Let’s go for a morning walk. While I await the coming snow of the winter season, and long anticipated snowshoe treks and back-country ski travels, I enjoy daily walks on country roads of Franklin County. At this time of year – late fall turning toward winter, the morning air is fresh and invigorating, the new light is bold and radiant, and wildlife abounds. Plenty of lightly-trafficked, set apart, roads await – many of them remnants of a former county road network that once linked farm to farm or farm to mill; or routes that served as hauling roads for log harvests. I have walked such roads all over our county, some close to home near Farmington, others in the farther reaches of the territory north of Eustis and Rangeley, and many in between.
The time is 6:00 a.m. I set out on my walk, well before sunrise, on a graveled country road, under what is still a night sky. I wear a headlamp in case a vehicle approaches, but keep switched off until I need it. A thin slice of waxing moon lingers overhead, in a sky free of cloud cover. Light aplenty falls from more stars than I could ever count – and a planet or two. The air is still. A great quiet abides.
The constellation of Orion the Hunter shines in the southwestern sky, Orion’s shoulders, drawn bow, and belt, conspicuous and bright. Trailing behind, more southerly are Orion’s two dogs, Canis Major and Canis Minor. The brightest star in the sky, Sirius, the Dog Star, brilliant in these cloudless moments, shines in the midst of Canis Major. I pick out the planets Mars and Saturn. Swinging my gaze northward, I spot the Big Dipper, and trace a straight line beyond the lip of the cup to spot Polaris, the North Star. So many, many stars, in this final hour of a night in late fall.
A thin light in the southwestern sky gives hint of the dawn to come. High reaching rock maple, popple, and ash, long free of their leaves, stand in sharply etched silhouettes, one shade of dark against the lesser dark of predawn. High white pine, red spruce, and balsam fir appear more shapeless, merged together in a dark mass, more black than green at this hour. Moment by moment the thin light brightens, creeps across the landscape, hidden things revealed. The road, my pathway, becomes increasingly well-defined. The sky turns shades of salmon-pink, and blue-aster lavender, the sun still hidden beyond Franklin County’s southernmost hills.
A black capped chickadee calls its namesake song from a branch well above my head – first sound on an otherwise utterly quiet morning. A blue jay flies across my field of view. I hear its flutter, and catch only a muted call – a far cry, literally- from the usual “thief! thief!” scream. A movement on the road ahead catches my attention – a red squirrel bounds from right to left, halts, gives me a quick look, bounds on towards tree cover, and quickly is out of sight. A pileated woodpecker taps away, a rhythm different to my ear from the territorial drumming of the spring months. Simply out for breakfast, nothing more than that, is my guess.
Although this is a solo walk, I am hardly alone, as more creatures of the Maine woods busy themselves with their morning routines. Thirty yards ahead a doe crosses the road, followed by another, and finally by two fawns playing catch-up. A mile beyond, I pass an old hay field turning back to woodland, and surprise another doe grazing the green grass that lies amongst the yellow remnant of old bluegrass, orchard grass, quack grass, timothy, and “what have you”. She looks up, flies her flag, leaps away; comes to a halt, looks back at me from a distance. Perhaps she is reluctant to give up on this grazing spot unless I am a true threat. I walk on.
A few years ago, I was running on this same road, when I noticed a doe running parallel to me, through the woods about 30 feet off the road. I don’t know for how long she and I were running together. We seemed to notice one another in the same moment, my eyes meeting hers. Off she bolted, on a 90-degree turn, to put distance between her and me. I have seen bull moose along this road. My wife and daughter once spotted a black bear. A most intriguing sighting is what our son and daughter-in-law believe to be a lynx, tufted ears and all, crossing the road ahead of them on one winter morning. Perhaps it was a bobcat? Who knows? I have seen three fisher in my life, two in Baxter park, and the third along this very same road. It could well be that a lynx makes a home here. The creatures of the woods are all about. It is in the early hours, and at out of the way places, that I am most likely to see them.
At this early hour, and with the set-apart location of the road, there is little traffic of the vehicular kind, and few houses, and hence few sources of light other than that of the coming dawn. That light fascinates me. In the weeks of early winter, when the sun all but hugs the horizon, the low angle of light renders during most of the year the world aglow. Much of the day enjoys the rich, slanting-in, light that falls across the world just before sunset – except that in late fall this engaging light persists for much of the entire day.
Railroad tie shadows lie on the road and adjacent fields even near high noon. The leaves of American beech trees assume a distinctive amber glow, the brightest color of all trees of the Maine woods in winter. Beech hold most of these brilliant leaves until spring approaches and new leaves break forth from fresh buds. I pass a stand of cattails at the edge of a bog. What might on overcast day appear as a dreary remnant of summer past, shines bright chocolate and gold in the light of the just-now risen sun.
As I walk on, amidst such stillness and light, I take more notice of what the morning light reveals. Rock walls constructed up to two centuries ago, bear bright green moss-covering. Here and there entire trees growing out of these walls, roots reaching down through gaps between rocks to access the soil beneath. Imagine the original work by iron bar, horse-drawn sledge (known as a “stone-boat”) and much muscling!
Along one such old wall I sight a yellow birch glowing like copper in the fresh light, a good 12” thick, doing just that, atop one old wall. Not much farther along, a rock maple, and beyond that, a white ash with its distinctive furrowed bark, do the same. At another location on my walk there stands a massive white ash, three-feet across, sporting a great spread of thick limbs. This old tree resembles a face, that of an old fellow whistling a tune. I let my imagination run, and have to laugh.
