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SKIING, LIGHT
Four nights, one moose, 5-star dining, and 25 miles on skis.
BY JAMES LI
I’ velived o -grid in a yearround island home in Maine for 20 years, but only recently did I discover a backcountry winter getaway in the Moosehead Lake region that’s as enticing to foodies as it is to hardcore outdoor enthusiasts. Four World War IIera lodges in the 100-Mile Wilderness o er
su ciently t skiers a stunning backwoods experience cross-country skiing from one lodge to the next for four days straight, overnighting in handsome historic camps while eating like a food critic.
LEAVE THE DRIVING TO US Since three of the four camps are part of the well-seasoned Appa-
lachian Mountain
Club network, we used the AMC’s shuttle services for our vehicle and overnight gear. e AMC drove us from the endpoint of our trip, where we le our car, to drop us at the trailhead.
Kim
Never having experienced overnight backcountry skiing without carrying my own 40-pound pack, I was thrilled at the prospect of skiing light. We le our overnight gear, including evening libations, in a marked luggage shelter at the trailhead. Each day, an AMC sta person would magically transport our du el ahead, so all our gear would be waiting for us at the next lodge when we came out of the woods at day’s end. Each lodge kept track of when we were expected to complete the day’s trail, promising to nd us if we failed to show up before dark.
We spent the night before our shuttle van departed from Greenville in a local hotel, then breakfasted on hash and eggs with the locals at Auntie M’s. Bill, who drove the van, said the deer we kept spotting were attracted to the road because they liked eating the salted ice chunks that fell o the vehicles driving by. When we arrived at the drop-o point, we o oaded our gear and donned our skis and daypacks. Our overnight du el went into an open wooden shelter marked “To Gorman Chairback.”
Our rst day in the Maine winter woods began on a trail as wide as a logging road, giving Kim plenty of room to get acquainted with her skis. About the time she got the hang of the kick-and-glide, the trail narrowed and entered the forest. e snowpack was deep and little traveled, the daytime temperature sub-zero. Getting from one camp to the next would mean traversing about eight miles daily in hilly wilderness terrain. WARM WELCOME Around sunset, we arrived at Gorman Chairback. e lodge chief, Brent, had already started a re in the cast-iron stove in our log-walled cabin, the oldest structure in the entire AMC network. e aptly named “Octagon” was spacious, rustic, book- lled, and warm. Once the propane lights were lit, we didn’t ever want to leave.
But hot showers, drinks, and dinner beckoned, and we found all three in the lodge. Dinner in these four lodges is a serious matter, served family style by courses. Huge platters of fresh salad were followed by fresh warm bread, Yorkshire pudding, sweet squash, asparagus, potatoes, and prime rib. Dessert was a lemon custard pastry. Before we were nished, Brent passed brown paper lunch bags and crayons around the tables, instructing us to write down our sandwich choices for tomorrow’s lunches from among the meats, cheeses, vegetables, homemade bread, wraps, and dressings printed on the bags. e skier across from me said the last time he stayed here he “just circled them all.”
A er dinner, groups of skiers broke o to sit by the eldstone stove, read, talk, and visit the sauna. Several discovered the guitar and ukulele by the re, and an impromptu concert broke out. Eventually we wandered back to the Octagon and fell into a deep, restful sleep by 8 p.m. Bill, who drove the van, said the deer we kept spotting were attracted to the road because they liked eating the salted ice chunks that fell off the vehicles driving by.
AWAY FROM IT ALL
The next few days were an idyllic if physically consuming break from our normal lives. We woke early, quickly donned an abundance of down for a cold outhouse or bathhouse run, then packed up our overnight gear for the shuttle.
Being in true wilderness means that all data lines are down. is essential di erence between wild and globalized existence meant that we spent our time focused on the physical tasks required for living immersed in a brutal yet enchanted environment. We felt the bene ts of being forced to slow down and smell the wintry air as we traversed the wild pathways of winter Maine, simply dreaming of what might be put on the table for dinner.
Little Lyford, totally o the grid, welcomed us a er a day’s travel along the narrow, twisting, remote, and solitary trail. Emerging from the woods, we were greeted by wood smoke quartering out of the chimneys of the lodge and three cabins buried in the snow. Ours, “Mountain View,” already had a cheerful re burning in its stove. We drank a slug of whiskey to celebrate, spread our down quilt over the bed, and made our way to the sauna.
