Precipice Trail

There are reasons visitors flock to New England in the fall.

When my children were young, Acadia National Park in Maine was the annual fall leaf-peeping destination for our family each Columbus Day weekend. As the only national park in New England, Acadia is consistently ranked as one of the top ten most visited national parks in the country. Acadia offers gorgeous views of rocky Maine coastline set against a stunning mix of evergreen and deciduous trees. The foliage in Acadia is usually at its peak of autumn color near Columbus Day, and the vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows in the trees contrasting against the cool blues and grays of the shoreline entice visitors from all over the world.

My kids and me, circa 2000. Notice how our fleece jackets match the reds, greens, and yellows in the trees?

The park contains an extensive carriage road system which passes through stone-faced bridges, near waterfalls, streams, and hiking trails. My family and I are well-acquainted with many of the trails, having kicked over familiar granite surfaces multiple times throughout the years. The Beehive trail, a short climb up a granite cliff via ladders and iron rungs, became a family favorite. I remember the year my daughter pouted because I would only allow my husband to take her halfway up the trail, fearing it was too dangerous for her. By the time my kids were in high school, they scrambled up the Beehive as though they were mountain goats.

One year, the beloved Swede decided that the kids were ready to conquer Acadia’s Precipice Trail. Described as a strenuous hike climbing 1,000 feet up the face of Champlain Mountain, the trail requires the use of many iron rungs and ladders. Warning signs posted at the trailhead indicate that the route should be attempted only by hikers who are physically fit and have no fear of heights. The warnings state that, in order to reach some of the iron rungs, hikers should be at least five feet tall or else they will slip, fall and bounce their way down the granite cliff, becoming food for the endangered peregrine falcons which nest on Mount Champlain. Or something to that effect.

My son, who was nine years old at the time, may have measured all of four feet-ten the year the beloved Swede decided to conquer The Precipice Trail. He assured me our son would be fine; he was an experienced hiker. Besides, he told me, a friend of his had hiked the trail not long before and said it wasn’t that bad. The language on the warning signs, he told my husband, was just there on the advice of the park’s lawyers as protection against claims of liability.

Did I happen to mention my husband’s friend was a lawyer?

Not long into the hike, I began yelling at my husband, “I hate this trail! I hate your friend!” It had rained all night long before the morning of our hike, and do you know what is more slippery than wet granite? Not much. Each time I heard the slip of a foot or the crunch of gravel being kicked loose, I had visions of my children tumbling down the slick, granite rock face, plunging to certain death; all while under my supervision and with my consent.

We reached the summit of Mount Champlain where the wind, I was certain, was about to carry my four-foot, ten inch son off the mountain and away.

My husband wanted a picture of the kids and me enjoying the view from the top. Do I look like I’m enjoying the view?

Without a word, I turned and started making my way down the back side of Champlain. I wanted nothing more than to get off that summit. That blur of yellow behind the trail head sign is me heading for the car, trying to put as much distance as possible between me and the Precipice Trail.

During dinner that evening, my son asked, “Mom? Do you still love Daddy?”

I may have answered him something to the effect of, “I will always love your father. Now shut up and eat your buttered noodles.”

Despite the unpleasantness of the Precipice Trail hike and dinner that evening, we enjoyed a memorable weekend together. Thunder Hole--a rocky inlet which, when tide conditions are right, allows air and water to collide in an explosive crash--put on a spectacular show for us.

Just as the kids had decided they were done viewing Thunder Hole, my husband climbed up on some granite and asked us to pose for pictures. From his vantage point, he could see out what was out in the ocean and headed our way:

Believe me; the waters of the waters of the Atlantic along the coast of Maine can get pretty darned cold by Columbus Day weekend.

My kids are now grown, and my husband and I are together at home this Columbus Day. But I have photo albums filled with pictures and a heart full of memories of the fall weekends shared, through the years, with our children along the coast of Maine.

I will always love my children's daddy. And them.

(Click here for a video of Thunder Hole doing it's thing)

Sharing a Columbus Day playdate memory with Laura:

 

And with L.L. Barkat for On, In, and Around Monday: