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Moonlit Hike Shows off Beauty of Land Conservation Efforts

February 27, 2011 - New Gloucester – The setting sun was spreading a soft, pink hue above the western tree line, but the three dozen walkers gathered in the old farmyard here in mid-February weren’t taking off their snowshoes for the day. They were strapping them on for the night.

The trekkers started arriving at dusk, with anticipation, headlamps and a few dogs, to hike in the deep snow up Pisgah Hill. And they came to do it under a full moon.

Pisgah Hill is no Mount Katahdin. At 377 feet, Pisgah Hill is the fifth-highest point in town. But it rises in one of the few, major tracts of unfragmented forest here, in the shadow of suburban sprawl from Portland and Lewiston-Auburn.

Development threats three years ago drew attention to the area. Since then, the Royal River Conservation Trust has raised $450,000, including $266,000 from the Lands for Maine’s Future program, and has begun buying properties in an effort to create a 240-acre conservation area that eventually will connect with a new trail between Bradbury Mountain State Park and Pineland Farms.

A novel way to see – or at least, experience – the potential of this evolving recreation area is to hike it under a full moon.

Light was fading as the group began walking, single file, across the farm fields and into the woods. Two days of unseasonably warm weather had begun melting the snow cover, but the heavy traffic soon packed the trail.

The route crossed a frozen tributary of the Royal River and began climbing, passing through mixed growth forest that is home to two mapped deer yards. Soon the group arrived at a granite outcropping, with western views.

“This is a vista spot on the trail,” said Kyle Warren, stewardship coordinator for the trust. “When we trim some trees, we’ll be able to see Mount Washington, and some fantastic sunsets.”

One of those sunsets was just burning itself out, and Susan Gilpin of Falmouth was admiring the afterglow. Afternoon temperatures near 50 degrees had left behind warm breezes, and Gilpin joked that it was like a visit to the tropics.

Twilight had passed as the first hikers reached the summit after 6 p.m. Someone took out a flashlight so Eugenie Francine, the trust’s vice president, could show on a map where a proposed trail easement could run through town-owned land in neighboring Pownal. Many people, however, were glancing east, through the trees, towards a band of clouds on the horizon.

Then it happened.

“We’ve got a moon rise,” a voice called out, as an orange orb began pushing up through the clouds.

To reward the hikers, Warren had fashioned a small table from snow and stocked it with hot cocoa and banana bread. A bag of cookies appeared. The hike had been transformed into a nocturnal picnic.

This was a gift: A warm, windless evening in February to stand on a Maine hill, stare at the sky and munch on snacks.

Morning rain had put this moment in doubt, and the spotty overcast continued to create a bit of suspense. That low cloud band promptly swallowed the rising moon, leaving the landscape dark again. But overhead it was clear; Orion was hunting in the southern sky amid the stars and planets.

At 6:30 p.m., the moon finally broke through, to a chorus of oohs and ahhs.

“This is much better than I envisioned,” Warren said. “The moon’s cooperating and no one’s freezing.”

Treats eaten, it was time to descend. Headlamps were switched on, bathing the dark forest slope in spots of bouncing, white light.

All the clouds had melted away by the time the group left the woods. The full moon was high enough above the trees to illuminate the fields, and strong enough to cast a shadow.

Robin Hodgskin of Yarmouth stopped to take it all in.

“I’ve never been snowshoeing at night,” she said. “It’s an amazing, beautiful night, more wonderful than I had thought.”

Headlamps were switched off, no longer needed. The route was clear for everyone to see. With Pisgah Hill and a full moon on their shoulders, the walkers retraced their tracks toward the glow of the distant farmhouse.

Tux Turkel, Portland Press Herald, February 2011


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