What’s New

Presidents’ Day weekend, the full staff of the Friends of Katahdin Woods and Waters (all four of us!) headed into the north end of the Monument for some quality time together. I just came on as the new Friends Membership Coordinator at the end of January, so I was excited to spend a few days with my new colleagues and, of course, for the opportunity to do some skiing and snowshoeing in the Monument.

Though I lived in Millinocket for a year, I have yet to explore the Monument as fully as I’d like to. On the bright side, this means that I can still experience a lot of the beauty and splendor of Katahdin Woods and Waters for the first time! As we set out on our trip, I was particularly looking forward to stretching my cross-country skiing muscles and enjoying the bountiful snow up north. Leaving Portland, the scraps of snow on the curbs were dirty, icy, and uninspiring. By the time we turned off the highway in Sherman, though…wow. I have to admit, the enormous banks of snow and pristine-looking snow-covered hills and mountains are impressive, no matter how many times you’ve seen them.

After spending the night with our friends and Monument partners, Susan and Mark, we got a good start on Sunday, filling up with a fantastic and hearty breakfast at Shin Pond Village. Swallowing another cup of coffee and staving off the urge for a post-brunch nap (that might have just been me), we headed out over the winding roads to Matagamon Gate, parked, and loaded up our packs and ski pulks. We had a quick photo op and waved goodbye as Susan, Mark, and fabulous VIP Connie headed off to groom and break snowshoe trails elsewhere in the Monument. We were ready to go!

…Except that, for some reason, Sam and Kala’s skis decided to be difficult, refusing to latch into their ski boots. It looked like it was going to be a long snowshoeing trip for the two of them until, by a fortuitous twist of fate, someone suggested they switch skis and see if that worked. Kismet! Providence! Snap, snap, snap, snap, their boots latched right into the switched skis (we make a good team), and we were ready to go.

Off we went, skiing down the beautifully groomed trail toward Haskell Hut, our home for the next two nights. I wouldn’t call myself an expert skier, but I grew up skiing about on cross-country skis in the winter in my family’s backfield. Compared to breaking trail in a field (or “generously” letting my older brother go ahead of me to break trail), the groomed trails of the Monument are a dream! Of course, it was the beginning of the trip and I had lucked out and wasn’t dragging a ski pulk, but I felt light and zippy as we headed off down the Messer Pond Road. The air was crisp and cold, but the wind was calm, the sun was bright, and we were warmly dressed, so it was very comfortable skiing. We paused to look at Billfish Mountain, sparkling in the brilliant sunshine, but continued on soon so that we could reach our destination and drop our bags.

We reached Haskell Hut in good time, with a couple of hours until sunset. Kala soon had a fire built up in the woodstove, and we grew warm and comfortable in the hut. We briefly considered going out again for a late afternoon/evening ski, but the coziness overtook us, and we decided to stay in, make some dinner, and relax for the evening. Before long, Andy had whipped up a fantastic meal of pasta with shrimp and vegetables in a creamy sauce that would not have been out of place at a fancy restaurant. We sopped up every drop of the extra sauce with some bread I’d brought along and soon leaned back in our chairs, well fed and contented.

The next morning, after some expertly-brewed coffee, sizzling bacon, and maple-y oatmeal and from Kala, we set out for a day of adventure. We decided to leave our options open, but we brought along our day packs and a ski pulk with our snowshoes so that we could try to snowshoe up to the Lookout. Shortly after we left Haskell Hut, we encountered some friendly skiers, who told us that the trail up the Lookout had not, in fact, been broken, but that they had broken trail along the river on the IAT down to Grand Pitch. We took a pit stop at Haskell Rock Pitch to take a good look at the river. We stayed cautiously back from the edge, uncertain how sturdy the snow was. It would have been an early, cold, and dangerous end to the day if someone fell in! We continued skiing out until we met the broken trail following the IAT along the river, then ditched the pulk and our skis and switched over to snowshoes, heading out through the woods.

Switching to snowshoes was a good choice, as there were some downed trees that would have been difficult to negotiate on skis. With the trail broken for us, though, we were able to snowshoe quite comfortably. We made our way past Pond Pitch, marveling at the power of the churning river whenever we had the chance to look out through breaks in the trees. We reached the Grand Pitch lean-to around lunch time and took some pictures of the massive piles of snow covering it. This was where the easy path ended, but we wanted to go just a little further so that we could get a good look at the river while enjoying our lunch. We snowshoed a little bit farther, and I began to appreciate just how kind it had been for the skiers we met to have broken trail for us. It was slow going without a packed trail! We made it down to where we could see the river, packed down a circle with our snowshoes, and settled in for lunch.

