There's a big celebration going on this weekend. And you know I'm never one to miss a good paaaar-tee.

So, yep, we're headed up to the northern reaches of New Hampster for a big gathering of hiking bigwigs and various and sundry supporters to celebrate one of New England's great long distance trails - the Cohos Trail - which just so happens to turn 10 years old this year.

The Cohos Trail is a 162-mile trail route that extends from the Bemis Bridge over the Saco River just shy of Crawford Notch all the way (and it is a long way I can tells you, having hiked it through over 15 days last August) north to the Canadian border at the town of Pittsburg.

You want big mountain backcountry, days and days of solitude, plenty o' wildlife for company, a primitive walking experience far from the crowds and with few amenities except those you carry along with on your back? Well then, you got it on the Cohos Trail.

Dry River Falls just off the Cohos Trail in the Presidential Range-Dry River Wilderness of the White Mountain National Forest.
Carey Kish photo

Waiting out the weather in the snug comfort of Baldhead Lean-to on the Cohos Trail.
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Crossing Cohos Trail high country at Bulldozer Flats.
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Sunset on the Cohos Trail from the lonely Panorama Lean-to.
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The Cohos Trail traverses the length of the grand, the wild Nash Stream Forest.
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It's a trail, a place, a dream worth celebrating, for sure. From Kim Nilsen's original dream of such a trail extending the length of Coos County on down, there are countless people responsible for bringing the Cohos Trail to life, building it mile by mile, making sure it survives and prospers as corridor of opportunity for those folks like you and me who want to get away for a few hours or a few days and just walk and exist and maybe camp amid the quiet beauty of the mountains.

Kudos to you all! Congrats for all your hard work! A big Woo-Hoo to the members of The Cohos Trail Association! Cheers to the Cohos Trail at 10!

Cohos Trail founder Kim Nilsen of Spofford NH at the tiny source of the Connecticut River, near the end of the Cohos Trail on the US-Canada border.
Carey Kish photo

Anyway, this weekend... big gathering, lots of good people, fun outdoorsy and indoorsy stuff to do. Here's the poop, direct from the guy who started it all, Kim Nilsen:

The Cohos Trail Association - 10th Anniversary Summer Celebration

WHEN: June 20 - 21 - 22, 2008

WHERE:
Sportsman's Lodge & Cabins on Big Diamond Pond
1355 Diamond Pond Road
Stewartstown, New Hampshire 03576
603-237-5211

The Sportman's Lodge is a very comfy wayside on the Cohos Trail in Stewartstown NH.
Carey Kish photo

WHAT:
a. Guided Hikes
b. BBQ
c. Saturday Evening Entertainment by 'The Folk Tree'
d. Slideshow Presentation
e. 'Windows To The Wild' Presentation
f. Fishing
g. Horseshoes
h. Volleyball
i. Kayaking
j. Canoeing
k. Boating
l. Singalong with Kim Nilsen on guitar
m. Pancake Breakfast
n. Plus a whole lot more!...

WHO'S INVITED?
Hikers, moose and loon lovers, peak baggers, outdoors buffs, singles,
couples, families, and just about anyone who loves the wilds of Coos County,
New Hampshire's Great Unknown.

COST FOR THE EVENTS?
None.

WHERE TO STAY?
The Sportsman's Lodge & Cabins have been long-time supporters of The
Cohos Trail and have agreed to let us hold our annual meeting and
get-together at their awesome place on Big Diamond Pond. The lake boasts
some of the largest cusk and lake trout in the State of New Hampshire for
those who are dyed in the wool anglers.

The Sportsman's Lodge & Cabins is offering attendee's discounted rates
for this fun weekend:
* $35.00 per person - rooms with shared bath across the hall
* $45.00 per person - rooms with private baths
* $15.00 per campsite (Showers available. Bring your linens and towels)

Please call ahead for reservations at 603-237-5211. Sportsman's does offer beer and wine.

If you'd like to set up camp at Coleman State Park nearby, please call
early to make reservations by calling: 603-237-5382. Coleman State Park has
30 primitive tent sites, restrooms and a dump station that can accommodate
self-contained RV's (no hook-ups).

AGENDA FOR THE WEEKEND

FRIDAY - JUNE 20: - Arrival - Check-In & Set-up - Free Time

SATURDAY - JUNE 21:

* 9 a.m.: Guided Hikes with Kim Nilsen & Peter Castine
(Note: Bring a daypack, water, snack & bug dope!)

* 12.30 p.m.: Spaghetti feed. (no cost)

* 2 p.m.: Slideshow presentation with Kim Nilsen

* 5:30 p.m.: Barbeque on the lawn (no cost)

* 7 p.m.: Entertainment by the band 'The Folk Tree'

All Day: 'Windows On The Wild' television show presentation

Whenever the spirit moves him: a singalong with Kim Nilsen on guitar

Spectacular Table Rock, on the Cohos Trail high above Dixville Notch, is the site of one of Saturday's guided hikes.
Carey Kish photo

SUNDAY - JUNE 22:

* 7 a.m. Pancake Breakfast (small fee)

* Free time: Explore the many trails around Sportsman's Lodge. Go
kayaking. Play horseshoes and volleyball. Go fishing (rent a 12 ft. aluminum
boat with trolling motor, a 14 ft. aluminum boat with trolling motor, 2
kayaks & 2 canoes).

DIRECTIONS TO SPORTSMAN'S LODGE AND CABINS

FROM BOSTON, MA:
Take I-93 through Franconia Notch to Exit 35 onto Route 3 North to Twin
Mountain. Continue on Route 3 to Colebrook Center - Take a right onto
Route 26 East. Go 7 miles to Diamond Pond Rd (on left)... Follow for 7
miles (watch for Sportsman's Signs)...1 mile past Coleman State Park

FROM HARTFORD, CT:
Take I-91 North to St. Johnbury, VT. Take 2 East to Lancaster, NH. Turn
onto Route 3 North to Colebrook Center. Take a right onto Route 26
East...Go 7 miles to the Diamond Pond Road (on left) - Follow for 7
miles (watch for signs)...1 mile past Coleman State Park

FROM PORTLAND, ME:
Take I-95 North to Exit 11 at Gray, Me...Take Route 26 West through
Grafton Notch into Errol, NH...Stay on Route 26 through Dixville Notch
and 5 miles past the Balsams Grand Resort, turn right onto Diamond Pond
Road (on right)...Follow for 7 miles (watching for signs)...1 mile past
Coleman State Park.

If you can't make it up for some or all of this weekend, not to worry. The Cohos Trail and all its beauty isn't going anywhere. Same for all the great places to hike and stay along its length. Check out the great new Cohos Trail website for complete information on everything to plan a Cohos Trail visit!

Come on up to hike the Cohos Trail this summer or fall. It's a good bet you'll be back again and again. It's a wild and beautiful trail! And some of the friendliest people on the planet live along it and support it! Maybe you'll want to join TCTA and help out out too!

Last year's big international celebration at the terminus of the Cohos Trail on the US-Canada border.
Carey Kish photo

Have you hiked on the Cohos Trail yet? What was your experience like?

Some of the best hiking in the mid-coast area of Maine is very likely some of the least known.

The Georges Highland Path is a gem of a trail system offering some 35 miles of tramping through a variety of coastal landscapes, from woods to bogs to craggy mountaintops.

I've made a number of trips up that way and hardly ever see another soul on the trail. Just a few miles from the busy Route 1 corridor and carloads of summer traffic and nada, no people, or few people anyway.

I like the what's called the "Bald-Ragged Section" best. It's an 11-mile stretch of trail connecting six mountain peaks, from Bald Mountain west to Ragged Mountain and on to Pleasant Mountain.

Map of the Bald-Ragged Section of the Georges Highland Path.
Carey Kish photo

For a good day's walk try the 5-mile section up and over Ragged Mountain. That's what Fran and I and our dog Winnie hiked last Sunday, a most beautiful, albeit quite warm day in the outdoors.

We started from the Thorndike Brook trailhead, on Hope St. a half-mile off of route 17 in Rockport, and looped over the mountain, returning on busy 17 to the car (be careful) for a 6.5-mile walk total.

The going is easy at the start, through old fields, young woods, past stone walls and on and off old woods roads. Beyond, you climb, yes, but it's never real steep. And the next thing you know you're at a pretty overlook above Grassy Pond.

Hungry already we stopped to enjoy the view and grab a quick bite.

View of Grassy Pond from the Georges Highland Path.
Carey Kish photo

The trail switchbacks above, then slabs across the mountainside to a junction with the trail to Bald Mountain.

Trail junction on the Georges Highland Path.
Carey Kish photo

We continued to meander along the ridgeline, climbing gradually. Soon enough we emerged onto ledges with sweeping views to the east. The trail remains out in the open for a fair distance before swinging back into a ravine.

Came upon a 22-inch diameter red spruce along the way. Wow! Not too many of those left.
Carey Kish photo

Around the corner you are once again out into the open with fabulous walking over ledges. Mirror Lake is revealed below. Across the way the cones of East Peak, Spruce Peak and Pleasant Mountain can be seen (the trail traverses them, but that's for another day).

Outrageously beautiful hiking on the GHP on the cliffs of Ragged Mountain.
Carey Kish photo

View of Mirror Lake from the GHP.
Carey Kish photo

The trail nearly climbs to the summit of Ragged, but with the communications towers on top, I'm glad it veers off into the woods. The towers really don't seem to intrude on the experience, so no matter.

You pop out once again and get great views of the ocean, the Camden Hills, and Camden village. It's outstanding!

The path next takes you slowly down a long ridge of nearly pure red oak. It picks up an old carriage road for a half-mile of easy going. The descent continues above Mirror Lake (it's tantalizing, but you never get there - the lake a public water supply, so the trail avoids it).

You're down now, but not out. It's a good long walk beneath the front face of the mountain before the trail crosses a small brook and heads for the road.

The path emerges from the woods at Route 17. It was an easy walk back to the car, but 17 is very busy and I don't know that I'd do it again. Wish there was a complete loop. You may want to do a car spot.

GHP trailhead on Route 17 in Rockport.
Carey Kish photo

We were going to head for Lake St. George State Park for a swim, but I opened my yap and said "Hey, how 'bout Moody's for some chow?"

That's all it took to sway Fran. Moody's Dinah it was. The clams was awesome, by the way. So too the turkey dinner with all the fixin's. Yum.

Good day. You try it and see. The Georges Highland Path... you'll love it!

Get more information and trail maps from the nice folks at the Georges River Land Trust.

Ragged Mountain from Route 17.
Carey Kish photo

Have you hiked the trails of the Georges Highland Path system? What did you think?

The most satisfying weekend on the calendar for this hiker is undoubtedly the mid-May Appalachian Trail maintenance trip. It's hard work, lugging the chainsaw and tools along through the woods, clearing out blowdowns, swamping, clipping brush, building bog bridges. It's usually buggy, too, and oftentimes it rains.

No matter.

It's so, so satisfying to open the trail for the season, to make a clear foot path for the many hikers that will walk through from now until autumn.

My good pal and fellow MATCer Dana maintains a 3.3 mile section of the A.T. at West Carry Pond, and has since 1995. I've been maintaining the adjacent 1.8 mile section to the north at East Carry Pond since 2004.

Last weekend we assembled a rag-tag group of folks and headed on up to do some good work, have some good fun and camp for a couple nights in the luxurious comfort of our favorite gravel pit.

Ahhh...

Gravel pit camping, a fine Maine tradition.
Carey Kish photo

Trail maintenance ain't all work... Happy hour in camp after a day on the trail.
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A fine time was had by all, clearing about 60 blowdowns, bucking up several dozen sleeper logs for future bog bridge construction, and clipping back much of the encroaching trailside growth.

Moving those blowdowns on out.
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Trail crew hiking along the inlet to East Carry Pond.
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Stan, MATC section maintainers Gordon and Craig, Fran.
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All of this amid the spendid backcountry scenery of the A.T. as it winds through this remote area east of the Bigelows.

All good.

Wilderness views down East Carry Pond.
Carey Kish photo

West Carry Pond from Arnold Point.
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If you haven't tried your hand at trail maintenance, well, you really are missing out. With National Trails Day coming right up on Saturday, June 7th, you've got a perfect opportunity to get in on the fun and give a little something back to the trails we use and love.

Go for it and enjoy!

You a trail maintainance groupie? Gonna get out there on National Trails Day, and maybe beyond?

Trail maintenance: Good for trail, good for you! You try?!
Carey Kish photo

Downeast. Washington County. The Sunrise County. As far east as you can get and still be in the U.S. A long way from the urban environs of Portland, the home for this traveler. And a world away in more ways than just miles.

A sweet Sunrise County sunrise over the Machias River, Machias.
Carey Kish photo

Washington County is big, rural, forested, open, beautiful, ramshackle, poor, wealthy. A place of contrasts, for sure. Life on the edge. A place tied to the land and to the sea. You can feel it, see it, smell it. The home of tough, hard-working people. Reserved, but friendly. Serious eyes, warm grins.

My kind of place. Damn if I don't know why I don't get that way more often. To more fully enjoy and appreciate this wonderful area that's a bit rough around the edges.

Anyway, I was in Machias for the Sunrise Trail Business and Community Development Conference, as it turned out, a wildly successful gathering of local and state leaders, citizens and business groups, recreational interests.

The plan is to convert 87 miles of rail corridor into a multiple-use recreation trail and a sorely-needed economic driver for the region. Brilliant! Construction begins this summer, with completion scheduled for 2010. More on the Sunrise Trail later on, in a blog-to-be, however.

Given that I had tucked my hiking boots and rucksack into the car, I figured I might as well put some of my downtime to good use and see what could be seen on some the local trails.

Turns out there's quite a few, according to Cobscook Trails, a neat little trail guide published the Quoddy Regional Land Trust. I counted 19 preserves of one sort or another, from state parks and a federal wildlife refuge, land trusts and Nature Conservancy parcels, to conservation easements on private property.

There are many miles of scenic hiking trails in the Cobscook Bay and Bold Coast Region, thanks to the fine conservation groups that comprise Cobscook Trails.
Carey Kish photo

And what a variety of landscapes, too. Rugged cliff-top oceanside treks, beach walks, forested hikes, bumpy mountains, boglands and barrens and more. Wow! Enough to keep a hiker busy for many an hour over many a mile.

I settled on a sampler of three areas: Boot Head Preserve, Quoddy Head State Park, and Pike Lands. All of which happened to be within the confines of Lubec.

Boot Head Preserve is a 690-acre parcel owned by the Maine Coast Heritage Trust on Boot Cove Road. A three-mile loop trail leads through thick forest and open peat bog to Boot Cove, up the backside of Boot Head and on along the rugged coastline (100-foot cliffs!) to Brook Cove.

Boot Cove at Boot Head Preserve, Lubec.
Carey Kish photo

Drinking in the ocean views on the Boot Head Trail, Lubec.
Carey Kish photo

From Boot Head I headed east to Quoddy Head State Park and the iconic red and white-striped lighthouse, a place I'd never been. The long blue island of Grand Manan (Canada) loomed in the distance.

Quoddy Head Lighthouse: You can't any farther east in the U.S. of A.
Carey Kish photo

The Coastal Trail leads west from the light, hugging the ocean, passing the scenic highlights of High Ledge and Green Point. At Carrying Place Cove the trail touches the beach before returning east on the inland Thompson Trail, a winding forested track.

Along the Coastal Trail, Quoddy Head State Park, Lubec.
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Atop Green Point, Quoddy Head SP.
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Cobble beach near Carrying Place Cove, Quoddy Head SP.
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Tuckered but determined, I capped off the outing with a foray to Pike Lands, a property owned by the Quoddy Regional Land Trust. The Huckins Beach Trail beckoned and I followed it quickly down to the wide and long pebble beach at South Bay. All good.

Snow on the Huckins Beach Trail, Pike Lands, Lubec.
Carey Kish photo

Pebble beach at South Bay, Pike Lands.
Carey Kish photo

Put the Sunrise County on your "to-do" list for this spring, summer or fall, 'cause it's worth the trip. Maybe run into you on the trail there sometime!

Have you hiked the Cobscook Trails? Which ones? What was your experience?

Of the hiker missing along the A.T. on Blood Mountain in northern Georgia...

We now sadly know her fate.

Damn.

A beautiful young life snuffed out on an innocent hike in the woods. The only possible solace is that the cretin who killed her is behind bars. Where I can't beat him to a bloody pulp.

Damn, damn, damn.

Hike through the rhododendrons (the rhodies as we thru-hikers call it) on the winding trail up to the summit of Blood Mountain and you will emerge on the highest point on the Appalachian Trail in Georgia.

Scramble atop on the huge boulder there and look south, to Woody Gap, to Black Mountain, all the way to Springer Mountain and the start of the A.T. some 30-odd miles to the south.

In springtime, when most A.T. hikers pass by here, the view is magnificent; when dogwoods and azaleas and rhododendrons bloom and brilliantly color the otherwise gray canopy of the hardwood forests of this southern end of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Spend a night in the old stone shelter and share the mountaintop chill with the mice and maybe even a skunk as I did once (I've made the trek north on the A.T. from Springer three times now) and you will have experienced one of the finer places on the 2,150-mile long trail as it journeys north to Maine.

Perhaps this is just what the lively young hiker named Meredith Emerson was looking for when she climbed the flanks of Blood Mountain last Tuesday with her dog.

And disappeared, somewhere, somehow.

Suspiciously. Very much so.

How very sad.

My prayers, and I trust yours, are with the Emerson family as they wait for what we all hope will be a happy reunion with Meredith very soon.

But I fear the worst.

The A.T. down south has had much too much of its share of sad tales like this, mostly involving women hikers, who innocently walk into the woods and end up dead, often at the hands of a fellow (male) hiker.

Yes, statistically I suppose, the incidents are few and far between, but each becomes such a high profile affair that it seems more frequent than it really is.

Nonetheless, it happens, and it scares the hell out of me. And probably you too.

You live, you hike, you take your chances. You trust in others. Most times that's OK.

Let's hope to dear God that this story has a good ending and Meredith Emerson walks out of the north Georgia woods alive real soon.

A walk along the three-mile Salt Bay Heritage Trail in Damariscotta is always a treat, with windows onto the waters from dense forest along the path providing lovely views and glimpses of wildlife as you travel.

Add a few inches of snow and a nip of winter cold, however, and the place becomes an enchanted escape, be it on foot, x-c skis or snowshoes.

I traveled the route with a lively group from the Maine Outdoor Adventure Club not too long ago, ten hearty souls very much up for a sojourn over new ground, and this circuit around Glidden Point was just the thing.

The Salt Bay Trail starts from Mills Road (Route 215), just off Route 1 in Damariscotta.
Carey Kish photo

The trail hugs the shoreline of scenic Great Salt Bay for a mile and a half.
Carey Kish photo

Bisected by busy Route 1 you'd be hard pressed to know such a hike existed. For years I'd sped right through the area, until one day a bridge over an outlet into Salt Bay caught my eye and registered "trail" in my brain.

A bit of Internet sleuthing unearthed the Damariscotta River Association and miles of wonderful walks in the area, the Salt Bay Trail among them--a true gem that wends east along the edge of Great Salt Bay before turning back west above the Damariscotta River.

We observed bald eagles and a host of shore birds en route.
Carey Kish photo

MOACers trudge through deep woods and soft snow on the Salt Bay Trail.
Carey Kish photo

There would be no horseshoe crabs or otters, cattails or Indian pipes--the stuff of summer--on our winter walk. But we did enjoy several bald eagle sightings, as well as buffleheads and a number of other shore birds afloat in the bay.

The tide was up to the banks at the magnificent shell middens along the Damariscotta River, so to see the more exposed layers you had to slosh through the water. But it was worth it to observe and intellectually grasp one of the largest such shell heaps in the world, just a mere 2,400 years old, some 30 feet deep and many acres across.

Our group enjoyed it all over three-plus glorious hours in the sun of this wintry day. Chatter and laughter and awe and joy carried us along, and much too soon we were back at the trail head on Mills Road (Route 215).

Happy hikers from the Maine Outdoor Adventure Club.
Carey Kish photo

But no matter because a cold pint and a filling meal awaited us in nearby Damariscotta at the King Eider Pub, a most excellent post-hike watering hole. Poking about the pretty main street of town and a visit to Reny's basement put a perfect exclamation point on a fine day outside.

What a day outdoors on the Salt Bay Trail!.
Carey Kish photo

Have you hiked the Salt Bay Trail or other nearby trails of the Damariscotta River Association?

OK, I admit it.

You understand how painful it was, don't you now gents?! And you ladies, stop the snickering, please.

Yes, occasionally life gets a little bit crazy and a man teeters near the edge, breaks down and―gulp!―asks for directions.

