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Perched at the far end of a knife-edge ledge of shale, I am buffeted by salty winds. Familiar conditions at a spot that yields a glorious view southward of rugged headlands, dark coniferous woods, cobble beaches, blue ocean and crashing surf.
I am but a mile and a half from the trailhead, but here it feels a world away from civilized life.
Welcome to the Bold Coast, I whisper to myself before snapping a few photos and moving on.
Striking out along the undulating margin of the shoreline on a soft, winding path through scraggly trees, I am in no hurry. There is afternoon light aplenty, allowing me sufficient time to reach my campsite well before sundown.
My mind wanders freely while my eyes roam over the magnificent landscape.
The calendar may say spring, but there is only a whisper of it in these parts. No worries with the warm jacket and sleeping bag stowed in my pack.
The Cutler Coast Public Lands unit in Cutler encompasses more than 12,000 acres and five miles of some of the most beautiful coastline in Maine, or the Eastern Seaboard for that matter. A 10-mile loop leads through the finest section south of Maine Route 161.
I’ve done it as a day hike, but I much prefer making it an overnight backpack trip. Off-season always, for me, to enjoy a better chance of having the place to myself.
Sloping meadows of golden grasses lead to more cliffs and coves, higher now and deeper.
At the trail’s apex, I pause again, this time to admire the big view across the Grand Manan Channel to the great island of Grand Manan.
Basalt walls 300 to 400 feet high face me, dark and foreboding. Phone in hand to take a photo, I smile at the display, which shows that I’m pinging off the island’s towers. No longer AT&T, I’m on Rogers in Canada.
The trail drops steeply down to Black Point Cove, where I make myself comfortable on a weathered log amid the large cobbles.
Lunchtime.
Sandwich, chips, cookies, a piece of chocolate and hot tea. No messing around on short trips like these.
I get up and stretch, investigate the brook and beach, then shoulder my pack again. A couple miles still to go, a few more ups and downs and some scrambling to do.
Nice.
At the scenic and secretive Long Cove, I step down to the beach for a look.
I’d say it’s my favorite spot here, but there are so many.
I revel in each one, not knowing when I’ll get back next.
The day’s final stretch takes me right out there on the shorefront rocks, the waves a stone’s throw to my left. I pass the third in a string of five campsites tucked into the thick maritime spruce forest, which lets me know I’m not far from where I want to be.
The next side trail soon appears, and up the rock and log steps I trundle to my home for the night, a cozy clifftop perch 100 feet above the water.
I empty my pack of old friends of many miles: the garbage bag-turned-ground sheet, the orange two-person tent, the yellow air mattress and the downy black sleeping bag.
In 15 minutes, the damp patch of soil has been transformed into a simple, satisfying shelter against the elements.
Next, I set up my kitchen. Screw the fuel canister into the stove and arrange the cook pot, cup and spork. I need only boil two cups of water this evening for the freeze-dried something-or-other in a pouch.
Sounds unappealing perhaps, but I actually enjoy this stuff.
Easy, surprisingly tasty and a good load of calories to boot. You go with what works.
Happy hour at last. I pour a splash of bourbon into my cup and, with camp shoes now on, go for a short stroll around camp.
I’ve been here and at the other campsites enough times before that walking here is akin to moving around my living room.
At the big-view ledge, I pull up a comfy rock and sit and sip and see what I can see.
Which is a lot.
This is a very special place, this Cutler Coast. As I’ve alluded to, it has drawn me back again and again since I first visited more than 20 years ago.
Almost 40 years ago, this land was up for sale and likely would have become a subdivision of oceanfront homes had the state of Maine, the Maine Coast Heritage Trust, the Conservation Fund and other conservation partners not stepped in to save it.
A tanker steaming north passed by earlier, and now I see the lights of fishing boats headed back to their safe harbors, diesel engines rumbling.
The lighthouse at the southwestern tip of Grand Manan shines, as does the Little River Light at the mouth of Cutler Harbor.
If I strain a little, I can see the red beacons of the Cutler Naval Station farther on. A bell buoy marking an offshore ledge clangs. The rush of the incoming tide kisses the rocks below.
I always think of my friend Steve Spencer when I visit here.
“A spectacular piece of property,” he called it.
An outdoor recreation planner with the Bureau of Parks and Lands way back when, Spencer played a key role during the state’s acquisition of the prized Cutler land.
He also designed the trail system and supervised its construction.
Every bend, blaze, log step and bog bridge was his doing.
Amazing.
Nighttime arrives and, even though it’s not really late, I decide to call it a day — a really good one at that — and crawl into my tent.
I’m the only human around for miles and contented with that notion in this wild and remote spot.
The bell buoy out there still dinging rhythmically every so often, I recline in my downy warmth and think of tomorrow’s walk out through the interior forest and peatlands.
But that’s for tomorrow.