We didn’t linger long, as the chill set in quickly. After filling up with fuel for the afternoon, we turned back. The return trip felt much quicker: we’d hit our stride, the trail was packed down more firmly, and the territory was familiar. When we reached the groomed trail again, we switched back to skis and headed back to Haskell Hut.

Before dark, we cleaned up some of the snow around the hut, digging a path to the propane tank, clearing off the picnic table, shoveling out the woodshed, and refilling the stock of firewood for the next travelers to come through. As evening fell, Andy made another fantastic meal—a hearty chili with all the fixings—and we settled in for another cozy evening. We were just shy of the full moon (on February 19), but both nights were so clear, the moonlight flooded over the snow outside and made it seem almost like daylight. At night, it was probably lighter outside than inside the hut, where our activities were lit only by our headlamps.

Tuesday morning, it was time to head out. After more delicious oatmeal (and good, strong coffee) from Kala, we tidied up the cabin and packed up to go. It was my turn to pull a ski pulk now. I lucked out in that I got the lighter one, packed mostly with snowshoes. As someone with little experience pulling a ski pulk, I have to say that it takes some getting used to! The stability improved when we crossed the ropes, and I was surprised by how quickly I adjusted to pulling the sled behind me.

On our way out of the Monument, returning on the Messer Pond Road the same way we came in, we encountered two other skiing parties (and some new Friends members). I was struck by the vastness of the Monument at several times throughout our trip. There were several parties of friendly skiers we encountered over the three days of our trip, but we also encountered long stretches of solitude, during which we simply enjoyed the beauty of our environs, the peace of not checking emails, and the pleasure of each other’s company. We were on some of the most well-trafficked roads of a National Monument, but I felt that we had been granted access to something really special and, in some ways, still quite wild.

As we skied the last stretch toward Matagamon Gate, I felt exhausted and refreshed—exactly what you hope to feel after a few days in the woods. I also felt lucky: not just that the weather had been so beautiful and that I had somehow landed this incredible job, but also that we had the opportunity to spend the past few days enjoying the land, the time together, and the beauty of the Monument. I returned home that night (to a long-awaited warm shower and a very comfortable bed), vowing to prioritize this kind of trip more frequently.

If you have any questions about our trip or about other trips you are considering, feel free to reach out the staff of Friends of Katahdin Woods and Waters at info@friendsofkww.org. If you are interested in learning more about taking your own overnight wilderness adventure, please reach out to Susan Adams, Recreation Manager at Elliotsville Plantation, Inc, at lunksoos@gmail.com.

Meghan Cooper, Membership Coordinator

I love winter. More precisely, I love snow – winter without snow? Blech, who needs it! Tired of the lack of snow here on the Maine coast, one recent evening I spontaneously (highly uncharacteristic; I am not a spontaneous person) decided to head a couple hours north to ski into a hut and spend a night in the middle of the Katahdin Woods and Waters National Monument. By 9 AM next morning, I had determined the huts are in fact available for use in winter, secured my hut reservation, an overnight parking pass for KWW, and dog-care at the wonderful Katahdin Kritters for my furry friend Tess. So what that it was forecast to be the coldest night and weekend of the winter yet, with below zero temperatures, I’m a New England girl I can handle it! I dug out my back-backing gear from storage, put TWO sleeping bags in my pack not being sure exactly what “hut” in this instance would consist of, and off I went!

It’s a bit of a haul to get to the north end of the Monument from my home on Mount Desert Island, and I had a meeting on the way, so it was 2:20 in the afternoon before I reached the gate where I’d leave my car and set out on my skis – sadly at this time of year only 2 hours before sunset. But no problem – I had anticipated the late start, and it was plenty of time to ski the 6 plus miles (via the Old River Road trail along the Penobscot River) to Haskell Hut. Even if I lingered too long taking photos and didn’t make it before sunset, I had lots of warm gear and a good headlamp – not to mention a beautifully clear sky that would no doubt offer multitudes of starlight under which to ski – so while I preferred to arrive to a new place in the daylight to check it all out, I wasn’t concerned about darkness coming before I reached the hut.

