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05.07.09
Acadia's Mystical Lure
Maybe you’re not into all that spiritual yoga mumbo jumbo
like chakras and zen. But the otherworldly appeal of Maine’s Acadia
National Park might just make you a believer.
by
P.B. Fahy
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A hiker reaches the summit of Penobscot
Mountain.
(P.B. Fahy Photo)
A TRIP TO ACADIA NATIONAL PARK, for me,
is a journey of the heart. Maybe I hunger to absorb the strength of the
granite mountaintops, or maybe I yearn for the roaring ocean’s
regenerative breeze. One certainty though —
Acadia is a powerful
place, for both me and my wife, Elise. It’s a place where we can brush
off the lawn fertilizer of the New Jersey suburbs and breathe easy.
We were married here in the park seven years ago — out on one of the
rocks embedded in the jagged coast of Mount Desert Island (MDI).
Marriage is like a hike in many ways, filled with climbs, descents and
spectacular vistas so long as you can find a safe way over or around the
obstacles that often present themselves to you in the journey.
The drive up from New Jersey chewed up the first day of our vacation,
but the next day we were on our way up Gorham Mountain. Our wedding spot
was just across the Park Loop Road from the trailhead. The Gorham
Mountain trail is a relatively easy jaunt up a small mountain. But since
Gorham sits so close to the coastline, the vistas of Frenchman’s Bay and
Otter Cove appear after only a minimal effort. We found some cool caves
along part of the path, definitely worth spending a few minutes
exploring on the way up.
It was a splendid day to be on the trail. The temperature peaked at
about 70 degrees, and as we made our ascent, the crisp blue sky reached
down the horizon to touch the richer blue of the ocean. No picture we
have ever taken while hiking in Acadia truly captures essence of Mother
Nature’s beauty. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but to
understand Acadia you have to experience these awesome sights in real
time. It’s a mind-body experience. Your eyes and your ears and your skin
and your muscles and your lungs and your heart work in harmony to
translate the sensations to the “rational mind.”
On the way up just before we got to the summit, we found a nice little
bench molded into the rock face. It was a good spot to lean back, munch
some pumpkin seeds and absorb the breeze and the ocean — sort of
romantic even though lots of other noisy folks loitered about nearby.
But for us Acadia isn’t just about the romantic heart. No, the physical
heart and the mystical heart all connect here as well.
If you look at a map of Mount Desert Island you’ll notice that it
resembles a heart. (See map below.) In his book
The Chakra
System of Mount Desert Island, P. Chris Kaiser writes
that the Island is the heart chakra of North America. Chakras are tiny
energy wheels inside your body. There are seven chakras that correspond
to seven major glands. Kaiser believes such energy vortexes can be found
on MDI. The mountains are covered with green moss and pink granite — the
colors of the heart chakra. The rising sun lights first on Cadillac
Mountain — highest mountain in the park — before it touches the rest of
the United States. Maybe you’re skeptical about all this chakra stuff. I
was and still am to some degree, but I’ve also been doing yoga for about
eight years, and I’ve seen changes in my body and in the way I look at
the world as a result of it. They say yoga helps to activate and align
the chakras in your body. The alignment facilitates the flow of energy
up your spine and to your brain. Elise and I both feel the energy of the
ancient mountaintops of Acadia.
One of my favorite hikes in Acadia traverses two of the park’s most
picturesque peaks — Sargent and Penobscot Mountains. The 7.5-mile trek
starts in a soft woods of pine and birch trees near the Jordan Pond
House. Thick moss blankets the earth along the Asticou Trail, and this
morning the sunlight bent keenly around the tree branches illuminating
patches of moss and stone still a little moist from dawn’s earlier
chill. For the first mile and a quarter the path is relatively flat.
It’s a good warm-up before climbing the two peaks. Sargent, the taller
and the second highest mountain on the island, stands at 1,373 feet.
This hike’s gross vertical gain is 2,233 feet with a low point of 87
feet.
My physical heart likes a good warm-up before I start to climb. Doctors
tell me I was born with a mutated gene that over time has caused my left
ventricle to thicken.
Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy
(HCM) is the clinical name. It mostly doesn’t bother me much, but it
does cut down the top end of my climbing capabilities. Slow and steady
works best for me. That’s another reason I love Acadia, because when I
stop to take a little breather I most often have a gorgeous vista to
soak in while I take a sip of water. A few years ago I had some “minor”
surgery to have an Implantable Cardioverter-Defibrillator (ICD)
installed into my body. It’s snuggled between the skin and bone of my
chest. There’s a small chance that my heart could slip into ventricle
fibrillation — a fast erratic beat that would keep the chambers from
pumping blood. My ICD will zap me with a jolt of electricity and should
bring me back to sinus (normal) rhythm. HCM is the number one killer of
young athletes. This is a relatively small number, but not insignificant
for people so young. When you hear a story about a young person keeling
over on a court or field, HCM is the likely culprit. I didn’t know I had
it until I was in my 30’s. But now I know why I always had a limit on my
aerobic exercise capabilities, no matter how good of shape I was in.
