View from the Kennebec Highlands Trail, Round Top Mountain, Rome, Maine
Round Top Mountain (1,133 ft) in Rome overlooks Belgrade Lakes and the Kennebec Highlands Public Reserved Lands. The route I chose on a sunny June day was an easy to moderate 4.7 mile counterclockwise loop using the Round Top Trail to the Kennebec Highlands Trail, the Round Top Spur, and then back down the Round Top Trail. I used the great guidebooks Maine Mountain Guide and Maine Hikes Off the Beaten Path for trail maps and hike descriptions. Visit the 7 Lakes Alliance website for a downloadable pdf map. This trailhead also allows access through the A Trail to McGaffey Mountain.
Trailhead and Round Top Trail in Rome, Maine
From the trailhead parking lot, this is a pleasant rolling path over a bristling cushion of oak and beech leaves and pine needles to the junction with the Kennebec Highlands Trail. On the early summer day I was there, the air was filled with aggressive mosquitoes, but a combination of Deet and constant movement neutralized their effect.
Morning light on the Round Top Trail, Rome, MaineWildflowers on Round Top Mountain in Rome, Maine
Thanks to recent rains, the open areas to the margins of the Round Top Trail and of the wider woods road of the Kennebec Highlands were full of a variety of Maine wildflowers, with lady slippers dotting the sides of the more wooded areas.
Rolling terrain on the Round Top Trail, Rome, Maine
From the left turn off the Kennebec Highlands Path, the ascent to the spur trail to the summit is a climb around switchbacks past blueberries and boulders, with views over the surrounding land.
View from summit spur trail, Round Top Mountain, Rome, Maine
The (counterclockwise loop) descent down the Round Top Trail is more gradual than that of the Kennebec Highlands Trail, with fewer overlooks. The wooded path winds through the mixed forest, with large boulders lining the hillside like the spine of a dinosaur. The total loop took me about an hour and fifty minutes at a steady but leisurely pace.
This well-maintained trail network creates a unique family-friendly climb in an area of central Maine that is rich in lakes, but lacks the higher elevations of the highlands to the west. This does, however, create many options for a post-hike swim to cool off. For insight regarding things to do and places to stay in the Belgrade Lakes area, check out this great Downeast magazine article.
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Town of Limington Scenic Overlook, Sawyer Mountain, Maine
Sawyer Mountain (1,213 feet) is part of the Sawyer Mountain Highlands, 1400 acres of which is owned by the Francis Small Heritage Trust (see map here), which describes the Highlands as the single largest block of undeveloped land in York and Cumberland Counties. This summit can be reached from trailheads in Limerick or Limington. On the spring day we hiked it, we chose the Sawyer Mountain Trail from the Route 117 trailhead in Limington. The trail is well-marked, with signs and red turtle blazes, and maps were available at a kiosk at the trailhead.
Sawyer Mountain Summit, Maine
The Sawyer Mountain Road sections were rocky and covered in mud and running water, particular on the long uphill stretch preceding the last .3 mile push to the summit. Black flies increased in number as we moved, but were never more than a minor nuisance. Points of interest including the bright green spring vegetation surrounding streams and several cemeteries and burying grounds along the trail.
Cemeteries and burying grounds along the Sawyer Mountain Road Trail
The summit offers views facing south, and another town of Limington scenic viewpoint is not far away along the trail, offering a more open view of southern York County. The lollipop-shaped route (about 3.6 miles, an hour and forty-five minutes at an easy pace) we took was easier on the return, as the trail descending along the New Skidway Road was less muddy than Sawyer Mountain Road. As previously mentioned, the summit can also be accessed from the west trailhead via a shorter route on the Smith Trail.
Mt. Cutler (1,232 ft.), part of a newly established Mt. Cutler Park and Conservation Area, is a relatively short hike in Hiram, Maine, with impressive views along the way, and multiple options for shorter and longer walks along five miles of trails (here is a detailed map and guide). Additionally, in the new 11th edition of the Maine Mountain Guide, Mt. Cutler gets its own map.
