature. It makes perfect sense. I, for one, applaud you. Thank you for your efforts.

That vicious attacks on Maine people's homes and property and businesses can be classified right now as only a misdemeanor is a travesty all on its own.

The recent spate of attacks on Plum Creek property and that of its employees is shameful and disgusting. I don't care what your cause is. It's wrong.

You may call it vandalism. Others may call it eco-terrorism. As do I.

Whatever you call it, make the crime a felony.

Good people don't address differences in this state by such lawless measures. We love and respect our environment and each other. And we don't--and we won't--tolerate such vile acts.

Not today. Not ever.

To those legislators who are exhibiting signs of a weak spine over such a measure, I suggest a heavy dose of calcium to shore your bones up.

Eco-terrorism is serious. And unacceptable in Maine. Make it so. Make it a felony.

Sorry, I guess I missed the fine print when the news of the Katahdin Lake land swap appeared recently.

I figured it was a done deal and everybody was a happy camper.

Not so, aparently.

I understand now that the parties involved in the swap want this new parcel that will be added to Baxter State Park to be off limits to hunting.

Why is it necessary to exclude hunting?

And where does that leave the sporting camp operation on Katahdin Lake that will be left in the middle of the deal?

Proponents of the hunting ban say it is part of Governor Baxter's dream that the Katahdin Lake parcel one day be part of the park and that there be no hunting.

Well, that's a nice idea and all, but what did the Gov have to say about the hunting that is allowed in the huge scientific management area in the northern reaches of the park? And the southern section that now includes the Togue Ponds?

Why there and not elsewhere?

Why fight over this?

With this new preservation effort also comes the banning of most motorized uses--no snowmobiles or ATVs, for example. Their incompatability with the concept of "wilderness" is more understandable.

But then, why will float planes still have access?

The Katahdin Lake area has been used by hunters for years. And I'm figuring that most sportsmen would like to continue to use these beautiful lands to pursue their relatively low impact sport.

I see a lot of inconsistencies swirling around what I had happily thought was a done deal, and a pretty satisfactory one to most parties.

I stand corrected. And hope the issue can be cleared up without a big to-do.

Let the hunters stay.

Saturday passed in a whirlwind of "chores." You know the drill. Dishes piled up, laundry too. Papers and bills stacked high. Gear scattered from the car trunk up the hallway and through the kitchen. The bathroom--ugh! At some point you've just gotta address the mess.

And so went Saturday. And the stuff got done. But it came at a cost.

Turns out that, according to a friend, the skiing up at the Loaf was wonderful. Sunny and 45 degrees with good snow. Damn.

Oh well. I was banking on skiing on Sunday, and you probably know how that turned out. Timing is everything I guess.

Sunday morning I awoke at Chateau Pete's, my friend's sweet wood frame home on the shore of Pocasset Lake in Wayne, to a cold, drenching rain. After a pot of coffee, we opted for breakfast at Ned's Place in Winthrop. Then retired back to the toasty warm woodstove at the house with the KJ and MST.

Looking out to Pocasset Pond in Wayne through heavy rain and mist.

Reading and the crossword deteriorated into a slothy nap. Then a fuzzy semi-concious state of restlessness. So I bid my buddy Pete adieu, threw my duffle in the car, and headed south to make something of this lost ski day.

But what?

As I drew closer to Portland I knew. I stopped briefly at the house to drop off my goods and lace up my hiking boots. Then it was off to nearby Capisic Pond and the trailhead parking on Macy St., just off Capisic St.

It takes only a few minutes down the graveled path of the Capisic Pond Trail, part of the Portland Trails system, to dispel the gray-day gloomies. Give me some fresh air and some trees and most times I am transformed, like today.

And as I walk, the elixir that is Capisic Pond Park continues to uplift the spirit. The damp air draws into and refreshes my lungs. The breeze carves a smile on my face.

Birdsong delights from trailside thickets of hawthorn and willow, alder and witchhazel. Narrow side paths lead to revealing windows that lookout over the pond and its icy edges and waving cattails and muddy banks. I explore them all.

The pond sits in its own little valley between neighborhood houses. Traffic noise quickly fades and you are immersed in a patch of quiet and comfortable nature. Yes, you can see signs of the surrounding city, but even so, there are points where you can sit and look and travel in your mind beyond this haven.

