My first hike of spring is to an old favorite, Vienna Mountain, with its high blueberry barrens, and spectacular views. On many a day, I have made a way to this out-of-the-way spot to enjoy a panoramic view west-to-east from Mt. Washington across the Western Mountains of Maine all the way to Sugarloaf – and a few peaks beyond. When the weather forecast calls for a third straight April day of sun and temperatures in the 50s, I call a hiking friend. We seize the day, and are on our way.
Vienna Mountain, as the name suggests, is located in the town of Vienna. Our approach is by the Cross Road, which is off the Kimball Pond Road, two miles north of the Vienna Post Office. (Please note: There are two high hills named Vienna Mountain, but only one of these is accessed by the Cross Road.) We have sturdy footwear suitable for wet snow and mud; trekking poles; and daypacks bearing the usual essentials, including water, two lunches worth of food, first aid kit, headlamp, spare clothing, compass, GPS, sunglasses and sunscreen.
The Cross Road serves as the driveway for a private residence; soon turning into a woods road, unplowed in winter, and not suitable for vehicular traffic. We park at the junction of the Kimball Pond Riad and the Cross Road, careful to leave room for other vehicles. After passing the residence turnoff, we encounter unplowed surface, a mud and wet snow mix that we will find on much of the way. No matter, for we have the right footwear. My trekking poles keep me from slip-sliding away. Bright sun filters through bare rock maple, red maple, yellow birch, ash, and the occasional balsam fir, hemlock, and white pine. A blue jay calls. Blue sky!
In a quarter mile we reach a T-junction with a snowmobile trail, well-marked with yellow directional arrows, and turn right. This way is a continuation of the Cross Road, which will be our route all the way to the wild blueberry grounds that cover the mountain ridge. Major snow melt is underway, the collective sounds of quick run-off combine with whispering of the wind, and more bird calls – a chickadee, a titmouse, another jay – to provide background music. The snow is unbroken, with no sign of snowmobile use – until it is not! Ahead of us runs a track, about the size of a footstep, but it is not the mark of a snowshoe, or a winter boot. What do we have here?
What we have is the track of a bear. Spring snowstorms and all, I know – seems early for bear. But there have been warm days, a string of them. The track is sharp in outline – with distinctive claw marks. I pause to regard at the track that my boots leave in the snow, compare with the bear tracks – and deem those tracks to be nearly as fresh as mine. Do we have close company? The tracks lead straight along the old road, suddenly making a sharp right turn into the woods, paralleling a run-off brook that angles towards a marsh we can see through the trees, a few hundred yards off the road. I conclude that the bear sensed our presence – wants nothing to do with us, and changed direction.
More tracks. We find the large four-way mark of turkey, with the elongated front-to-back line; deer sign, including a track nearly 8” long, hoof points deep in the snow, likely a buck; ever-present red squirrel fore and aft prints; and a peculiar raised track that tests our deductive powers. That last one I conclude is the mark of a porcupine trail, resembling a sack of flour dragged through the snow, collective paw marks on either side. Porkies often seek out hemlock for winter food, climbing some mighty tall trees and going out on a high limb to feed on the most tender branches. Once they find such a tree, they return, day after day, making a half-pipe impression in the snow. This impression freezes. As the snow melts, the half-pipe is the last part of the mark to thaw, rendering it raised above the softer snow on either side. Sure enough, when I follow this odd trail into the woods, it ends at the base of a high hemlock.
We trek on, the snow a bit deeper where we find more conifers, and thereby more shade. There also are sections where the old road bed is exposed, where sun beats down unimpeded, years of compacted leaf litter, mixed with gravel; and a fair amount of mud and standing water. We pass a beaver pond with a large lodge a dozen feet or more in diameter, and many a depression in the woods now, in the season of thaw, a seasonal pond. A few boulders, pushed to the side of the road either when first made, or perhaps later as the way was reworked for logging equipment to pass, serve as a lunch spot – in the sun, of course.
After nearly two hours on trail, with many a stop to inspect tracks, we arrive at the wild blueberry grounds, open to the sky. We clamber over a stone wall, pass through the maroon-toned blueberry plants, angle towards high ground on the ridge. Old picking roads, once traveled by wagons, or in more recent years, flatbed trucks, crisscross the landscape. Young white birch, spindly, some up to ten feet high, others no more than a yard in height, dot the landscape. The birch thrive in open sun. Here and there are piles of rock, surely removed from the fields in at earlier day, to make all the more room for the berry bushes to thrive. I am looking for a certain spot, as I ascend over the gradually ascending terrain.
I find it. To the west, on the far horizon, a mix of upward angling, bright white and purple-blue, rise the high peaks of the Presidential Range in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Mt. Washington looms as the highest; slightly eastward in the view rise Mt. Adams and Mt. Madison. From there high peaks of the Northern Appalachians extend into Maine, Old Speck and the Baldpates near Grafton Notch most prominent. Straight ahead some 30 or more eagle-fly miles, is the distinctive cone of Mt. Blue; and beyond that the Saddleback Range and Mt. Abraham. These last two peaks are bright on their summit ridges with snow.
As I scan to the north and east, Sugarloaf is next, and the nearby snowfields on Burnt Mountain. Beyond even these, a peak sits on the northeast horizon, the high inverted bowl of Moxie Bald, near Caratunk. In a gap farther still, perhaps Big Moose Mountain in Greenville rises, a softer blue, given the distance. Quite the sight. I have hiked many a high peak in Maine. This panorama from Vienna Mountain is one of the finest views I know of in Western Maine.
My companion calls to me from a muddy section of an old pickers’ road. He has found another animal track; unlike the others we have seen today. Four distinctive toes in a slight arc, a large pad behind, the track nearly four inches across at the toes. Bobcat? Large for a bobcat. What else? I consult the animal track guide I carry on every hike. The impression matches that of a lynx. Lynx? In Vienna? We search the area, find more such track, similar in size. I take a photo, and will contact a wildlife biologist to get an opinion. I have seen lynx track north of Saddleback, but not this far south. Yet, these Kennebec Highlands are a large, lightly settled, area, with a fair amount of terrain for wildlife to establish home ground with minimal human disturbance.
We explore the barrens. Eastward a great stand of red oak commands the east hillside. Young pines, 1-2’ high dot the barrens, taking hold from seeds carried by the wind from the upwind high pines that border the open ground. The impetus of the forest is to return.
The sky is a sight unto itself. Small cumulus clouds dot that sky, with a mix of wispy cirrus clouds. Wind, with no barrier to its blow, sweeps over the barrens, falls off, rises again. My companion spies a raptor – an eagle? Osprey patrolling the beaver ponds below? It is soon a speck in the great blue. The wind returns. I pull a clothing layer from my pack.
We turn for home.
Doug Dunlap
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Spring Hiking Tips:
Conditions underfoot vary widely in spring. Prepare with sturdy, water-resistant footwear, and layers of wicking and insulating clothing. Bring a tracking guide. If fortunate enough to spot wildlife, keep at a distance. If a wild creature changes its behavior because of a move by a human, that person is too close. Our wild neighbors depend upon sufficient undisturbed space in order to survive. Snow and ice persist in the high country, where crampons and even snowshoes may be essential well into the spring season. Respect all land, private and public, leaving no trace but footprints.
We live among some of the most pristine and wildly beautiful landscapes anywhere. Savor its peace.
I hope to see you on trail!
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Text and photos copyright Doug Dunlap 2024
