Deeper Into Paradise
This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

Getting from Chimney Pond to Russel Pond can be an easy ten miles, or a hard eight. The easy way is a little bit longer, the hard way is a bit more interesting, elevation gained and lost, climbing up and over the tablelands of the Katadhin massif, miles above tree line. In late September, that can mean a variation on every season imaginable.
Thinking myself good to go with my old running shoes and a full pack to spend my days off deeper in the backcountry, I climb up to elevation to be met with several inches of ice and snow. Three miles of greasy, frozen moss covered boulders, with wind blowing sleet and freezing rain behind my glasses, and I begin to wonder how wise a choice I’ve made.
Perseverance pays, when I ease down below the tree line to be met with just rain and a few miles of soft pillowy sphagnum moss. The vibrant green of this coniferous rainforest, nearly glowing, spurs within me a renewed sense of anticipation for the days ahead.
Descending into the spectacular Wassataquoik valley, I enter a thick piece of woods known as dog hair — small, thin fir trees growing close together. The trail ahead is a hallway, and one can see but six feet into the murky woods. It’s hard to imagine claustrophobia in this vast wilderness, but awareness grows that I don’t walk alone. The small mountains of fresh bear skat that begin to appear cause me into a loud conversation with an imaginary person, so my un-captive audience to hear me.
With the icy and powerful Wassataquoik Stream forded and only a couple miles to go, I begin to feel the fire of the woodstove on my chilly toes, dry trousers, and warm wool sweater wrapped around me. I could almost hear the fresh trout sizzling in the cast iron and smell the hot coffee in the dark of the morning, steaming in the dim light of the gas lantern. No busman’s holiday for me, I was walking deeper into paradise.