On a bright and blustery fall day, I hoist my backpack, and take to the trail along the northern extremes of the Downeast Maine coast, where great swells roll in from the Bay of Fundy, and there is hardly a single human-made structure in sight. I am off to hike a 10-mile loop in the Cutler Coast Public Lands, pristine and remote, and to spend a night out. This section of coastline, with its high bluffs, sharp cliffs, wave-raked cobble beaches, and intricate coves, is one of the most remarkably beautiful places where I have ever hiked, anywhere in the world. I have come here many times, and now am back again.
These public lands are situated north of Cutler village, and south of Lubec, and are part of what is termed Maine’s Bold Coast, given the pristine and remote nature of these wild lands. Cliffs rise as much as 200’ above the edge of the sea. Steps back from the cliff edges, the inland forest is thick with fir, and spruce. Hackmatack – larch – grow here in a greater abundance than I have seen elsewhere in Maine. Thick sphagnum moss covers the darkly shaded forest floor. Tiny fir sprout from long-ago fallen nurse logs – downed trees that weather into the soil – and provide rich nutrients for the next generation of forest.
Interspersed among high headlands and cliffs, run-off streams, some at a trickle, some in a rush, empty into the sea. Small meadows border these streams, a few purple asters closing out the wildflower season, tall meadow grasses, yellow-brown now, waving in the wind. Here and there, sumac brighten the landscape with their scarlet bobs, and thin red maples sport the red and orange of peak foliage season. In this rare parcel of land, looking out, or looking in – quite the sights!
I sign the trail register at the trailhead parking area, which is on Maine Highway 191 north of Cutler harbor. There are a dozen vehicles parked here. The register indicates that most visitors today are day-hikers who will make a 1.4 mile bee-line on the Coastal Trail to a look-out point on the coast, and return – for a round trip of 2.8 miles. A few have signed in as campers. Five primitive campsites are located along the Coastal Trail, and space is on a first-come, first served basis. I see that no one has indicated a plan to overnight at the Black Point tent site, and write that as my camping destination.
Let’s hike! The trail to the edge of the sea is what I expect in much of the Maine woods – rocks and roots, and rough-sawn bog bridges constructed from cedar for wet and muddy terrain. Throughout the trail system, blue paint blazes mark the route. Along rocky sections rock cairns supplement the blazes.
In 0.4 miles I reach a junction, where the Inland Trail leads 4.5 miles south to three tent sites at Fairy Head. I will return on that trail on the following day, making a loop hike of 10 miles. My choice today is to head straight for the coast. I expect that the wave action, following a strong storm of the night before – now long-gone – will be putting on quite a show. That storm brought wind gusts up to 40 miles per hour.
Indeed, I hear the thunder of breaking waves, long before I reach the edge of the sea. The wind has switched from the northeast to the south, carrying the boom and roar in my direction. I reach the sea, stop, sit for a time, feel the wind in my face, watch breaker after breaker fling bright white spray high into the air. Dark, rocky headlands, fir-topped, stand along the coast in either direction, as far as I can see. There are a handful of people here, scattered among various viewpoints. Such a striking place as this can draw a visitor into silence. It has that effect on me. We greet one another with a friendly wave and a smile, a quiet hello, but otherwise there is little talk. What are the words to describe this wild meeting place of land and sea? Stunned? Humbled? Grateful?
I head south along the coast, picking my way up and down steep draws, with a scramble or two where I use both hands and feet. Around the next corner a sharp break in a cliff face may reveal a slot cove, where waves shoot high in the air. Or, conversely, I cross one of those small meadows, yellow and pastel green in the rich light of a fall day. Occasionally, where the terrain is exceedingly rough, the pathway turns inland, among the firs, spruce, and endless moss, returning again and again to the cliff edges, and long looks over the sea.
In late afternoon I reach Black Point, where a stream, which my map shows as sourced in a large beaver pond a mile inland, rushes down a draw, empties onto a cobble beach. Here, rounded rock, sculpted by year upon year of wave action, cover the shore. I pick my way across this beach, find a spot where I can step over the stream, and climb back up onto high ground.
Here lies Black Point tent site, my home for the night. The site is basic, a bit of somewhat level ground for pitching a tent, nothing more – except for a privy which stands well off from the tenting area. No picnic table. No fire ring, as fires are prohibited in this wild location. Basic is good. The location is dramatic. Only a few steps from my tent are cliff-side viewpoints looking north, east, and south. After setting up, I prepare supper, and carry my meal to a spot overlooking the Black Point Cove, with its cobble beach, and the line of north-lying cliffs. For the longest time, I linger here, watching for the first stars to appear, until night has fully come.