You see, it was like this...

I was rooting around the backroads of Shelburne, NH last Sunday, there in the hinterlands along the Maine-NH border, looking for a particular trailhead.

Mt. Cabot, a lofty 1,500 footer with nice views of the Androscoggin River and the Moriah Range, so I was told. With the added bonus of a side trip to the Crow's Nest and more looking out to be done.

Sounded good.

All except I couldn't find the way in. Hunted up and down the North Rd. Drove miles into the forest on logging roads searching. Even likely trespassed some in pursuit of anything that resembled a boot print or a broken twig, much less a paint blaze or a full-on trail sign that might indicate a parking place and a path to hike.

Nada. One hour. Two hours. Still nada.

I ate my lunch in the car, scouring the trail map and trying to find something in the guidebook that would give away the secret to the starting point for the illusive Mt. Cabot.

Not even the hint of a clue.

I was in the right area; it had to be somewhere in and around the Philbrook Farm, but there was no secret entrance to be found, no magic abracadabra to let me in.

Note to the AMC White Mountain Guide folks: On page 604 of the index, the page locations for descriptions of "Cabot, Mount (Pilot Range)" and "Cabot, Mount (Shelburne)" are juxtaposed. There's plenty to be said about the big 4,000 footer, but hardly a helpful mention of my lowly Mt. Cabot.

The day was getting on and I was fast running out of steam. Maybe it just wasn't to be today.

Come to think of it I was getting mighty thirsty and there was football on. And I was just a short jaunt over the border to Bethel and the homey confines of the Sunday River Brew Pub.

It was settled then. I put the vehicle in drive and headed up the road back toward Route 2 and a refreshing pint of ale.

Alas, I hadn't gone far when I came upon a woman walking briskly toward me on the opposite side of the road. Someone who looked like she might know her way around these parts.

My mind went into high gear, calculating furiously: 1. Should I stop and ask directions? Period. The horror of taking that fateful step alone weighed heavily. 2. What if she actually knew where the trailhead was? Then I'd have to give up my new plan for beer and football and actually do some hiking!

What to do? What to do??

I pulled over.

And {gasp} asked the kind woman if she knew where the trailhead to Mt. Cabot was?

"No. Never heard of it."

I was halfway to a beer.

"But I do know there's a trailhead just up the road. A white picket fence and a turnstile. Leads up to Mt. Crag from Austin Brook."

I looked at the map in my lap. And yes, there it was: Mt. Crag. With a connecting trail to Mt. Cabot. {sigh}

"Thanks," I said to the nice woman who had just cost me an early afternoon seat at the bar. "I'll check it out."

And there it was. White picket fence. Turnstile. Trail signs galore.

A severe case of cottonmouth came over me. But I was here now and I would dutifully go hiking and enjoy the day. Dammit.

And so it went.

It was an easy walk beneath hemlocks next to Austin Brook on an old woods road. Then left into the woods, climbing through a colorful forest of beech, birch and oak. Steeply at first, then more gradually as the trail curled around the back side of the peak. Views north to Mt. Success and the Mahoosucs opened up.

Finally the path swung back to the south, climbed a short steep stretch and peaked out atop a wide open cliff edge revealing broad two-state views of the Androscoggin River valley. From Evans Notch to the Moriahs to the Presidentials. All fabulous as I plunked down on the warm rock in the bright sun and enjoyed.

View into Maine from the summit of Mt. Crag, Shelburne NH.
Carey Kish photo

I feasted on Gatorade and a granola bar instead of a frothy ale and beer nuts. OK, I thought, this hiking thing, I can deal with it.

The White Mountains from Mt. Crag.
Carey Kish photo

Doubling back to the trail junction I continued cross-valley toward the elusive Mt. Cabot. Trail markings were intermittent to say the least, and with a plethora of side trails, skidder tracks, woods roads, slash piles and log yards, navigating the way was, um, interesting.

Crossing Austin Brook on the way to Mt. Cabot.
Carey Kish photo

But I was determined now. The day would not be complete without bagging Cabot. The "yellow" trail finally led me to the "blue" trail. And up I went, winding for a good mile and a half, finishing with a rocky scramble that left me off at the wooded summit.

The limited views thru the trees were a bit disappointing, but the walking had been fun. The goal had been achieved, a new place visited. No complaints.

On the trail to Mt. Cabot.
Carey Kish photo

I turned down the other side of the mountain, directly into the chill October wind, and descended quickly, on the "red" trail now.

On the valley floor gunshots were going off all around me (you can hunt in NH on Sundays), a little too close for comfort. Not the least bit excited about getting peppered with buckshot, I declined to retrace my steps back thru the woods.

Instead I bolted down a pine-carpeted woods road and was soon out out the North Rd. Right next to Philbrook Farm. Exactly where I had been diligently trailhead-searching many hours earlier.

Go figure.

I paced it up the road, afternoon shadows falling across my path, to the waiting car.

Off came the pack, on went the comfy bar duds and I was road-bound eastward, late for a date with Dan the Barman at the Sunday River Brew Pub and a tall, cold, frosty one.

Actually I wasn't late at all. Right about on schedule really. All because I stopped and asked for directions. That simple act changed the outcome of that entire day. Imagine that? It worked so well I might even try it again in the unlikely event the need should arise.

See ladies, we guys can learn new things!

The sun is down and it's a cold here (37° F) at the Sidney Tappan campsite, situated at 2,500 feet in a notch between Gulf Hagas Mountain and West Peak on the A.T.

Camp is set and supper is done, a simple but satisfying affair of freeze-dried this-and-that, coffee, tea, soup.

We sit, hiking friends Doug and Gloria and I, on log benches in the dark, talking. A nip or two of Jim Beam warms the belly, relaxes the body.

The chatter is interrupted by a coyote howling down valley to the west. Another chimes in. Then more, until what sounds like a dozen coyotes fill the mountain air with howls and yips and loon-like laughs.

It is at once thrilling and chilling, and underscores the remoteness of the place we have chosen to spend the night.

Another coyote, closer in but above us on the shoulder of Gulf Hagas Mtn. adds another wild voice to the mix. Then from behind us, in the direction of West Peak, comes more howls.

We are surrounded by the sounds of the wild in the night. Our reasons for coming here, if they were unclear before, are now crystal. Our senses are honed sharp.

We've walked nearly nine miles to this spot, backpacks in tow. Along river and stream, past pond and waterfall. Beneath a forest canopy of gold and red, a sky of clear and perfect blue.

Crossing Hay Brook near the AT, K-I Forest.
Carey Kish photo

Passing Pugwash Pond just east of The Hermitage.
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Upper Screw Auger Falls, Gulf Hagas.
Carey Kish photo

Feet and legs move, lungs fill and empty, hearts pump. Refreshing, renewing mountain air moves into our bodies; sweat pours out. Eyes gaze, thoughts simplify. Cares, problems fade.

The trail, it's wonderful like that. Reducing life down to its simplest elements. Even when two days and one precious night are all the time you have to steal away, the trail works its magic.

Hiking through the fall colors on the AT.
Carey Kish photo

Gulf Hagas Brook in bright fall sunlight.
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Traversing the ridge of Gulf Hagas Mountain.
Carey Kish photo

We retire to the tents at the late of hour of 7:30 PM. I try to read some, The Good Rain by Timothy Egan, but manage only ten pages or so. Fatigue rules, I give in. Glasses and headlamp come off, head goes down onto a pillow of clothes wrapped in the softness of my down vest.

It begins to rain. Sprinkles, then noisy drops on the tent. Inside all is warm and cozy. Contentment reigns as sleep comes.

I awake later on, groggy, to a scratchy sound on the tent fly. It's not raining anymore. I unzip and go outside to pee and my suspicion is confirmed: It's snowing! A couple of inches lay on the ground and blanket the tents.

Awesome!

The dawn light arrives late, hiker conciousness even later.

I lay propped up on one elbow, and, still ensconced in the down bag, start the stove outside the tent door and prepare cocoa and oatmeal.

Snow in camp at Sidney Tappan Campsite last Sunday morning.
Carey Kish photo

What luck! A picture-perfect fall day of hiking yesterday. And today, ahead of us, a high ridge walk over the peaks of West, Hay and Whitecap in snow!

For three hours we wend up and down through an alpine forest hushed with snow. The clouds are thick and it's still snowing, so there are no views.

But no matter.

We focus closer in. On animal tracks in the snow. On the winds blowing lightly over our heads, above the thick corridor of spruce and fir that we walk through. On the occasional splash of color, a birch or hobblebush leaf that adds visual dimension to an otherwise flat green and brown and white world.

Hiking through the snowy forest on Hay Peak.
Carey Kish photo

West and Hay Peaks pass easily beneath our feet. We drop packs at the head of the old firewarden's trail, a half-click before Whitecap, and chug unburdened through the thinning forest to the open summit at 3,644 feet.

There isn't much to see but rocks and stunted trees and snow--and the summit sign-- but we are happy to be here. The harsh conditions of this winter-in-fall storm add to our sense of accomplishment. How wonderful to be out here, like this, in the raw elements, warm, well-fed, well-equipped and confident.

In the storm atop Whitecap Mountain.
Carey Kish photo

The descent is incredibly steep and slippery. Like walking on unconsolidated ball bearings. With snow on top. Eventually the angle lessens, the snowline is reached, and the precip turns to sleet, then rain.

We emerge from the forest onto an old logging road and continue the long descent into the Pleasant River valley. The road is lined with maples and beech and birch, and even in the gray of this day, the colors are bright and cheery.

Every so often a ruffed grouse blasts disconcertingly from a trailside tree and sends our hearts to pounding, breaking the stupor of the downhill plod.

It figures that the sun would break out and shine bright over the valley just when we arrive. Doug and I drop our loads at a roadside picnic table, Gloria waits and rests, and we walk to retrieve the vehicle a couple miles to the west.

It's been a good walk, one of the finest in recent memory. For no particular reason, maybe all of the above, maybe none. It was just plain good. And that's all I care to ask for.

Note: We made the Whitecap loop hike last weekend. There's still time to do it if you're interested. The road into the K-I Forest is open until the snow flies. And BTW, the gate is boarded up for the season so it's free to enter. If you want more info on the Whitecap hike or other fun hikes in the region shoot me an e-mail.

I had to go on up to North Conway the other day to bring a skidder-load of gear to Ragged Mountain Equipment to sell on consignment. So I figured, what the hay, I'll take in a hike or two as well.

Good plan, as it turns out.

Following my MO of late, I wanted to check out a couple of places I'd never been: Province Pond and Mountain Pond. (Hike descriptions and maps for both are found in the White Mountain Guide).

The trailhead to Province Pond is at the end of a gravel road off Green Hill Road, off of Route 113, somewhere east and north of Conway NH.

It's an easy walk of 1 1/2 miles through the woods over a grassy logging track. At the pond the path bears right and follows along above. Where the road bends right uphill take the narrow footpath left into the woods and tramp around to the log shelter on the north shore.

Province Pond, hidden away in the White Mountains just over the Maine-NH border. Note the log shelter tucked into the trees on the far shore.
Carey Kish photo

What a spot! Hemmed in by steep mountain walls, the place is a quiet slice of paradise, especially on this warm and sunny fall day.

I poked around for a bit on the big old bleached-gray log that leads to water. Then sat for a long time on the shelter's platform edge enjoying the scene and breathing in the good air. And finishing up We Took to the Woods by Louise Dickinson Rich (great read!).

Yours truly getting a good look-see at Province Pond.
Carey Kish photo

I can't wait to pack in my goods for an overnight stay sometime soon. A good book, a fire, a smidgen of Jim Beam, a cold night sky... oh yeah!

Out to the road I backtracked a few miles and wound up the Hurricane Mountain Road, little more than a glorified cart path, steep and winding, and with the real possibility of a head-on collision at any moment.

Ever the exciting ride!

I made it over to Intervale unscathed and unloaded my pile of gear with my friends at Ragged, hopeful that the stuff sells quick so I can buy more, a new winter stove and winter tent at the top of the list.

Post-Ragged I drove up toward Slippery Brook and the TH for Mountain Pond. I'd barely gotten on the trail when a group of campers trudged toward me toting a canoe loaded with gear.

Ouch!

It was worth the effort, they said, for the good fishing and fine camping. Points duly noted.

Beyond, I made a left at the trail junction and walked along the western edge of Mountain Pond, taking in frequent viewpoints as I went. There was nary a ripple on the dark blue pond which reflected the muted fall colors of the surrounding hills.

Mountain Pond from its south end.
Carey Kish photo

The old log lean-to tucked 100 yards into the woods near the pond's upper end wasn't much to look at, but I'm sure it would be welcome shelter in a rain.

Circling around to the other side the bare rock cone of South Baldface rose up in the west. A little further on the shapely twin peaks of Doublehead Mountain appeared above a ridge.

Canada geese on Mountain Pond. That's the upper reaches of South Baldface off in the distance.
Carey Kish photo

The walk, a very pleasant 3-mile circuit, was over much too fast. And as I reached that car I vowed to return here, too, with camping gear (but no canoe!) and spend the night sometime soon.

Hobblebush (Viburnum lantanoides) showing off its regal fall magenta colors at Mountain Pond. Note the golden buds.
Carey Kish photo

On the way home now, the all-powerful tractor beam of the Red Parka Pub in Glen proved too much for my little Honda Civic, and we were drawn helplessly in. Next thing I know Mike is pouring me a Mason jar of Long Trail Ale which I feel compelled to knock back, along with a slew of popcorn and peanuts (read: dinner).

Another Long Trail is forced upon me and I consume it dutifully, without complaint. Then it is indeed time to head home to Portland-town, turning the page on another fine day's adventure.

All good.

You been to either Province or Mountain Ponds? Spent the night?

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.

Carey Kish photo

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.

Carey Kish photo

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.

Carey Kish photo

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.

Carey Kish photo

Carey Kish photo

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!

Carey Kish photo

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...

On the afternoon of the third day of my recent Cohos Trail thru-hike I descended from the heights of Mount Eisenhower, crossed the valley of the Ammonoosuc River and popped out onto Route 302 at Bretton Woods, right at Fabyans Restaurant & Bar.

No self-respecting long distance hiker ever passes by such an establishment, so I dropped my pack, ducked inside and bellied up to the bar and began to order mass quantities of food. Several hours later, appetite satisfied and thirst slaked, I waddled out the door and up the road a half-mile to the Mount Deception Campground, for what I hoped would be a restful evening.

I settled in to a grassy site in the middle of the place, as far away as I could get from the RVs and campers that made up the majority of visitors. There I pitched my new lightweight one-man tent, threw in the gear and headed directly to the showers for a glorious clean-up. Back at camp I gathered up my stinky clothes and went back to throw them into the laundry for a thorough washing.

On each of these laps to and from the bathhouse/laundry room I noticed small piles of scat in the grass. Dark blue scat with seeds. Bear scat. My eyes observed, but my tired brain didn’t really seem to register this important fact, just a few feet from my little campsite. Not good.

Finally, I sat down at the picnic table, relaxed and read my book until well after sundown. That’s when fatigue won out and I crawled into my sleeping bag and fell fast asleep, that deep and pleasant slumber of trail weariness.

Some time later in the dark of night, however, I awoke to some serious noise close by, real close, like in my camp. Hmmm, I semi-thought in my semi-awake state. Something thrashing and thumping about. And snorting and uttering nasty guttural sounds. Hmmm, I thought again in a more alert state.

I reached for my headlamp, strapped it on, flicked the switch... And that’s when I first saw the bear, about 6-8 inches from my face, its face buried in my empty backpack which sat leaning up against the tent.

Pure instinct took over, and I yelled "hey!"

Startled, the bear removed its nose from my pack and stared right at me, big brown face and nose, the rest of him (or her)—and there was a lot more of him or her—black as night.

Someone had to flinch in this close encounter, and it turned out to be me.

I yelled again, louder this time: "Hey!"

Given my aggressive stance in the matter, Mr. Bear (may I call you Mister?) backed up a few paces. And proceeded to rear up on his hind legs.

{insert large quantities of hiker poop here}

Now, mind you I've dealt with bears in the wild before, but never from the disadvantage of a prone position on the ground in a tiny little solo tent, with nothing but a thin layer of nylon separating me from Ursus americanus.

At this point, Mr. Ursus, now hovering over me with large paws high in the air, begins to weave back and forth as if he's doing “the wave” at a Patriot’s football game. Well that's pretty cool, I think for a moment, something you don't see everyday.

I quickly snap back to reality and begin to understand what may happen next, said bear pouncing forward and down onto me and the tent and turning both into a midnight snack, leaving only scattered bits of Gore-Tex and gray hair behind as evidence of the meal. Hiker scat.

I yell again, much, much louder this time: "Hey, hey, hey!" {pretty creative, eh?}

Clearly the addition of those forceful extra "hey's" must have done the trick, for the bear resumed a more reasonable position on all fours. He poked around the fireplace, rummaged in the grass, investigated the picnic table.

Mr. Bear poking around my campsite at Mt. Deception campground on the Cohos Trail, NH.
Carey Kish photo

It was then that he turned and padded back toward me. And proceeded to stick his nose right into the mesh netting of my tent door, perilously close to my own nose.

Whoa!

I didn't need to think about this one at all: I back-handed the bear right in his big brown in-my-tent snout!

That got his attention! He stared right at me, mano-a-bearo, and some kinda surprised. But he backed off again and began to pace furiously back and forth, grunting and snorting and making more awful noises.

Oh crap, I thought. Now I've done it. Who the hell smacks a bear in the nose and lives to tell about it?

But you know, after a few more minutes of pacing about. Mr. Bear wandered off for good. I guess I'd hurt his feelings. And maybe his nose.

Maybe he was thinking along the same lines as me as I dropped back onto my sleeping bag, exhausted and shaking from the encounter: Smacking a bear in the nose was never on my to-do list! And getting smacked by some hiker was likely never on his!

The morning after my encounter with Mr. Bear.
Carey Kish photo

Last Friday's hike started out pretty much just as it had for the prior 14 days: Hoist the pack onto the back, strap on the camera, grab the trekking poles, and head on up the trail.

Hiking the last couple miles of the Cohos Trail. That's Canada up ahead on the ridgetop.
Carey Kish photo

But the finish to the day a few hours later would be anything but normal.

Because when I walked out of the woods early that afternoon, lo and behold, there were about 50 people gathered at the US-Canada border station at Pittsburg, New Hampshire! It was quite a heartwarming sight after 162 miles and 15 days of trudging along on the magnificent route that is The Cohos Trail.

Officials from a number of northern New Hampshire towns, several Canadian towns, members of The Cohos Trail Association, the Sentiers frontaliers, news media from both countries, various and sundry trail supporters, and members of the public turned the scene into quite a celebration.

An international party at the US-Canada border crossing, Pittsburg, NH.
Photo courtesy Carey Kish

And we all had much to celebrate!

Besides my completing the Cohos Trail fundraising thru-hike, Canadian hiker Eric Lacoursiere had also just completed walking the 80 km of the Les Sentiers Frontaliers, a new and mostly complete hiking trail extending thru Canada from the border at Coburn Gore, Maine to Pittsburg, NH. And by doing so the two trails have been conceptually and physically linked, thereby creating a continuous 220-mile long hiking route, a monument to international cooperation.

Additionally, thanks to dozens of generous donors, something close to $2,000 was raised for The Cohos Trail and its mission to complete, maintain and improve the trail.

If you'd like to make a $$$ gift to support The Cohos Trail and this hike you can still do so. Send to: The Cohos Trail Association, c/o Peter & Lainie Castine, 266 Danforth Road, Pittsburg, NH 03592.

And that's just a start.

I say that because through the extraordinary dedication and perserverance of TCTA and its leadership I believe we have, through this hike and the associated public relations campaign, generated a new and considerably higher level of awareness of this tremendous recreational resource called The Cohos Trail. And that, I trust, will pay big dividends as this trail moves forward toward completion in the near future.

It's an exciting trail project that I'm betting you too will want to be a part of in some way big or small.

That's me on the left and Kim Nilsen, Cohos Trail visionary on the right. Lainie Castine, secretary/treasurer of The Cohos Trail Association, presented us each with CT cribbage boards that she custom made herself.
Lainie Castine photo

Cohos Trail founder Kim Nilsen leads us up the border swath toward Fourth Connecticut Lake after the gathering.
Carey Kish photo

The official end of the Cohos Trail at tiny Fourth Connecticut Lake, the source of the mighty Connecticut River, high on the US-Canada border.
Carey Kish photo

My two-week experience was an incredible one and, as you might well imagine, I've got plenty of tales to tell. But first (yes, I've taken a shower, thank you very much!), I still need to unload the car, sort out the gear, do some laundry and so forth before I get to story-telling...

