I read about the new Clark's Pond Trail in South Portland the other day, and although the "official" opening isn't until tomorrow, I just couldn't wait to have a look-see for myself.

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So that's how I spent my lunchtime on Friday, strolling along the length of this brilliantly constructed and beautifully hidden gem of a trail.

Carey Kish photo

To find it pull in behind the Home Depot off Westbrook St. in South Portland, go to the far end of the store's parking lot and look for the log signpost on the edge of the woods. That's the trailhead.

The pathway leads for 1.2 miles in and around pretty Clark's Pond (or is it Long Creek, I've never figured the difference) and takes you through a stretch of woods you'd never know was even there.

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There are frequent views over the placid waters of the pond and a pleasant mix for forest canopy overhead; pines, maples, oaks. And yesterday the air was heavy with that earthy autumn fragrance of damp soil and decaying leaves.

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The trail is a mix of dirt footpath and gravel way, and there are plank bridges, foot bridges and log steps to keep you on your toes and keep 'em dry too.

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Despite the constant din of nearby I-295 your ears will soon enough tune out the auto drone and you'll be free to enjoy this most wonderful addition to our urban trails system.

Magnificent job folks! Many, many thanks for your hard work and dedication!!

As I said earlier the "grand opening" of the trail takes place tomorrow morning--Sunday, September 30th, at 10 AM. The Gov will be there to do the ribbon cutting formalities after which Tom Blake, the president of the South Portland Land Trust will lead the first walk-through. A big cookout at Jordan Park at 11:30 AM will up the festivities.

Sounds like a fine way to spend a warm and sunny late September if ever there was one!

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Fridays make me absolutely crazy I tells ya!

It's the weekend... Woo-hoo!

What's yer plan Stan? You gonna get outside and play?!

I juz git krazy when Friday comes along!
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Remember our discussion the other day about wind power and energy alternatives and whatnot?

Well folks, here's yet another real opportunity to make a positive personal impact on the environment and your wallet and save a little energy:

Tomorrow, Friday September 28th is the first ever regular Walk/Ride Day organized by Greater Portland Green Streets!

The idea behind this great initiative is to wear something green and use a green means of transportation to get to work or school or wherever you're going tomorrow.

Wear green and use green transportation modes tomorrow, Friday September 28th, on the first monthly Walk/Ride Day sponsored by Portland Green Streets.
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The wearing of the green is the easy part. But breaking old habits and deciding to use green means of transportation - even if only for one day - may not be.

But there are numerous options for most of us who live in or near the city. You need only decide to give one or more of these healthy, economical and eco-friendly means a try.

* We've got a wonderful network of urban trails in the Portland area, so why not walk?

* There are plenty of bicyling resources. And we've got bike lanes on many streets and plenty of not-so-busy neighborhood streets to ride to get you where you need to go by pedal power. You can put your bike on the bus, too, and utilize both modes!

* How about hopping the bus and let someone else do the driving while you watch the world go by?

* And carpools are one of the easiest, most effective ways to slash your commuting costs and save energy.

I'm going to celebrate Bike/Walk Day by cruising into work on my green mountain bike. Will you be wearing green and commuting green on Friday?

If you miss out, remember that Bike/Walk Day will happen on the last Friday of every month (it'll be like Commute Another Way Week, only more often!), so do plan on it!

OK, so I'm home for three days now, and finally catching up with myself. Well, sort of.

Re-entry from two weeks on the road has been slow. Exhaustion and semi-dysfunction has reigned, and I've basically been roboting it since pulling in on the red-eye early Sunday afternoon.

Gear is still strewn far and wide around the house, laundry is half done, mail half opened. Lethargy appears the solid winner vs. getting any one task checked off the list.

So it goes.

It's not easy getting home from the middle of Vancouver Island I discovered. Especially now, post-peak season. Travel scheduling is a challenge, and like a good puzzle, not all the pieces want to fit where you'd like them to.

Me and my hiking buds tromped off the West Coast Trail after eight days last Thursday noonish. Then it was six hours of wild-riding through the rugged interior of the island on the West Coast Trail Bus to reach Victoria. The ferry to Seattle wasn't until the next evening. In Seattle the following day our flight out wasn't until 11:30 PM.

But finally the plane arched gently over the coast of southern Maine, the familiar beaches coming into view, then the beautiful skyline of Portland from the final approach up the Fore River. Home!