View of Saco River Valley from Mt. Cutler, Hiram, Maine
The direct route is the Barnes Trail, marked with red blazes, which ascends from a parking area by the former railroad depot off Mountain View Road, up through overgrown Merrill Park, where a (shallow) abandoned gold mine can be accessed from a side trail to the left. The trail quickly ascends up rocky ledges to points overlooking Hiram and the Saco River below.
Looking down towards Hiram from the front ledges of Mt. Cutler
The ridge walk contains great views and blueberries in the summer. The Barnes Trail does not extend to the actual summit of Mt. Cutler, which is on private land (there is currently no marked trail to the summit, but respectful bushwhacking to it is apparently ok), and instead turns hard left at the notch below the summit, where it meets the Saco Ridge Trail, completing the loop down to the parking area.
In addition to the parking area by the Barnes Trail, a second parking area is planned to be constructed by July 2019, with capacity for twenty vehicles, at the trailhead for the North Trail (blue-paint blazes) on Hiram Hill Road. This trail connects with the Moraine Trail, which climbs a glacial moraine, consisting of rock and other debris pushed into a ridge by a glacier (for those familiar with the Maine Ice Age Trail Downeast, check out this post on sites for western Maine’s Ice Age Trail). North Trail also connects with the White Flag Trail, which joins the Barnes Trail near the front ledges.
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View of the Atlantic from the summit of First Hill, Mount Agamenticus
Mount Agamenticus, overlooking the southern Maine coast, apparently derives its name from an Algonquin coastal place name also used in Gloucester and Charlestown, Massachusetts. It’s not a giant, only 691 feet tall, but is part of the Mount Agamenticus Conservation Region, which covers over 10,000 acres, including over 40 miles of trails, with a trail map here. Its location in York makes it readily accessible from the Maine Turnpike and Route One. I had never climbed Mount Agamenticus, and figured that a looping walk over rolling hills would be a perfect spring tune-up hike.
View towards Mount Washington from First Hill, Mount Agamenticus
These trails allow for a variety of hikes by length and ability. On this spring day, I traversed the First, Second, and Third Hills, using the Ring, Fisher, Big A, Sweet Fern, Chestnut Oak, Ridge, Wheel, Third Hill, and Great Marsh Trails, along with Old Mountain Road, Porcupine, Rocky Road, and, again, Ring Trails to complete a loop of around 7 miles. Much shorter loops are available (the complete Ring Trail loop is only 1.9 miles), and the Ring (west) and Witch Hazel Trails contain a “Story Walk” that might keep younger hikers moving from storyboard to storyboard, up the hill.
Observation Deck, First Hill, Mount Agamenticus
It’s not a long hike from the Mountain Road trailhead to the top of First Hill via the Ring (west) and Fisher Trails – I covered it in fifteen to twenty minutes at a moderate pace. For those with mobility issues, there are also parking lots closer to the top. The open summit has observation decks to orient you to the sights in all directions, from the Atlantic to Mount Washington, and a Learning Lodge is open weekends from 11 am to 3 pm from Memorial Day to Columbus Day.
Picnic Tables, First Hill, Mount Agamenticus
There are picnic tables with views of the ocean, and restroom facilities. Songbirds abound, and I spotted an American Goldfinch near the old ski lift structures. Descending toward Second Hill, the trail still held some ice in shaded places, the only sign of winter’s clutches. The low points around Second and Third Hills were dotted with vernal pools, which were already riotous with the sounds of peepers.
Tree on Second Hill, Mount Agamenticus
While First Hill is well-trafficked, with trail runners and dog walkers, the only other human being I saw on Second and Third Hills was a mountain biker. The trails here are not as well-marked as those on First Hill, and I had to double back several times to find the trail, particularly on the Ridge Trail, and Third Hill Trail. In addition, the summits are wooded, with less spectacular views than that of First Hill. But the hiking is not strenuous, and the scenery contains peaceful brooks and ample wildlife viewing opportunities. I saw turkeys, deer, and innumerable songbirds, as well as sizable ant mounds on the way down Third Hill.