Just an FYI... I'm going to be out of cell phone and Internet range pretty much for all of the next two weeks as I make my way along on the Cohos Trail through the wilds of northern New Hampshire.

I've got my camera, notebooks, books and a stash of bourbon. That, along with 14 days of solo walking up and down mountains through some lightly traveled terrain, breathing fresh air and drinking mountain water, and pushing the heart and lungs should make for a fine adventure.

I can't wait to get going. And sometime around 4 PM this afternoon I should be on my way.

I'll let you know how this latest journey shakes out upon my return. Until then, be good, have fun, be happy, live!

It's mid-summer and maybe you're thinking about getting away on the trail for a long weekend. You know, four or five days. Enough time to get into 'trail mode' and forget about the daily grind. Good head time.

You've done your share of backpacks along the AT. Been to much of the Whites. What to do next?

How about a trail you might never have heard of?

What, what, you say?

The Monadnock-Sunapee Greenway Trail!

Once beyond the crowds swarming the slopes of Monadnock you're likely to have most of the next 50 miles of terrific hiking pretty much to yourself. Now, doesn't that sound good?!

Give it a go, for a weekend or for the whole nine yards. And let me know how you make out. I'll think you'll like it.

Here's some pics from my backpack on the MSGT late last May. Enjoy!

The alpine summit of Mount Monadnock looms ahead on the White Dot Trail. It was a brutal 95 degrees that day. Sweaty hiking I tells ya.
Carey Kish photo

Greenway sign north of Mount Monadnock.
Carey Kish photo

Howe Reservoir on the first afternoon on the MSGT.
Carey Kish photo

Trailside trillium.
Carey Kish photo

Bug camp near Center Pond. Due to the dearth of blood thirsty insects here I was forced to stay in my tent outside the shelter.
Carey Kish photo

A double blue blaze indicates a very important turn in the trail.
Carey Kish photo

Tower atop Pitcher Mountain.
Carey Kish photo

Wide open walking over Jackson Hill.
Carey Kish photo

Friends Dana and Janet Thurston met me in Washington to finish the MSGT. We partook of a number of cold brews from the store's coolers. For hydration purposes, of course.
Carey Kish photo

Hiking out of the historic village of Washington.
Carey Kish photo

Good trail over Lovewell Mountain.
Carey Kish photo

Lookout on Lovewell Mountain.
Carey Kish photo

Cooking up some chow at the Moose Lookout Campsite.
Carey Kish photo

Checking out the view above Lake Solitude.
Carey Kish photo

Taking the final steps on the MSGT up Mount Sunapee.
Carey Kish photo

A week from today I'll be back on the trail again. Woo-hoo! For two glorious weeks on the Cohos Trail thru the wilds of northern New Hampshire.

Yep, starting from Willey House in Crawford Notch the 162-mile route will take me (or rather my feets and lungs will take me) over Eisenhower in the Presidential Range, Martha, Waumbek, Starr King, the Weeks and Cabot, and on through the Kilkennys.

Everything beyond that point is pretty well unknown ground to this hiker. And ain't that just sweet! The Percy Peaks, Sugarloaf, Dixville Notch, Saguinary. Lake Francis and the Connecticut Lakes. And finally the Canadian border.

Looking across First Connecticut Lake to Mt. Magalloway, Pittsburg NH, near the route of the Cohos Trail.
Carey Kish photo

All good.

Speaking of goods, the house is a disaster with food and gear and whatnot scattered about. And the cats are no help, of course. But soon everything, cat hair and all, will make its way neatly into the backpack and it'll be time to go.

This won't be an ordinary hike, however.

This trek, this 162 miles of walking, has a bigger purpose than merely spending some quality time outdoors, and getting from point A to point B.

It's a fundraising hike to raise much-needed cash for The Cohos Trail Association, overseers, protectors, maintainers, visionaries of this incredible foot trail thru the woods and mountains in the wild north country of NH.

The CTA is a heckuva group of people. I know because I met a good chunk of them last weekend up in Pittsburg NH. But they lack the precious funds to do many of the things that need doing to complete, maintain and improve the Cohos Trail.

The Cohos Trail Association board, and members of the Sentiers Frontaliers meeting at Pittsburg NH last Saturday(from left): Francois Villemaire (SF), Dan Cashman, Nancy Spaulding, Bob Paradis, Lainie Castine, Pete Castine, Kim Nilsen (Cohos Trail founder), E.H. Roy, yours truly, Gloria Blais (SF).
Carey Kish photo

Hence, the fundraising hike scheme. Can we cobble together enough pledges to fill the CTA pot with $5,000? $10,000? Maybe we can.

Here's how we hope it will come down:

The Cohos Trail is 162 miles long. And that's what I mean to hike from July 27th thru August 10th. Along with a few gallons of sweat and several pints of blood for the insects, I've pledged $162--a buck a mile--to the CTA effort.

Other healthy pledges are already coming in and I haven't even set foot on the hike yet. Great!

So what about you all? Trail lovers every one of you?

What do you say to 5 cents a mile? 10 cents? A quarter? Or match me dollar for dollar?

5 cents a mile = $8.10
10 cents a mile = $16.20
25 cents a mile = $40.50
50 cents a mile = $81.00

Anything and everything helps. It all adds up to help for a magnificent New England trail, one that's right close by and accessible to us Mainers. One that needs a little assistance carrying forth with its proud mission.

Let's give it a good push forward, shall we?

I thought you'd agree. Many thanks in advance.

To support this effort send pledges or donations to the CTA c/o:
Peter and and Lainie Castine
266 Danforth Road, Pittsburg, NH 03592

Any questions regarding the Cohos Trail thru-hike fundraiser, please contact Pete and Lainie at 603-538-6777 or email them at prospmw@localnet.com.

And if you have the time and inclination please join us at the US-Canada border on Friday afternoon, August 10th at 2 PM for a big celebration! That's when our Canadian friends from the Club de Randonnée des Sentiers Frontaliers, Francois and Gloriane, will be completing their north-of-the-border hike and meeting up with me and the CTA gang. Yep, it's going to be quite the international affair.

It's all in the name of trails and good fun. Hope you'll take part, through spirit, sweat or dollars.

Speaking of sweat, if you'd like to join me on part of the Cohos Trail, whether for a few hours or a few days, let me know and I'll email you my hike schedule.

Au revoir for now, and TGIF!

A very empty Route 3 near the Cohos Trail route on its way to the Canadian border, Pittsburg NH.
Carey Kish photo

OK, let's think out of the box for a moment, shall we? Out of that shiny metal box with four tires and a steering wheel...

Your car.

One of life's many necessities, yes. But all the time?

Consider this: You want to get out of Dodge for the weekend. Head on up to beautiful Acadia National Park for a visit. Camp in Blackwoods. Do some hiking. Bike the carriage trails. Kayak some maybe. Carouse the streets of Bar Harbor for sure.

You need you car for such a trip, right?

Maybe not.

For years it was a no-brainer for me. Load the vehicle chock full of gear and hit the road, Bar Harbor-bound 180 miles up the coast.

But times have changed some, haven't they?

Gas is $3 a gallon. Ouch! Cars are more expensive to own and maintain. Tons more traffic on the highway. And road rage. All the talk about global climate change and 'going green' and all that good stuff.

You're right, you say. But what does that have to do with getting to Acadia?

Well--hold on now--how about taking the bus?

Hey, hey, hey... now get up off the floor and stop that laughing.

The bus?

Yes, dammit.

It's possible. I know because I just did it. And it was an awesome, eye-opening, and relaxing trip. All sans car. And I'd do it again now that I know it's not only possible, but downright practical.

You see, it was like this.

I packed my backpack with the usual goods for a couple of days. And then filled a soft-sided cooler with beer, baloney and hot dogs (you didn't think I was going without beer, did you?! Silly, silly).

I then drove over to the Greyhound bus station in Portland, parked my car, bid it a fond farewell and jumped on the 3:15pm Vermont Transit bus, northbound to Bar Harbor with stops in beautiful downtown Brunswick and Bangor. (By the way, the 2:30pm bus goes thru Lewiston, Augusta and Waterville if you happen to live in those parts.)

The 3:15pm Vermont Transit bus in Portland, bound for Brunswick, Bangor and on to Bar Harbor.
Carey Kish photo

Four hours later (not a whole lot longer than if I'd driven myself) I landed in Bar Harbor. Just in time to catch the 7:15pm #3 Acadia Island Explorer bus to Blackwoods Campground.

Hopping off the Island Explorer, backpack and all, 4 hours later in Blackwoods Campground, Acadia National Park.
Carey Kish photo

I must admit it was a bit weird checking in at the ranger kiosk on foot, but that's when it started to dawn on me: This was really cool. I'm in Acadia and I don't need no stinking car.

Next I got camp set up, cooked a pot of beans and dogs, cracked a beer(s), walked down to the coast and hung out on the rocks, and generally reveled in my car-free environment.

My snug little campsite in Blackwoods. Notice anything missing? Yeah... my car!
Carey Kish photo

Evening on our magnificent coast, a five-minute walk from Blackwoods.
Carey Kish photo

You can get just about anywhere in Acadia and Mount Desert Island using the Island Explorer.
Carey Kish photo

The following morning, bus route map in hand, I joined a crowd of other trail-bound hikers and took the #3 back into town. After breakfast at Jordan's I caught a transfer on the #7 shuttle. It was going to be a hot, hazy, humid day, so some hiking in and around Echo Lake on the west side of Acadia seemed like just the ticket.

Catching the Explorer at the Town Green in Bar Harbor.
Carey Kish photo

And it was.

The scramble up the ladders on Beech Cliffs was sweet, as were the loop trails that wound for several miles on top. Beech Mountain and the firetower capped off the hike. Then it was back to Echo Lake for a late lunch and, multiple swims in the cool water and many pages of a good book in the shade.

Climbing the iron ladders of the steep and spectacular Beech Cliff Trail.
Carey Kish photo

The reward: Echo Lake from the top of Beech Cliffs.
Carey Kish photo

The old Beech Mountain firetower.
Carey Kish photo

Cooling off in Echo Lake on such a hazy, hot and humid day was awesome.
Carey Kish photo

Next stop after Echo Lake: Beers and lobster in Bar Harbor!
Carey Kish photo

The #6 bus whisked me back into town in late afternoon. Visits to the Thirsty Whale, Cadillac Mountain Sports and Sherman's Bookstore were mandatory before moving on to the Fish House Grill for a good ol' Maine lobstah dinnah.

Fatigue and a full belly urged me back onto the #3 and I was in camp and into my book amid the sweet smell of Blackwoods balsam by sundown.

The following day dawned cool and clear, a fine day for a ridge walk. The #3 left me off at the town green, and I dropped my loaded backpack and cooler off at the Bangor-Bar Harbor Shuttle office. Then I took the #3 again to Sieur de Monts where I picked up the #4, which deposited me at the trailhead for Champlain Mountain.

It was tremendous walking over pink granite through sparse jack pines. And with each step higher, wonderful views opened up. Bear Lake, The Jackson Laboratory, Bar Harbor, the islands, Schoodic and beyond.

Enjoying the ocean views from the summit of Champlain.
Carey Kish photo

Orchids high on Champlain Mountain.
Carey Kish photo

Beyond the summit it was literally all downhill and I flew across the ridge, brilliant blue ocean to my left, the bulk of Dorr and Cadillac Mountains to my right. The Bowl, a lovely high mountain pond, loomed ahead. The trail navigated along its southern edge before rising to the Beehive.

Looking down on the Beehive and The Bowl from Champlain Mountain.
Carey Kish photo

The Beehive from Sand Beach.
Carey Kish photo

Lunch was had with bare feet dangling over the cliff's edge, Sand Beach many hundreds of feet below. Post-sandwich I clambered down the impossible trail, complete with iron rungs, hand rails and ladders, before making my way out to the cool winds blowing in over Sand Beach.

Beach rose near Sand Beach.
Carey Kish photo

Sand Beach scene.
Carey Kish photo

Right on schedule the #3 got me back into Bah Habbah with plenty of time to spare (and time for a couple cold pints at the Whale). Because the Vermont Transit connection between Bar Harbor and Bangor for the return trip isn't so great (the bus returns south in the AM), I reserved a seat on the Bangor-Bar Harbor Shuttle, a new and well-run operation that got me connected with the Vermont Transit bus in Bangor.

Helen Witham, owner of the Bangor-Bar Harbor Shuttle sending me on my way.
Carey Kish photo

I was back in Portland by 9:15pm. And there, looking rather lonely and forlorn, was my little car. I dumped the gear in the trunk and cranked her up, the first time in 3 days. I like that.

So there you have it. A round-trip hiking and camping trip to Acadia National Park. Entirely by bus, no less! I know it sounds like a novelty but it shouldn't be, and it isn't. It can be done. And I'll bet you too won't even miss your car.

The cost? $65 for the Vermont Transit tickets and $25 for the Bangor-Bar Harbor Shuttle, so $90 in all.

The cost to drive by car? Roughly 180 miles x 2 = 360 + 90 dubbing around miles = 450 miles total. Divided by 25 mpg = 18 gallons x $3.00 per gallon = $54. But that's only gas and doesn't anywhere near account for the true cost of operating a car on the road.

Better is to take the federal mileage reimbursement rate of 48.5 cents per mile x 450 miles = $218.50. I did this trip alone, but if two had driven: $218.50 divided by 2 = $109.50 each.

My $90 in bus fare, therefore, is cheaper by $19.50. (Beer money!) And I didn't let tons of them wicked bad auto e-missions spoil up the atmosphere neithah!!

So what do you think? You willing to give transit a try on your next Acadia visit? To have an out-of-auto-body outdoor adventure??

The new Bike Express connects you and your bicycle directly with the island's carriage trails. Fantastic!
Carey Kish photo

It's been a long time since I've been up Boothbay Harbor way. Even longer since I've allowed myself to get caught in summer weekend traffic on Route 1 as it squeezes through Wiscasset.

But last Saturday it was totally worthwhile, and an adventure I so recommend if you're looking for yet another spot with great hiking and quiet trails.

You'll certainly find both on the diverse and scenic paths of the Boothbay Region Land Trust, which has at least 16 distinct preserves of varying acreage on the Boothbay peninsula.

After a few miles of "navigational difficulties," during which I actually did stop and ask where the "monument" was (everything seems to be waymarked from it), I found the Oven's Mouth Preserve.

The 146-acre preserve comprises the tips of two peninsulas on the Oven's Mouth River connected by a footbridge. I struck out to the west through the forest and along a salt marsh, intent on the complete 5-mile loop tracing the preserve's outer edges.

Boothbay Region Land Trust trail marker.
Photo by Carey Kish

Hiking along the Oven's Mouth River, Edgecomb.
Photo by Carey Kish

It was terrific walking! At the river docks occasionally jutted from the shore, cottages tucked into the thick trees above. Several lobster boats plied the quick waters, eddying out occasionally to check pots.

I crossed the long bridge onto the eastern peninsula and soon after came upon a harbor seal playfully floating along, snorting. I sat down on a bench (one of several placed throughout at scenic spots) and watched and enjoyed.

Circling around I recrossed the bridge and headed up the rugged inside edge of the western peninsula. As I climbed, three scenic vistas, one after another, opened up to my left revealing a long look down the salt marsh below.

Foot bridge connecting the east and west peninsulas of the Oven's Mouth Preserve.
Photo by Carey Kish

Salt marsh view, Oven's Mouth Preserve.
Photo by Carey Kish

Next stop was the Gregory Hiking Trail, which I found with less difficulty.

Photo by Carey Kish

It's a one-mile loop trail that hugs the Back River. There's numerous places to break out onto the shore and explore among the rocks and seaweed. I loved poking around the old boat washed up on the rocks mid-way along, it's wooden hull now weathered gray.

Along the East River, Gregory Hiking Trail, Boothbay.
Photo by Carey Kish

Old boat beached on the East River, Gregory Hiking Trail.
Photo by Carey Kish

The day's final hike was to Penny Lake. There's a wide ADA trail that cuts through the preserve and enables the less physically able to get out enjoy nature.

Walking the trail to Penny Lake, Boothbay Harbor.
Photo by Carey Kish

I walked the length of the trail and back, then looped around again on the preserve's narrow footpaths. The bridge crossing the creek that drains what's left of Penny Lake is a lovely spot, as is the bench placed in the high field. Facing west, it's a perfect place to watch the sun go down. Something to consider on another visit.

View over Penny Lake, Penny Lake Preserve.
Photo by Carey Kish

Wholly satisfied with the day's walking (thanks Boothbay Region Land Trust!) I trundled into Boothbay Harbor and played tourist, walking the streets amid the shops and gawking at the beautiful harbor. That is, until the Pier 1 Pub caught my eye. A couple of slices of pretty damn good pizza and a couple of cold pints of Fisherman's Brew and all was definitely well with this hiker's world.

Evening in Boothbay Harbor.
Photo by Carey Kish

Check out the trails of the Boothbay region. Make a day of it. You'll absolutely love it! And do let me know how it goes...

Have you already discovered the sweet trails around Boothbay? Which ones?

Think you know Portland's trails?

Maybe you do, maybe you don't.

There's one sure way to find out if you're catching all the great hiking spots in the fabulous Portland Trails network...

Logo courtesy of Portland Trails

Get in on the Portland Trails Discovery Treks for 2007, a series of guided walks highlighting well-known and little-known natural gems in the area.

Discovery Treks begin at 5:30 PM on selected Friday evenings throughout the summer and early autumn.

Tonight's featured walk is the "Fore River Sanctuary Dog Walk." Friendly canine pals are welcome. Meet at the Rowe Avenue entrance to the Fore River Sanctuary, off outer Brighton Avenue.

The next scheduled trek is Friday, July 6th: "The Remains of the Cumberland and Oxford Canal."

All Discovery treks are free and open to the public. Advance registration is requested, so please call Portland Trails at 775-2411 to reserve your spot for fun and discovery on the trail.

It's been a long wait and an awful lot of work by many, many hardworking trail advocates and trail groups, but the end--or the beginning as the case may be--is finally in sight.

The western portion of the Grafton Loop Trail will officially open at the end of this month. The 21 miles of new trail will complete the "loop" on a magnificent 42-mile hiking and backpacking circuit.

The western side will take hikers from Route 26 up the open ledges and alpine summit of Sunday River Whitecap before striking northward over Stowe and Bald Mountains. It will then connect with the Appalachian Trail on Old Speck.

The route will no doubt quickly become on of the premier backcountry treks in Maine, allowing hikers a variety of opportunities ranging from day hikes to 4-5 days of backpacking for those wishing to tackle the entire loop.

Brilliant! Thanks to all who helped make this dream a reality!

I, for one, can't wait to get my boots on the trail on the new piece of the Grafton Loop Trail and check it out.

What about you? Gonna pack the pack and give GLT west side a try this summer?

Hiking the east side of the Grafton Loop Trail, July 2005. The west side finally opens June 30th.
Photo courtesy Carey Kish

Give me a little spare time and I'll go happily along exploring, poking around looking for places to take a hike.

Such was the case last night while in Bangor for a couple of days doing my day job. After dinner out, and with the light fading fast, I drove to Brown Woods on outer Ohio St. near the edge of town.

Trailhead for Brown Woods, off Ohio St., Bangor.
All photos by Carey Kish

I was the only car in the little dirt parking lot. Perfect.

On with the fleece vest and it was off up the trail, following a winding path through the forest of pine and hemlock, oak, ash and birch.

A pinkish hue daubed the sky between the darkened treetops. The air was cool and fresh with the spring night. Steps down the path were muffled by the soft earth.

Pathway through Brown Woods.

A half mile or so in a side trail led left over some slabs and ledges to an abandoned quarry. As I drew close the peepers let loose in earnest with their cacophony.

Gray walls of crumbling rock rose up in the background, a shallow pond rippled at my feet.

The "Chin Chat" pit. What a sight. A sight that took me back decades.

Abandoned quarry, Brown Woods.

You see, I guess I forgot to mention that the trailhead to Brown Woods is but a half mile from where I grew up for a good part of my misguided youth. Back then it was just woods, with deer trails and snowmobile trails running willy-nilly through it.

But it was my woods. My little patch of wilderness. And I knew it completely. Through years of hiking and snowshoeing and skiing and exploring.

I built my first lean-to back in there, along an old fence line. My first tree house in a sprawling white pine above a plantation of young pines, grown now into a thick forest.

I scaled the walls of the quarry, at first foolishly unroped. Then later with shiny new climbing gear that I hadn't a clue how to use.

Then I figured out the rappelling down part, and with friends, spent many hours zipping down the cliff face like bigtime mountaineers. We even set up a wild zipline and a Tyrolean traverse once.