Three days, it was, getting back to Portland. Ouch! Such is the toll of time away. But really, I'm not complaining. It's worth it. This time, every time.

Travel, big trips, remote hikes, far away cities--it's all so invigorating, exciting, eye-opening, even mind-blowing.

You come back, but never all the way back. Your eyes have captured images, your hands have touched places and things, your voice has spoken with people you will never see again, your mind has expanded beyond old boundaries, absorbing a wealth of new data to process, much of it in the sub-conscious.

Travel changes you, enriches you, makes you beg for more. And by the grace of God there will be more. Until they close the lid and shovel the dirt over me.

So, of this latest venture to the Pacific Northwest, I have stories and photos to share. But for today just a few images and snippets. More rest is needed, a little time for reflection required before the whole story can be told.

I hope you all have been well, my dear Trail Head friends, taking advantage of this fine September weather. Here at home, in Maine, this most beautiful place on Earth.

Have you travel plans coming up? Somewhere you too are returning from?

The inspiring words of Jack Kerouac (On the Road) posted in the kitchen of the Green Tortoise Hostel, Downtown Seattle.
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The skyline of beautiful Seattle from the stern of the Victoria Clipper on Puget Sound.
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The parliament building in the magnificent city of Victoria, British Columbia.
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Phil D. of South Portland awaits take-off on the West Coast Trail Bus, our connection to and from the West Coast Trail.
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Bill C. of South Portland on the West Coast Trail near Tsusiat Point.
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A grand Pacific sunset from our campsite at Tsusiat Point, West Coast Trail, BC.
Carey Kish photo

That's what I feel like doing, if you know what I mean, after watching the Screw the View video blog today re wind power.

And believe me, after two weeks of a nasty trail and travel diet (I'm just back from hiking out west), I've got plenty of wind power of my own for just such an occasion. In fact, hook me up and I'll generate a few green kilowatts right now!

But I digress...

Screw the view you hikers, eh? Get over it you say?

Bull crap.

400-foot wind turbines atop Black Nubble, Kibby and Redington Mountains right in the heart of our western mountains? And miles of accompanying access roads and powerlines to boot?

Again I say: Bull crap.

Look, wind power is a good thing. We need it and other sources of energy in this era of excessive oil dependence and oil depletion.

But not at any price as suggested. And not just anywhere.

(And oh by the way, a la Screw the View, our brave troops are not in Iraq fighting for oil, another rarely challenged myth that toils on. If it were true, and it isn't, why wouldn't we be sucking the Iraqi oil wells dry right now? And further, when was the last new ski area built in Maine? Specious!)

Again I digress. My apologies. My unfocused state could be jet lag causing synapse dysfunction, or the severe gas I mentioned earlier.

Anyway, oh yeah, wind power.

How about energy conservation instead?

By simply incorporating more energy conservation into our daily lives, i.e. driving less, keeping our cars tuned, sealing up the house good and tight, turning off lights, using energy efficient appliances, purchasing locally-grown food and a whole host of other choices, we could easily save enough energy to offset any wind power development here in Maine.

And we'd save the mountaintop views that others feel can be screwed with (I get the tongue-in-cheek part, don't worry).

So let's get on with it. A personal energy conservation plan for each of us. One that avoids environmentally-damaging wind power projects where possible. One that aids in reducing our dependence on oil while preserving our fragile mountains and their precious views.

That's a sensible, viable plan, don't you think?

If you’ve spent enough time hiking in the backcountry, really out there in remote areas, you’ve likely thought to yourself at one time or another, “Hey, the world could end while we’re out here and we’d never even know it.”

Hiking friends and I used to joke about such things figuring it could never happen. But I'll never again see any humor in that after the events of six years ago.

On the afternoon of September 10, 2001, my Maine friends Phil and Sandie and I hiked into the northern reaches of Yosemite National Park at Benson Pass. Finally, after 10 days and 130 miles, we were on the home stretch of a long and difficult hike through California's High Sierra from Lake Tahoe to Tuolumne Meadows.

We grunted up the countless switchbacks to Tilden Lake and settled into a comfortable camp amongst the stunted trees on the lakeshore.

Now officially in problem bear country, we dutifully bagged up our food after dinner and rigged a line over a large branch high in a ponderosa pine at the edge of camp. With considerable effort we hauled the three sacks of food and cook gear up into the air, safely away from the grasp of any marauding Ursus americanus.

