Since moving from North Carolina to Maine, I’ve learned — sometimes the hard way — that things just happen here. The weather shifts fast. The dirt road is suddenly closed. The old bridge can’t be crossed. A bike tire goes flat. And staying warm takes more energy than expected.
Each lesson has added something new to my backpack. It now comes with me every time I head into the woods or onto a back road, and it’s fuller than ever.
The first winter we lived in Maine, a neighbor and I were taking a walk. She was bundled up and I wasn’t. When she asked if I was cold, I admitted that I was.
She kindly suggested the extra layers I needed because my jeans and puffer jacket, which are weather appropriate for the South, simply weren’t going to cut it here.
Laughing, she said, “We Mainers buy a lot of gear, hon.”
My husband and I often head out with our dog to hunt partridge or just hike, sometimes for hours through unmarked woods without a trail. At first I tried navigating by following the sun. Turns out, that’s not a great strategy this far north, where the winter sun skims along the horizon instead of overhead.
During an early season hunt, we realized bears were moving nearby. Maybe I panicked, but I definitely headed back for the truck, only in the wrong direction. That’s when I tucked a compass into my pack after taking a how-to course.
The author in blaze orange, a required safety measure while spending time outside during hunting season; Eloise Hale’s bird dog, Hootie, ready for a day in the Maine woods; Hale’s husband hunting ruffed grouse. Credit: Courtesy of Eloise Hale
I’m proud to say we’ve only truly gotten lost once. The day turned into night somewhere near Matagamon. We’d been exploring, hoping to spot moose and followed an old dirt road for several hours. The truck’s GPS showed the road, but we missed where it disappeared and kept driving.
By the time we realized it, it was getting dark. We debated retracing our route by memory or trying a faster side road we’d passed earlier. We chose the side road only to end up at an old bridge that couldn’t be crossed. After reversing in the dark to a turnable spot, we finally made it home via our original route.
That night my backpack held only water and a snowmobile map. The trip taught me the value of safety items. Over time my pack has slowly transformed into a mobile general store: a compass and maps, a multi-tool, paracord and even a Ziploc of Vaseline-covered cotton balls for fire-starting thanks to a local guide’s tip. I added a hand-held GPS and packed enough layers to outfit a small hockey team.
My favorite items though? The snacks. All that fresh air makes you hungry, right? Trail treats like strawberry RX Bars, apples from our trees, trail mix, cheese sticks and beef jerky are stuffed into every pocket. The ready-made tuna salad packs, oddly enough, remained untouched, waiting for a very specific kind of emergency.
Here’s the truth: the one time you don’t pack the “boring stuff” is exactly when you’ll wish you had. So yes, I may look like I’m training for a cross-country expedition just to drive a back road, but at least I won’t be the cautionary tale told at Christmas dinner.
Recently I swapped out my warm-weather gear for winter essentials. Were the flashlight and headlamp batteries still working? Were the emergency blankets packed? Had the hand warmers expired? A hiking partner’s mom worried about us being on the trails alone as the weather turned.
My friend replied, “Don’t worry. Eloise has this backpack.”
This is the same friend with whom I biked a very hard 15 miles only to discover afterwards that my back tire was nearly flat. I added a small tire pump to my pack after that.
Whether we’re heading into the woods or just down a dirt road, my backpack keeps getting heavier. With gear yes, but mostly with experience.
One minute you’re coasting. The next you’re rerouting, recalculating, rethinking. Because in Maine, “Let’s go look for moose” can quickly turn into a full-blown adventure.
And if that adventure ever calls for tuna salad? Well, I’m ready for that, too.