Somewhere in here I know I used up at least a couple of my nine lives. Certainly when I fired off both barrels of a friend's shotgun at the same time and drove myself backward into a rock wall.

Kids!

Ah, those halycon days. Catching frogs. Watching birds. Climbing rocks. Wandering through the woods. Camping out under the stars. Hot dogs and canned beans over a campfire (and in later years six-packs of Schlitz and bottles of Boone's Farm and possibly other substances. But I digress...)

It all came rushing back to me in a short hour's walk through Brown Woods. Fond, fond memories of childhood fun in a special place that helped to forge this man's eternal love for the woods and curiosity for exploring.

It was dark when I reached the car, but I'm sure it couldn't hide the big grin on my face.

Life is good, ain't it?!

There's lots of cool places to hike and bike in the Bangor area, so if you're ever up that way, stop in and take a good look-see around.

What about you? Got memories of a special place outdoors that you enjoyed as a kid?

What a beautiful, beautiful weekend! Cool, clear and bright... one to remember come the dog days of August.

Saturday I returned to Peary Mountain in Brownfield to complete the hike I started a couple weeks ago, but cut short due to camera problems. I retraced my steps to the south summit, about a mile of moderate walking.

Views to Kearsarge North and Mt. Washington from south summit of Peary Mountain, Brownfield.
All photos by Carey Kish

The big granite bench was there to greet me, and plunking down, I was once again treated to a mountain panorama that ranged from Mount Chocurua to Mount Washington to the Royces in Evans Notch. Snow still streaked the flanks of the big Rockpile. What a day to be up there!

Here, on Peary, I had lunch guests: black flies. Not many and not too bad, but still you know there's more to come. So I bugged up with juice and took care of the minor annoyance.

Bluets on the trail to Peary Mountain.

This time all went well with the new mini-tripod. Nothing like having fully charged batteries to help with the picture taking!

The north summit is another 15 minutes along the ridge. The trail there is less worn, but if you stick to the ridge it's straightforward.

Once on top there's a fabulous view of sprawling Pleasant Mountain. It's well worth the extra effort.

Pleasant Mountain from the north summit of Peary.

Back to the car I trundled up Route 113 to Fryeburg and slid into the Jockey Cap Country Store & Motel. It's the trailhead for Jockey Cap, a short, fun climb that I hadn't done since my rock climbing days a few years back.

The trail up Jockey Cap starts in-between the Jockey Cap store and motel.

I took the old trail to the right that parallels the road, then shoots up the dome at a steep grade. I could just as easily have clambered up the left side. Either way, it's 10 minutes, maybe 15 and you're up. You can't beat the views for the brief effort.

The cliffs of Jockey Cap through the trees on the hike up.

And owing to the unique profile survey monument on top, dedicated to Admiral Robert E. Peary himself (a Fryeburg resident from 1878-79), you can identify every peak large and small in a 360-degree circle. It's a must-see!

The unique profile survey monument on top of Jockey Cap, dedicated to Admiral Robert E. Peary, the famed polar explorer.

Thanks to the monument it's possible to identify all the mountains in a 360-degree arc.

Ice cream and a cold beverage at the store below capped off a fine day on the trail.

Sunday was a different day, a day of outdoor-related stuff, but little physical activity. Got to have 'em every now and then.

The trunk of the car was unloaded, and out came snowshoes, ice ax, ski boots and poles, crampons.

Off came the ski rack. On went the kayak rack.

Out came the chainsaw for a good test run, along with tools and safety gear, bar oil and gas et al, for next weekend's maintenance trip to East Carry Pond to knock out the blowdowns on my section of the AT.

Then the backpack was loaded up with gear for a long Memorial Weekend hike.

And so the day went, interspersed with the occasional Corona with lime to keep the thirst at bay. All good.

What was your weekend in the outdoors like?

Anybody know the scoop on Admiral Peary's time in Fryeburg? I'm curious to know that bit of history.

The venerable AMC White Mountain Guide, the hiker's bible to more than 500 wonderful trails, is 100 years old this year.

Woo-hoo!

Photo courtesy Appalachian Mountain Club

Good cause for celebration, wouldn't you say? (As if we needed an excuse!)

Given that, the Appalachian Mountain Club is inviting guidebook afficionados, hikers and outdoor enthusiasts alike to a celebratory event at the AMC Highland Center atop Crawford Notch next Wednesday, May 9th starting at 7PM.

Longtime guidebook editors Gene Daniell and Stevn Smith will be on hand to give a presentation and to sign guidebooks, which will be available for sale.

Maybe see you there?!

I just got a copy of the new guide and it looks terrific. AMC has not only updated the trail information, but the guide format as well. Six new high-tech color maps are included.

And later this summer AMC will launch an online companion to the guide, allowing hikers to interact with the maps to explore trails and plan trips. Awesome!

I'll be pouring through my new guide in the coming weeks as the hiking season gears up. I'll make some notes and get you more details as I go. But what I've seen so far looks real, real good.

Nice job AMC!

Meantime, I've got to put the hiking guides aside and pack up for a long weekend in the sun. Because I do believe it's 5 o'clock somewhere... See's ya soon!

Do you have a well-worn AMC White Mountain Guide? What edition? How many trails in it have you done? Plan to replace it with the new and wicked improved version?

A couple of longtime hiking friends of mine from up the road a piece in Bath are out west as we speak attempting to hike the entire Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canada.

As best I can tell from the last entry on Trail Journals, Bruce and Cheryl (and stuffed animal "Nose") Pooler (hence the trail name "Pooler Bears") should have set off from the border at Campo, California just about a week ago.

It should be a hoot to follow along on their adventure. Because if history is any guide--the Poolers' hikes are always a crazy adventure of one sort or another--this should be a good one.

I first met them during a 1995 thru-hike of the Long Trail in Vermont, and we became fast friends. It may have been the cribbage board and deck of cards, hard to say. But it never took much for them to take a rest stop, and break out the board and start dealing the cards. And furiously pegging for points! Maybe that's why their trail name then was the "15-2's". Go figure.

Later on, I had the pleasure of sharing a number of very remote week-long trips down into the bowels of the Grand Canyon, scaling near-vertical canyon walls, tiptoeing across narrow ledges above impossible drop-offs and wading through dark slot canyon pools, pack held high overhead. Oh, those halcyon days on the desert trail in the fine company of the Poolers!

The "Pooler Bears" from Bath, Maine are attempting to hike the entire Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canada this summer.
Photo courtesy Bruce and Cheryl Pooler

And now, possibly, they've gone completely mad...

The PCT is 2,700 miles long and snakes north through California, Oregon and Washington, following the spine of the Sierra Nevada and Cascade Mountain ranges through some of the wildest and lonely country in the lower 48. And undoubtedly some of the most beautiful.

(And it's on the "list" of course!)

Good luck Pooler Bears! We're mighty envious here. And waiting for your tales of (mis)adventure! We'll be checking in...

FYI: There's lots of good reading to be found at Trail Journals, adventures by people hiking trails all over the world. Good stuff to digest and maybe plan a big hike or two yourself. Eh??

It's inevitable.

Seems only to take a warm, sunny day or two in April, blue skies overhead, the smell of moist earth underfoot, long views through the bare tree branches.

Spring fever, yes, but worse.

Springer Fever.

As in the overwhelming desire to return to Georgia and the top of Springer Mountain and begin walking north on the Appalachian Trail. And to keep going for months on end all the way to our own Mount Katahdin.

Have you got a bad case of Springer Fever?

It's real, I tell you.

And when the "fever" hits, it hits hard.

You start making cryptic notes on cocktail napkins over a beer. Calculating. Scheming. Dreaming.

You start looking around you and wondering just how quickly could you pack up your worldly goods and empty your bank account and make for the trail.

For those of you who suffer this annual affliction you know what I mean.

For everyone else, well, find an ex-AT thru-hiker and ask them.

Their eyes will be wide and deep and their gaze far off. Their speech rapid and often garbled; all you can make out is something about mail drops and pack weights and maps, or whatnot. Their empty hands will tremble, longing to grasp a pair of trekking poles to help scratch their way up mountain upon mountain.

Yep, that's an AT thru-hiker in a full-on bout with a nasty case of Springer Fever.

The cure?

None.

Excepting the precious opportunity to make a second thru-hike (something we babble about annually also).

So there you have it. Springer Fever.

Do you have it?

If not, I hope you get it. Store your stuff. Pack your pack. Go south. Walk north. Get off the radar screen of mainstream life for awhile. And onto the the life-changing, life-sustaining AT. It's a choice with a big, big upside and very few downs. Go.

Worried? Scared? Fraught with indecision? Too much 'can't' when there should be 'can'?

Write me. Buy me a beer. I'll sketch the entire trip out for you on a cocktail napkin. That's not to minimize the enormity of such an expedition. It's to minimize the fretting, and to get you out the door. It's the going that matters. If need be you can make it up as you go. But go.

And then, when you're perched atop Springer Mountain, mind and body afire, about to step off on your life's dream hike, and you sign the register and scribble "GA --> ME" after your name, you'll go "Oh yeah!".

Trail Head "a few years ago" about to head northbound on the AT.

The 0.3 mile walk to the top of obscure Chase Hill in Canaan isn't much.

Ten minutes at best. A little more if you stop to poke around the old firewarden's cabin on the way.

But scramble up the fire tower on the 780-foot peak and hold onto your hat for one of the finest and most extensive for views for so little work that I know of anywhere in Maine.

I didn't know it was coming and neither did my hiking partner.

But scanning the horizon I picked out the distinctive summit of Whitecap Mountain up on the Appalachian Trail near Katahdin Iron Works.

Wow.

View to far off Whitecap Mountain on the A.T. from Chase Hill, Canaan.
All photos courtesy Carey Kish

From there we traced the skyline southwest and began to tick off the peaks: Barren-Chairback, Moxie Bald, Pleasant Pond Mtn., Bates Ridge, The Bigelow Range... all the way to the Mahoosucs, where we were pretty certain we could ID Goose Eye.

That meant we were looking at something like 200 miles of the Appalachian Trail, remarked my friend.

Indeed.

Incredible!

So much so that we spent a good long while hanging out up there in awe, just looking.

Too bad it wasn't possible to capture the extraordinary view with a camera. The mind's eye would have to do.

If you're ever up that way cruising the rural roads east of the Kennebec River, check out Chase Hill. Bring a lunch and a cold one. Stay awhile and enjoy.

The two other peaks in our Saturday fun-in-the-spring-sun hiking trifecta included Mount Pisgah in Winthrop and Monument Hill in Leeds.

It's a little less than a mile to Pisgah's summit and another high fire tower, complete with broad views of the snow-capped Presidential Range.

Fire tower atop Mount Pisgah, Winthrop.

Atop Mount Pisgah, looking across Androscoggin Lake to the distant snow-capped Presidential Range.

Not too far away in Leeds is Monument Hill, another easy but rewarding hike. An obelisk dedicated to war veterans adorns the top. And just beyond is an open ledge with a comfy sitting rock and a beautiful mountain vista.

Snow on the trail to Monument Hill, Leeds.

Obelisk on top of Monument Hill.

Sun and blue skies and temps in the 70s... Three wonderful hikes. Two sunburned hikers. One fine day.

All good.

Mount Pisgah, Monument Hill and Chase Hill are all well described in the AMC Maine Mountain Guide. The DeLorme Atlas and Gazetteer is helpful, as always, for navigation.

And your weekend? Good?

The new Messalonskee Stream Trail begins just a stone's throw from downtown Oakland, at a bulldozed parking lot surrounded by chain link fence. Not much to look at you might say.

But just minutes down the trail, past the old Central Maine Power facility and defunct Cascade Woolen Mill, the trail takes you into a deep dark forest of towering hemlocks, as the civilized world melts quickly away.

Trailhead in downtown Oakland.
All photos by Carey Kish

A week ago Saturday, Peter Garrett of Winslow, Executive Director of Kennebec-Messalonskee Trails and a most enthusiastic urban trails advocate, led a small but hearty group of hikers on a six-mile snowshoe tour of this the group's latest trail project.

Trip leader Peter Garrett leads the way.

The trail led along the ridge above a deep gorge before winding down to meet the stream, which had now opened up to lake-width.

The forest changed back and forth from hardwoods to softwoods as we snowshoed happily along, occasionally crossing well-constructed log bridges spanning the ravines.

On the snowshoes for the first time since ???

Crossing one of several nicely constructed wooden bridges en route.

The wind was fierce and the temps low, but it was good to be outside, as always, exploring new terrain.

Garrett stopped occasionally to huddle the group and explain some tidbit of local history or a fact or two about the land, how it was acquired, the building of the trail.

Finally, we rounded a peninsula and could peer down the stream-turned-lake, wind full-on in our faces, a beautiful winter view before us.

View from the Peninsula Loop near the far end of the trail.

On up the hill we turned down a power line and followed it to a dam at the head of Rice Rips, the turnaround point of our day’s outing.

Away from the dam and out of the wind we shared Thermos’ of hot tea and cocoa while Garrett regaled us with plans by the Kennebec-Messalonskee Trails group to build a 25-mile network of trails linking the communities of Winslow, Waterville, Oakland, Benton and Fairfield.

Atop the dam at Rice Rips.

With this new addition to the system, KMT has completed 8 miles of multiple-use trails.

I’m forever amazed at the number of trails projects that are going on around Maine, many of them in urban areas where they are sorely needed as close-to-home outlets for health, fitness, recreation and community.

Cheers to Garrett and KMT for their fine work to date and good luck as you forge ahead with your ambitious plans.

Check out the KMT trails system and come on up to take a look-see... You’ll like what you find!

Heading back through the hemlock forest.

The sun cast an orange glow over the hardwood forest and a chill wind blew through the Ellis River valley as a friend and I shouldered day packs and struck off to Rumford Whitecap Mountain early yesterday morning.

It didn't take but a half mile of uphill trudging to warm us up. Off with the headband. Off with the gloves. Unzip the jacket.

The trail was snowfree and running fast with water, stream-like.

This is January, right?

Hardly, say the weather conditions around me on this day.

Patches of ice finally appeared higher up necessitating some tiptoeing around through the trailside brush.

Then whole sheets of ice covering the footway and it was time to strap on Stabilicers to boots.

Icy trail high on Rumford Whitecap Mountain yesterday.

No more detouring now. With good grips on the soles and trekking poles clenched firmly in hand it was straight up the trail, laughing at the now less than treacherous ice.

Wide views opened up as the trees thinned, first behind to the west then to the south.

Huge islands of blueberries grow here on this spot in summer, their leaves turned a firey red in autumn when I last made this trek. But today just gray rock, bare branches and delicate ice patterns in little pools frozen over.

White stripes of man-made winter were visible on the flanks of the Sunday River Ski Resort. But mostly the terrain below and beyond was brown, splotched here and there with dark coniferous green.

Plenty of brown in this odd January scene from the alpine ridge of Rumford Whitecap. That's Sunday River Ski Area is the distance.

At the summit cairn above the trees and on top of the world for a few precious moments a cold wind blew, but nothing approaching a full-on winter cold.

Steam rolled up into the air in white columns from the paper mill in Rumford. The Androscoggin River snaked its broad way through the valley. And in between lay the jumble of the Oxford Hills and its now many familiar peaks.

Turning into the wind I could trace the course of the Appalachian Trail and its serrated route curving northward from the Mahoosucs and bent on Katahdin miles away.

Back at the trailhead and famished from the exertion we wolfed down sandwiches and chips and cookies, even though it was barely 10:30 am.

Then out onto Route 2 we barreled along to Sunday River, skis on the overhead rack rattling in the wind.

An open parking space at Barker Lodge and we were in.

Patches of blue shone through the gray and sun dappled the artificially white slopes as the quad chair whisked us upward.

Riding the Barker Quad: Brown to the right, white to the left.

Despite an uncooperative Mother Nature, Sunday River has clearly done its level best to open up sufficient terrain for the oppressed skier population. But on this day there would be no run down White Heat on White Cap Peak, as not a flake of snow lay on its headwall.

Caution: Snow, ice and rocks below! We need some natural snow!!

Nonetheless, as a season passholder and confident that winter will eventually make things right by us, a couple of runs down nearby Sunday Punch and Monday Mourning--with some snow here, some ice there, a rock (oops!) underfoot--were enough to satisfy...

And get us into the car just in time for the Patriots vs. Jets game blaring from the radio on WBLM, the ribbon of sunny Route 26 stretching ahead.

All good (excepting the outcome of the game for this weary Jets fan).

And you? Your weekend?

I'm back! Did you miss me?

No, eh? Aww, you don't mean that!

Just walked out of the upstate New York woods Monday afternoon after 11 glorious days of hiking the complete Northville-Lake Placid Trail, 123 miles through the heart of the magnificent Adirondack Mountains.

Amazingly, we--my friend BB and I--did not see one other single soul for the last three days. On Columbus Day weekend no less. Can you believe that?

In fact we passed only 8 other backpackers the entire way. And just a handful of dayhikers, and a few campers at the two state parks we stayed at.

As for camping, well, you know how much I like to have a lean-to all to myself. Space. Peace and quiet. All that good stuff.

The N-P Trail didn't disappoint. We had an empty log lean-to each of the six nights we chose them. Incredible. Snug, dry, well maintained.

The scenery was top shelf. Dozens of pristine lakes and ponds, streams and rivers. Dark woods of spruce and fir. Colorful canopies of beech, sugar maple, red maple and birch. The leaves were a bit past their peak but brilliant nonetheless throughout the walk.

The treadway was muddy (a possible understatement here) much of time, so boots and socks stayed damp. A very active beaver population ensures frequent detours as they creatively alter the landscape and trailway, challenging both hikers and trail crews.

Four or five days of cold rain at first were matched by clear blue skies and temps in the 60s and 70s later on. Cool nights made for fine, if a bit frosty, sleeping, especially in the open front shelters. Perfect hiking weather all in all.

Deer sightings were frequent. A few chattering squirrels and chipmunks. Plenty of honking Canada geese. Owls and woodpeckers, chickadees and white throated sparrows. But no moose, dammit.

At 6.6 million acres the Adirondacks are big, big wilderness. With a capital W. A place you've got to explore if you haven't yet. And a good way to do so is to take an extended trip along the Northville-Placid Trail.

BTW, my sincere thanks to the dedicated folks at the Adirondack Mountain Club for a) building the N-P Trail way back in the late 20s, and b) maintaining it as a top notch wilderness experience. Terrific work! (My new member dues are on the way...).

I've got nearly a gig of digital photos and pages of notes to sort through. So they'll be more to come on this latest adventure...

What kind of cool outdoors stuff have you been up to lately?

End of the trail after 11 days and 123 miles.

Adirondack lean-to at Moose Pond.

Magnificent Duck Hole in the High Peaks Wilderness.

Busy beavers regularly alter the already muddy trail route.

Trailside cascade.

Evening light over the Cold River.

You've heard it all before, I know.

The backpack is packed and setting in the kitchen. Hiking clothes in a canvas tote next to it. Trekking poles ready for action. Maps, notebook, readin' books and camera good to go.

Everything has been thoroughly inspected by Molly and Katie, my two darling feline beasts, who have left a sufficient quantity of fur on things so that I surely can't forget about them while I'm away.

The pack weighs in at 27.5 pounds excluding food and water. Not bad. I was hoping to get it sub-25 but after several ounce-shaving iterations, I don't feel I can do much more. I'll take it. Fully loaded it's sure to total well under 40 lbs., very manageable for these bones.

Only one or two minor details to cover before the mighty Honda Civic lifts off late tomorrow afternoon.

Yep, I'm heading out into the woods once again. To the rough and tumble Andirondack Mountains of upstate New York.

11 days, 10 nights on the 120 mile Northville-Lake Placid Trail.

Peak foliage. Cool days. Crisp nights. Good walking and sleeping weather.

I ain't gonna hurry one damn step the entire way. Nope. There'll be two speeds on this trip: slow and stop.

It might even turn into a real relaxing vacation. Unlike the battering this body endured on the GR 20 Route last June, the N-LP Trail should be considerably gentler.

While Corsica dealt out pain and suffering in large daily quantities (I'm really not complaining as the scenery was incredible), this hike will extract a lesser toll. There's only 10,500 feet of elevation to gain along the way. That's 1/4 of the more than 40,000 feet of elevation gain required by the GR20 over an equal distance.

You do the math.

Yes, a walk in the park by comparison.

Fine by me.

But even though the strain will be less, the scenic wilderness and solitude factors will be high. Dozens of lakes and ponds, streams and rivers. High peaks on all sides. Cozy Adirondack lean-tos for camping and fire-sittin'.

All good.

I'll check in where and when I can, as the trail passes through a couple of towns en route. But maybe, maybe not. We'll see.

