Encounters With Place: Bernard Mountain Trail

“. . . all of my life I have hungered for wild places and all of my life wild places have fed me . . .”
                                                                                 Alison Hawthorne Deming

This summer we won’t be able to make our usual trip to the Maine Coast due to the pandemic. In my forty-seven years, I have only missed one other summer there. ( I was pregnant with our second son.) I wrote about the Maine Coast in a recent essay:

Although I live far away now, this is home. This is where I come from. When I need to remember who I am, this is where I return. This is the place where all of my stories begin.
Instead, I think this will be a good time to gather those stories — to remember those special places when I can’t physically be there, hiking along the forest trails and beaches.

Two summers ago, I picked out a hike in Acadia National Park. There is a big age range in our family, so I planned carefully. It was a moderate hike. I packed water. We expected the hike to take about forty-five minutes. According to the website, Joe’s Guide To Acadia National Park, the trail was located on the quiet side of Mount Desert Island, away from the usual summer crowds: “. . . near Seal Cove, Bernard Mountain is probably the most remote and least-visited peak.” Joe further described the hike as a “pleasant walk.” It might be a little tricky to find, but it would be worth it, he promised. Perfect, I thought to myself.

To begin the adventure, we couldn’t find the parking lot which Joe told us was a gravel area down a rugged, narrow dirt road. There weren’t any other cars in site to give us a clue. We drove around for about twenty minutes before we decided on a spot that looked like it might be a parking area. Then we couldn’t find the trail head. ( Perfect? Maybe not.) When I was in college, I worked on the trail crew in ANP for the summer, and I knew that the trails were well marked. It was as if someone was trying to keep this particular trail a secret.

Finally we found the trail marker hidden by ferns, and the two older boys were off. They wanted to run the trail up the mountain. As with everything else, it was a competition. Fortunately, they also carried a harmonica. They would stop now and then to play a tune, if you can call it that, so that we knew they were okay. Our youngest son, on the other hand, became obsessed with stopping to eat blueberries along the way. For the rest of us, the hike was going to be slow and steady.

It turns out that the trail merged with several other possible trails along the way. We discovered signs for the Sluiceway Trail and the West Ledge Trail and a couple of other sub-peaks, like Knight Nubble and Bald Mountain. Cell service was non-existent not far into the forest, and so Joe would no longer be our guide. (I try to remember to carry maps or trail guides in book form now.)

Which way to go? At this point, we had no idea. My anxiety kicked in. It was going to be a disaster — not enough water, not enough snacks, whiny children. The hike was becoming longer and longer. The boys kept asking, “Are we almost there?” My husband and I had to admit that, while we were sure we were not lost or off trail, we had absolutely no idea where we were going or when we would get there.

Looking back on that day, it remains one of my favorite hikes. The boys tease me because our family adventures are rarely perfect, as much as I try to plan. Over time, I think I’ve learned that life is best when you have a loose plan, one with lots of wiggle room.

Honestly, it was freeing to move forward without a plan. To let go. To just be. The boys learned about my favorite bird, the wood thrush, and could recognize its song echoing through the woods. We came up with challenges like trying to find as many different mushrooms as we could. There was one spectacular view about half way through the hike, but the summit itself was covered with a dense stand of fir trees. (Isn’t there some saying that it’s all about the journey, not the destination?) We weren’t even sure it was the summit, but we decided to turn around at that point. All three boys rose to the occasion and didn’t complain. . . too much. I believe the hike took a little over two hours, although there is much debate about that. Thank goodness for blueberries!

Books About Nature:
Temporary Homelands: Essays on Nature, Spirit and Place and Writing The Sacred Into The Real, both by Alison Hawthorne Deming. She is an inspiration to all of us who find ourselves drawn to nature. "It is as if the world were a series of questions, and astonishment were the answer." Doesn't that make you want to get out there and follow your own questions?