Maine Attraction

10.13.26, Daicey Pond, Maine

Tonight I’m in cabin overlooking a forested lake, my feet stretched out by a wood stove and my love lays on the bed listening to the rain. It’s cold and windy outside. It’s warm and full and love and light inside. 

I am in love and loved. 

I’m the ocean; I’m the universe in motion. 

In the deepness of Maine, at night, with only the person you love the most. That is paradise. 

That there is about the most perfect thing there is.

And a sip of coffee.

***

10.14.26, Wednesday

7:30am, Daicey Pond Cabin

Crackle of the woodstove out of rhythm with the gusts of wind and sheets of rain. The little cabin didn’t even creak.

 

We hiked to Little and Big Niagara Falls yesterday and decided to do the Daicey Pond loop on the way back. Shortly into the hike we saw a cabin on the shore and went to investigate. It was empty. She said that’s where we needed to come for our honeymoon. So after the hike we decided to drive out to the entrance gate and see if any cabins were available for last night. The nice young feller at the gate referred us to the visitor center a minute up the road where we spoke with a nice gentleman and he got us into a cabin for the night. It’s the best decision we’ve made.

We had to rush all the way back to Neh-sow-deh-hunk (sic) to get our tent and sleeping bags from the lean to from the night before, but we got to the cabin with a little daylight to spare and a whole lot of enjoyment to bask in. 

9:10am

I’ve forgotten the old world. This is all I know. Everything else is a dream. Beyond the crack and pop of the stove and the distant rough hum of the wind around The Mountain there’s not much noise. 

I stepped out to pee last night. I walked out to the edge of the woods to pee and stood there for a minute before I considered that I had no fear of anything in the dark. Then I thought of what might actually be in the dark. Some big moose—a grizzly moose—might jump out and get me, and the thought of telling Tonya a grizzly moose almost got me got me tickled and I couldn’t stop laughing until my stabilizing torso muscles started seizing up from the cold and the laughing.

I got back in the cabin and collapsed in my chair. Tonya was in bed watching the fire. And I felt like I was having a heart attack. My jaw was tight. My throat burned like heartburn. And I thought this is it. I’m going out on a high note, but I’m totally ruining this experience for her by dying. And then I belched really loud and hard and cried “that was it! I’m good!”

***

10.18.26, Sunday

12:00pm, home

ITHACA

I wanted to write more while we were in Maine. I got caught up in experiencing the place. I don’t regret it. I’m not the same person I was before—since baptized by wilderness and darkness and quiet and solitude and love and warmth and wonder and connection and separation from the toxicity of civilization and capitalistic vitriol. 

My brain is steeped in northern autumn colors and the smell of spruce and cedar and snow on moss and birch logs on a fire. I’d forgotten how birch smoke smelled. 

I didn’t want to leave Baxter. I felt that way two years ago, but the feeling was an order of magnitude deeper than that. 

I’d reserved a lean to in Nesowadnehunk Field with the intent to set up our tent in the lean to on the wooden platform. And that’s what we did the first night; I’d reserved two. 

We got up and ended up hiking the AT to Little and Big Niagara Falls like I did two years ago. On the way back we detoured around the trail looping Daicey Pond and got the idea to rent a cabin. The one we rented was only $65 a night and pretty incredible. 

The next day we woke up, rented the cabin another night and decided to go out to town. I showed Tonya Millinocket and we stopped at the Katadhin General Store. People were coming and going, getting their bear and moose tagged. We saw both in the back of pickup trucks but none alive in the woods. 

When we drove back into Baxter we drove out to Roaring Brook and hiked the Sandy Stream Pond trail. While not totally clear, the strip-tease views of Katadhin was utterly mind blowing. We met two guys and chatted and took photos for each other. One guy said he has a Pentax K1000. After hiking to the back end of the lake we returned to the big rock overlook and were rewarded with a rainbow reflected in the lake. I’m putting that one on the living room wall. 

Then we went back to the cabin and made dinner and relaxed. But the fire was too much due to the higher temps the second night. 

Thursday morning we woke to the most amazing sunrise over Daicey Pond, with mostly clear skies except the fiery pink and purple clouds blanketing Katadhin reflected in the pristine waters. I didn’t want to leave. It’s just wrong to finally make it to paradise and be forced to leave. I can’t write a story this good. My soul needed all of that. It needs more of that. So I will be trying to recreate it closer to me as much as I can. 

We left Baxter and drove down to Bangor to see the Stephen King house. It’s the one where the Stephen King Foundation is based I think. Then we drove down to Acadia, and on the recommendation of the young feller at the gas station around the corner from the SK house did the hike to the Beehive—not the infamous steep iron rung route, but the trail up the backside to the top. The views over the Atlantic with the fall colors framing everything were absolutely incredible. The crowds were 100% bullshit. On a Thursday even. 

After leaving the National Park we stopped at Gateway Lunt’s Lobster Pound and got a couple of lobster rolls. Tonya paid for dinner and I’m still working on making it up to her. It’s a hundred dollar disappointment. 