There are long views, too. On this particular day I gain a good look at the New Vineyard Mountains – Griffin and Norton – and of the high ground south of Strong: Hunter, Hartwell, and Pratt Mountains. On other days I have a view of the Temple Mountains, of Mt. Blue and Little Blue, and of Bald Mountain and Saddleback Wind Mountain south of Weld. Some of the country road routes I walk render clear views of the north-south string of peaks on Mt. Abraham, the distinctive Saddleback Range, and the iconic high peak pyramids of Spaulding Mountain and Sugarloaf.
Even on the mornings when rain falls, or snow sweeps in, I walk such roads. I dress for the weather, head out, in discovery mode. On a recent morning, rain clouds dark and low, I flush out grouse after grouse – three of them in quite dispersed location along one of my favorite back roads. These low-nesting birds, known locally as “partridge” had tucked under the weather-blocking growth of a white cedar, a white pine, and a balsam fir, respectively. One day while on a snowshoe walk along West Brook in Weld, I was startled by a grouse that burst out of a snowdrift 10 feet ahead of me. That raised my heart rate! It is common for grouse to seek warmth, and protection from winter wind, in their version of a snow cave.
I term such discoveries as my “morning news”. After my walk is done, and when I return home, I can check out the news of the outside world, when I have time, and if so inclined. On most days, I find this early morning walk “news”, to contain all the instruction and inspiration I need for a given day. There was a time in the history of humankind, before the development of print and electronic media, when such exploratory walks were, indeed, the primary source for the “news of the day”. Across the history of humankind, those who read the landscape, discern pending weather, recognize the rhythms of birds, animals, and fish, were well-informed for the day ahead. Parents passed on to their children the skills of being thusly observant. Their lives depended on doing so.
Where are such country roads, well-suited to morning walks, to be found? In Franklin County, they are indeed everywhere. Some may be vehicular roads. Others may be abandoned roads, old railroad lines, or farm tracks. I have walked a circle of Cape Cod Hill, and also up into the Kennebec Highlands, in New Sharon. In Chesterville I have walked the Esker as dawn breaks, and in early morning made my way from the dam on Little Norridgewock Stream to Sand Pond and back. I have had fine walks well up Temple Stream and around Varnum Pond in Temple. In Salem I have ambled into the foothills of Mt. Abraham (Abram); and starting from Kingfield have trekked westward into the Rapid Stream Valley. These are a few among many options in the southerly reach of Franklin County. More opportunities lie in and around Weld, north and west of Rangeley, in the vicinity of Chain of Ponds and at the base of the Bigelow Range.
As winter draws near, there is so much to discover – winter birds, animal tracks in the snow, the sound that the winter wind makes as it passes among the bare branches of maple and birch, ash and popple. How about the sound of essentially no sound at all? How invigorating is the fresh cool air on a winter morning! What gifts these are!
Speaking of gifts, here is an inexpensive holiday gift idea, for someone dear to you – or even to yourself. Treat your dear person, or yourself, to a morning walk. With eyes open, ears open, all senses open, to the news of the day as the Maine woods offer it up to you. I remember, decades later, walks with one or both of my parents when I was a young boy growing up in the country. I remember those walks clearly – the light of day, the smell of woods and fields, long views that extended westward from our small New Hampshire town to nearby hills by the Connecticut River, and to the far-off Green Mountains of Vermont.
We have a family tradition of a Christmas “ticket”, an envelope for each person, placed on the branches of the Christmas tree. The ticket is for doing something together that is simple, memorable, and costs little, if it costs anything at all: a walk together or a snowshoe hike are among our most common gifts. Whatever December holiday traditions you, your family, or friends celebrate, time spent together on a walk can be a precious gift indeed.
Of course, if morning hours are not convenient in the rhythm of your life, walk at whatever hour of the day you can. Find a day or days that work for you, and start a tradition. If there are young people you can bring along, welcome them to watch and listen well. Invite them to pick out a spot to observe and call their own – a meadow, a brook, a grove of trees, a pond, a stand of pine, a copse of birch. Be on watch for what each new day has to reveal. There are always discoveries to be made.
Precious to me are times I get away to Maine’s high peaks, or to its expansive lakes and swift-running streams – hiking, paddling, snowshoeing, back-country skiing. But for the everyday, give me a walk on a country road, as night transforms to morning, stillness abides, creatures of the Maine woods venture forth. We live in the midst of some of the most remarkable countryside on earth. To walk here is a gift. You can’t beat the price!
Foot and Paddle Winter Walking Tips:
- I carry a headlamp with me when walking early or late in the day, and wear bright clothing to enable drivers to see me readily. It is particularly important to do this on late afternoon walks as the light draws down. Walkers often assume that if they can see traffic, that drivers can see them, but visibility becomes difficult for drivers at this time of day when there is a loss of visual contrast.
- On snowmobile trails, attention to being visible is essential. I carry a headlamp and wear bright clothing when walking, snowshoeing, or skiing on such trails. There is a mistaken assumption among foot-travelers that a party will hear a snowmobile approaching in time to move off a trail. However, today’s machines are markedly quieter than those of years past. I have experienced a machine come from behind to within 20 feet of me, and I had no idea it was approaching. Help yourself to be seen.
- I often go for walks of an hour or two. Hydration and nutrition are important, particularly when exercising in the cold and dry air frequent on a winter day. I carry a water bottle, and a piece or fruit, a home-made “power bar”, or similar snack. Cold day? Pack an insulated bottle with a hot drink or even some soup. I bring a square of closed cell foam matting for sitting on a snowy rock or log -or even on the cold ground. Make yourself comfortable!
Text and photos copyright Doug Dunlap 2022