Mount Agamenticus is an easily accessible, family-friendly trail network which allows the user to build his/her own itinerary based on activity, ability, and time, and provides boundless opportunities for observing fauna and flora.
Seal on observation deck, First Hill, Mount Agamenticus
Gagne’s book follows the ill-fated attempt of the Northern Presidential traverse by thirty-two year-old Kate Matrosova in February 2015, and the ensuing rescue and ultimately, recovery operation. Gagne presents a scrupulously researched narrative and timeline of events, which is interspersed with maps, drawings, and analysis. The level of detail is astounding, and simultaneously gives the reader a bird’s-eye view of the unfolding drama along with granular details about the people on the ground.
We see Matrosova’s movements in comparison to other hiking groups in the White Mountains on the same day, and what the would-be rescuers were thinking, feeling, even eating. To his credit, Gagne keeps the reader hoping for a different outcome for Matrosova throughout the book, even though the ending is already known. All this detail leads to the central question of the book: if someone this fit and prepared lost her life, what measures can be taken to ensure one’s own safety? Gagne addresses Matrosova’s planned route:
In establishing bailout points and packing cell and satellite phones, a GPS device, a map, and a personal locator beacon, Matrosova is acknowledging the existence of risk on the traverse. She has established a risk management plan. But given her inexperience in the White Mountains, is her plan comprehensive enough to address the multitude of exposures that exist there, especially in winter?
After explaining the steps to an effective risk management plan, Gagne goes on:
A key to all this is timing. Even with a well-developed risk management strategy and the ability to implement it effectively, Matrosova will have to decide if and when to trigger alterations to her original plan. In the end, it will be the timing of her decisions that will make all the difference.
Gagne describes this timing, including the rapidly worsening weather, and subsequent warnings issued by the Mount Washington Observatory after Matrosova had already embarked on her hike. As Matrosova slowly falls behind her self-imposed timeline, her challenges become more and more complex, and Gagne explores the biases that may have factored into her decision-making. Whatever the reason, these decisions found her exhausted, frostbitten, and facing “an impenetrable wall of wind,” on Mt. Adams, “80-plus-mph headwinds,” that caused her to turn back, at a point that was too late to save her own life.
In the background of this heartbreaking human drama, Gagne illustrates the science of survival, with details regarding the functioning of the locator beacon, the progression of hypothermia, the record-setting extreme weather, and tactics and techniques of Search And Rescue (SAR) personnel.
Gagne fittingly ends the book with an account of his own February 2016 anniversary hike to where Matrosova’s body was eventually found, guided by her GPS track, and by one of her would-be rescuers. The conditions are different, far milder, and Gagne and his companion are together, well-prepared and equipped, but the ghost of loss still lingers on the periphery: “As I turn my back to the col and make my way down, I say my goodbyes to Kate.”
(Disclaimer: This post contains affiliate links, and as an Amazon Associate Hiking in Maine blog earns from qualifying purchases.)
Connecting kids with nature is a simple matter of allowing that inevitable relationship to happen. The difficult part is deciding what boundaries to set, letting go, and helping children deal with the unexpected challenges they may encounter. How to do that? One path is described in Up – A Mother and Daughter’s Peakbagging Adventure, by Patricia Ellis Herr (Broadway Paperbacks, 2012) , the story of Patricia Ellis Herr and her daughters Alex and Sage, and the quest of her older daughter Alex, then five, to summit all forty-eight of New Hampshire’s peaks over four thousand feet before Alex turned seven.
Herr begins the book with an anecdote about a failed attempt to summit Mt. Tom, thwarted by a lightning storm. This story sets the tone for the book: the weather forced Herr to make tough calls, and to explain her rationale for those decisions and the results to her daughters, including the realization that things can happen for which it can be impossible to prepare. Also, there was chocolate at the end.
The idea to bag all of New Hampshire’s four thousand footers was born following another hike, this one of Mount Tecumseh in April 2008, when Herr and her daughters eventually turned back, unprepared for the deep snow at higher elevations. Herr then researched the appropriate hiking gear and preparation, and they returned to summit Tecumseh that June, unknowingly beginning Alex’s quest.