We ran out of daylight, so instead of driving down the coast we jumped out to I-95 and flew into Portland where we got a hotel room, finally showered, and got a boring night’s sleep. 

The next day we woke up and made our way down to Salem, Massachusetts. We didn’t know it, but the whole town is decked out for October and it’s like a huge festival. We wandered around and saw the Witch House, the first church in Salem, and the town hall. We bought some doodads and knick knacks and got a really expensive but otherwise unremarkable lunch and then hit the road for home. Only about a million New Englanders were out on the roads with us, making us crawl through Mass, Conn, Jershole and Pennsylvania to Allentown. Allentown is distinctly more haunted than Salem. It’s a terrible existential pit trap where I would recommend no one else ever go.  

After the GPS took us on every one way street in Allentown and then sent us through a corkscrew maze of streets toward our hotel we spied a Mexican restaurant on our side of the road. We had no idea it was the loudest Mexican restaurant in the world. 

We walked in to the cacophony of a man singing through a PA and playing guitar. He was doing Don’t Stop Believing when we entered, then he went straight into Sweet Caroline and as both my kids correctly guessed, filled out the trilogy of songs we heard while there with Piano Man. It was so loud we could barely order. We couldn’t even try to carry on a conversation. When the singer came over to the table of drunk white women beside us to lead the entire restaurant in a chorus of Happy Birthday I asked Tonya if she wanted to leave.

“What?!” she yelled.

I pointed to the door. She got up and we left without even seeing our food. In my loudest outside voice I said “fuck this place” as we walked out, but I doubt anyone heard me. 

Since there was no way to even pass by another restaurant before we reached the hotel (not true, there was a KFC and a Burger King on the way) we decided to order pizza to the room. Then found something that looked like human ashes in the tub and asked to switch rooms. 

Salem was cool, but the rest of that day and Allentown, Pennsylvania sucked.

We crawled through New England one day and flew over the Appalachians the next day. 

Anyway, it was the best trip ever. Tonya said Maine is the prettiest state she’s been to. We had a great time in Bangor and Salem. I’d go back tomorrow. 

***

11.4.26

It’s taken me two and a half weeks to finally decide to just share my edited journal entries from the trip and the immediate aftermath. It’s been hard to process. Work was hectic for a couple of weeks immediately after we returned and that overlapped with my youngest preparing for a new job as a ski lift operator on the far side of the Western Continental Divide. 

I put her on a plane this morning. She’s over the Smokies on her way to a connection that will take her west. I haven’t cried yet. 

I’m happy and excited for her. But I also recognize that she is flying from the nest now. This isn’t working a couple months at a summer camp. This is a bigger deal. 

I helped her load her enormous suitcase, and a duffel, and her bike on a cart outside the airport. And there she stood, looking like a kid…and not the increasingly capable adult that she is. 

I tried to give her advice. I tried to reassure us both that I’m just a phone call away. But we know this is different. I can’t leave work early to come see what’s wrong with her car. I can’t rush over a couple blocks in morning rush hour traffic to help her get a tow when the car died. Thankfully she’s left that car with me and not taken it west. But that doesn’t allay my fears. She is small and the world is big. She is good and the world is mean. But she is also part me. So many people comment on how much she’s like me. And she’s not going as naive into the world as I did. She’s been through some tough shit. I see the resilience growing in her as well. 

I just hope she can get her feet solidly under her before the big storms of life hit. As we all know they will. I hope I’m around and able to help her for a long time. When she needs it. 

I’ve encouraged both my kids to follow their dreams and listen to their hearts. At least I hope that’s what they’ve learned from me. I’ve tried to convey all the relevant information I could. I’ve tried not to discourage their whims. Neither are married or have kids or mortgages. And that is the best time in life to explore and experiment. But it’s also tough because you don’t have the experience and wisdom to avoid all the pitfalls. 

I can’t take this step for her, but I can be ready to support her when she needs it. And cheer for her when she catches that first wing. 

Waiting to watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show
on Halloween at the Kentucky Theatre

No Disappointment

I hated that I ranted to her about all of the miserable reasons I’ve never summited the Grand Teton and all of the people and conditions in my life I blame for it (myself, mostly, on all counts). 

I’m sorry I ruined the trip.

Fuck my soul. I never wanted her to feel that way. We sat on a rock in the middle of the Hoback River. We’d left Jackson Hole and the fucking Tetons. We couldn’t even find a decent place to swim, and it was so hot. The Snake River was running high. So we decided to move on and leave the Tetons behind. We decided not to climb Disappointment Peak. She said she didn’t want me to be disappointed, and I said absolutely I wasn’t, that it had been a great trip, and I was happy and having a good time, it was just being back in Jackson Hole brought back all of those old feelings and thoughts.

If you’ve followed me at all, you’ll know I have this teeny, weeny, tiny, whiny obsession with the Tetons and specifically summiting the Grand Teton. Going on thirty years now…

This trip I hoped—gritting my teeth kind of hope—we could summit an easier peak. Thought maybe the Middle Teton with an overnight in Garnet Canyon or Disappointment. At the last minute I decided not to take the backpacking gear to save space. I’d hoped we could camp or sleep in the car most of the trip. Partly to save money and partly for the experience. But that knocked out the possibility of trying the Middle Teton.