My friend Phil (lower left) rigging the bear bag at Tilden Lake, Yosemite on the evening of September 10, 2001.

Such were the simple worries of life on the trail. Protecting our food supplies from bears and other critters. Tending to blistered and battered feet. Calming the internal plumbing from too many one-pot noodle dinners. Coaxing tired bodies up and down steep trails day after day.

In the broad scheme of things it was all no big deal, however. We were out on the trail, amid the beauty of the wilderness, keenly alive, carefree. Life was good.

Sunset from our camp on Tilden Lake, Yosemite, September 10, 2001.

But as we went to sleep that night, 50 miles from the nearest road, who could have known that Mohammed Atta and his cohort were bedding down in a South Portland motel, death plans in their heads.

Determined to make some miles over the rough washboard of mountains that make up northern Yosemite, I was up early on the morning of September 11th. A few minutes before 6:00 A.M. Pacific Standard Time.

I crawled out of the tent, yawned and stretched, and proceeded to haul down our food bags and get some coffee going on the stove. I roused my companions from their slumber.

At that exact time, 3,000 miles away, chaos was raining down upon lower Manhattan, as first one jetliner, and then another, both carrying a precious cargo of beautiful, innocent lives, slammed into the North and South Towers of the 110-story World Trade Center.

We huddled in the cool morning air, sipped our hot drinks, ate our oatmeal. Oblivious to the hell on earth raging on the opposite coast of the U.S., as terror as we had never known reached America and forever changed our lives, our country, the world.

We strapped on our backpacks and struck off on the trail, at just the time that another plane of innocents crashed into the Pentagon.

And at the moment we rounded Tilden Lake and walked down a gravel beach beside huge and very fresh bear prints, brave men and women were fighting for their lives, attempting to take control of a fourth hijacked airliner over the skies of rural Pennsylvania.

I nibbled a granola bar, snapped a couple of photos. While terrorist fury raged and ordinary people responded in extraordinary ways. The news spread, video and photos of tragedy and heroism were broadcast. The world followed the story with rapt attention. We moved on, knowing nothing.

At our little camp next to a small pond atop Selden Pass that evening, the only issue was a good night's sleep under the brilliant night sky. We did not know that the world was going to hell in a hand basket as we stared up at the stars, the same stars that shone over the smoke and devastation of New York City, Washington and Pennsylvania.

We carried on yet another day, one foot in front of the other. Until early afternoon when we met up with a trail crew working on a dangerous piece of trail, blasting sections of rock to make the way safer.

We chatted the usual bull. Until one of them spoke up and asked, “You don’t know, do you?”

We’d passed our last outpost of civilization three days prior at Kennedy Meadows Ranch, where we enjoyed packages and letters from home, cold beer, hot showers and good food. So, no, we “hadn’t heard anything.”

Impatient to get on with the job at hand, the trail boss had us ushered up the path to a safe spot away from the blast that was about to be set off.

“We’ll tell you up ahead.”

Our imaginations went wild and we began to pepper the crewman with questions.

“Tell us. What happened?”

“Keep walking.”

Bush has been assassinated, I thought. Or maybe the stock market crashed.

From Phil, “Cheney’s dead, isn’t he?”

Finally the guy could take no more. We all stopped and he turned to us.

“Some planes flew in the World Trade Center and they fell down. We heard it on our radio last night.”

“Say what?”

What do you do with that kind of information? How do you form a proper image in your mind without any visual?

“What do you mean they fell down?”

“Collapsed. Gone.”

“Who?”

“Terrorists. The Pentagon, too. Something like 20,000 people killed.”

“U.S. airspace is closed down. Nothing in the air.”

Silence.

“Come on let’s get up to safety.”

At the top of the climb, we huddled together behind a boulder, in shock and disbelief. The hand radio crackled a signal, and the blast went off with a frightening rumble.

We thanked the man for guiding us through. And for the news, horrible as it was. We asked more questions, but he had no more answers.

So we hiked on. For two more days and nights. Trying to make sense of what happened, to analyze what few details we had.

The conversations consumed us and we would spend long minutes leaning on our hiking poles talking about this terrorist attack that we knew so little about. Except that thousands were dead and two American cities were aflame.

How could this be, we continued to ask ourselves?

On the afternoon of September 15th we walked out of the wilderness and onto the Tioga Pass Road at Tuolumne Meadows, and straight to the little campground store for food and beer. And hopefully a TV.