During the peakbagging journey, they encounter unexpected obstacles, including the fear of “stranger danger,” the preconceived notions of other hikers regarding women and young children, and an aggressive spruce grouse. Herr turns these challenges into teachable moments, and Alex quickly gains confidence, and even makes some converts.
Alex is clearly a unique child, and uses a fountain of energy to power up and down the mountains in the beginning. Herr brings Alex back to earth, however, with a lesson from Alex and Sage’s father, Hugh, who relates the story to the girls of how he lost his legs on Mount Washington in the winter of 1982. A rescuer was killed by an avalanche while looking for Hugh and his climbing partner, a mental burden still carried by Hugh. The story has the desired effect, and Alex learns to be more careful, and respect the danger inherent in the White Mountains. This comes in handy during the ensuing months, as Herr and Alex hike through the winter and spring seasons, and learn, “Real hikers know when to continue and when to turn back.”
By the time the family, by this time accompanied by well-wishers, summits peak number forty-eight, Mount Moosilauke, in August 2009, they have accomplished much more than the physical challenge. Herr and her daughters have had conversations along the way wrestling with existential questions, mortality, motherhood, gender roles, and societal expectations:
What matters now is that they know, from experience, that they can accomplish something big, something huge. What matters is that, for the rest of their lives, both my daughters understand that to reach a goal, they must put one foot in front of the other and persevere. They know that they must expect and prepare for challenges. They know to ignore the naysayers and, instead, to have faith in themselves and their abilities to learn what they need to know. Above all else, they know that little does not mean weak, that girls are indeed strong, and that practically anything is possible.
This winning book, punctuated by mountaintop photos and small, sweet moments, shares a family’s triumph, and illuminates the lessons inherent in nature, waiting there to be elucidated by a mindful parent.
(Disclaimer: This post contains affiliate links, and as an Amazon Associate Hiking in Maine blog earns from qualifying purchases.)
When we aren’t hiking, we often consume content related to the outdoors. Podcasts are a great way to maximize transition to the outdoors and spark discussion during long drives to trailheads.
Outdoor content can be uneven – we tried some hiking podcasts that were basically unlistenable, for reasons ranging from long-winded alcohol or cannabis-infused monologues to insufferable condescension regarding non-thru-hikers. Also, the experiment of podcasting while hiking never seems to work, and devolves quickly into nonsense conveyed over heavy breathing.
But the best podcasts can capture unique moments, seen through the interesting lens of people new to the outdoors, or drawn from experienced adventurers through long-form interviews. They can also illuminate topics in science or history in a relatable way, including land and wildlife management, lightning, wildfires, and climate change. Listeners can also experience life-or-death situations in the safety of their homes and cars and gyms, taking lessons and inspiration with them when they venture out into the outdoors.
These are the ten best (and several honorable mention) hiking and outdoors podcasts we listened to in 2018. These are unscientifically and unfairly arranged by our own unique interest and enjoyment, with a brief description of each podcast, and the best audience and suggested gateway episode for each one.
A warning – playing podcasts or music on external speakers while hiking is basically a capital offense. Playing podcasts or music through headphones/earbuds while hiking is somewhere in the spectrum of inadvisable to mortally dangerous. Just from a common sense standpoint, why would you want to have your hearing and attention somewhere else if you want to maximize the benefits of being immersed in the outdoors (or, more basically, fail to hear the bear you just startled)? All that being said, hike your own hike.
Outside Magazine has long been the leader in outdoor storytelling, and they launched this podcast in March 2016 with Science of Survival (killer bees or hypothermia, anyone?), expanding it to include The Outside Interview and Dispatches. Each episode is a stand-alone experience, and the podcast explores every conceivable aspect of being outside.
Best for: Everyone – wide variety of outdoor topics in a tight, well-produced format.