The first stretch of trail, on the Old River Road, followed the banks of the Penobscot River. It was relatively flat and easy going, and with the trees heaped with fresh snow, and the dazzling sunlight illuminating the snowy trail as well as the water smoothly flowing by, I was in winter-wonderland-heaven. After about 2.25 miles, I came to a marsh on my right and crossed a small bridge where the marsh emptied into the river. The marsh afforded a beautiful view across to the ridge of a Bald Mountain. Alongside the open marsh, there was nothing to hinder the wind, but I braved chilled fingers to take off my giant mittens and snap some photos all the same! Just past the marsh, I came to the Oxbow Road, which took me right back up to the main trail (Messer Pond – Orin Falls Road).

From this point to Haskell Gate, I went up and down some gentle grades surrounded by the bare-leafed branches of deciduous trees. By now the sun was quite low in the sky, well hidden by the mountains, with dusk settling upon the landscape. The stark silhouettes of the tall trees and sharp angles of the branches were all the more emphasized by the purple sky glowing behind them. The patterns of the trees in the darkening dusk, the ever-changing light, the chill air stinging my exposed face (I had long before ditched the face mask I started with), the shusch-shusch-shusch rhythm of my skis sliding across the snow the only sound insinuating itself into the silent evening – I was totally absorbed by being in that place, in that time. Anything seemed imaginable. Lingering in the past holds one down; worrying about the future hems one in; but just BE in the present moment, and the world is suddenly full of promise and possibilities. Pure magic.

Past Haskell Gate, the trail took a bend downhill into a spruce forest, the spruce boughs heaped thickly with the recent snow delighted me. This was the final stretch before reaching the hut, to which I did arrive before it was entirely dark, though sunset was well past. While I liked the idea of skiing by starlight on such a clear evening, I was glad to reach the hut, new to me, before dark, so that I could take a look around and get my bearings. And make sure I knew the location of the outhouse (took me a bit to find it, even in the lingering light!)

When I decided to do this trip, I wasn’t sure what I would find as to my accommodations and exactly what sort of a hut this would be! But I was pleasantly surprised by how substantial Haskell Hut was – not necessarily in size, spacious enough but cozy too, sleeping eight – but well-enclosed, well-provisioned with cooking pots and pans and dishes, and games, books, and puzzles – and a rocking chair!

And, most importantly, quite the workhorse of a wood stove. As soon as I arrived – after finding the outhouse and snapping a few photos as well – my priority was getting a fire going before I cooled down too much from my ski. I huddled in front of the wood stove and worked on thawing out my toes while the temperature inside the hut began its slow climb out of the single digits. It took about an hour before it was comfortable enough – standing in front of the fire – to change out of my sweaty ski clothes, and start melting snow and heating water for my dinner. By the time I ate my dinner, I had to move the rocking chair well back from the fire and take off my hat; by the time I went to sleep, it was almost TOO hot in the hut! Frankly, I was much warmer in the hut than I would have been at home in my drafty house, with the not-so-great wood stove with which I heat it.

Next morning I woke in the early hours of dawn; I could have laid there forever savoring the reflective light of the not-yet-risen sun lighting the sky over Haskell Deadwater and shining its way around the trees in through the windows. But I wanted to see the sunrise properly! So, still ensconced in my sleeping bag, I threw on some boots, hat, and mittens, grabbed my camera, and headed out into the chilly morning. It was magnificent! Minus eight degrees according to the thermometer, but I was relishing the wintry air. It was so still and serene – not a breath of wind, nor a murmur of sound to be heard. I spent a good half hour watching the sun emerge and slowly light the treetops, the hut, and finally the snow beneath me.

A re-warming by the stove, hot coffee, and some dried fruit and nuts were called for before heading back out for a morning ski. I made my way down the main trail to explore further along to the south. I found Haskell Rock Pitch, three-quarters of a mile down, and enjoyed the sight I’m much more familiar with in the summer, of the cascading falls of a river. I continued another mile and a half or so, completely reveling in the brilliant sunshine and utter snowiness of my surroundings. It seemed like mere seconds before my designated turn-around time forced me to head back to the hut.

When I saw the hut come into view perched atop the bank of the Haskell Deadwater, it felt like a homecoming of sorts even after just a single night there. I revived the coals of the fire to make some hot chocolate, giving myself some time to linger just a bit more. But reality was rearing its ugly head, and I needed to be off. I refilled the wood I had used from the woodshed, swept up, and said my goodbyes.