Though it was only five days after the attack the scene appeared strangely normal. Tourists milling about. People shopping. Eating ice cream. Enjoying the September sun. Looking at the views.

But no TV. We still couldn’t see what had happened. And no newspaper. Everyone around us had seen and heard it and read about it 24/7 for the entire week. But we still couldn’t picture it, and we desperately wanted to. We craved for information, who, why? Anger welled up. Somebody tell us something!

Our friend Ellen arrived from San Diego as planned and drove us through the beauty of the park. But we could only thinly enjoy it as we hyper-talked about the news.

Finally that evening, in a bar in Yosemite Valley, we saw it on CNN. Watched over and over again as the planes crashed into the twin towers. The Pentagon. A field in Pennsylvania. Talking heads going non-stop. Theories of who and why.

I couldn’t turn away. People shuffled in and out, pausing at the TV screen. But I just couldn’t turn away. I needed to see it and see it and see it to make it real for me. To make myself believe that this horror had really taken place.

Airports across the nation reopened. Flights were resumed. And after a couple of days of R & R we made our way back to Sacramento for the trip home.

It was surreal to be in an airport, having just spent 15 days deep in the mountains, but also knowing what we did about the terrorist attacks. National Guard troops patrolled with M-16s. The ticket agent checked us in without a smile. Security agents passed us through with somber faces.

I bought a bagel with cream cheese but could not find a knife, not even a plastic one, to spread the cheese. No sharp items anywhere. New rules. Different life.

We got home a week after the attacks. And have been playing catch up ever since. A year after 9/11 I had still not seen many of the images, and had many gaps in the sequence of events.

The events of 9/11 sickened and saddened me, all of us. Six years hence those feelings have diminished little. I am still angry at the massive loss of life, emotional over the incredible destruction and disruption caused by a cowardly few.

The office for my day job has a clear view of the downtown Portland skyline. Several times each day I watch as airliners make their approach over the Fore River on their way to the Jetport. For a moment each time the jet will disappear behind the Time & Temperature Building and my heart will skip a beat. It's the image, a sickening image, that I can now never forget.

So today, under the clear blue skies of this beautiful September day, we remember those who died viciously, innocently and needlessly. You will never be forgotten.

We are thankful to those who sacrificed so that many others might live, the ones who ran into the burning buildings while hundreds were fleeing. The firefighters, police, rescuers and thousands of individuals who simply did what needed to be done that day and in the days following. That’s the America we know and love, and they are truly Americans.

Finally, thanks to our men and women in uniform for your bravery and sacrifice as you serve far from home to protect freedom and liberty. America has lots of faults and you can criticize it all you want. But the country stands on these enduring principals and I am proud of those willing to fight for them against a shadowy enemy.

It's that time again. Time to pack up the goods and head for the trail.

I'm flying off to Seattle tomorrow afternoon for a week of business there. Not a bad place to be regardless of the reason. A beautiful, vibrant, walkable city and I can't wait to touch down and settle in.

After business is concluded comes the trail part of the trip.

And the destination this time is extra special: The West Coast Trail on Vancouver Island, British Columbia. Just a ferry ride from downtown Seattle to Victoria and a shuttle bus to Port Renfrew on the edge of the wilderness of the Pacific Rim National Park.

It's been a long courtship between the WCT and me. And now, in less than a week I'll finally be there walking a path that first captured my imagination as a kid some thirty-odd years ago.

It was in an early Sierra Designs gear catalog, and the staff hiked the West Coast Trail in a combination gear testing, staff retreat, catalog promotion thing. A journal of the trek appeared in that year's catalog and has stuck with me ever since.

Thirty years is a long time to wait for something, so I guess patience really is a virtue. But I trust the West Coast Trail will prove to have been worth the wait.

8 days and 7 glorious nights and 50 miles of rugged hiking along the western coast of Vancouver Island over what amounts to little more than an old shipwreck trail with centuries of maritime history.

Long stretches of empty beach, strenuous ups and downs through thick and wet and ancient coastal forest, hazardous river and tidal inlet crossings, exciting cable car rides and suspension bridge crossings, the possibility of brown bear visits, the wind and wet of the ever present Pacific Ocean to our left.

Solitude; deep, serious solitude. And wilderness beauty of the highest magnitude.

Yes, it will have been worth the wait.