Further on I slog along off trail along Capisic Brook and muck about among the reeds and brush and watch the steely gray waters rush by. Bright red berries on a shrub that I can't identify shock my optical senses on this gray-scale afternoon.

At Lucas St. I turn around and walk the half mile back to the car. Slowly. And when I reach it, I turn once more for a final quick look at pretty Capisic Pond.

In barely an hour on this afternoon of Super Bowl Sunday I am renewed. And can now return home to face the excesses of the pre-game. Or not.

Start of the Capisic Pond Trail, a lovely 1 mile round-trip walk along Portland's only freshwater pond.

Ice clings to edges of Capisic Pond.

The gravel path leads through open fields.

Capisic Brook rushes by.

The path ducks into the spindly hardwoods.

Capisic Pond provides a soothing respite from the city grind.

Cattails wave in the breeze at the pond's edge.

My friend Bill was itching to get out and explore a new local hiking "find" he'd made recently by accident. So we made a plan to skip out from behind our desks and computers a little early one afternoon late last week. And made our way to Fuller Farm in Scarborough, a 180 acre preserve of fields and forest managed by the Scarborough Land Conservation Trust.

For the next couple of hours until dusk we sauntered about through a few inches of wet snow, checking out the extensive farmlands, dark hemlock hollows, wetlands and riverbanks, and criss-crossing network of trails and snowmobile paths at Fuller Farm.

We discovered yet another piece of quiet woodsy heaven to escape to at a moment's notice. And came away vowing to return on our snowshoes after the next good snowfall. No doubt, on our cross-country skis, too. And later on, with light summer hiking shoes.

There is an information kiosk at the trailhead on Broadturn Road, and ample parking for a dozen or so vehicles. A map of the property is posted so you can get your bearings, but we found no trail map.

And maybe that's by design for now. The trails are not marked, with the exception of some orange flagging here and there, and the snowmobile trail that bisects the property.

I suspect that a trail map will be in the offing as soon as trail construction is completed and signs are erected. For now, though, if you visit, do pay attention to where you're going and keep an eye on your surroundings so you can get back out without incident. And follow the rules of good trail etiquette.

But do visit. It's a beautiful place! And another reason to be thankful for the forward-thinking local folks who cooperate and work hard on conservation projects like Fuller Farm that benefit so many.

Fuller Farm sign on Broadturn Road, Scarborough.

My friend Bill crossing a bridge over a creeklet.

Bill hikes along newly constructed trail deep in the woods of Fuller Farm.

Snow on a downed yellow birch.

Fuller Farm borders on the Nonesuch River for more than half a mile.

Newly constructed bog bridging through a wet area.

Pathway through beautiful mixed forest.

The boundaries of Fuller Farm are marked with distinctive Scarborough Land Conservation Trust signs.

Snow on a cut log.

Snow-capped hay bales.

Returning to the car through the open fields.

Patterns in the snow.

Four years ago a special friend gave me a copy of The Best American Travel Writing, then a brand new series published by Houghton Mifflin. I gobbled up this collection of adventure and travel stories from around the globe in just a couple of days. And ever since, I’ve hungrily looked forward to each year’s new edition.

I’m about half way through the 2004 edition now, and last evening read a wild story by veteran Himalayan mountaineer Mark Jenkins entitled “The Ghost Road” (which originally appeared in Outside).

Jenkins is obsessed with the idea of finding and following the old Stilwell Road, a rough passage built by U.S. and British soldiers during World War II to connect India with China through Burma (now Myanmar) as a way to supply the Chinese against the Japanese. But, as with many similar construction projects in history, the road was obsolete by the time it was completed in 1945, and subsequently abandoned right after the war.

Myanmar is one of the world’s most brutal totalitarian regimes and a decidedly dangerous place when Jenkins visits during the period 1996-99 in his quest to document the old road, the people and the landscape along it. Jenkins is repeatedly stymied by third world bureaucracy, and worse, brutally beaten, threatened with death, arrested dozens of times, and deported nearly as many times.

This is not your average adventure travel story. Your skin will crawl and fear will well up inside you. And, as I have a good friend from Maine currently traveling alone in that part of the world, I took serious notice. And said a prayer for his safety.