As we started our ascent up Sargent’s south ridge the air was still a
bit nippy, but soon we were working up a sweat. We left the pine and
birch woods and entered the second tier of Acadian terrain — a mix of
scrubby pines, bulges of pink granite and various shades of green moss.
Occasionally we come upon a blueberry patch, but we never eat the
berries. The park service asks that people “Leave No Trace,” so we don’t
take or leave anything in the park. Acadia is a unique spot, and we want
to keep it as close to its natural state as possible.
Once we start to rise above the first level of tree line, the panoramic
views begin. To the west, the first glimpses of Somes Sound appear above
the pointy topped pines. The sound was formed when the last glacier to
spread across New England cut a trough so deep into the granite that
seawater filled it. Geologists call it a fjord. I just call it
beautiful. I always love the first sight of the sea after emerging from
the forest. We’ve hiked on the Oregon coast and in
Cape Breton Highlands National Park
on the northern tip of Nova Scotia, but they don’t have the majesty of
MDI. Here, the sea and the mountains exist in a symbiotic state. Each
offers a starkly different concept of enduring strength. The mountains
stand rigid, rising toward the sun and calling us to climb so we can
gain a unique view of the world below. The sea’s power on the other hand
is its liquidity — timeless, flexible and rolling, the waves crash
against the shore incrementally wearing away the main. They create a
unique energy. We feel it, and if your heart is open, you can, too.
We saw an eagle soaring on our way up the mountain and a number of
falcons demonstrating their paradoxical acrobatic command — manic and
smooth at the same time — as they zipped through the sky. The trail dips
into a little valley for a while but as we emerged from it we began to
get the first good look at Penobscot and the valley that lies between
the two bald mountain peaks. It was late September, so a few treetops
were beginning to reflect autumn’s colorful complexion. Beyond
Penobscot’s silhouette, we could see the bay. But the one thing that was
noticeably missing was people. We seemed to be the only humans on the
mountains. We weren’t complaining. It was just a little eerie.
Soon we were walking up Sargent’s bald dome. The wind and the barren,
almost alien, terrain made the air seem cold despite the afternoon sun.
We were still alone on the trail and joked that the “world” could be
falling apart and we wouldn’t even know it. The stock market was heading
for the crapper that week, as were our retirement accounts, but none of
that really mattered. The energy of Acadia and our glorious connection
to nature’s wonders were all we needed to sustain us.
Once we reached the mountain’s summit we began to see some other humans
and even a tired but happy dog. Views abound from atop Sargent — land
and sea and sound — stretch out as far as your eyes or your binoculars
can see. This peak offers a great view of Cadillac’s south ridge and the
western side of the park. We’ve hiked Cadillac. It’s the tallest
mountain on the island. But getting to the top is tainted by all the
people who have driven up in tour busses and cars. Cadillac is the only
mountain you can drive up. The views from Sargent are just as good.
We backtracked down the trail a bit and into the dark valley between
Sargent and Penobscot. The path to Penobscot’s peak is short and steep.
Late afternoon had crept up on us, and the sun cast long shadows along
the tree-topped valleys. The vistas from Penobscot are awesome as well,
particularly of Jordan Pond, which lies to the east.
Elise has a trick knee, and we were both a mite tired, so we took our
time getting down from Penobscot’s bare granite crown. Plus the views of
the south end of the island are worth savoring. For me hiking is more
than exercise. It’s play, a state being, and maybe even a statement on
how I want to be. Nature — presenting itself with such vigor — demands
our attention and reminds us of the necessity to keep love and joy in
our hearts. In his book
Peace is Every Step,
Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh writes about walking meditation and suggests
that we should walk in a way, “that we only print peace and serenity on
the earth.” Most of the time when we walk it’s more like running, and we
end up printing anxiety and sorrow on the earth. When I’m hiking I try —
although I am often not successful — to clear my head of the normal
noise and just keep myself in the moment. With each conscious step and
breath, the wind, the earth, the sky and the ocean reminds me that we
are all connected and responsible for each other’s well being.
SixStates.net contributing editor
P.B. Fahy is dreaming of his next trip to Acadia National Park from
his home in New Jersey. |