Jackson Hole was packed with tourists. Tourists. Clogging up the roads and trailhead parking, falling all over each other at Mormon Row, occupying all of the camping spots, etc, ad nauseam. The next day they’d be on the trails, in front of the views, drowning out any semblance of peace with their Bluetooth speakers. 

I’d been in hard driving mode for most of the trip, and I let it open wide up as we pushed our way through traffic out of Jackson toward Pinedale. I was of a dark mind. More why questions. More rolling around my regrets in my craw. And it was hot. The whole trip had been hot. Our hike to Little Devils Tower in the Black Hills had been blistering. Stretches of road felt Mad Maxian. 

Winding alongside the Hoback River I was determined to find a spot to swim. Eventually we saw a pull off and eased in. We both figured the water would be cold, but the temps were in the 90s so it hardly mattered. So we sat in the shallow whitewater and cried a little, and I chewed my lower lip determining I wouldn’t let the past ruin this trip. 

I had hope for the Snowies, and once we got back in the car I started sharing what I knew about them. I’d first learned about them in a blurb in a climbing magazine with a mini-guide to some multipitch trad climbing there. The photos looked amazing, and I quickly discovered the range is near Vedauwoo. Despite knowing about the Snowies for the same thirty years I was obsessed with the Tetons I’d never managed to get there. Vedauwoo was a better acclimatizing overnight spot on the way to bigger things.

The Cloud Peak trip made me realize lesser goals could be so rewarding. And I realized I had missed so many great opportunities because of my eclipsing obsession with the Grand. I remembered that, and it started to make me feel better about leaving Disappointment behind. 

We approached West Lake Marie Trailhead from the west. I knew the eastern aspect of the mountain ridge was more dramatic than the forested slopes we could see. Then we rounded a bend, and there it was. A couple minutes later we turned into the parking lot. 

Wildflowers blanketed the slopes around the asphalt rectangle. Stunning scenery filled our vision as we slathered sunscreen and stowed everything in a day pack. In short order we set soles to the Medicine Bow Peak loop; a seven mile hike gaining sixteen hundred-ish feet to the 12,018’ rocky summit dome. 

We struck out for the summit three miles away at 9:30am. What I didn’t realize was the the summit wasn’t really recognizable from the parking lot. The dramatic crags that were visible were much lower and easily attained. The high point in the range was much farther away than it looked. 

There wasn’t a bad view along the entire hike. Whomever laid out the trail should get a Nobel Prize for it. It climbed easy and meandered across the border between talus and meadow. Even the final steep crux ended up being well constructed and manageable. 

View of the summit of Medicine Bow Peak 12,018' from the south

Then we were on top, and hardly feeling the altitude and miles. But we still had miles to go and all downhill. I broke out the trekking poles for our old knees. We could see almost the whole route back. Storm clouds overhung the lower half, back near the car. Thunder rolled out there over the lakes. We could see curtains of rain that might be evaporating before they reached the ground. And then a dark indigo shadow was creeping over the lip of the ridge above us. I’d stowed my camera and got a trash bag out to stuff our phones in if those clouds decided to unload. And down we went. 

The rain never materialized over us. We dodged the worst. Down around gorgeous alpine lakes we went. So many beautiful lakes, and millions of wildflowers: asters, columbine of varying colors, paintbrush, penstemon and so much more. Views for days. 

The world seemed to just be the circle of the horizon around us. My dark thoughts had been left behind. For seven hours the outside world left me alone. My head was clear. My heart was clean. It was the best day of my life. 

The hike and the summit were five star experiences. The scenery was like something out of a magazine. The cold, clear lake water enveloping me was like silver and ice in my veins. I dunked my head under Lookout Lake. I swam out a few yards and found a rock to stand on. Tonya laughed and took a photo. 

What made the whole experience more than great was Tonya. I lost her a long time ago. I didn’t think I’d ever find her again. We’ve been together again almost two years. We have two lifetimes between us, but without going into it I think we have something now that defies description. That’s what made the whole hike and climb the best experience of my life. Her. Us. 

After the impromptu swim we continued down the trail. Down and down. The last view we had before the parking lot was the outflow falls of Lake Marie. Good to the last drop.

Changing our plan to hike in the Snowy Range instead of Disappointment Peak was a better decision. We didn’t do the thing everyone does (hiking to Surprise, Amphitheater, and Delta Lakes) and we had a better experience. Far less people, trailhead parking half full, better trail, honestly better scenery and views, and something I’ve wanted to do for decades since I first learned about the place much like Cloud Peak which also ended up being one of my favorite hikes/climbs ever. Cloud Peak, Katadhin, Medicine Bow Peak. Not sure which is the right order, but it doesn’t matter. 

There was so much more we did and saw. There were so many profound things I thought along the way that I didn’t manage to write down. I hope they slowly come back to me. They’re somewhere in the twists and turns of my mind. 

I might not remember the finest details, but I’ll never forget our day in the Snowy Range.