But for my friend Bill, as with Jenkins, staying home was not an option. I understand that sentiment full well, having done my share of traveling abroad, although to nowhere near as hostile (yet, anyway) the places that these two adventurers have experienced.

You can’t see the world, and understand it, from your living room couch. Life is short, time flies, health wanes. You’ve got to weigh the risks, be as smart as you can, and leave the rest to Providence. But go you must. To see and feel beyond yourself. Get a view from the edge. Or over it.

Jenkins sums it up like no other:

Adventure is a path. Real adventure—self-determined, self-motivated, often risky—forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth, and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind—and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black and white.

Wind power.

A clean, renewable source of energy.

Other states in the U.S. are tapping into it to add to their energy budget and help meet our hunger for energy.

Will Maine?

We've talked about the current wind energy proposals for Maine here and elsewhere before, and the impact it will have, if carried through, on the Appalachian Trail, our western mountains, on our recreational experience.

Steven Clark provided the "con" side of the issue last Tuesday, arguing vehemently against the "industrialization" of our mountains. If you missed it, click through and give it a good reading.

Today, Jeffrey Thayer offers up the "pro", his view of the benefits of such a wind power project. Make sure you read his points too.

Look, we've got a big problem on our hands: Energy.

Never mind that we use an ungodly amount of it each day, but that we are so dependent on oil, much of which comes from an increasingly fragile, dangerous and uncertain part of the globe.

Diversification of our energy budget is vital to our future. And there are a myriad of ways to do so. Our energy technology is advancing at a rapid rate and, I believe, can and will help solve this problem sooner rather than later with viable, economical alternatives.

Provided we have the will.

But as I, and others have asked: Must we sacrifice the AT and our mountaintops to do so?

I'm torn. You're torn.

Real, hard choices lie ahead. This is one of them.

Choices that can't be skirted, or pushed ahead any longer, but rather met head on. Very soon. Now really.

What will we do?

I really don't know. Let's discuss...

The skis are there, like usual. Clothing and gear duffle too. My pass hangs on a nail by the door.

I'm ready for the weekend.

How about you Ma Nature?

You gonna continue to soak us and chill us to the bone with this depressing rain, or what?

I wanna know.

Just in case you don't come through I'm hedging with some alternate plans (with all due respect, of course)...

The winter issue of The Maintainer, the quarterly newsletter of the Maine Appalachian Trail Club, was in my mail box when I went home for lunch today.

As I poured through it over my ham & cheese sandwich, a brief piece by MATC president Don Stack struck a chord with me.

It was, as is so often the case with small non-profit entities, about money. The need for money. To operate the club at even a meager level. To support trail maintenance activities and trail crews and caretakers and ridgerunners and the like.

Because, let's be honest, it takes money to keep up the trail. Our AT. Yours and mine.

So I got to thinking. And now I want to pose this question:

Who the heck cares about the Appalachian Trail? Please raise your hands.

Yep. Yep. I see. Uh huh.

Just as I thought.

I see about 10,000 hands in the air out there. Some of you are waving, jumping up and down. Wild with enthusiasm. I get it, I get it.

OK then, the point is settled.

YOU LOVE THE A.T.!

We all do. We read about it. We hike on it. We camp out on it. We adore it. We want to hike all of it. And we would do just about anything to help protect it.

So prove it. And I mean that in the nicest, most respectful way.

Become a member of the MATC. The club could sure use the cash and certainly the volunteer help on the many trail maintenance activities throughout the summer.

Membership is just $15. A wicked deal. The price of 18-pack, but way more satisfying.

Beyond that, do consider joining up for some trail work. It takes lots of warm bodies up and down the 280-some mile AT corridor in Maine to do the job each year. And--bonus--you'll meet and work with some of the friendliest folks around, who all care about and sleep and breathe the AT.

But beware: You might become an AT addict. I sure have. Happened long ago.

Final note: Membership, yes, Volunteer, yes. All good.

But, if you can, please consider contributing a little something extra to the MATCs annual appeal. The trail will appreciate it and you'll feel great about it. Donations may be made to: MATC, PO Box 1256, Auburn ME 04211-1256.

Many thanks. You rock. See you on the trail...

AT trail sign, Nesowadnehunk Tote Road, Baxter Park.

View of Doubletop Mtn. from the AT at Tracy Pond, Baxter Park.

Work party on the AT near East Carry Pond last spring.