Even in fog, the Bold Coast can enchant hikers

The village of Cutler resembles old postcards hanging on a spinning metal tree. The kind you would find on the counter in a grocery store where the linseed-oiled floors pull you in and welcome you, just like the hand waves you get when entering Cutler. Then, when you lay your money down on the relic of a counter, there it is, a spinning collection of “things to see and do.”

One of the very first things we did as a family after arriving Down East was to go see the cliffs of the Bold Coast. A couple miles east of Cutler’s village, a small sign marked the entrance of a small parking area with room for about five cars. Today it is much different. “Our little secret,” as we thought back then, is now out in the open with bigger signs and two large parking areas. But the cliffs and trails remain as they always have, as they always will be.

The coastal trail to the cliffs is easy to navigate and is approximately a three-mile round-trip hike. Of course, there is much more to the Bold Coast than just the cliffs. Leaving the parking lot, the gravel gives way to rock, roots and the occasional man-made wooden crossing over streambeds. A trailhead sign and map show you the routes available for an hour or a full day of exploring. For those wanting an overnight experience there are a few primitive campsites.

The trail is flat at the start. Then a gradual incline takes hold. Roots and rocks are abundant. Trees surround, enclosed perpetually by the quiet only a forest can offer. Open glimpses of birch and poplar surrounded by large swaths of spruce urge the hiker onward. Pops of color from the ground: moss, lichens, ferns, sedges, mushrooms and bunchberry with its dainty white flowers that eventually yield red berries — all are there as both audience and participant in a natural world that gives graciously. 

Large erratic boulders create an impressive staircase as the trail begins a steeper climb. Here is where I believe the “Bold Coast” earns its name. The large rock formations of granite begin inward and then extend out like fingers, pushing time forward and memories behind, until they reach the edge, cascading over into oblivion. Glance left and right, the swath of rocky coastline is a picture waiting to be taken. 

Caution must be taken if traveling out atop the cliffs; there is no fencing, so make your way carefully. Or taking in the view from just off the trail, the experience is still amazing.

Just past the side trail to the cliffs, the coastal trail continues and is another eight to nine miles to complete the circular route. Midway there is a cross trail that will make the trek back to the parking lot a bit shorter. 

At the cliffs is where this place speaks to you. The wind whispers, the fog out on the reach tickles both sea and sky. Lobster boats pass from time to time, your hand instinctively rises and waves — the boat’s captain and crew reciprocate — as the trap breaks the water’s surface. Gulls defy gravity and the occasional seal anoints the moment with a snort that echoes.

To take the time to sit still with eyes closed and simply listen is something everyone should do.

The waves crash as tides pull and push. Far off, a fog horn can be heard on Grand Manan Island. A whale breaches far out in the distance. Working boats come and go, and other hikers do, too. You hear the wind sing, feel it pulse and glide along. The heart beats slower, blood pressure drops and doing nothing is exactly what this place is all about — enjoying the product of time compressed over millions of years, with an ocean of blue below, and, if you are lucky, its mirror image above you in a blue sky. 

But if intrepid fog comes in, take heart and enjoy that moment, too.

This majestic place has beckoned me often, and I submit to both what it has to say to me and in return what I give back to that moment. At the end of that Siren’s call is the realization that there is only so much time to experience life. And to do so from a different angle, sometimes atop a natural precipice found along the Bold Coast in Cutler, is another postcard waiting to be realized, relished and, most importantly, remembered.