Host Shelby Stanger enthusiastically interviews leaders in outdoor fields, with a focus on “how they’ve taken their own wild ideas and made them a reality.” Listen to this podcast for insights on breaking the mold and living wild from skiers, surfers, astronauts, authors, climbers, runners, and entrepreneurs.
Host Sam Evans-Brown “combines solid reporting and long-form narrative storytelling to bring the outdoors to you wherever you are.” This show sneakily weaves in science to explain and explore the outdoors.
This show might be worth it solely for the intro and background music, created by host Evan Phillips, an outstanding musician. Phillips’ goal is “to have meaningful conversations with extraordinary people; the folks who choose to live full-value lifestyles, in the most wild and rugged mountains on the planet.” Phillips interviews notable climbers in this Alaska-focused podcast.
This might be the most wide-ranging podcast on the list. It’s a collaborative effort, best described by the creators as an expansion of “the campfire tale,” and each listener is guaranteed to find an outdoor story that will resonate deeply and personally.
This podcast hosted by Gale Straub is focused on female exploration, and has a variety of interviews and stories covering the topic, as a gateway to longer discussions.
Backpacker Radio, co-hosted by Zach Davis and Juliana Chauncey, covers thru-hiking and long distance backpacking, complete with trail correspondents, interviews, and recommendations.
Hosts Heather Legler and Josh Legler focus on backpacking, with advice and content regarding food, gear, long-distance trails, and other hiking topics.
Hosts Scott & Ariane use their experiences to convey lessons (and laughs) about the outdoors. No topic is too broad or too small, and there are great insights in these episodes on hiking and backpacking.
Hosts Tom Griffin and Craig Brinin talk about hikes and adventures in Australia and beyond, with realistic advice and insights, all in Australian accents.
I first heard of Jeffrey H. Ryan’s book Appalachian Odyssey: A 28-Year Hike on America’s Trail, (Down East Books, 2016) at an engaging February 2017 talk Ryan gave at Frontier Cafe Cinema and Gallery in Brunswick, Maine, complete with a slide show of photographs from his almost thirty-year journey in sections of the Appalachian Trail (AT). The timing was perfect – in the teeth of the Maine winter, I saw again the possibilities of getting on the trail.
Ryan, having thru-hiked the Pacific Coast Trail (PCT) in the early 1980’s, began his Appalachian odyssey with a hike of Mount Katahdin with eight friends, including eventual AT companion Wayne Cyr, in September 1985. Hikes on the AT in Vermont and Massachusetts followed, and Ryan realized that he was completing the AT in sections, beginning a twenty-eight year quest to finally complete the 2,181 miles of the trail.
Ryan’s book breaks up this journey with Cyr into twenty-four chapters, including photographs, maps, gear lists, and salient historical facts about the AT and its surroundings. The anecdotes and (often self-deprecating) trail stories are excellent, and my personal favorite was the saga of a hungry Vermont porcupine, and the havoc it wreaked on the underside of Ryan’s parked vehicle, punctuated by the instructive note entitled, “Why Porcupines Love Working on Cars.” Ryan concludes the chapter describing his unexpected porcupine encounter with an understanding:
Because it’s the unexpected that fills life with excitement, joy and gratitude. When you let go of your expectations and allow journeys to unfold before you, you discover they are filled with wonder – clouds screaming past the moon, climbs to summits with vistas beyond belief, hoards of black flies that send you into the tent, porcupines that eat vehicles and strangers that give you a lift to the hardware store just when you need it most, I wouldn’t trade one bit of it – not even the black flies, the forced vacation or the $900 repair bill – for a more predictable and less fulfilling walk through life.
Throughout the book, we continue to see this theme resonate, and readers of the right age can nod, and remember not being able to reach people by cell phone, or puzzling over a map, prior to the advent of GPS and Google Maps. The appeal of returning to a new section of the trail each year for Ryan seems to include this passage back to a world of limited priorities, of perspective, of strictly the essential.
While many trail journals are immersive, and discuss the alternate thru-hiker universe, Ryan’s is different, as he also explores the physical and emotional challenges of getting on and off the trail in sections over the years. The physical effects of residual stress from work and travel, the betrayals of aging and benefits of maturity, and even the changes in technology on the trail over time are currents running through this book.
