My first solo hike

The trail is 9.8 miles round trip, with a cutoff trail halfway through so that people can do a shorter day hike. There are three primitive campsites at Fairy Head, located at the far end of the loop. One side of the loop follows right along the coast to Fairy Head, and the opposite side of the loop circles back to the trailhead through the forest.

"I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." Henry David Thoreau, from Walden

The first few steps onto the coastal trail took my breath away, as the Maine coastline has a tendancy to do. From the sheltered forest of the connector trail, I followed the footpath to where the woods and the rocky coast met, and the sky and ocean opened up before me.

The shape of these rocks produced an effect similar to Thunder Hole in Acadia, except without the crowd of people peering over the edge. The waves crashed into the crevice and then churned and rumbled back on each other, producing a sound similar to distant thunder.

Much of the Coastal Trail was literally right on the edge of the coast, so the afternoon sun warmed while the ocean breezes refreshed. My pack weighed in at about 30 lbs, which is more than I usually carry, but it wasn't unmanageable. My tent, sleeping bag and water reserves made up most of the weight, and I needed all three.

The trail also wandered away from the coast on occasion, curling through meadows like this one before leading me back to the crashing waves.

Maybe it's because I grew up in the Midwest, but several times I'd just have to stop and stare in awe at the land around me. It's truly a beautiful place.

There are only three campgrounds on the trail, and no reservations are taken, so I tried to keep my pace up to make sure I could claim one. By 3:00 I had pitched my tent, taken off my boots, and hung my sweat-dampened clothes in the sun to dry. I had three hours til sunset, when I planned to retire to my tent and try not to think about the Blair Witch Project.

What a pleasant surprise! There was even a little box toilet at my campsite. No open fires were allowed, but I didn't mind because none of my food needed cooking. In fact, my menu on the trail wasn't much different from my menu at home- PB&J for lunch and dinner, water, and NutriGrain bars. I also bought a 10-pack of mini Snickers, but not all of them survived the drive up. :-)

My campsite was perched at the edge of a little bluff, with the rocks right below. Right next to the steep descent was a weather-worn piece of lumber across two rocks, making a perfect spot for sitting, contemplating, and journaling. It immediately became one of my favorite places in the world.

As the sun began slipping toward the horizon, the temperature also dropped. I'd hoped to be able to watch the moon rise over the water, but the trees obscured that view and I didn't feel comfortable trekking out into the night. I did wake up around midnight and step outside my tent for a few minutes, though. The moon lit up the woods behind me and made the incoming waves glitter like silver, but before long the chill of the night persuaded me to snuggle back down into my mummy sleeping bag. I actually slept better out in the woods than I slept Monday night worrying about sleeping out in the woods. The first time a pine cone dropped onto my tent and skittered down the side I nearly jumped out of my skin, and there was also a 3 a.m. visit from a screech owl (I think), but for the most part the secluded nature of the reserve and calming sound of the waves lulled me right to sleep.

I set my silent alarm watch for 6 a.m. so that I could watch the sun rise, and I was not disappointed. This photo seems a little strange because my flash went off and lit up what would normally be silhouetted trees.

I ate my breakfast (NutriGrain and an apple) and watched the sun rise over Grand Manan Island, which is right on the horizon. Very intense.

It astounds me to think that something so beautiful happens every single day, yet so many people don't bother to take notice. What other amazing things are we too distracted to appreciate?

With the orange morning glow warming the trees, I began packing up my camp site.

Shortly after 8:00 I headed back out on the trail, knowing that I had the hike out and the drive back to Portland ahead of me.

The inland trail was much more lush and green, like something out of a fantasy novel. The mossy stones and heavy, moist tree stumps seemed to hold the damp chill in the air, and the canopy of leaves overhead just let a sprinkling of sunlight through to the ground.

Even the inland trail had some parts that meandered back out to the rocks though. Once out on rocks like this, it became a game of "Is that a cairn or a pile of rocks?" CAIRN - a heap of rocks used to mark a monument, trail, or summit of a mountain

Some low points in the rocks collected this little pool of completely still water.

Yes, another waves-crashing-on-rocky-coast photo. Indulge me, I've only lived in this state for a year... :-)

The inland trail also had more deciduous trees, so the fall foliage kept my hike out interesting. The fallen birch leaves also covered portions of the trail, which unnerved me a little because one of my main concerns about hiking alone was a twisted ankle or knee. I walked softly and kept all ligaments, tendons, and cartilage intact. At one point, with about 2.5 miles left, I heard an owl hoot nearby. I stopped for a moment, cocked my head, and wondered why an owl was out on a sunny autumn morning. As I began walking again, I heard a heavy stomping sound and froze. "THAT was no owl," I thought to myself, my heart accelerating. I strained to hear where it was coming from and hoped to hear the voice of another hiker out there, but was greeted with silence. I walked another ten feet and got a big whiff of fresh manure.

Now my heart was pounding, my senses were piqued and I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. Standing there, my feet cemented to the ground, I heard a deep, rumbly snort. I nearly had a heart attack. It was close, and it probably wasn't human. My mind was racing back to every aggressive wildlife survival tip I'd ever heard... are bears nocturnal? Is it moose mating season? Do I look like a sexy lady moose? If I sprayed a bear with pepper spray, would it get scared and run away, or would it get really ticked off and, instead of just knocking me down and stealing my Snickers, would it tear out my throat instead? I didn't want to stick around and find out. I hoofed it out of there, looking over my shoulder while looking forward to climbing into my car.

This hike was one of my favorite life experiences, and I highly recommend coastal Maine as a place to meet nature and escape people. There were times on the hike when I would come to a cairn or a blaze and I'd have to stop because I couldn't see which way the trail went from there. I'd stand there for a minute or two, searching the trees and rocks for guidance and looking for the footworn path that I was supposed to follow. Often I couldn't see any indication of where I should go, but without fail, if I just kept walking another ten or twenty feet, the next trailmarker would come into view, clear as day. It was a good metaphor for me at this point in my life... If you don't know which way to go, just keep walking, and before long the path will make itself visible to you. So I guess I didn't uncover any Big Answers out in the woods, but maybe I became a little more accepting of the questions.