I turn in, my solo tent the only one in this camp, stars visible through breaks in the fir and spruce. My most engaged sense as I slip off to sleep is the symphony of the sea, breakers washing up onto the cobble below, raking and rattling the smooth stones as the waters withdraw, to return with a muted crash. Repeat, repeat. The sound reverberates off the cliff walls of the cove. I hear it during breaks in my sleep. It greets me in the morning.
I awaken just before dawn, pack up, make my way to a high viewpoint in the direction of the about-to-rise sun, wait. A few high clouds capture the coming light in shades of pink, rose, purple. Then, sunrise. The awaited red-orange ball emerges out of the sea, shoots new light across the water, brightens the dark headlands, all things aglow. Quite the sight.
Miles to go, more to see. I trek southward for another two miles, towards Long Point, and eventually, Fairy Head. Steep draws punctuate the cliffs and bluffs. In places the trail is a blue paint-blazed clamber over ledge and boulders only a few feet from the sea. From time to time, I stop for a water break and a bite to eat, watch the wave action, look far out across the water. Do nothing but linger and look and listen; smell and taste the see air; run a hand over eons-old rock worn smooth by time.
A few herring gulls ride the swells well off from where they break, take to the air, drop down to bob on the water. At Long Point Cove, I meet another camping party, beginning to pack up. They are also on a one-night overnight hike, and hiking the trail system as I am – a loop starting north-south on the Coastal Trail, returning on the south-north Inland Trail. This is another fine tent site with a fair amount of level ground, with the added feature of one wooden tent platform.
At Fairy Head I meet two camping parties of two people each. I have tented here in years past. Slabs of horizontal ledge provide sitting places as lookouts. A freshwater pond, outflow from a nearby bog and marsh, has formed behind a depression in the ledge, only a few yards from the shore. The waters angle their way around and over a jumble of rocks, tumble in miniature waterfalls, reach the sea.
Across the broad cove that leads to Cutler Harbor, stands Little River Lighthouse, side by side with the white walled, red-roofed, lighthouse keeper house. A buoy clangs off Fairy Head, warning those on the water away from the ledges beneath. I will hear the call of that buoy along much of my continuing hike along the Inland Trail, as the south wind carries that sound well inland.
The 4.5 mile Inland Trail, my route of return to the trailhead, makes a 90 degree turn away from the shore, and into the woods. I make the turn, pause for one more look back towards the sea, resume my hike. The Inland Trail offers short spur trails to overlooks from a series of high knobs. I take every one of these opportunities to gain a glimpse of the sea, take in the surrounding forested, undulating, plateau. Much of this section of Cutler Public Land is designated as an Ecological Preserve, as the environment here, in a particularly undisturbed state, is rare in the eastern US. It is found more commonly to the north in the Canadian Maritimes and Newfoundland.
As I hike on, the sea itself is soon out of sight, but the muffled roar of the breakers, and the insistent bang and clang of the buoy at the entrance to Cutler Harbor, resound. There is much to behold – stretches of sage-colored reindeer lichen, great carpets of sun-touched moss, and the elongated beaver pond that is headwater to Black Point Brook. As I make my way inland, I encounter white birch, yellow birch, red maple, each in various shades of fall colors. White cedar appears among the other conifers. Much to see.
Trail work is impressive. There are new sections of bog bridges, rock steps and log ladders on steep slopes, and evidence of significant trail clearing in the wake of recent storms. Much appreciation goes to the Maine Bureau of Parks and Lands for this work, particularly given the remote location.
Finally, I reach the trailhead and sign out of the register. I meet a couple from Virginia starting a walk to the coastal view point which I enjoyed on the previous day. There are backpackers, too, preparing to set out. Visitors are surely taking advantage of a favorable weather forecast for the coming days. It is remarkable that, as remotely located as these Cutler Coast lands are, they draw visitors from across Maine, and throughout the country. This precious spot has my attention. As I say, it is one of my most precious hiking destinations on the face of the earth.
Where are you headed? I hope to see you on trail.
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Hiking Tips for Late Fall
I plan for fewer hours of daylight in the fall. Allow enough time to complete the hike at least one hour before sunset. Be aware that darkness arrives earlier on an east-lying slope.
Before starting a hike, I set a turnaround time. Stick to it, regardless of whether or not the intended destination has been reached.
I carry a headlamp on every hike, year round, short distance or long. Who knows when a turned ankle or twisted knee will develop, slowing a party down? Each member of the party should have a headlamp with fresh batteries, children included. Headlamps enable the hiker to move hands-free, which is essential on many Maine trails.
For other hiking tips, search online for the 10 Essentials, as described by a reputable source, such as a hiking club or major outfitter. This must-have list is handy for trip planning and packing.
Enjoy, be smart, and be safe!
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Text and photos copyright Douglas Allan Dunlap 2023