Here's wishing you all a couple of nice weeks of good hiking and good hiking weather to boot. Get out and enjoy. You know I will. Take notes and photos and we'll talk when I return the day after Columbus Day.

Until then...

A note on keeping dreams alive:

I first heard of the Northville-Lake Placid Trail on a cold September night at Rattle River shelter in NH. I was just one state and about a month away from finishing my thru-hike of the AT in 1977.

Standing around a campfire that evening I met up with 4 guys from Rochester NY. And as the evening progressed and the fire grew higher we got to talking about "after-the-trail" plans. (There may have been some burning of the herb going on too, customary at the time, but I can't say for sure).

Anyway, we concocted this idea for a expedition up the Northville-Lake Placid Trail, not far from their home. In winter. We would ski its entire length, right to Lake Placid, and just in time for the 1980 Olympics.

Now, how about that for a plan, eh?

Well, it never happened. I lost track of the Rochester boys. The Olympics came and went (albeit with a gold medal for the USA men's ice hockey team!) and so did the plan.

But I never forgot about the N-LP Trail. It's been right there on my hiking "to-do" list" ever since.

And now, 29 years later, I'm actually going to do it. All of it. And fulfill yet another long-held dream.

Life is funny isn't it? That silly things like a rather obscure hike can stick with you for so long. And then sometimes, with a measure of good fortune and by the grace of God, your dream comes true.

Not all of them. But some do, if you never give up hope.

And really, what is life without hope? Without dreams?

Yes, that's right.

Drink it all in today folks, this last day of summer.

Tomorrow: Autumn!

Why not celebrate the change of seasons with a fun hike!

My recommendation: Rumford Whitecap in, as you might expect, Rumford. It's just off Route 5 and a few miles north of Route 2 west of town.

It's a tremendous little mountain (about 2,000 feet high) that offers big time views from its long summit ridgeline.

So go and enjoy! Pack a lunch and a Thermos of cocoa and head on up.

It's easy, straighforward hiking for the most part, with only a couple of steep sections. And once your boots hit the upper granite slabs and you start snaking through the blueberry islands, you'll damn near be in heaven.

Perch yourself on top and take in the 360 degree views: Rumford and its mill stacks, the Androscoggin River, the northern Oxford Hills, the Mahoosucs and the Whites beyond, Tumbledown and the Jacksons.

And the colors, well, they be a changin'. Bonus!

More bonus points: We you get back to the car swing north a couple of miles to the covered bridge over the Ellis River. It's a beautiful spot. Then round out your day with a cold pint and some chow at the Sunday River Brew Pub.

Be sure to pack along the AMC Maine Mountain Guide for trail and trailhead info. The DeLorme Maine Atlas and Gazetteer Map No. 18 is helpful too. The trailhead is right at the gate shown under the "R" in RUMFORD.

Have fun!

Extra credit: If you're not too pooped, try a little armchair adventuring Saturday evening by checking out the Telluride Mountain Film Fest in Portland, with eight films to get your adrenalin pumping.

Hiking the entire Appalachain Trail from Georgia to Maine is no small feat. The journey takes enormous stamina and perserverance to keep at it day after day for the 5-6 months needed to cover all 2,175 miles.

That's why only a few thousand hardy souls have completed the trail since its inception in 1937.

Most, if not all AT thru-hikers do it with the usual gear: backpack, sleeping bag, tent, stove and... boots.

No so for Ron Zaleski, who I learned the other day is hiking the whole trail barefoot. Yes, barefoot. Maine to Georgia.

Zaleski is apparently no stranger to barefootedness, having done so for some 30 years since leaving the Marine Corps.

But still.

Ouch!

I just can't imagine hiking up and down Mount Katahdin without my trusty leather boots on. Much less through the 100-mile wilderness. Or the White Mountains.

Thems some kind of tough feets you got there Ron!

But then, given that Zaleski, a Vietnam vet, is hiking the trail to raise awareness of veterans issues, maybe that's what gets him by without hardly a wince.

Zaleski was about halfway along the trail in mid-Pennsylvania as of last week, still padding his way south. He plans to buck up on top of Springer Mountain, the trail's southern terminus, around Christmas.

Jeez, that's going to mean some kind of cold and snow through the Smokies and the Southern Appalachians, which range from 5-6,000 feet in elevation for hundreds of miles.

Good luck, my boy. Keep plodding. And here's hoping those thick callouses on your soles keep your tootsies warm.

Follow Zaleski's barefoot progress on his personal website.

Can you say w-e-e-k-e-n-d? I knew you could!

The daypack is packed and by the door. I need only pull the mini-cooler from the fridge and stow it on my way out.

Yep, early tomorrow morning I'm finally making the long trek north to Jackman to tackle the last of Maine's seven Bald Mountains, Boundary Bald.

I'll be making the hike with some folks from the Maine Department of Conservation, who will no doubt have lots of info to share on the subject of hiking trails and mountains and land conservation in our state. And I suspect we'll have a rousing good time along the way.

The forecast is good so let's have at it!

Note: Since my recent column in the Maine Sunday Telegram, I've learned a couple of things:

First, there are no plans for a wind turbine atop Boundary Bald. Thanks to Bill Jarvis, Forest Land Manager and Jackman-Moose River Fire Chief for setting me straight.

Secondly, Josh of Sanford tells me there's an 8th Bald Mountain in Maine. It's located Downeast in T42 MD BPP on the west shore of Third Machias Lake. Thanks Josh. Of course, now I have to get up there and check it out!

What are you up to on this fine looking late summer weekend?

Looking for a good hike this weekend? One with pleasant trails, lots o' views, an open ledge for lunch, and not too far in trail or road miles?

I've got just the thing: The Green Hills Preserve.

Huh?

Yeah, just across our western frontier in New Hampshire. And just minutes from the traffic snarls and shopping madness of North Conway.

That's right. You'd never believe that 5,000 acres of wildlands could be so close to the bustle of the infamous tourist Mecca.

But it is. And you'll love it!

You can avoid the worst of the hubbub in getting there: Take the North-South Road off Route 302 just before town. Look for Artist Falls Road and go right underneath the railroad tracks. Then right again on Thompson Road to the trailhead. Voila! You 'dere!

On with the pack and off you go, around the gate, and up the wide dirt track to the information kiosk a couple minutes up the way.

Pick up a trail map and continue on... Peaked Mountain and Middle Mountain are your goals. Do 'em clockwise for a nice 6-mile loop hike.

It's easy walking for awhile under a thick hardwood canopy. Then left uphill after a junction before slabbing across the mountainside. The last pull takes you through a semi-open forest of red and white pines across stretches of rock slabs.

It's great walking!

Top out on Peaked Mountain and settle in under the lone red pine there for lunch and a nap. And a heckuva a view of North Conway below and the shapely pyramid of Middle Mountain, your next objective.

Backtrack a bit, then turn east for Middle. Climb gradually up along the backside of the mountain before opening up on a slab, take on one final rise and call it good. Step down a few paces to a ledge and fine views of the valley and mountains beyond.

Retrace your steps to the last junction and streak downhill beside a bubbly stream, following it most of the way back.

With any luck you've wiled away a good 3-4 hours doing not much but putting one foot in front of the other, letting the mind wander freely, chowing down on a tasty lunch and enjoying a cold beverage, snoozing in the shade and maybe taking in a few pages of your latest adventure book.

All good. That's what a good day hike is all about. And Peaked and Middle are two of the best I've been up in awhile.

Try 'em. You be liking 'em, I'm sure.

For bonus time, stop at Weston's Beach at the bridge over the Saco River in Fryeburg for a swim. Can't be beat I tells ya.

Many thanks to Mainer and hiking fanatic Jeff Romano for tipping me off to this wonderful hike. You can find a description of it, and 59 other fabulous hikes, in his new book: Best Loop Hikes: New Hampshire's White Mountains to the Maine Coast.

Pick up a copy and get on out there. The best hiking of the year is on it's way!

Map of the Green Hills Preserve near North Conway NH.

Trail sign en route.

Under a thick canopy of hardwoods on the lower reaches of the trail.

Scenic window to Mount Washington from side of Peaked Mountain.

Hiking through park-like pines high on Peaked Mountain.

Middle Mountain from top of Peaked Mountain.

Enjoying my cooler lunch on the peak.

The Green Hills Preserve is managed by the Nature Conservancy.

A TNC trail marker.

Hiking the narrow path between the pines.

Busy North Conway from Middle Mountain.

There's nothing like a post-hike dip in the Saco River in Fryeburg.

Too many tourists can definitely be too much of a good thing. The least important tourist, in my mind, is the backpacker wilderness seeker granola eater who spends almost nothing here, but demands that we place a lot of land off-limits to suit their fine sense of the environment and protect their experience. Send them to Spain.

So says George Smith of the Sportsmans Alliance of Maine in the KJ today.

Smith, writing about "bringing the right kind of tourists to Maine," places backpackers at the bottom of the tourist food chain with regard to welcome.

The "smartest approach would be to target the biggest spenders, so that we minimize the number of tourists necessary to achieve the maximum economic benefit," according to Smith.

"Nonresidents who spend their summers here" and anglers--recreational fishermen--are the big spending, short staying plums we should be reaching out to attract.

Damn, where do I start with this?

First off, with all due respect George, why'd you have to go and dis us backpackers?

I'm a backpacker. And a rafter, kayaker, hiker, mountain biker, road biker, beer drinker (alright, so the last one may be mildly irrelevant, but it does go well with the other activities).

Would you rent a room to this backpacker wilderness seeker Pop-Tart eater?

I have money. And I spend it. Backpacking (and pursuing the other above mentioned outdoor activities) in Maine, across the U.S. and around the world. Lots of it.

Others do too.

Where'd you get the idea that we and our non-motorized recreational brethren don't add significantly to the economy?

That's nuts.

I rent cars, stay in motels, eat in local restaurants, shop in grocery stores, buy local books and maps and souvenirs on my way to and from backpacking trips. Whether I'm traveling upstate to Millinocket or flying west to the Sierras of California.

And since I'm nowhere near dead yet (in theory, anyway), I have many more places to visit and more cash to spend.

Backpackers are a part of the economic mix. An important part.

And no, we don't all want to see our backcountry lands locked up for elitist pursuits. A minority do, but most do not.

Thoughtful backpackers understand that multiple uses in the backcountry can and do co-exist without diminishing the pleasant outdoor experience we seek.

Jeez, I feel like I've gone back thirty years to when I first moved to Maine (from, gulp, Massachusetts!). And to the local merchants of a particular Eastern Maine town where my Dad had just bought a business, who would crudely tell him their warped version of Maine tourism marketing success: "Keep Maine green, send your money ahead, then don't bother coming."

Well, this in't Maine in the early 70s, nor is it Spain in the 1950s.

It's 2006 and Maine sorely needs a boost to its economy. A quantum leap, if you will, to help us emerge from our current Third World economic status.

Part of that leap forward will be a well-thought out plan to promote eco-tourism, also known as nature-based tourism, an emerging industry that is adding significantly to the economy of other states and even whole nations with large rural areas with poor economies.

Plenty of nature-loving eco-tourists (which includes us cheap smarmy backpackers) would like to come to Maine to see and enjoy the incredible natural beauty of our state. But as a state we don't market ourselves very well. And we don't make it easy for people to get around once they get here.

That has to change. And I believe it will.

A Maine Nature-Based Tourism Initiative is in its initial stages of implementation. Exciting projects like the Maine Woods Initiative undertaken at great financial risk by the Appalachian Mountain Club, and the Maine Huts & Trails System, are just two shining examples of what can and will be done to draw recreational visitors of all stripes with real money to spend to our state.

Here's a couple of positive facts regarding eco-tourists from The International Ecotourism Society that may allay some of the fears about those Pop-Tart eating slackpacker types:

1. Experienced ecotourists were willing to spend more money than general tourists, and 2. Most ecotourists preferred trips lasting 8-14 days.

So, not to worry George. The eco-tourists will come and spend their wads of cabbage (if we promote Maine properly). And they won't hang around too long so as not to be too much of a bother.

Deal?

And by the way, how's your Spanish?

Bonjour!

De Calvi sur le cote nord de Corse, a la Mediterraneé.

Le Haute Route de Corse via le GR 20 est finis. C'est magnifique! Le chemin de la montagne tres difficile, et tres beauté.

Je suis fatigue, maix heureux, apres 200 kilometers la randonee a piéd.

Sur le froid Pietra biere maintenant!

Revenir a Portland Maine des Etats Unis le soir Mardi.

Au revoir.

A bientot! Sante!

(Pardon, s'il vous plait. Je ne parle pas bon Francais!)

Are you a backpacking wannabee? A greenhorn with a few easy trips under your belt? Been out on the trail a fair amount and want to learn more about how to do it right?

Then the nice folks at Maine Chapter of the Appalachian Mountain Club have got just the thing for you: A Beginning Backpacking Workshop on Wednesday, May 31st from 6:30 to 9 pm at the Scarborough Public Library.

I sat in on both last spring's backpacking workshop and last fall's winter camping workshop put on by Maine AMC. And I have to tell you: These people spend A LOT of time on the trail and they really, really know their stuff!

In just a few short hours you'll get the complete rundown on packs, tents, sleeping bags, stoves, food, water treatment, clothing and footwear. Safety and health on the trail, as well as Leave No Trace principles will also be covered.

Plus you'll get what no book on backpacking alone will ever give you: Real life, up front and personal experience from folks that live to be outdoors and on the trail. And that, my beginner backpacker friends, is priceless.

So come on along and be a sponge for all the good info the Maine AMC has to share on the topic. Pre-registration is required.

**********

And speaking of the Appalachian Mountain Club, they're having their Spring 2006 Trails Campaign right now.

Your generous contribution will help the AMC tackle a mountain of trail clearing and erosion control on many miles of trail in NH and ME, help with the Franconia Ridge Alpine Trail Re-construction Project, support AMC trail crews and ridgerunners, build several miles of new trail on the spectacular AMC Katahdin Iron property near Little Lyford Ponds, and much more.

The AMC has been a leader in the New England outdoors for more than a hundred years and is deserving of any and all support to further their mission of protecting and enhancing our trails, preserving critical backcountry lands and providing user education for a more enlightened outdoor experience.

Please do what you can. It'll come back to you in spades.

It may well be our own 10-mile Bold Coast Trail in the Cutler Coast Management Unit of Maine's Public Reserve Lands system!

I made a weekend backpack trip of up there earlier this month and had a wonderful time. A great way to usher in the springtime.

Take a hike up there yourself and let me know what you think.

Here's a quick photo tour to get you going...

The Bold Coast trailhead is on Route 191 in Cutler, about 17 miles from East Machias and Route 1.

Walking through moist coastal forest enroute to the ocean.

Scrambling along steep cliff tops above the thundering ocean surf.

The trail leads around headlands of dark forest and grassy meadows.

Stopping to admire the killer view.

Where else can you backpack along the coast like this?

Colorful trash from the sea.

Buoy and seaweed.

Crossing grassy meadows back from the water aways.

A splash of color.

A sweet pocket beach.

Cozy tentsite in the trees just yards from the ocean.

Not much privacy here!

Hiking on the rocks toward Fairy Head.

Fairy Head with the Little River lighthouse in the distance.

A freshwater pond on the way out.

Bog bridges leading back to the car.

Helen's (in Machias) blueberry pie is said to be the best in the U.S.

That's Corsican for "across the mountains."

And that's what I'll be doing come June: Trekking across the mountains of Corsica (a French island in the Mediterranean Sea, south of France and west of Italy) on what's called the GR-20 Route or Grand Randonee 20.

The GR-20 is reputed to be the most difficult long distance trek in Europe. In 125 miles over the course of 2 weeks there is an astounding 70,000 vertical feet of elevation gain and loss.

Jeez, my back, knees and feet ache already! And a peek at the maps of the route does little to comfort me.

Fortunately, however, I am well into my usual pre-trek training regimen of walking daily to and from the car and consuming as much pizza and beer as possible in order to be in peak physical condition.

So far the training has been quite a success, and I'll no doubt be ready to tackle the rugged ups and downs of Corsica, enroute from Calenzana across the rugged interior of the island to Conza.

Corsica you say?

Why??

I'd never have put Corsica on the top of my hiking list, much less even on my list, had it not been for my friend Dr. John, a retired physician from the UK, who I met while trekking the Haute Route through the Alps from Mont Blanc to the Matterhorn in 2000.

John was spending his early retirement traveling the globe and walking as many of the world's best trails as he could. And in the handful of nights that we and his group shared in cozy Swiss huts over mugs of Cardinal beer and glasses of red wine, he kept coming back to Corsica.

The GR-20 route was, he said, the hardest hike he'd ever done, and the most beautiful. It beat the crap out of him, but he loved every step of the way. The jagged peaks and lonely cirques, alpine meadows and high lakes, the mix of fellow trekkers from around the world that he met each day on the route, and each evening in the bergeries and gites. And the lovely, friendly, accomodating Corsican people.

The idea stuck. It made "the list." And my good trekking buddy Phil and I have kicked it around ever since the Alps trek. Threatening, ever threatening to go.

And now we are.

Maps and guidebooks have been purchased. So have airline tickets from my travel agent pal Nancy at AAA in South Portland. The packing list is on the table and gear is being sorted, evaluated, organized.

It's really happening. The GR-20 across Corsica. A dream come true. I can't wait.

But first I must continue my rigorous training...

Picking up my plane tickets to Corsica from Nancy, my awesome AAA travel agent.

Trekking friends from Britain pause for a photo and a laugh atop the Meidpass along the Haute Route in Switzerland, September 2000. Dr. John, the idea guy behind my upcoming Corsica trek, is at far left.

Yours truly descending into the tiny village of Gruben-Meiden, Haute Route, Switzerland, September 2000.

Toasting the completion of the Haute Route beneath the Matterhorn after 13 days and 150 miles of hiking. I trust that Corsica's GR 20 route will bring more great scenery and similar revelry.

Fra li Monti!

I wasn't about to let this beautifully blue and sunny spring day pass by without a walk in the woods.

So after work I tossed a few things into my day pack and crawled along through thick rush hour traffic on Forest Avenue to Riverton Park.

I'd never visited the Westbrook River Trail and figured, why not today?

I parked in the parking lot just opposite Riverton Park, as I had for previous trips there. But this time I noticed several "No Parking" and "No Trepassing" signs along one edge of the lot.

Hmmm, I thought. A bit concerned, I checked my Portland Trails map, and there it was, a big "P" for parking right there where it should be.

So be it. Tow me.

And I headed off down the path.

It was an interesting start, as the trail led downhill to the Presumpscot River and underneath the bridge where it promptly ended.

Hmmm, again.

I scrambled up the rip-rap onto the road, hustled along with the cars, and dashed back across near Dunkin' Donuts.

Along East Bridge St. I passed the PWD pumping station, but found no trail.

A bit further on, I ducked down into the woods and came across a two-wheel track that led along the river. This had to be it.

And so it went. I never did find any trail markings, but the map clearly showed I was in the right place. So I kept on plodding along.

It turned out to be a pleasant walk along the placid river. Just me and the ducks. And an adventurous mountain biker plugging through the mud on the opposite side of the river, who passed with a big wave.

The scenic Westbrook River Trail hugs the banks of the Presumpscot River.

I continued on the soft and often muddy path through piney woods and fields and thick brush. With the stacks of the SAPPI mill in sight, and my way blocked by a high fence, I decided to call it good.

Under an evening sky fast turning to pastel shades of pink and blue, I turned off the track onto a powerline and out into the streets of Westbrook. And in darkness navigated my way back to East Bridge St., lit up by the headlights of passing cars.

I was tickled to find my car still there in the parking lot when I returned. Given that I now didn't have to shell out a $100 to the City of Portland for a tow job, I headed to nearby Tortilla Flats to spend some of my bonus cash.

A terrific combo plate of beans, rice and tacos and a couple of Dos Equis pints later, my hike was officially complete.

It isn’t very often that you get to spend the night out on top of a mountain. But that’s exactly what a small group of us did last weekend.

Mount Kearsarge is a strikingly conical peak in the White Mountain National Forest just north of North Conway, NH. And it just happens to have a fire tower on its 3,260 foot summit that is open to day hikers and backpackers alike.

The lower section of the 3.1 mile trail was clear with only the occasional patch of ice. But halfway up that changed as the trail became increasingly steep and icy.

Now, given the non-winter we’ve had, you can understand why some of us decided to leave our heavy duty crampons behind and take only Stabilicers for the bottom of our boots.

That idea worked fine until we unexpectedly (duh!) encountered the big sheets of ice across the trail. We slipped, slid and fell, and quickly determined that bushwhacking through the woods next to the trail was the only way up.