In following Ryan and Cyr through the years and miles, it’s impossible not to start seeing it through their eyes and pick up the trail shorthand they use. “First flat spot” to a hiking partner is a three-word utterance that says all that needs to be said about exhaustion, and the need to pitch a tent and call it a day. Ryan’s inner “drill sergeant” is the alternately self-motivating and abusive internal voice that drives him up and down hills when his reserves of energy are gone.
A brief encounter with a solo thru-hiker at the Sawmill Overlook in Virginia who admits to having the “Virginia Blues” causes Ryan to re-evaluate the mental load being carried by himself and Cyr on the trail. The Virginia Blues are the result of a formerly ambitious thru-hiker’s realization during a 550 mile section across Virginia of the realities of the length and deprivations of the trail, a two thousand mile endeavor with a 75% dropout rate. Ryan’s thoughts on the Virginia Blues are an unmistakable metaphor for the trials of middle age, the broader trails we all walk alone and together, and the societal supports we all need.
These times of exhaustion and doubt, however, are like the low points in the rolling “sawtooth” terrain Ryan crosses in his section-hiking journey – left in shadow by peaks bathed in sunshine, unexpected kindnesses from strangers, hot meals, and special places inaccessible except by the AT. Ryan conveys tricks of the trade in breathing, arranging gear, and staying in the game mentally, and says this about continually moving forward:
But my greatest source of strength was the reason I was out here in the first place. From the beginning, I have felt that it is a privilege to walk through some of the most fascinating and inspiring places on earth. It is something that makes me feel more complete and connected to nature than any activity I can imagine. Trying to do it for as long as I can is the greatest gift I can give myself. Yes, there are tough days. There are also many more glorious ones – just like life in general. And experiencing them out here helps keep things in perspective when I return to the man-made universe of projects, deadlines and the like.
Every person who punches a clock can understand Ryan’s realization that “my greatest challenge in getting to the trail wasn’t the travel, it was carving out the two week chunk of time I would need to make the trip happen.” But Appalachian Odyssey shows a blueprint for finding a balance between the things we must do, and those we dream of doing.
(Disclaimer: This post contains affiliate links, and as an Amazon Associate Hiking in Maine blog earns from qualifying purchases.)
Mowry Beach Trail from the Pleasant Street trailhead.
A short distance from downtown Lubec, the easternmost town in the U.S., Mowry Beach is a quiet 48-acre conservation area overlooking Deep Cove, Lubec Channel and Canada’s Campobello Island. This area, managed by the Downeast Coastal Conservancy (DCC), offers a .4 mile trail from Lubec’s Consolidated School on South Street to a parking area at the end of Pleasant Street, including a 1,700 foot boardwalk. The DCC publishes a map and brochure, available on their website.
View of Lubec village and the international bridge to Campobello from Mowry Beach.
We learned of this beach through a great Cobscook Trails Map and Guide published by Cobscook Trails, with hikes throughout the Cobscook Bay region, a free and widely available (at local businesses) pamphlet which I would recommend for anyone exploring the area. At the Pleasant Street end of the trail, which we accessed via a short walk from downtown, is 1,800 feet of shorefront along a sand beach. According to guides, ancient tree stumps can be seen along the lower portions of the beach at low tide, a forest that was present during an era with lower water levels.
On the October day we visited, seals were active, using the rapidly outgoing tide to move swiftly east at waterskiing speeds in the Lubec Channel in search of food. For sea-glass collectors, this working waterfront has a variety of shiny objects along the shore. During our walk, we also encountered two people helpfully picking up any garbage left on the beach.
Boardwalk on Mowry Beach Trail.
We turned into the trail, passing bright beach rose bushes. The trail and boardwalk are alive with birds, and we startled a large bird of prey that had been resting in a tree next to the boardwalk, which took off almost straight up, like a rocket (which, in turn, startled us). DCC’s guide lists rough-legged hawks, northern harriers, and northern shrikes as frequent visitors to the conservation area.
