#51: Seboeis Riverside Trail, Mt Chase, ME; 12 Oct 2024

I was lucky enough to make it back to Maine for the first two weeks of October 2024, at the peak of the fall foliage. I had never experienced Baxter State Park in the brilliance of autumn colors, so magnificently captured on many calendar photos I had seen over the years. So I checked the forecast and contacted Charlotte to see if she’d be up for a day hike in the Park. Unsurprisingly, she was enthusiastic but could only do it on Saturday, October 12. Even though I’d need to leave the camp at 5 AM on the following day to make my flight back to New Orleans, it seemed totally worth it.

Charlotte suggested several trails that she or I had done in the past, and any would have been fine to me. Then came the email that her sister Eleanor (two years younger than us) was also interested, and they would like to explore a new one: Seboeis Riverside Trail near Mt Chase, Maine. It wouldn’t offer much in terms of elevation gain it, but it would give us a day in the Maine wilderness. I immediately signed on.

The forecast earlier in the week showed sunshine for October 12 in that part of the world, but it changed for the worse as the date approached: first to rain, then to wind. But we had our date.

If the two criteria for the “eight annual extraordinary outdoors excursions” are a physically challenging activity in stunning natural beauty, this hike marginally made the cut. The drive between Holden and Millinocket up I-95 and through the Amish country should have scored a 10 out of 10 in terms of brilliant foliage, but we viewed it through gray skies and swishing windshield wipers. The drive did score extra points for the five horse and buggies that we passed along the road, once we got off the highway. Charlotte and Eleanor conjectured which of the multiple farms along the road were owned by Amish: those that had a large white house, a large red barn, and no motor vehicles on the property.

When we reached the trailhead, I realized that I had done part of this trail several years earlier with Barb McEvoy Sepe Bentley.

The Seboeis Riverside Trail proved quite tame (total elevation gain of 744 feet according to AllTrails, although we probably got no higher than 500 feet).  It afforded constant views of the Sibeois River with a gentle current and gray-black rocks dotting the riverbed. The brilliant foliage we might have encountered a week earlier had become soggy, brown-turned-purple leaves under our feet.

If there was a physical challenge, it was the condition of the trail. On a dry day in summer, it would have presented the characteristic rocky path, often crisscrossed with exposed root systems of nearby trees, interspersed with larger rocks that facilitated walking. But the recent rain had blanketed the trail with a layer of wet leaves, masking what lay underneath them. The roots and rocks, if slippery, were another hazard – at least for someone who wanted absolute certainty of solid footing for each step. I was happy to let Charlotte and Eleanor take the lead along this trail.

There are bright spots during the hike. Thanks to the newness of the trail, the signs were in excellent shape. The marker at every kilometer helped us gauge progress. Two miles from the trailhead, we came upon Snowshoe Lodge, a one-room bit of wilderness luxury with a brand new table, stools, five cots, a potbelly stove, a stack of firewood, and (outside) an immaculately clean outhouse. After stopping to sign the register and marvel over this unexpected gem, we forced ourselves to leave the comfort of this cabin and head back to the trail.

Charlotte and Eleanor were engaged in a nonstop discussion of different aspects of nature as we hiked along.  Once again, the Merlin app emerged from their pockets to identify the birds we heard in the area; ditto, the app to identify unknown plants we passed. Both searched for telltale signs of beavers assembling wood to construct a dam. There was continuous mention of the moose we hoped to see around each turn, but alas, the closest we got were dried moose droppings along the trail.

Seboeis Trail out and back is 14.4 miles long, and we could not realistically do it in the time we had allotted. Instead, we set a time at which we would turn back: 1:30 pm. When we stopped for lunch, Charlotte and Eleanor opted to perch on one of the wooden bridges along the trail. Eleanor tested whether a sandwich wrapped in wax paper could fall in the stream and emerge unaffected. The verdict, happily, was yes.

Charlotte and Ellen lamented that – despite the obvious effort invested in developing this trail, the signage, and the lodge – this trail might not get much traffic, given how remote it is. We had seen no other hikers the entire day. But on our return, as we came down the final mile to the trailhead, two different parties were just starting out, providing some evidence to the contrary.

Shortly after the hike, Charlotte posted her monthly photo calendar, which included multiple shots of this excursion. While I was dithering over the lack of magnificent fall colors, Charlotte had found ways to showcase the beauty of this corner of Maine wilderness: a patch of forest reflected in this river, a stack of logs in the foreground (begging the question – how did they get there?), a spray of green leaves sprouting through a bed of gray stones. In her photos, we all looked so happy to be on the hike, as indeed we had been. Why then did my account of frustrated expectations differ so notably from her positive portrayal of the same experience?

If the day had not provided the sensational visual extravaganza of color that I had sought, it did give us a 10-mile hike. And as we pushed along the trail, I was immensely grateful for one final excursion in 2024 with friends whom I’d known for close to seven decades and in a state that was increasingly (re)claiming my affection.

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