Catt Scratches

I’m gone from Bar Harbor, my spiritual home. The weather had been consistently grey and cool until the day I left. The day I left, the sun shined brightly, the temperature was brushing up against 70 degrees. I got to wear my new sunglasses.

Leaving Bar Harbor is like breaking up with someone smarter than you who knows that you should stay together. It just looks at you full of promise of love and adventure and smiles sadly yet with understanding. The road out of Bar Harbor is lined with mountains and sometimes the ocean. It dips, rises, curves and opens up into vistas of splendid beauty. It says, “Are you sure you have to go?’ in nature’s most seductive voice.

The Monday of my vacation, day 5, was 45 degrees with a wind/moisture factor that brought it to 38 degrees. So I was reluctant to go running. It wasn’t that comfortable just being outside let alone running uphill for a few hours. Just thinking about it makes me want to turn the heat up and get under the covers.

I started my day with coffee at the International Opera House Coffee Emporium. It is a unique establishment,
at least I have never seen one like it before. In the front is a coffee bar and tables, and books and games for patrons to read and play. In the back are computers for vacationers to use. Also in the front are a variety of baked goods, bagels, chocolate croissants, danishes, coffee cake and commercial products as well as coffee urns featuring blueberry coffee. And the most astounding thing is that the proprietors, Angel and Matt, run the place on the honor system. You take what you want and tell them what you had and they ring you up. Two other points in their favor: they are Met fans and Deadheads.

From there I did some preliminary souvenir shopping. It’s hard to find people different things every time I come here because this is really the only place I go. This place is heaven for me. The perfect confluence of mountain and sea and food and casual dress. I can spend the week here in jeans and sneakers. I travel to other places of course, but this is where I come when I want to come home.

I packed some gear to run just in case the weather improves and then I headed to Acadia National Park. I haven’t spent as much time here as I normally like to spend. I was here yesterday for the afternoon. I hiked up Mount Norumbega which borders the part of the marathon course I ran on Saturday, Somes Sound. I had talked over the selection of a good trail for the day with one of the forest rangers. I hate to put it this way but he was an adorable young blond headed man, who reminded me of Michael Cera, only more naive. He called one of the trails “Goat Trail” and I said completely deadpan like I sometimes do, “Oh no. I didn’t bring a goat.” He seemed apologetic when he said, “Oh no, ma’am. You don’t need a goat. It’s just the name of the trail.” I felt a little bad about kidding him; and worse that he didn’t realize that I was kidding him.

The trail up Norumbega was not really well marked. In fact, the parking area wasn’t well marked either. There was supposed to be a sign for the parking lot but it wasn’t there. I just divined where it was. Then I had to figure out where the entrance to the trail was by staring at the big map on site. They didn’t make it easy. I had to cross the street to find the beginning of the path. Then the path proceeded through the woods. On the right was the Lower Hadlock Pond. The road kept forking off and I kept taking the left fork. Not just because I’m a liberal, but because it seemed like that was the thing the map guided me to do. The path was pretty well developed; a car could have driven it easily. After about a mile of walking, the path ended in a two lane highway and a small neighborhood. It was goofy I turned around and went back the way I came and took one of the right forks around the lake and found the mountain trail.

It was a moderately easy trail. It was so easy that I don’t remember a lot of it. I remember getting to the top and not knowing if it was the top. The trail markers just stopped and there was no post saying it was the top of the mountain. And it was so foggy, I couldn’t see if there was more up ahead. I also couldn’t see the ground below. So I started to head back down.

So back to Monday. I think I really wanted to find someplace to go inside. I could have stayed in my hotel room all day but I knew I would regret that decision. I could have souvenir shopped all day but I didn’t have enough room in my bags to bring a lot of stuff home. I got into my car to go do something. I had no reason to drive to Ellsworth or Bangor or anywhere else. I went towards the marathon route and drove aimlessly for a while. It’s just instinct at this point. I’m trying to get the whole 26.2 miles into my head like a movie I’ve seen a thousand times. I drove out route 3 and I took the first entrance I could into the park. I needed a bathroom so I headed towards Jordan Pond. There’s a great gift shop there and good bathrooms with running water and trails to hike.

After using the restroom, I started wandering around. I had been up Sargent’s Mountain but not Pemetic. I started looking for the trail that would get me to the top of Pemetic mountain. Again the marking system is not that great and finally, I gave up. I took some pictures of the pond. At one end were the Bubble Tops. Now I know they were named the Bubble Top Mountains to be genteel but seriously, they don’t look like bubbles. They look like the line from a Dave Alvin song, “like a woman lying naked on a bed.” They look like perfectly shaped breasts. As you look at the pond, the bubbles are on one side then there is a valley in the center and rising from the valley is Sargent’s Mountain. Across from this, behind me, is the Pemetic Mountain. It’s really pretty and the fog of the day makes it look surreal and muted. I walked along a bit and then I saw a sign for a trail heading up Pemetic Mountain. The first fifteen feet of the trail were a mud bog. I didn’t want to slog my sneakers through it so I walked through the brush on the side. It was 1.7 miles to the top of Pemetic. It’s a beautiful walk. It starts out quite accessible. Just about everyone could do the first half mile or so, then it takes a sharp turn and becomes a series of rock steps, with each step being of varying height and width. Then for a while the forest staircase is made of tree roots. It’s all wet so you have to watch how you step. You can’t step too hard or move with too much emphasis. You kind of have to step lightly but surely. I call it Elf Steps. In fact, if you’ve ever read The Lord of the Rings, you can’t help thinking about the fellowship traveling to Mordor when you’re in Acadia. Also, I keep hearing “In the Court of the Crimson King” when I round a turn and face a stone staircase. The trail reached a two lane highway, which seemed a little incongruous then once across the road, it got a little more primitive.

Hiking up a mountain involves stages. Hiking a mountain is a mission. And once you’ve been on the mission for a while you get ready for it to be over. You reach a plateau. You think. Ahh the mountaintop. Then you look a little further and see more trail markers and another ridge ahead. And everytime you think you’re done. But you don’t get to decide when you’re done. The mountain tells you when you’re done. And you’re not done until you get to the top.

That day I was done before I reached the top. Down on earth, it was 45 degrees, but 1.8 miles up, it was 30 degrees and misty, wet, and windy. I was dressed okay but I had no had or gloves. So the mountain told me, foolish girl, you came un-prepared, Go back down. I was freezing, it was slippery and I couldn’t see where I was going. There was only a quarter of a mile to go, but I couldn’t go any further. I felt awful about giving up. But I had to leave. The mountain told me to go. I hated taking a B+ in Pemetic Mountain but I had to; I rationalized, hey, I can’t see any thing from the top because of the fog anyway.

It still rankles. I live for hiking in the wilderness and climbing up to the top of mountains. It is my favorite thing to do, ahead of sex, eating lobster, making money. And I felt like I failed myself and the mountain. Which doesn’t care one cosmic whit anyway. But that’s most of life anyway. You don’t always get to win. But if you care, you can plan to fight again.

Next time Pemetic. I’ll get to the top. Stay right there, I’ll be back.