By this time, temperatures had warmed to the balmy low teens, so I ditched one of my layers from the day before and the morning, and set back out to the north. I couldn’t resist going the extra mile and a half to go back by way of the river again. When I reached that stretch, a small breeze afforded by the river’s proximity had both brought down quite a bit of debris to ski over, and completely obliterated the groomed trail with drifts, though the drifts were hard-packed enough to easily ski over. That wind, however, was just enough to send those cold temperatures right through my now-reduced layers of gear, resulting in my not being entirely sad when I reached my car! Plus, after not skiing all winter due to a lack of snow at home, 16 miles in two days, with a fully-loaded pack, had taken its toll on my quadriceps. Always hard to get back into the car and head back to the “real world” even after just a short time in the wilderness, but boy was I tired out!

I had departed the previous day at 2:20 and strangely returned to my car at exactly 2:20 to the minute the following afternoon. Such a short time really, but so huge in its significance. And to think, I could have – and almost – stayed home, sitting around avoiding the cold, and doing chores around the house. Instead, I made a tiny bit of effort, and had the most wondrous and unforgettable experience, enjoying the wintery wilderness of this amazing place that I’m lucky enough to call home.

Hope Rowan is the author of Ten Days in Acadia: A Kid’s Hiking Guide to Mount Desert Island, published by Islandport Press in 2017, as well as Ten Day in the North Woods: A Kid’s Hiking Guide to the Katahdin Region, due to be published this coming May. When not exploring the wilds of her beloved state or further afield, she resides in Southwest Harbor, Maine.

Two weeks ago, I brought my hard-charging, forever Mainer, now Coloradoan sister Elsa up north for a mountain bike trip through the heart of the monument. After weeks of planning and anticipation, we rented bikes in Bangor and parked at Bowlin Camps, which sits across the East Branch of the Penobscot towards the north end of the monument’s main parcel. The camps’ caretakers Terry and Dave let us park overnight for $10 and offered a last-minute acquisition of some extra bug spray they happened to buy that morning.

We had charted a two-day loop that would take us to the Big Spring Brook Hut for the night and then back round to Bowlin Camps. Readying ourselves just after lunch, we made some quick notes about our path on our map and then set out. We crossed the Bowlin Suspension Bridge and biked up a short hill (full disclosure: Elsa biked, I dismounted for the first of many hills). At the top of the hill, we took a right onto the International Appalachian Trail (IAT) and then a left soon after to get onto the K Comp Rd, continuing onto the IAT again, and then on the K Comp Rd until we hit Little Messer Pond Rd. It was muggy and buggy, but once the wind got whipping past us on our bikes we could enjoy blue skies and clear air.

The terrain unfolded before us like a study in contrasts: steeps and flats, foliage and clear skies, empty roads and thick underbrush. I hadn’t been mountain biking since I was 12, and my sister, being both my eternal elder and a mountain biker trained in the mile-high air of the Colorado Rockies, whooped me on just about any terrain we encountered.

After a scare following a false fork in the path, we stopped to establish a good system of checking in. There were two reasons to be making occasional stops: my lungs were folding inside out and trail crossings on less maintained trails can be very deceptive. This trip would not have been possible without the Map Adventures recreational map (which is available to new and renewing Friends members through the end of this year). It shows detailed mile markings and gives you a sense of what trails to take and which not to take – which, in parts of the monument where there isn’t much signage, is crucial. Roads that are defunct or not on the map may look inviting. And sometimes the roads that are in use might be grown in. Crossing the Big Spring Brook on our second day, we hit a wall of five-foot-tall saplings. Deep in the heart of the monument and in the thick of summer, you can’t always rely on following trodden paths.

Once we hit the Little Messer Pond Rd we took a left, where we found well-worn, established road. This road is used by humans and animals alike, although I’d wager you’re more likely to see a moose than a park service truck. Elsa, afraid of startling a moose or a bear and inviting their jilted ire, made sure to clear the path by yelling greetings to the creatures in the woods ahead. There was no shortage of evidence that they were near – scat of all shapes and sizes showed they were well fed and on the move.

After the ups and downs of the northward trail so, we enjoyed some long, sweeping downhills along the Little Messer Pond Rd. After crossing several brooks and streams, we came to the leftward turnoff for Big Spring Brook Hut. At the hut, we dropped our packs and settled in. We had heard the propane was out, but were delighted to find that the tanks had been switched by Mark Adams from Elliotsville Plantation, Inc. (the non-profit led by Lucas St. Clair that was a leading force in the establishment of the monument). We could bike to a sunset vista up at the nearby Lookout and know we’d be returning to some hot grub.