The bushwhack had its moments of struggle through thick brush, but soon enough we emerged onto the final summit slabs, and scampered up to the top and the tower.

Home sweet home for the night! What a treat!

The inside of the tower was quickly transformed with colorful gear as we settled in. The stove was fired up for soup and snacks, and a spot of red wine was enjoyed, as we took in the wonderful 360 degree views: Mount Washington, the deep V of Carter Notch, Pleasant Mountain, the Pemi Wilderness, and the valley of North Conway below.

The rest of our overnight group of five arrived along with a handful of day hikers and we enjoyed a fun social hour.

Throughout the evening strong north winds buffeted the tower, bringing a few light snowflakes. Inside, however, we were warm and dry and generally ecstatic to be camping out in such a cool place.

Sometime in the night the winds quit and the night became eerily silent, actually waking several of us. The temperature plunged to the single digits. But a brilliant sky full of stars appeared, which we enjoyed with a bit of shivering during bathroom runs.

It was tough to pack up and leave in the morning. We lingered over hot cocoa and shuffled about from window to window drinking in the scenery, before setting out.

We quickly picked up our bushwhack trail and crashed down through the brush to avoid the ice. It was a good plan that helped us again avoid the worst of it.

Early afternoon found us enjoying the warmth of Bray’s Brew Pub in Naples and a killer pulled pork sandwich washed down with a fine Old Church Pale Ale. Life is good.

Note: The Kearsarge fire tower is open and available for day and overnight use. To be sure, we checked in with officials of the WMNF prior to our trip. The tower is the last remaining fire tower in the entire WMNF and is a historic landmark. It is in immaculate condition. Treat it with care! We did. You should too. Pack out all your trash, sweep the floor (broom provided) and close the door when you leave. We want this wonderful place to stay in good shape for the enjoyment of many for many years to come. Thanks!

The trail to Kearsarge North just outside of North Conway NH.

The lower mountain was snow free and easy cruising...

... but the trail on the upper mountain was a treacherous sheet of ice!

Approaching the summit firetower after a healthy 2,600' ascent.

The views were awesome in all directions, especially north to rugged Carter Notch. Doublehead Mtn. is in the foreground.

Trip leader Andi fixes up our afternoon cocktails.

Andi and Jeff comfortably ensconced in the tower.

Brewing up the evening cocoa.

Just too damn comfortable to wanna get up.

We bushwhacked a good part of the descent to avoid the killer ice.

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?

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.

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.

There were many idle, under-caffeinated thoughts whistling through my head this morning.

And one of them actually stuck...

I wonder what is the most frequently climbed (on foot) mountain in all of Maine?

With coffee starting to do it's job and synapses heating up and beginning to fire, I threw out a few reasonably intelligent guesses:

Mount Katahdin in Baxter State Park.

Bradbury Mountain in Pownal.

Pleasant Mountain in Bridgton.

The Beehive in Acadia National Park?

Munjoy Hill in Portland? (okay, maybe that's stretching it a little).

Mount Agamenticus in York?

Dunno, really.

Could be one of these or not. Goodness knows there's plenty of popular Maine mountains out there.

You? Any idea?

What is your candidate for the most hiked mountain in Maine, and why do you think so? I won't mind at all if it's your sentimental favorite.

So get yourself some java, get in synch with today's program, and write back to me.

Please?!

What do you think is the most frequently hiked mountain in Maine?

One of my favorite places to hike is up the coast aways in the Georges Highlands, a very scenic area of low hills and mountains and pretty lakes and farms and fields.

But shhhh! Don't tell anyone, okay?

I visited the area on a lazy Saturday last month before the snow hit in earnest. It was just the ticket. A pleasant drive up the coast on Route 1 sans the summer traffic, followed by a short, but rewarding hike with big views.

My trail of choice was the Georges Highland Path on Bald Mountain, part of the 9 1/2 mile Ragged Mountain section. Access to the trailhead is via Barnestown Road.

The trail quickly crosses a brook before rising gradually through a hardwood forest. Bright sun poured through the trees, but the brisk wind swept away any chance of warmth. Clad in layers of fleece, however, I was comfortable.

Countouring and switchbacking up the mountain, the trail leads to frequent open ledges where you can look out over pastoral fields and farmhouses. Higher still, pass through dense thickets of gnarly scrub oak sprinkled with white pines.

The trail swings left uphill beneath the summit of Bald to a pretty outlook toward Hosmer Pond, Ragged Mountain and the ocean. From there follow rock cairns across slabs and along ledges (had to use some fancy footwork here to avoid icy patches that threatened to send me flying off the edge to a certain unglorious demise... be careful here at any time of year!).

More scrambling over rocks and ledges and slabs leads to sweeping views of Mount Megunticook and Mount Battie in Camden Hills State Park, as well as Camden village and the bay beyond. Sweet!

It was cold and windy at the big cairn on the peak, so I paused only for a moment to chat with a couple of other hikers before starting the descent.

Less than a minute off the top, gawking at the fine scenery around me, I took a digger on an icy patch, going ass over tea kettle, and driving my left thigh hard into the rock.

Ouch!

Nicely bruised and feeling more than a little foolish, I limped down the mountain and back to the car, arriving just as the sun dipped behind Ragged Mtn. and cast the valley in shadow.

For pain relief I drove immediately to Cappy's Canned Chowder House in Camden for a pop, some football on the tube and some mixing with the locals.

No trip to this part of the coast is ever complete without a stop at Maine Sport Outfitters in Rockport. I browsed the aisles and fingered a lot of gear, but amazingly, walked away without abusing my credit card. See, occasionally I really can exhibit some financial self-control!

There was one more stop to make on the drive home.

Moody's Diner in Waldoboro. Ayuh. It being Saturday night and all, you'd think I would've settled for the traditional beans and hot dog plate. But seeing as how I'd eaten beans in one form or another for three days running, and was battling the internal gurgles even still, I decided to pass and have a cheeseburger instead. With a pumpkin pie and whipped cream chaser.

All good. A super day. And one I highly recommend. Especially right now given our low-to-no snow conditions and mild weather.

Have fun!

Bald Mountain trailhead on Barnestown Road, Camden.

Hikers on the Georges Highland Trail up Bald Mountain.

Trail corridor through a grove of gnarled oaks.

View of Hosmer Pond.

Alpine-like trail high on Bald Mountain.

View across to Ragged Mountain.

Icy trail underfoot.

Camden village and the ocean off in the distance.

Late afternoon sun through the oaks on the way down.

The conservation work is never done...

No visit to the Camden area is complete without a visit to the outdoor gear paradise of Maine Sport.

Nothin' finah' than pie at Moody's Dinah. Ayuh.

A number of weeks ago, before we were locked into the winter white, I took a Sunday stroll through the nearby Falmouth Nature Preserve, a sweet hundred acres of nature just off Route 88 in Falmouth.

FNP is one of my favorite places to walk, but it had been some time since I'd been out there, so a visit was in order.

Over several hours I walked nearly every foot of the five trails that criss-cross the preserve, and lead through lovely mixed wood forests, down into dark hollows and along the placid tidal Mill Creek.

I never fail to emerge from these woods without a smile and a good feeling inside. This trip was no different. It's just a real soothing place.

Sorry I didn't share these photos with you sooner, but, well, it's been a busy time.

The next time you have a few hours to spare and want to get a pleasant walk in and don't want to drive too far from the city, try the Falmouth Nature Preserve. Whether you're on foot, snowshoes or skis, I know you'll enjoy it!

Trail map of the Falmouth Nature Preserve.

Amid the conifers on the Red Trail.


Creeklet deep in the forest.

Under a dark canopy of hemlocks on the White Trail.

Along the banks of Mill Creek.

At a bend in Mill Creek on the Yellow Trail.

Placid Mill Creek.

The Orange Trail passes over a soft carpet of pine needles.

Remnants of another time in the life of this land.

A plaything only mountain bikers could love.

The sweet scent of apples decaying on the forest floor.

Nearing the car and the end of a fine walk.

Care to share your favorite local walk?

My blogosphere friend Maya has just introduced me to a new online forum for hikers.

At HikingForums.net you can get in on discussion groups with other hikers, share hiking stories and tips, talk about gear and food, health and safety, and whatever else floats your hiking boat.

Currently, there are more than 4,000 articles posted and nearly 1,000 registered users on the site, so there's already plenty of information for your perusing pleasure and plenty of like-minded folks who want to talk about it.

Maya, a big hiking enthusiast herself, is hoping to grow the site into an online hiking community where hikers can share their love of the outdoors with others. It appears she's well on her way to achieving that goal!

I've just gone to the site and added my name. I hope you will too. More hiking friends and more hiking info and trip ideas. How can you go wrong?

Over lunch today I opened up my latest copy of The Beacon, the quarterly newsletter of the Cathedral School in Portland, and discovered a heart warming story.

Every Tuesday morning the entire student body, as well as teachers and staff, hits the trail for a 2 1/2 mile walk up Munjoy Hill, around Eastern Prom and back to the school via the East End Path.

That's awesome kids!

All told, the Tuesday Cathedral walking group has logged more than 20,000 miles since summer school. And they hope to surpass 25,000 by the end of the school year.

Wow!

Kudos to the teachers for their guidance and motivation. A great program.

And keep it up kids. Walking is a good habit that is central to a long, healthy life.

Ice crunches under my boots on the gravel path. The traffic noise on Congress St. behind me slowly fades as I cross the bridge over the Fore River. It's gray and raw out. Two o'clock in the afternoon but almost dark. Late November, for sure.

Some time in the woods is what's needed today. To dispel the holiday blues. Work off a couple of those pumpkin pie pounds. To stride for awhile, breath some air. See what's going on in the woods.

So I've come a few minutes from my home in Portland to the Fore River Sanctuary to do just that. To walk. Look around. Think.

A welcoming sign...

The path follows along the old canal on a high berm. There's no wind. And now, no noise. I'm already away from the city and into a different place. A gull flies overhead without a sound. Then a blue heron with a great deal a squawking. Then nothing. Except my boots on the path.

My nose runs from the chill air. My cheeks are cold. The air is invigorating my lungs with each breath. I'm so glad I got out.

Canal to my left. Salt marsh to my right. A corridor through the buffalo grass. Quiet.

Small critter tracks across the frozen marsh let me know I'm not alone out here.

But then, in short order, I pass a dozen people wandering back toward the road. Out for a Sunday walk. "Hi". "Hello". I continue on. Over another bridge-a winding one-into the forest of oak and pine and hemlock.

I cross the railroad tracks and head further into the gray woods of young oaks. A thin layer of snow covers the ground to either side of the trail. But a succession of boots today have cleared the path.

Jewell Falls is Portland's only natural waterfall. Hidden in a hollow of hemlocks, it's a gem as it cascades down several levels before flowing out into the salt marsh beyond. Ice has formed in places in the stream. The black rock in the streambed provides a stark contrast.

I photograph. Make notes. Sit on the granite marker in honor of Tom Jewell who did so much to preserve this unique and precious property. I shiver. And decide to head for home.

I cross the railroad tracks again. And suddenly think of the many wild adventures I had as a kid exploring along the RR tracks in Bangor. It all briefly comes back to me as I pause in the middle of the tracks.

The woods are growing dark. The sun will be down soon. Not that I would know it today. I make my way back along the canal on the old towpath. Happy to have spent a few hours with Mother Nature.

Car lights are on when I reach Congress St. Holiday shoppers. Commuters. Rush, rush, rush. But not me. Not today.

Sunday was a beautiful day, wasn't it? Sunny, blue skies, temps in the high 50s.

The kind of day you'll remember fondly at some point deep into the winter, probably when it's 20 below and you can't raise the slightest care about going outside.

Even more so if you were with a group of slightly off kilter MOACers on our hike up Burnt Meadow Mountain in Brownfield.

You see, my good friend Dan decided to have a BBQ. And a hike. Combined.

Yep. The plan was to haul a trash can lid to the top of Burnt Meadow Mtn., along with all the fixin's for a hot dog feast, and have a picnic, MOAC-style.

And that's just what we did!

Now, before you go sending me angry comments, let it be known that this was all cleared with the proper authorities in Brownfield. So we were legit. For once.

Anyway, Dan couldn't find a trash can lid around his place, so he figured he'd simply substitute a half a 50 gallon barrel with a grate to boot.

Dan strapped the whole rig to a pack frame and hauled it the 1.3 miles up the mountain.

And the rest of us packed in some 40-50 hot dogs, rolls, condiments, 2 gallons of milk for hot cocoa, peppers and onions to saute for the dogs, chili, and a variety of snackatizers.

Oh, and two six-packs of beer. PBRs for the low-lifers in the group and Shipyards for the highbrows.

All good.

And from there we proceeded to have ourselves one heckuva fun-filled day, laughing a good measure of the way and down the mountain.

Hiking with Dan and MOAC... the way life should be. Always. Filled with smiles and belly laughs and the faces of good friends. And some nice views from a mountain top.

Here's the re-cap in pictures. Hike along with us and enjoy. Life is too short not to be silly most of the time!

Dan hoisting his packload.

Hamming it up for the camera.

Ready to hike.

Heading up Burnt Meadow Mtn.

The way gets steep, but our BBQ continues on...

That's me hauling the buns (and the PBRs inside my pack).

Views to the south on the way up.

Fire in the hole.

Pre-dog cocktails.

Oh yeah! Dogs, onions, peppers, cocoa... on a mountain top!

Cathy serving up the cocoa.

Not much left...

Happy and well-fed hikers.

View of Pleasant Mountain.

The BBQ descends to the car.

Where can you find crashing surf, sandy beach, salt marshes, woods and fields, all in one place?

Not far, dee-yah, not far.

Try Wells. The Wells National Estuarine Research Reserve to be exact.

There you'll find seven miles of interesting trails to wander. Pick one or hike them all like I did. The walking is wonderful, and so are the views. And the quiet, well, there's plenty of that.

So pack up a candy bar, a water bottle and a good book and make your way to the Wells Reserve for a fun outing.

Maybe this weekend? You think?

Bench on the Knight Trail.

The Knight Trail, a pathway to the sea.

A young girl pokes through the rocks at Laudholm Beach.

Lobster pot at Laudholm Beach.

Walkers returning from Laudholm Beach.

Bull pine on the Muskie Trail.

The Little River from the Farley Trail.

Winding boardwalk on the Laird-Norton Trail.

Enjoying the view at the Little River Overlook.

Boardwalk and bench on the Laird-Norton Trail.

Looking for a fun day this weekend that combines a wild auto ride, an easy but rewarding hike, gear hounding in the epicenter of outdoor retailing, and good grog and food?

Well then dee-yah, I've got just the ticket for you.

Road trip: Drive up to Fryeburg and take Route 113 north out of town. Where the road takes a 90 degree right turn (store on left), go straight. Go a couple of miles at best until you see the Hurricane Mountain Road on your left.

Although it's been repaved and appears a bit wider then when I was up there a couple of years ago, it's still little more than a glorified bike path. Steep grades, lots of twists and turns and the chance to narrowly miss oncoming cars make this an exciting ride.

At the top of the pass, pull into the parking on your left.

The hike: Take the Black Cap Mountain Trail an easy 1.5 miles through the Green Hills Preserve (managed by the NH Nature Conservancy) to the top of Black Cap Mtn. If the trail gains more than a few hundred feet along the way to the 2,300' summit I'd be surprised. It's quite a nice walk with terrific views of the mountains and valleys along the Maine-NH border. Of course, when I was up there several weeks ago it was socked in with mist, so I hope you have better luck.

From the summit, double back to the Mt. Cranmore Trail and follow this for another easy mile or so to the top of the Mt. Cranmore Ski Area. Tip: Just after passing a silly looking telecom tower made up to look like a pine tree, you'll come out on a dirt road. Turn right and follow the road to the top.

From the ski lodge you'll enjoy views out over North Conway towards The Moats and Cathedral and Whitehorse Ledges. Sweet! A good spot for lunch.

On the walk over to Cranmore you'll note the Red Tail Trail, a single-track mountain bike trail (you can also hike on it). In fact, there's apparently a good deal of mountain biking routes throughout the preserve. Something to keep in mind for the next visit.

Again, double back and head to the car. And enjoy Part II of the wild ride on the Hurricane Mountain Road into North Conway and the Mt. Washington Valley.

Gear-hounding: Down in the valley you'll find outdoor gear heaven in the form of Ragged Mountain Equipment, International Mountain Equipment, and Eastern Mountain Sports. Fire up that credit card! 1, 2, 3... shop!

Grog and grub: Gear shopping is exhausting, so you'd better sit and rest up somewhere (and to ease the pain of spending gobs of cash on gear you didn't know you needed until it was in your hand and you exclaimed, "I've just got to have this!"). I know, I know. It's kind of a medical condition. Don't worry. You're not alone.

But I digress...

Steer your vehicle into the Red Parka Pub (the pub, not the restaurant, please), enjoy a draft beer served in a mason jar, as well as free peanuts and popcorn. And good, if not somewhat over-priced, pub food.

Or, take in the fine selection of microbrews at the Moat Mountain Brew Pub and enjoy some of their most excellent BBQ or other good chow on the menu.

OK then, fat and happy and nearly broke, you are now free to go home...

Wobbly knees and all, I've finally reached the north coast of Wales and the Irish Sea, where I walked right into the rising tide at 4PM yesterday afternoon.

Then walked directly into the nearby Offa's Tavern for a celebratory pint(s).

After 15 straight days of walking, 188 miles (plus at least 20 more miles of misadventures in all directions but the correct one), I've completed the Offa's Dyke Path across the length of Wales.

It's been quite a journey. Quite beautiful, but considerably tougher than I imagined. Thank goodness for the fine string of B&Bs and pubs to take the edge off each evening!

I have a full notebook, more than 1GB of digital photos, and a head full of Wales Tales to tell of the people and places along the Offa's Dyke Path through this fantastic land.

On my way home now...

See you soon for a pint at Bleacher's!

A beautiful morning in the highlands of North Wales. Heading off in a few minutes from Llangollen and the wonderful Abbey Grange Inn.

The wild moorlands rise above just outside the windows here. Four more days of walking and I shall be at the north coast and the completion of the Offa's Dyke Path.

150 miles down, countless mountains and villages and people. Much to tell. But that will be later...

For now I've got to shoulder my rucksack and get the day under way. And see if this painful right knee will allow me to get along a bit further.

All in all, it's been a magnificent walk...

The nice folks at the George & Dragon Inn here in Knighton served me up another delicious full English breakfast this morning: a fried delight of eggs, two rashers of bacon, two sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, toast, cereal, fruit, coffee, and juice.

It's my 7th in a row and while I do feel my arteries beginning to clog a bit from this daily dose of lard, I just can't help myself. The meal provides all the fuel I need to get through the day's walk, and most days I can only manage to get down a granola bar during the day.

Knighton is considered the halfway point of the Offa's Dyke Path and the center of hill walking for the region. I've covered some 80 miles of the path thus far, with 97 to go. And no rush. Too much too see!

The highlight of the walk has surely been the 17 mile stretch from Pandy to Hay-on-Wye across the barren, windswept reaches of Hatterrall Hill. Magnificent ridge walking and not a soul about, except for the ever present sheep. A close second in beauty would be Disgwylfa Hill and Hergest Ridge. Wonderful high walking above the Hobbit-like countryside.

Navigation of the route was a bit spotty at first, and I covered a few extra miles due to several "miscalculations." At one point, late in the afternoon, quite tired and frustrated, I stopped to query a farmer about the location of the Offa's Dyke Path, which I had not seen for several hours.

He looked me up and down, smiled and said that yes, he did know where it was.

Oh good, I thought.

But I waited a few very long seconds wondering if he was going to spit out the precious information.

"See that fence post over there (about 50 feet away)? Well, you go over to it, and on the other side you'll find what yer lookin' for."

I did just that. And went on my way, officially like.

My getting about has improved dramatically since and I've come to be quite comfortable with my surroundings. So much so that for the last two days I haven't bothered to consult either my guidebook or maps.

I've just walked, well, sauntered really, and let things figure themselves out.

It's been quite wonderful and relaxing.

A few other trail tidbits...

Best pub: Ye Olde Taverne (really!), Kington

Best ale: Hobson's Town Crier @ the George & Dragon Inn, Knighton

But it's early yet. More villages and pubs to go.

And more miles of wonderful Welsh hill walking.

Talk soon...

Passport. Bus ticket. Plane ticket. Train ticket.

Check.

Backpack. Clothes. Boots. Trail snacks. Water bottles.

Check.

Camera. Extra memory cards. Notebooks.

Check.

Credit cards. Cash. Teef. Clown nose.

Check.

OK, then.

Looks like it's just about time to hit the dusty.

I'm on the bus in a few short hours for an evening flight out of Logan.