Mowry Beach conservation area from the playground of Lubec Consolidated School.
We continued through the coastal bog and an area lined with cattails and small trees, emerging behind the Lubec Consolidated School. For those with mobility issues, intimidated by longer hikes, or entertaining smaller children, this relatively short walk on wide paths and boardwalk is a great side excursion from the village of Lubec.
The “Bold Coast” of Maine is the area of coastal Washington County stretching from approximately Milbridge to Calais, and accessible through a route designated as the Bold Coast Scenic Byway (see map here from Maine DOT), which largely follows U.S. 1 North. Bold Coast Maine, a collaboration by the Washington County Council of Governments and Downeast-Acadia Regional Tourism, has an extensive site dedicated to the many attractions of this region, with a great interactive map, searchable by interest (Arts and Culture, Food and Drink, Recreation, etc.). For some area context, including post-hike food and drink, see the post on this blog on Quoddy Head State Park in Lubec.
For hikers, the centerpiece of this great region has to be the Cutler Coast Public Lands, managed by the Maine Bureau of Parks and Lands, which publishes an excellent guide and map. An important update to this map, however, is a rerouting of the Inland Trail, just east of the junction with the Black Point Brook Cutoff, which adds 1.2 miles to any loop using this segment, and was still in place as of October 2018.
Inland Trail Reroute (note 1.2 mile change in yellow), Cutler Coast Public Lands
These lands, overlooking the Bay of Fundy, have 10 miles of trails and three remote tent sites (first come, first serve) for hiking and camping with unparalleled views. We started on the Coastal Trail, which is a 1.4 mile hike east from the parking area off Route 191 in Cutler to the ocean. According to the guide, this is the easiest segment, and the remainder of the trails are “moderately difficult.”
None of the trails we explored here were particularly strenuous, but the paths are winding and require some climbing up and down over the rolling terrain. Like Quoddy Head, however, there are sudden cliffs that make it a potentially dangerous place for younger children. The rocky coastal sections are steep, and footing could be treacherous in rainy periods. And given the boggy inland areas, the insects in May and June must be fairly aggressive.
Coastal Trail view to south of Cutler Coast Public Lands.
The payoff upon reaching the coast, however, is instantaneous, as the dark rocky cliffs and forested coastline meet dramatically with the ocean in a stimulation of the five senses that can only be experienced firsthand. We picked our way slowly down the Coastal Trail toward Black Point, stopping at each short side overlook trail to listen to the powerful rumble of the waves and smell the mix of sea spray and pine.
Maine’s Bold Coast, Cutler Coast Public Lands.
The Black Point Brook Loop, with a turnaround at the beach at Black Point Cove, is normally 5.5 miles, but with the reroute on the Inland Trail, was closer to 6.7 miles, which took us about four hours at a slow pace, with many stops.
We agreed that a better (delayed gratification) itinerary for us would have been to take the Inland Trail first to the Black Point Brook Cutoff, have lunch at Black Point Cove, then hike up the Coastal Trail, so that our route back would take us along the shore (rather than having the forested trail and circuitous reroute on the return trip).
Rocky beach at Black Point, Cutler Coast Public Lands.
The Inland Trail was impressive in its own way, however, with variety in flora and fauna, rocky sections, mossy green hummocks, and some open meadows. The fall colors were much more pronounced in this section, with many deciduous trees and colorful bushes. We also saw many birds, including a noisy pair of Canada jays near the path.
For those looking for a longer route, or an overnight trip, the Fairy Head Loop is 9.2 miles (10.4 miles with current reroute), including 3.8 miles along the shore front, and this route accesses the three permitted campsites.
This quiet section of Maine’s Bold Coast, where the woods and the ocean come together, instantly became one of our favorite hikes. Any time a hike ends at a beach (see Morse Mountain), it’s special, and the Cutler Coast rivals any scenery on the East Coast, without the crowds of Acadia.
Managing risk in the outdoors, particularly that of winter in the White Mountains, requires learning hard lessons. Focusing on one tragedy can have its pitfalls, but 
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