From the Big Spring Brook Hut path, we took a left and stayed on the Little Messer Pond Rd until we hit the Lookout Trail on our right. We threw the bikes into the lowest gear and made the slow ascent, stopping only to eat some raspberries and to consider forks in the trail. About a mile up the Lookout Trail, we took the first left. There are a few forks leading left after the first one. Ignore all but the first. Eventually, the road gets washed out and winds into the woods. When the path got thin and the trees tight, we left our bikes. There was zero worry about theft up there – we hadn’t seen another human all day.

We walked 15 minutes through the slowly darkening woods and then made the view. There’s a helmet there, perched above exposed granite. It commemorates Jerome “El Dorado” Haynes, the trail master for the Traveler Mountain Snowmobile Club who originally built the Lookout Trail. El Dorado’s helmet looks out over a stunning panorama, showcasing the peaks, streams, and valleys of the monument, Traveler Mountain, and Mt. Katahdin off to the southwest. We luxuriated for a while, eating some peak blueberries and enjoying the view until we realized the sun was setting quickly. After the long, slow ascent up to the Lookout, we were rewarded with a ripping run back downhill.

An aside here about optimal mountain bike tire size. Elsa and I rented two types of mountain bikes, which allowed for some good A/B testing. Between my front-suspension bike with regular gauge tires and Elsa’s fat tire bike without suspension, there was a clear winner. In almost every area we biked, the fat-tire bike seemed to be performing better. It was less jilted by rocks and roots and seemed steadier on uphills and downhills alike.

Back at the hut, I took a dip down in the Big Spring Brook. The water’s cold, somehow feels like snowmelt even in the middle of July – just what I was looking for. I submerged my whole body and felt the aching muscles give up their knots. Elsa prepared some delicious pesto pasta and sausage. With a raging trail hunger, we quickly dispatched a few servings each. The sun was well below the horizon, so we lit the kerosene lamp and chatted until an early bed-time.

In the morning, we woke to the pitter-patter of rain. We filled our water bottles with water from the brook, boiled then cooled overnight. The second day and second half of the trip’s loop was much more forgiving than the first. The morning starts left along the Little Messer Pond Rd uphill past the Lookout Trail until you hit a hard left down the Keyhole Road. Along the Keyhole Road, it’s almost entirely downhill. The ground was slick so we took it a bit slow but still enjoyed carving along the double track of the once-driven road. We took frequent stops to consult with the map (again there were some deceptive forks) and to enjoy signs of beaver in the many ponds and streams we traversed. There’s an especially beautiful bridge crossing Big Spring Brook – mentioned previously because of the wall of saplings on its downhill side.

At the bottom of the long downhill, we turned left onto the IAT once more and made our way up gradual uphill until we hit the turnoff to head back across the East Branch of the Penobscot. Biking towards our car at Bowlin Camps, we were welcomed back by Terry and Dave, who gave a warm welcome and a friendly “I told you so” about the bug spray they had sold us. We said our goodbyes, packed up our gear, and hit the long, dusty road. Elsa dropped me off in Patten and then stayed south to Portland.

I left the trip feeling grateful for the natural beauty of the monument, the map that allowed us to explore it safely, and the sister who pushed me to my limits biking through it. The trip was equal parts enlivening and humbling. Finding myself on the brink of losing the path, or seeing paths grown in, I was often struck by the enormity of the work ahead for the National Park Service and Friends of Katahdin Woods and Waters. There are trails to be cut, signs to be posted, and important choices to be made about where those trails and signs lead (choices you can be a part of by attending NPS Monument Planning Meetings). Before then, there are guides to be written and reports to be shared. I hope this report has given you a good sense of how to navigate this trip yourself. Should you like to enjoy much of the same trip without as many orienteering challenges, you can also mountain bike from the Haskell Gate down the IAT to Little Messer Pond Rd and then back along the same path. This alternative route offers clearer roads and distinct signage.

If you have any questions about the trip Elsa and I took, or any other trips you might be considering, please feel free to reach out to info@friendsofkww.org. For those interested in staying at the Big Spring Brook Hut – which is the only hut open to overnight visitors this summer – email Susan Adams at Elliotsville Plantation, Inc.

Sam Deeran, Operations & Special Projects Coordinator