Archives for October 2017

On the Trail

Gorham Mountain Trail, Acadia National Park, ME

May, 2017

Author’s Note:

 It’s been a long couple of semesters and, like chaff in the wind, I’m blown far from the familiar trails of Central PA in a long-awaited reprieve to my favorite national park in “down east” Maine: Acadia National Park. Many of our national parks are almost loved to death in recent years and Mount Dessert Island is no exception. In just a few short weeks, many roads to popular destinations (like Cadillac Mountain) will be shut down altogether at peak times during the day. And, so, we plan to cross Frenchman’s Bay before the influx and make our way to our husky-friendly rental house for the week (for the curious adventure-seeker, check out VRBO.com or the “HomeAway” App for rentals by owner). During this week, our feet (and paws) take us to several mountain peak trails. Gorham mountain is our traditional “first hike” (off-season Acadia hiking tip: hit the trail by 8-8:30 am and you will likely have that trail to yourself).

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Out of all the hikes I’ve done, there is nothing like switch-backing a mountain summit. Acadia National Park is located on the largest Maine Island (about 3 hours north of Portland) on Mount Dessert (pronounced: desert) Island near the quaint seaside town of Bar Harbor. Pink granite mountains fall into the Atlantic in dramatic sea cliffs and pine-crested slopes. The trail head to Gorham Mountain is directly off Park Loop road, tucked into a small parking area between the two main points of, arguably, the most stunning stretch of the park: Sand Beach and Otter Cliffs. Look for the trail head marker on the far left corner of the lot: Gorham Mountain Trail.

Many of the mountain trails in this park utilize the usually dry run-off beds or worn smooth granite slopes as a way to mitigate any damage to sensitive flora and fauna. In recent years, the park has dotted the park trails with “Leave No Trace” signs. The Leave No Trace Initiative stems from the “take nothing but photos and leave nothing but footprints” philosophy. On our hikes, we also leave paw prints—Acadia National Park is one of the only dog friendly National parks in the United States (almost all trails allow dogs except for the vertical trails, such as: the Beehive, Acadia Mountain, and Precipice that require sections of ladder climbs). Be advised: “leave nothing but foot/paw prints” means you will need to bag and pack out your dog’s baggies!

Gorham Mountain is considered a moderate hike (the park’s trails rate from easy to difficult) and the trail gradually ascends from a run off bed dotted with shallow pools of rain water and large rocks one navigates to keep feet dry. About a quarter mile in, pink granite bed rock creates a natural pathway lined with blueberry bushes. White throated swallows whistle a minor melody as fog burns off in an opalescent veil. I’ve never heard these birds anywhere off island; the melody is almost otherworldly and reminds me of pan flutes. The summit trails in Acadia can easily confuse a novice hiker used to well-worn woodland paths; here, one must follow a series of Bates Cairns. These cairns usually have two sides of one to two stacked rocks and are topped with a flat lintel stone (they may also be capped with another smaller stone to also point directionally). Look through the gap in the center, which should line up with the next Bates cairn, to show you the way.

We follow the cairns to the first overlook and pause to take in the vista from Sand Beach and Otter Cliffs where distant waves and bell buoys mix a counter line to the swallows’ arpeggios. Many hikers mistakenly think this vista is the summit; however, the trail continues to rise about another half mile. The real summit is topped with a wooden sign on top of a rock pile and states the summit name and elevation height (all Acadia’s summit trails will end with these summit markers and, often, are accessible via multiple trail heads throughout the park). Once we reach the summit, a panoramic view of the heart of the park is visible. Onoko has never seen the ocean before—she lifts her muzzle to the east while I hold my arms out and turn slowly 360 degrees: west, Cadillac mountain; southwest, Acadia Mountain and Sommes Sound; south, the distant Southeast Harbor; east, the broad Atlantic; northeast, Sand Beach; north, Bar Harbor and the Porcupine Islands; northwest, The Beehive, Bowl, and Champlain mountain. I am full circle. I sit between my husband and Onoko, an arm draped over both their shoulders, close my eyes and breathe in salt, pine, warming granite, and an undertone of mulch. I feel the weight of 120 students slip with sweat down between my shoulders. I won’t go home tonight to prep lectures or grade the endless stack; tonight, I’ll glance through my Best Day Hikes Acadia trail book. Tomorrow, we chase mountains.

There are several ways down from the Gorham summit. One can retrace her steps, follow one of myriad paths inland to the surrounding mountains, take a connector to The Bowl (a freshwater mountain lake) and The Beehive that ends across from Sand Beach, or take a side trail that loops back to Gorham Mountain Trail and ends back at the parking lot. It is this last trail, Cadillac Cliffs, which we descend. This trail angles steeply down and to the right through a mountain forest of pine and oak. The midway point of the loop narrows to rock ledges and sometimes wooden plank bridges that span small chasms. Granite cliffs protrude from the mountain’s face on the right; to the left… well, let’s just say watch your footing. Although this section of the trail is not recommended for dogs (though they are not banned), we took a risk. That risk comes to a head as squeeze through a narrow gap between two large boulders: a short ladder descent. My husband climbs down first and I’m glad I decided to make Onoko wear her Ruffwear hiking harness (it has a handle on the top) as I slowly lower her down to his waiting arms.  Onoko has decided she isn’t a fan of ladders, big rocks, or large gaps.

Eventually, we make our way back down to the run-off bed and decide to walk across Loop Road and sit on the sea cliffs a bit north of Thunder Hole. Onoko curls into the quintessential husky ball for a quick nap as we settle in to catch our breath and raid our snack packs.  Aside from hiking, a must-do is just to sit on the granite slopes and listen to the waves break. Lobster boats troll precariously close to the rocks as men in yellow wellies lift traps, occasionally throwing bits of sea fodder to trailing, squabbling seagulls. It’s been three years since we last sat in this spot and, somehow, this place always feels like where I’m supposed to be. Acadia National Park has always been a haven for writers and artists and one will often see painters brushing captured moments onto canvas. I need this place now and again— this muse of mountain and sea that calls me home every two or three years. I once recall a fellow writer and teacher bemoaning once upon a time students (of which I was one) losing themselves as writers as they become teachers: “so many writers become teachers and cease to be writers.” We need these wild spaces to resuscitate us. So, go, and lose yourselves. Find yourself in the splinter of wood or beneath the stone. I am already there.*

*Note: some might recognize this last sentence from the Gospel of St. Thomas (yes, I totally “borrowed” it). It’s a Gnostic verse that often speaks to me when I’m in the wild:

The Kingdom of God is inside you and all around you
Not in mansions of wood and stone
Split a piece of wood and I am there
Lift a stone and you will find me.