With any luck I should be having breakfast somewhere in London tomorrow morning before catching a mid-day train to Wales.

I'll drop off in Chepstow, stash my goods at a little inn, and scurry a few miles south to the Sedbury Cliffs above the River Severn and the start of the Offa's Dyke Path coast-to-coast route across Wales.

Then it's back to the village for the evening meal and quite likely a pint or two. And sleep.

On Saturday morning I'll begin the walk in earnest, heading north for 180 miles along the Wales-England border, through farms and fields and forests, villages and hamlets, over windswept mountains and lonely moors, past castles and pastures of sheep, to the Irish Sea some 15 days hence.

A pilgrimage of sorts, yes. Long days to stretch and stride. And to let the eyes see and the mind wander and the heart pump...

It'll be good to be back on the walk. Oh so very good.

I'll be in touch as I can.

See you in a few weeks.

"I often wonder what I seek when I embark on these trips. There is the pat answer I tell people I don't know--that I'm interested in seeing a place, learning about its people. But then the trip begins, and the hardship comes, and hardship is more honest: It tells me that I'm here because I don't have enough patience yet, or humility, or gratitude. So I've told the world that it can do what it wants with me if only, by the end of the trip, I have learned something. A bargain, then. The journey, my teacher."
--Kira Salak, Mungo Made Me Do It, National Geographic Adventure, December 2002

I spent half of last Sunday exploring the trail network of Saco Bay Trails in and around the Saco area and discovered some some real hidden jewels that I'll bet not too many people know about, but should.

And all within a few minutes of Portland.

I love that.

Armed with a daypack with water bottle, camera, notebook and granola bars, I started off with the Cascade Falls Trail which led down to a beautiful twin falls in a cool grotto of hemlocks.

I then proceeded to the Sylvan Trail which paralleled the noisy Turnpike for a distance before turning east to quieter forests and fields.

The Log Cabin Trail was a pretty loop past rock walls and through tall pines and dense young hemlocks.

At the Saco Heath I followed a boardwalk for more than a mile out into the semi-open where Atlantic white cedar, white pine, pitch pine and a host of wetland plant life thrived.

Finally, 6 trails and some 8 miles of tramping later, I breezed through the Middle Goosefare and Old Camp Trails, past a pond and old dam.

Tired and satisfied by my wanderings, I capped off the day with a pizza and a draft at the Kerryman Pub, an old Saco standby.

Not a bad day. Not bad at all.

Well, I'm headed overseas again for another walking vacation, or "holiday" as the Europeans like to call it.

Finally. At the end of next week.

Unguided. And solo.

It's been three long years since I've been walking over on the continent and I'm just beside myself with anticipation.

I've been lucky enough to hike the Coast-to-Coast Path across England from the Irish Sea to the North Sea, the Haute Route from Mount Blanc in France to the Matterhorn in Switzerland, and the West Highland Way from outside Glascow to Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the UK, in Scotland.

This time it's Wales.

More specifically, the Offa's Dyke Path from the River Severn 180 miles northward to Prestatyn on the Irish Sea.

I'm figuring on about 15 days to make the journey through the hills and mountains and villages along the wild Welsh-English border. And if I have any time left, which I may if I don't linger in too many pubs, I hope to climb Snowdon, the highest peak in Wales, and explore Snowdonia National Park.

In order to carry the lightest possible packload, I've been on the phone and writing emails to inns and B&B's and hostels in the hopes of not having to carry any camping gear at all. It's been a hoot talking with the innkeepers the last few days shoring up the plans. I just love their accent!

Sans camping gear is how I've made my European walks in the past and I loved it. There's nothing like it: A sweet day of hill walking, a cozy pub in the afternoon and a comfortable inn for the evening, complete with cooked meals and a warm bed.

And speaking of, I'm so looking forward to the "full English breakfast" each day, that lard-laden, artery-clogging morning treat of fried eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, bread, sausage, and bacon.

Oh yeah!

And the beer, of course.

And I might even enjoy the walk a bit too.

The eastern half of the Grafton Loop Trail has been open to hikers for three seasons now, but I couldn't seem to get my backpacking butt up there to do it.

Until a week ago.

The wait was worth it. It's beautiful. And rugged.

We opted to travel from the south end, making the long climb up to the spectacular alpine summit of Puzzle Mountain. There the trail strikes north and generally follows the Newry-Andover town line over Long Mountain under a thick canopy of hardwoods, with occasional outlooks.

After 12 miles on the go, we skipped across Wight Brook and pitched camp at Knoll Campsite, one of five primitive campsites along the way.

The following day we hiked over Lightning Ledge with nice views of the Bear River Valley, Sunday River Whitecap and East and West Baldpate just ahead. That afternoon we topped out on East Baldpate and joined up with the Appalachian Trail.

After lunch and a nap on the open summit, we pushed on, completing the hike with a tough, knee-pounding descent of the ledges on East Baldpate and the heavily eroded trail on West Baldpate.

An easy hitchhike from the parking lot at Grafton Notch got us back to the car. And the Sunday River Brew Pub wasn't long after...

If you go, be prepared. This is a tough weekend hike through desolate country. Campsites are rough with only one privy (at Lane Campsite). Practice Leave No Trace! Carry plenty of water, especially between Puzzle Mountain and Knoll Campsite, as water sources are iffy.

The GLT provides 21 miles of great hiking and backcountry solitude where you're unlikely to see many other people. So go and enjoy! And I may see you out there again this fall when the leaves start to change.

I haven't heard when the western loop will open, supposedly later this summer. I'll update you when I hear something (or vice versa).

The completed portion of the Grafton Loop Trail extends 21 miles along the east side of Grafton Notch.

Sunday River Ski Resort from the summit of Puzzle Mountain.

Along the GLT.

Score!

Puzzle Mtn. from Long Mtn.

Bunchberries and Reindeer Moss.

Sunday River Whitecap, over which the western loop of the GLT will go.

Facilities along the GLT are primitive at best. Practice Leave No Trace and keep it pristine!

Color on the forest floor.

Climbing steeply on the way to Baldpate Mountain.

Wood sorrel.

The GLT meets the AT atop the alpine summit of Baldpate, with Old Speck in the distance.

Former Portland Mainer, MOACer and house mate of mine, Karl, sent along a few pics from his latest exploits in the Colorado Rockies, where he's been living and playing since 1998.

Karl holds down a good job as an engineer in Denver, but I know it's just a front. A top snowboard instructor at Breckenridge and a certified wildman, he's more likely to be found on the slopes or on the trail somewhere above Breck, than behind his desk.

I very nearly moved to Denver myself last year, so these images stir up a few mixed feelings. But I'm happy I stayed put in the great state of Maine, home like nowhere else.

I would like to get out to the Rockies more often though, because the hiking is outstanding. I spent three weeks out there a few years back, traipsing around through the high country along the Continental Divide in Rocky Mountain National Park and climbing in Eldorado Canyon. Wild! Got to do more of that.

And, of course, the Colorado skiing is outrageous, but I can only say that second hand. That has to change sometime soon.

In the meantime, I'll think I'll just hum some John Denver tunes...

Photo by Karl Kluge
Mt. Guyot, a 13,000 footer in the Colorado Rockies near Breckinridge.

Photo by Jill Kluge
My friend and former Mainer Karl on Mt. Guyot.

Photo by Jill Kluge
Karl mugging it up as the weather closes in on a high ridge in the Rockies.

Photo by Karl Kluge
The typical afternoon thunderstorm moving in over the Rockies.

Hike to the summit of all of the New England Hundred Highest mountains and you'll have covered an awful lot of ground, both on the trail and off. I'm trying, but it sure does take awhile. Years in fact.

But that's OK. I've got time (I hope).

A friend and I ventured over to the Green Mountain State over the 4th holiday weekend and knocked off another couple of peaks there: Mendon Peak and Mount Equinox.

Mendon has no trails on it, so bushwhacking with map and compass was the order of the day. Mount Equinox has a long and winding trail to its summit, where it meets the auto road coming up from the other side. The two peaks couldn't have provided more contrast to the very enjoyable weekend of hiking.

The two peaks represented #87 and #88 on "the list" for me, so I'm getting there. Slowly.

But I've still got a good amount of work ahead of me. In Maine, I've got East Kennebago, Elephant, North Peak of Kennebago Divide, Snow (Chain of Ponds), Snow (Little Kennebago Lake), and Redington (recently added to the Maine 4000 footer list). In New Hampshire, there's Scar Ridge, East Sleeper, Vose Spur, and North and South Weeks. And I have two left in Vermont now: Big Jay and Dorset Peak.

I'd like to think that I'll make a concerted effort to finish them all this year but...

Anyway, to Mendon. It's just south of Killington and the AT, near Rutland.

Thanks to info from the AMC Four Thousand Footer Club, some Google searches, and some beta from a friend in N.H. (thanks Ray!), we had a pretty straight forward climb of the trailless Mendon.

We followed old logging roads as high on the mountain as they went. Where the roads petered out we were still a good 1,300 feet below the top. Out came the map, and the compass, which I set to a bearing of 161 degrees. And, with a deep breath and some good thoughts for luck, off we went. Crashing through the thick brush, over rocks and roots and blowdowns, ever checking the compass bearing and looking back for landmarks.

In just about a half hour we emerged onto a herd path on the summit ridge, turned instinctively to the right, and in 50 feet, were on the top. Or what we thought was the top, since we couldn't locate the white register canister that adorns the summit of all trailless NE 100 highest peaks.

Uh oh.

So we backtracked on the herd path and made our way over to the other peak.

No register there either. Back we went.

It was going to be an awful shame to get all the way up here and not be "official" because we couldn't find the register.

We followed a few faint paths around where we'd been earlier.

And it there was, well hidden in the brush behind some trees, not fifteen feet from where we'd been a half hour before!

Whew!

We signed in, had some chow and rested up for a bit.

On the way down we reversed the compass heading and hoped we could intersect our high point on the old logging road. We came close, I know it, but missed it anyway. And were forced to bushwhack all the way down the mountain through some pretty nasty stuff.

It was tiring going. Even more so when you're not entirely sure where you are.

But I long ago learned to trust the compass reading and my gut feeling. We were on the right track, it was just going to take awhile. And it did. But dammit if we didn't break out of the woods right onto the major woods road at our secondary point of reference.

We damn near danced the 15 minutes back to the car!

Success!

The following day we hopped in the car and drove south to Manchester Center, stopping in to get some info on Mount Equinox from the local outfitter, The Mountain Goat.

With a trail to follow, this was an easier day, but not by much. The 2,900 feet of elevation gain over the course of the 2.7 mile Blue Summit Trail was no slacker of a climb. The trail rose at steady, unrelenting grade that wore my legs out.

We made the top in just over 1 1/2 hours anyway. Unfortunately we had to share it with a parking lot full of cars that had driven up the auto road. But we met some friendly folks and enjoyed a good rest on the porch of the old hotel there.

We got a tip from some hikers on the way down that maps of the Equinox Preserve were available in the village at the rather swanky Mount Equinox Hotel. We had, of course, made the trip up with no map. So we stopped by the hotel on the way home to pick up a souvenir map.

I got quite a kick out if the experience.

As soon as my dust covered Honda pulled in front of the hotel, we were rushed by a bevy of bellmen. I had barely gotten out of the car when I was approached and asked, rather suspiciously, what I needed. (Surely they knew this dirty smelly hiker couldn't possibly afford a room here!). The man then radioed inside to security and a trail map was brought out to me. I was escorted back to my car, and with a look that surely could have killed (but no words), I was asked to please drive away.

And so we did.

Approaching Mendon Peak, a trailless mountain in Vermont on the New England Hundred Highest List.

Checking the map to be sure we're on track.

Negotiating the thick brush on the upper reaches of the peak.

On the thickly wooded summit with no register canister in sight.

Ahah! The register canister well hidden just steps from the summit.

More pleasant bushwhacking on the descent.

Playing tourist on top of Mount Equinox, another of the NE 100 Highest in Vermont.

The view from Equinox north to Dorset Peak.

Butterfly on the trail up Equinox.

Wildflowers just below summit of Equinox.

Cooling down post-hike with a Stewart's Root Beer. Whoa! Who are you and what have you done with...

Post-hike swimming in the cold water of the old Dorset marble quarry.

I saw this sign last weekend in the entryway of the Inn at Long Trail, a popular stopover for Appalachian Trail and Long Trail hikers at Sherburne Pass in Vermont.

It reminded me of a sad conversation I had with the owners of a popular AT hiker hostel in Maine this winter. Much to their dismay, after more than 20 years of providing overnight accomodations for hikers, they'd finally had enough. Enough of the rude and thoughtless few who've ruined it for the rest. The ones who think you owe them something because they're a "thru-hiker." The ones who skip out without paying. Or get loud or drunk or both and cause a host of problems.

That's a shame.

But I've heard it more and more in the last few years. As the AT experience has become more popular and use has skyrocketed, thru-hikers are often unwelcome in certain places because of increasing incidences of bad behavior. It's a common problem up and down the trail.

Let's be clear: The vast majority of thru-hikers are good folks who mind their manners. But the damage done by a few has been enough to cause some alarm in the trail community that many hiker services will be lost and local support for the trail will decline further. And a long distance trail system can't survive in such an environment.

So the good folks at ALDHA, the Appalachian Long Distance Hikers Association, started something awhile back called the Endangered Services Campaign in an attempt to re-establish goodwill between the hiking community and the local folks along the AT. And the "Hike in Harmony" message is the latest iteration in the PR effort.

I'm not sure how well it's working, but maybe as the AT hiking season progresses I can gather up some feedback and let you know.

In the meantime we hikers should remember that not only are we guests out in the wilderness, but guests in the towns we walk through along the way. All are deserving of our care and respect. It'll come back to us ten-fold.

I joined up with friends for two wonderful day hikes last weekend: Bald Mountain and Blueberry Mountain, both in the Weld area near Mount Blue State Park and Tumbledown.

The heat and humidity was atrocious, and the bugs, well, there were plenty of them. But the hiking was fantastic. We were even treated to a little thunder and lightning excitement on top of Blueberry.

I'd never climbed either mountain, so it was great, as always, to be out exploring new hiking terrain.

The Bald Mountain Trail crosses Wilson Stream, a great spot to cool off "post-hike."

Hiking up through the the heavily logged lower slopes of Bald Mountain.

Moss emphasizing the wavy patterns in the glacier-scoured rock on Bald Mtn.

Beautiful white dikes of quartzite in the granite of Bald Mtn.

Hiking through ferns and birches high on Blueberry Mountain.

Late afternoon sun on birches along the Blueberry Mtn. Trail.

Hmmm. Where to this weekend? So much to do, so little time...

What will you be doing?

Yesterday I was lamenting the fact that I missed out on the World Naked Bike Ride last weekend.

But not to worry thanks to BB, who happily reminded me that next Tuesday, June 21st, the summer solstice, is Hike Naked Day.

It's "a celebration of the commencement of summer, an expression of the freedom of being in the midst of nature, and basically an excuse to get naked" with "hikers wearing only a pack and boots frolicking down the trail."

So there's still a chance to get outdoors and get naked, if not on a bike, then on the trail.

Whew!

I stopped in at Cadillac Mountain Sports in Bar Harbor late yesterday afternoon and picked up some of the new generation DEET bug juice I mentioned the other day. I suspect you can pretty much pick it up an any outdoor store now.

The little 2 oz. tube of Ultrathon lotion was a hefty $10, so they're sure not giving the stuff away. I guess the fact that it won't rot your brain and other important internal organs as quickly as the standard DEET allows them to charge more.

Oh well.

Anyway, I was able to put the stuff to the test right off.

Driving north on Route 1A in heavy summer traffic, I decided to veer off and take a look-see at Bald Mountain in Dedham, a peak I hadn't been up since the 9th grade.

I pulled up to where I thought the trailhead was (I didn't have the guidebook with me) and dashed into the woods to throw on shorts and T-shirt and sneakers. I was immediately swarmed by blood thirsty mosquitoes. I did quite the interesting dance as I shed one set of clothes and donned another trying not to lose a pint of blood. Once back out at the car, with the mosquitoes in hot pursuit, I reached for my new tube of DEET and slathered it all over me.

Voila! No more blood-letting. The stuff works.

As a semblance of sanity returned, I flagged down a passing car and queried the driver as to the trailhead.

"Bald Mountain?," he said, "I own it!"

That's what I love about Maine. Here I am, standing along side a country road in the middle of East Overshoe. I flag down the one car that passes by and come up with not only the info I needed, but the very landowner himself.

Jackpot.

Turns out Gerry Ouellette of Dedham has purchased some 230 acres in the area, including all of Bald Mountain. We had a nice chat and he pointed up the road a 100 yards to the parking area for the trail.

Score.

I threw my bug juice in my pocket, grabbed my notebook and pen and a bottle of water and headed up.

The trail followed a road carved out of ledge pretty much the entire way up--about a half mile or so. The views of the surrounding farmland and hills were terrific, despite the afternoon haze. And watch out! Come July this place is going to be loaded with blueberries.

On top are nine telecom towers and an old Maine Forest Service lookout tower. The bottom rung of the tower ladder is missing, but someone has piled up rocks to help you get up if you want to. I didn't bother, even though it looked in reasonably safe condition.

It took another application of Ultrathon to ward off the summit crowd of black flies, but it bought me some more time to look around a bit.

I explored for evidence of the old ski area that ceased operating in the 1970s, but couldn't find much. I did, though, come upon an awesome viewpoint overlooking Lucerne and Phillips Lake, so I sat for awhile and relaxed.

Then I scooted back down the mountain, plunked my sweaty, bug-juice smelly body into the seat, and headed for the highway with thoughts of a cold beer running through my DEET-brain.

You knew it would happen this way.

A week ago cool, cloudy and rainy. This past weekend hot, humid and buggy. No time to ease into it.

Summer's here allright. And so are the bugs. As with the hot weather, though, you knew they were coming along with the deal too.

Saturday, up on Black and Bear Mountains in the Oxford Hills, the black flies and mosquitoes were there, hungry for flesh and blood.

They got plenty.

But despite the near-continuous swatting and occasional cursing, and temps into the 90s, it was still good to be out on the trail.

Both mountains were new additions to my hiking list, and they combined for a fun day with a just-right amount of early season exercise. And the road trip up Route 26, across Route 219 (where both trailheads are located) and back south on Route 4 was a very scenic and enjoyable drive.

Bear Pond from the outlook on Bear Mountain, Hartford.

Dalydog cools himself off in a puddle on the Bear Mountain Trail.

You never know what you'll find when you go exploring in the Maine woods: An old Socony gas station on Black Mountain Rd. in Hartford.

We were a little disappointed to discover that the new Gritty's in downtown Auburn wasn't yet open for post-hike refreshments, but we made do at Pat's Pizza and then went overboard with a frozen custard at Hodgman's in New Gloucester.

Life is sooooo hard.

My friend Phil, a wealth of local hiking information since moving from the big city to Livermore Falls, also told me over the weekend that Bald Mountain, off Route 156 in Washington Township (south of Weld), has been re-opened to the hiking public.

Bald Mountain is a spectacular little peak from all accounts, but it's another one I've never hiked and want to badly. It's been closed since 2002.

I can't verify whether or not it's really true. I hope so.

Can any of my fellow hikers tell me yeah or nay?

Update: According to loyal reader Brian, Bald Mountain was re-opened to the public for hiking last fall. Yeah! DeLorme Map No. 19. Got to go there...

Hiking...

According to Dictionary.com it means "To go on an extended walk for pleasure or exercise."

Exactly.

Just what the doctor ordered.

Without any rain, of course.

Well, have a good one. I'm outta here. My boots are home waiting patiently for my arrival...

Baxter State Park officially opened for the season yesterday, May 15th, but winter has not been kind to the park road system, so the majority of trails and campgrounds will be late opening up this year.

I spoke with Baxter State Park naturalist Jean Hoekwater this morning and she gave me the lowdown on current park conditions and what we might expect for the next several weeks. Park officials are asking the public to be patient and give the park sufficient time to let things thaw out and dry out.

The Park has big trucks and crews in there right now trying to repair a great many washouts and remove blowdowns, but it's a slow process. The recent heavy rains haven't helped the situation any, and as much as 39 inches of snow is reported to be still on the ground at Chimney Pond.

There is no through traffic on the main Nesowadnehunk Tote Road. From the south entrance at Togue Pond, you can travel only as far as Foster Field. The road into Roaring Brook is closed beyond Rum Brook. At the Park's north end, you can travel only as far as the Fowler Ponds trailhead, so getting to South Branch Pond is out for now.

There are no trails open on Mount Katahdin at this time. And it may be as late as June 1st before any actually do open. The Abol Trail, on the south side of the mountain, will likely be the first, and may possibly open prior to the Memorial Day weekend. But many lower mountain trails will likely be opening up soon.