That's where I'll be for the next couple of weeks, so things here at the Trail Head will be on the quiet side until later in the month.

But I'll be back with photos and stories and will share all that I can. And I hope you will share with me your adventures in this most glorious month to be outdoors in Maine and beyond: September!

Ciao for now...

The last couple of weekends couldn't have been more fun, and couldn't have been more different from each other.

Ain't life great?!

The last weekend in August I spent "on the river." The Kennebec River that is. Up thayah in The Forks, pop. 35.

Two glorious days of rafting with good friends by day, smacking into Big Mama, getting buried at Whitewasher, plunging through Magic.

Me and the crew heading into Whitewasher, Kennebec River.

In the foamy chaos of Whitewasher.

Taking the hit at Magic, Kennebec River.

What a crew! Both sides ahead!!!

By night we hooted and hollered in camp, and played and laughed til our sides ached and our faces hurt from smiling.

All good. Maine the way life is. If only every weekend could be so much fun.

But alas, it can be!

Last weekend I shunned all regular outdoor activities to travel en masse with friends to the Jimmy Buffett Labor Day Weekend show at Gillette Stadium in Foxboro MA.

The all-day party in the parking lot was more fun than a human can really tolerate in such a short span of time, but with determination and spirit we managed.

Occasionally throughout the day's Parrot Head parking lot party I would stop and think and smile: "Hey, all this fun and we still have a Bufeftt concert to go to!"

Go figure. Fun x 10. Not for the faint of heart.

And then it was time. Time to shuffle with the crowd across Route 1 to the show. Great seats on the rail in the upper deck. Beer stand close at hand. Handy restrooms. Heaven.

Jimmy comes on and plays and plays and plays. The old and the new. The mellow and the rock. I never sat. Nobody did. We were transported as only Jimmy Buffett can do to That One Particular Harbor, to Margaritaville, to that special island place far away where fun and good times reign supreme and no one ever seems to have to work.

Buffett parking lot parties are soooo much fun!
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Our very own sand beach and slice or paradise.
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Buffett wannabees.
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Man(?)ning the grill.
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Parrotheads!
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The tiki bar is open!
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Yours truly sipping a Corona.
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Thank you as always Jimmy for the grand tour.

I'm back to reality now. Sort of. Well, not really. Maybe next week. Or maybe never.

Why is it I have an sudden urge to book a flight to Key West??? Hmmm.

Some island time sure would be nice right about now...
Carey Kish photo

I was over at Yerxa's in South Portland the other day getting my chainsaw repaired, and in the course of conversation with the guys there, learned that Portland Trails had recently had their very expensive and very precious brushcutter stolen.

Let's you and me help Portland Trails replace their stolen brushcutter, similar to the one pictured above. See end of this blog post for more info on how to make a donation to Portland Trails.
Photo courtesy Billy Goat Industries

Sadly, I confirmed this information today with Nan Cumming, Executive Director of Portland Trails.

The brushcutter "is (was) easily our most used piece of equipment for maintaining trails year round as well as for cutting new trails. It was stolen as we were cutting new trails," said Cumming.

Unbelievable. Unacceptable. Outrageous.

This is exactly why you should never say you've seen or heard it all. Because there will always be another cretin(s) to come along and take things to a new low.

And this is sooooooo low.

That's where this story will bottom out, however. Because I have a plan:

With the exception of the nasty SOBs that did the stealing in this case, just about everybody knows how much good Portland Trails has done for trails in Greater Portland.

Their board members, trustees, staff and volunteers have done an amazing job over the course of some 16 years to bring miles of multi-use trails to thousands of people for walking, hiking, bicycling, running, socializing and much more.

Portland Trails has become a model for other cities and towns acorss the country! We the community of people in Maine who use and enjoy the Portland Trails system are indebted to you all. And that's exactly why I believe you will have a new brushcutter before long.

Because we're having a fundraiser starting right now, here, today. Running until we get you the $2000 needed to replace what you have lost. And I'm betting it won't take long.

I'm writing out a check for $25 to Portland Trails right now. And I'm hoping all my Trail Head friends will do the same. Whatever you can afford: $5, $10, $50, $100. Together we'll get it done.

So please say no to petty thieves and yes to Portland Trails. Send your donations to:

Portland Trails
"New Brushcutter"
305 Commercial Street
Portland, Maine 04101

Thank you!