As for campgrounds, only Abol, Katahdin Stream, Daicey Pond and Kidney Pond are open at this time. The park hopes to have South Branch and Russell Pond open by the 20th, but that's iffy.

So, bottom line: If you have hiking plans or camping reservations for Baxter State Park over the next several weeks, please call ahead at 723-5140 to make sure you can get in to where you're going. If you don't have camping reservations, you may call the park and make them with a credit card.

And just in case you weren't aware, the park has completely revamped their reservation process to a new "rolling reservation system". There's a lot to it and I recommend checking it out yourself to be sure you understand how it works.

So give the good folks up there a little time to do their thing. And just think, while we're all waiting patiently to get in and enjoy the park, the black flies will have that much more time to gather strength and plan their bloody attacks on our arms and legs!

Despite the gorgeous 80 degree Texas temps, I spent part of last weekend rummaging around inside my Mom's garage, sorting through boxes and trying to winnow down many years of stuff she doesn't need anymore.

In amongst the boxes I was surprised to find a few boxes of my own that contained a great many treasures I had long forgotten about. I guess my packrat tendencies extend all the way to the deep south!

And then, tucked away in a corner, I discovered one quite unexpected prize item:

My old A.T. hiking staff!

Now, I didn't walk the entire two-grand with it. I was hiking along stick-less (I'd broken my last staff a few days before) in northern Massachusetts when I stopped to chat with another hiker who was out for the weekend. He was impressed enough with my tales of hiking all the way from Georgia that he insisted I take his nice hiking staff and carry it with me the rest of the journey.

It was a beautiful staff "made of good Tennessee ironwood" as I recall he said, and had a nice brass tip on the end. More trail magic indeed!

There was no way I was going to pass on this wonderful offer, so I accepted, thanked the fine gentleman, and hiked on. 550 more miles to Katahdin with the sturdy staff in hand.

And now I unearth the thing in my Mom's garage years later. Go figure.

That's my Mom with my old A.T. hiking staff in hand.

Today is the nth anniversary of the start of my Appalachian Trail thru-hike from Georgia to Maine. I say nth because for some odd reason I'm a bit embarrassed to admit just how long ago it was.

I've been on many a big backpacking adventure in the years since, but there may never be another one to top the Appalachian Trail. It is the journey of a lifetime, and a powerful life changing journey at that. And I doubt if a day has gone by that I haven't thought at least in some little way about my AT experience.

Big journeys change people. No one returns from climbing Mount Everest the same. Or crossing Antarctica. Or sailing around the world. Or hiking the Appalachian Trail. You can see it in their eyes. Hear it in their voice. The physical and emotional toll of such a journey is enormous, and the effects are long lasting. And because it is such a deeply personal experience, it's often a hard thing to explain, to share.

But I did want to share with you my journal entry for that first, very special day on the trail. It reveals a young man who was happy, yet scared; determined, yet unsure. And despite all the planning and dreaming, I really had no idea what I'd gotten myself into. But the many long months of walking ahead of me would surely take care of that.

The entry was written long ago, so please bear with me...

May 5
Springer Mountain Shelter, Georgia

The sun beat down mercilessly as I paused to rest on the steep trail. I was sweating profusely, my shoulders ached from the heavy pack and I could feel a blister developing on my right heel. Refusing to acknowledge my condition I reshouldered my pack and trudged on. Minutes later the ridge leveled off and I came upon a weathered sign:

SPRINGER MOUNTAIN.
Southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. A mountain footpath extending 2,000 miles to Mt. Katahdin in Maine.

That's me atop Springer Mtn. Georgia and the start of the Appalachian Trail.

A warm glow of pride came over me and I momentarily forgot about my aches and pains. I had been following the white blazes of the AT in my dreams for several years and now I was really here. But I knew that walking 2,000 miles would be by no means easy. Maine suddenly seemed very distant. And I wasn’t so sure that I could carry this project through to the end. I was a long way from home and I missed my family and friends already. And suddenly all those aches and pains began to reappear and I felt worse than before.

I walked the Back Cove Trail Saturday afternoon and for the first time in all my years in Portland I didn't pass a single other person in the entire 3 1/2 mile circuit. Could have been the 42-degree temperatures and cold, wind-driven rain I suppose. Hard to say...

Despite the lack of human company I was entertained by a variety of gulls along the way. The gulls weren't much for conversation so I left them be. Or maybe it was vice versa.

And unfortunately, beyond the ubiquitous herring gull, I couldn't identify a single other one. Time to get the bird book out again and start brushing up.

Along Portland's Back Cove Trail on Saturday.

The May issue of Backpacker magazine just arrived. So there was no other option but to sit down immediately and read it from cover-to-cover. It's just what you do. With a cold beer of course (duh!).

One of the features this month is called "America's Hardest Dayhikes." Fifty of the "roughest, meanest, gnarliest" hikes in the U.S.

Geez, guys. Madison Avenue has really got hold of you, haven't they.

Well, as it happens, Backpacker has rated the Bigelow Range Traverse here in the great State of Maine as #10 hardest dayhike in the entire country.

That's certainly a nice honor to bestow on us Maine hikers. Thanks. I sure do get a kick out of how much of a big deal they make of it though.

The article talks about Maine's "infamous black flies." Whoa. 100% DEET baby. No problem. And the relentlessly steep and rocky trail. Uh, excuse me, that's just about any trail in Maine's mountains. How the trail "gets ruthless on the fierce 1/2 mile climb up South Horn." Geez, I've run up South Horn in my Tevas for both sunset and sunrise, with a cup of tea in hand, and never thought a thing of it.

I guess here in Maine we're just plain used to steep, rocky, rooty, wet, muddy, exposed, downright awful climbs. That's just what we do. That's hiking in Maine and we love it.

Guess that makes us some kinda rough, mean and gnarly hiking hombries, now don't it? Yep, don't mess with us boys, or they'll be a-trouble!

What's your take on the hardest dayhike in Maine? Is it Bigelow, or some place else.

I'd vote for the Keep Ridge up Pamola, across Knife Edge to the summit of Katahdin, over Hamlin Peak, out across the Northwest Plateau, down to Russell Pond and back out to Roaring Brook. I did that a few years back and damn near died. But it was a heckuva a lot of fun!

Yeah, it's mud season allright (known as "spring" in other parts of the country). That awkward in-between period: No longer winter, still a ways from summer.

You want to get out, but you say you're feeling a tad out of shape.

You've skied a few times, but have to admit that you've tilted back a few more Guinness' than you've actually made ski runs. And your longest hike has been from the car to the office, and at that, you've sneaked up the elevator more often than not.

Ok, what to do with you?

Now, don't go telling me you've got nothing to do after work, no place to go on your lunch hour, no place close by on the weekends to go get some exercise. Nope. Sorry. I won't hear of it.

You need to get out and get moving! And the easiest, least costly and most enjoyable way to do that, of course, is to WALK!

According to Healthy Maine Walks, there just happens to be at least 227 places to walk around Maine. I know because I just counted them. And they total up to an incredible 594 miles. That's a lot of opportunity for walking, much of it close by.

So get on out there, walk and be happy...

Note: The folks in Saco will soon be adding another mile or so to Maine's system of walking trails. I like that. Kudos to John Andrews and the tireless trail advocates down that way for their efforts.

Spring hiking season is finally, finally here! Time to get out and exercise those winter-weary legs and lungs.

Lingering snow and our beloved Maine mud will likely limit access to some trails, but there are still plenty of hills and lower mountains to tackle this time of year. And there's always the beaches.

So grab your Maine Atlas and Gazetteer and Maine Mountain Guide, pick a hike and go...

I'm sure there's still a few winter cobwebs left in your brain, but please do try to be responsible and be prepared for your hike. Follow the Hiker Responsibility Code, and make sure you carry the Ten Essentials too. It may be just a short spring day hike, but stuff happens.

Have fun!

It's never fails. Every April I get to thinking about the Appalachian Trail. And why not, as spring is the traditional time of year for hikers who are bent on making the long trek from Georgia to Maine to start off from Springer Mountain. Walking north with the seasons through spring, summer and fall one step at a time.

I reflect back on the fond memories of my own thru-hike, and ponder that of others. Who's out there this year? And why? Where are they now? How far will they get?

According to the Appalachian Trail Conference, the trail's managing agency, 412 hikers have already registered atop Springer this year and are bound for Maine. The ATC figures 75% of them won't make it all the way, but I think that figure is low. The unofficial attrition rate is much higher, maybe 90%, as many hikers never even bother to register.

If you read my post yesterday you might think that all it does is rain on the AT, and maybe that's why.

Not quite.

You've also got heat, bugs, bad water or no water, a monotonous food menu, stress fractures, blisters, dysentery, intense loneliness, and the boredom of putting one foot in front of the other for days on end. It's a tough go of it, there's no doubt.

But through it all, over time, if you stick with it, you learn to adapt and adjust to anything that comes your way. And despite the things that are hard you find joy and cheer and reward around every bend in the trail...

Like dipping your cup in the cold spring at the headwaters of the Chattahoochee River along the Georgia Divide. Or watching hawks soar and swoop from the lofty reaches of Rocky Top in the Smokies of North Carolina. Being mesmerized by the roar of the falls at Laurel Fork Gorge in Tennessee.

Quietly watching the wild ponies out on the open expanse of Grayson Highlands in Virginia. Hiking along old fencelines and through overgrown fields of history in the woods of West Virginia. And letting your boots hang over the cliffs at Weverton in Maryland, hundreds of feet above the rushing Potomac River.

Traversing the long rocky ridges of Pennsylvania, passing the halfway mark and feeling strong and free. Taking a refreshing swim in Sunfish Pond in the surprisingly beautiful Kittatinny Mountains of New Jersey. Crossing the mighty Hudson River on the Bear Mountain Bridge in New York, stopping to look southward at the skyscrapers of New York City, just thirty miles, but a world away.

Watching a deer bound across the waters of the Housatonic River in Connecticut. Pausing for lunch beneath the War Memorial monument on the summit of Massachusetts' Mount Greylock, the splendor of the Berkshires before you. To bond, to laugh with with your fellow thru-hikers around a blazing campfire at Stratton Pond in Vermont.

Sitting alone on a rock outcrop on Wildcat Mountain in New Hampshire looking over to the magnificent flanks of Mount Washington. And stepping gently to the shore of Church Pond at dawn in Maine's 100-mile wilderness to watch a big bull moose feeding.

That is the Appalachian Trail. That is why you go. To winnow life down to its most basic, but important elements. To not just look, but see, really see and appreciate what is around you. To discover and share with those closest to you. To understand what you feel deep inside and why. To be alive.

Rain. And more rain. But it's April in Maine, and rain is just part of the weather equation for now. You know it won't last. Just be patient.

This time of year makes me think back to those many long rainy days on the Appalachian Trail. On a six month hike from Georgia to Maine you're going to have your share of rain. And on my thru-hike I had plenty. But, as every thru-hiker learns, "you can't get to Maine without hiking in the rain." And so you do.

Sometimes it would rain for days on end. But each day you'd get up, pack the sopping wet gear, and start out again up the trail. And walk all day through the woods and up and down the mountains. Wet socks, wet boots, wet shorts and shirt, wet everything. Get to camp and crawl into the damp, sticky and smelly sleeping bag and try to get some rest. Then do it all over again the next day.
You get used to it, though, and you move on. It's what thru-hikers do.

Near the end of my hike, in New Hampshire and Maine, it rained for 30 out of the last 40 days. Cold, bone-chilling autumn rain. It was impossible to keep anything dry. One night at Carlo Col Shelter in the Mahoosucs on the NH-ME border I put on every layer of clothing I had in my pack, but I still couldn't get warm. I just lay there shivering, my down sleeping bag a useless lump of nylon and clumps of feathers. Through the long night I wondered just how much more of this I could endure. But the next day, I awoke with renewed determination, got up and carried on a few more miles to the next camp. And the next. And the next.

Until finally I set foot on the summit of Mount Katahdin and hugged the sign at the end of the trail on a beautiful, sunny October morning. Suddenly all those rainy days along the way since early May seemed worthwhile.

And they still do. Because I learned through the rain and all the hardships in 2,000 miles of hiking the AT not to give up easily. Ever. It's a lesson I've never forgotten.

There's always going to be some rain on the path to wherever you're going. You've just got to keep your hood up, your head down, keep your feet moving and deal with it. Sunshine will always follow soon enough...

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.

I was poking around EPIC Sports in downtown Bangor last evening, waiting for the MOAC-Bangor Chapter meeting to begin, when I came across a new book on hiking trails up north.

North Woods Walks by Christopher Keene details a variety of nice hikes--day hikes and backpack trips--in and around Moosehead Lake, Jackman and The Forks.

If you don't get up that way much in your hiking travels, you should. It's wild and remote and uncrowded for the most part. And with Keene's new trail guide and your handy DeLorme Gazetteer, there's plenty of exploring to be done.

Of particular note near the end of Keene's book was a section on a new trail system proposed for the Moosehead Lake region. It's called the North Woods Loop Trail. Details are sketchy, but I understand that an initial 25-mile section of the proposed 100-mile-plus trail was to have been completed this past summer.

New trails are always exciting! I'll look into it more and get back to you.

Snow and gravel crunch under my boots as I chug along the Stroudwater Trail. The winding Stroudwater River, my companion on my right, is mostly frozen over now. The sky is that washed out winter gray and there's a breeze in the treetops. The temperature is mild, though, in the high 30s maybe.
It's a good day for a walk (but then, what day isn't?).

I live not too far from here, so I try to get out here often, for a bit of exercise, to breath some fresh air, some time to clear the head. A brief (and handy) escape into the woods for comtemplation.

Starting out, I usually walk at a quick pace, things pressing on my mind, heart rate up. But it doesn't take long before the pace slows amid this little patch of Mother Nature. And after a mile or two, an hour or so among the trees, I've usually calmed down considerably and solved whatever problem or issue may have been bothering me, gotten life somewhat back in order.

Today the hemlocks, firs and pines; the oaks, birches and beech trees are all here, just where I left them last time. I smile as I pass; it's nice to see familiar friends. Beavers have been busy selectively harvesting saplings along the river's edge. No signs of a lodge or dam though. Small critters have left a series of tracks back and forth on the river. Their prints have melted some, so I can't identify who's been where.

Holiday traffic is heavy and loud when I reach the Maine Turnpike overpass behind UNUM, but no matter. I stand and stare at the passing dark windshields for a moment, then turn and retrace my steps. I've still got half the walk remaining, and I revel in the thought. Hurrying isn't even an option.

It's dusk when I reach the car. On Outer Congress St. passing cars have their lights on. It starts to drizzle as I pull out into traffic and head for home. But I am refreshed by this brief respite in the woods, ready for the next round.

A winter walk along the Stroudwater Trail in Portland.

My office mate and fellow hiking fanatic Barry just returned from a trip south of the border to climb New Hampshire's Mount Monadnock. It was his first visit to the storied summit and a milestone on his lifetime hiking checklist. Barry not only came back with his usual tales of another fine hike--pleasant trails, fantastic views and so forth, but with a very interesting, and unexpected, little factoid...

Mt. Monadnock has long been regarded as the the second most climbed mountain in the world (yes, in the world) behind Japan's Mt. Fuji. Well, they went and built a road up Mt. Fuji and ruined that idea, so Mt. Monadnock (still thankfully roadless) has now apparently taken over the top slot as the No. 1 most climbed mountain on Earth. Whodathunkit?

Armed with this new information, I will, of course, have to journey back there for another trip to the summit. And despite all the hype, if you pick the right day the crowds aren't that bad at all, and the view from the 3,165 ft. peak is well worth the drive to get there. I highly recommend it.

Now, I wonder... What's the most climbed mountain in Maine? Bradbury? Katahdin? Cutler? Cadillac? Hmmm.

For some time now I've heard rumors of a new hiking area somewhere up in Central Maine. You probably know all about it, don't you?! Always the last to know, I am. Anyway, just did a Google search for "Kennebec Highlands" and came up with plenty of info...

Wow! The Kennebec Highlands is a 6,100 acre preserve in the Belgrade Lakes region. It's got 18 miles of multi-use trails (hiking, mountain biking, and horseback--with more to come), secluded ponds, mountains with far-reaching views, and loads of wildlife. Sounds like quite a beautiful place. I'm going to try to get up there this coming weekend and poke around a bit. I'll let you know what I discover (and hopefully bring back some decent photos using my new digital camera!).

11/1/04 Update: Hiked the 4.5 mile Round Top Trail. It was a fine walk on a wonderful 60 degree Indian summer day.

I've been thinking a lot lately about getting out for a nice long hike. Not a day or a weekend, mind you. A week or two, at least, maybe even three. Something beyond Maine's borders...

There's really nothing like an extended period of time out on the trail. Enough time away to really get into the rhythm of the walk, the surroundings, the people, Mother Nature; while allowing all the "stuff" that clutters up our daily lives to fade away, if only temporarily.

My last long hike was the West Highland Way through the wilds of Scotland, now several years ago. It's time for another, I can feel it. And Europe, one of my favorite hiking destinations, is a likely choice. Maybe the Tour Du Mont Blanc this time, a ten-day trek through France, Italy and Switzerland around the massive hulk of Mount Blanc. Well-kept trails, high mountain passes, extraordinary scenery, quaint villages, cozy pubs... that would do just fine, I'm sure.

There are other possibilities... the GR20 on the Mediterranean island of Corsica. The GR20 is reputed to be the most challenging long distance trek in Europe and would require about 15 days (plus travel time). I like the sound of that! And then there's the spectacular and often wildly-exposed treks through the Dolomites of northern Italy. So many trails, so little time!

I was in this long hike mode the other night as I sat down to relax after dinner. I plucked John Hillaby's Journey Through Britain off the bookshelf and retreated into its pages for a few minutes of quiet escape. On page 68 there's a wonderful quote by Hazlett, a frequent walking partner of Wordsworth, that sums up my feelings about a good long hike.

"The soul of a journey is liberty, perfect liberty to think, feel, do just as one pleases. We go on a journey chiefly to be free of all impediments and of all inconveniences; to leave ourselves behind, much more to get rid of others. It is because I want a little breathing space to muse on different matters... that I absent myself from the town for awhile... Give me the clear blue sky over my head, and the green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and three hours march to dinner--and then to thinking... I laugh, I run, I leap, I sing for joy."

Yes, it's time to get the guidebooks and maps out; to start scouring the Internet for info; to gather up the gear. I love the excitement of it all. A long hike surely looms near...

A reliable source (who shall remain nameless despite his telltale blue lips and fingers) tells me that even though it's September, there's still plenty of wild blueberries to be had for the picking. One need only take an easy hike up (where else?!) Blueberry Mountain in Evans Notch. Hike the Blueberry Ridge Trail to the top, then take the side trail to the overlook and the precious berries. Come and get 'em!

What hiker would be foolish enough to climb to the summit of Mount Washington on the most beautiful weekend day of the entire summer? Well, that would be me of course. And not only that, I went right for the busiest trail up the mountain--the Tuckerman Ravine Trail. Why? Because I wanted experience the full measure of what P.T. Barnum once called it "the Second Greatest Show on Earth."

I was not disappointed. The hike up Tuck's wasn't crowded at all until I reached the top of Tuckerman Headwall. From there on up the summit cone I was part of the mass of humanity that was using Mt. Washington as an outdoor playground on this killer summer day.

On top I joined hundreds (possibly thousands) of visitors who had arrived by car, van, motorcycle, Cog Railway or on foot. It was a crazy scene for sure, but I loved it!

"Did you actually walk up here," asked one couple in very clean vacation clothes who had just stepped out of their car. "Why, yes I did," I said. "YOU ACTUALLY WALKED ALL THE WAY UP HERE," they asked again, rather stunned. I explained that I do this all the time and have done so for many years. But to them such an endeavor was a completely alien concept. I couldn't imagine. No matter how others arrived, though, at least they were here, and were able to see the grand view and experience the majesty of Mt. Washington on such a fabulous day.

I spent several hours among the crowds milling about, shopping and chatting, reading and writing, and generally drinking in the hustle and bustle of this tourist Mecca. I also spent a good deal of time hanging over the railing on the observation deck and enjoying the view of the mountain wilderness stretching before me in every direction. In all my years of hiking up here, I'd never seen it so clear. For that reason alone, I'm glad I made the trek.

Finally, even I couldn't take any more of the crowds and slipped off down the trail. My pace quickened with the thought of some cold post-hike refreshment down in the valley at my favorite watering hole in the White Mountains, the Red Parka Pub.

9/5/04 update: Read the full account of my 8/22 up Mt. Washington.