The Far Side of the Pond

Don't let the word "pond" deceive you, Jordan Pond is way bigger than it sounds or looks on any map. It covers a whopping 187 acres, but a lake that does not make – it's a pond because of its depth. If it were deeper, it might be considered a lake. But, before I tell you how many miles I hiked around the pond, I want you to keep in mind how relative things like size, length, and time are. An elephant is enormous compared to a pickle, but compare an elephant to Rhode Island, America's smallest state, and that elephant becomes minuscule. Also, notice how America's smallest state is dwarfed by our most massive, Alaska, but in comparison to even…12 elephants, Rhode Island is still enormous. An hour spent in the waiting room of a doctor's office is an eternity, but an hourlong nap passes by in the blink of an eye. Ok, you get the picture…time, space, size, quality…all things are relative. 

So when I tell you that I accidentally did a 3.4-mile hike around Jordan Pond, if you're an avid athlete who can do a 3.4-mile hike in your sleep, imagine it was actually a 21-mile hike that I did with my hands cuffed behind my back and two sprained ankles. (Mind you, my ankles weren't sprained, nor did I hike in handcuffs, but you'll need to think of me this way in order to fully comprehend the kind of handicap I was working with.) Or if you're the park-goer who doesn't hike period, and prefers to take in the sights easily seen via overlooks and scenic stopping points, then you'll naturally see my struggle for what it was and applaud me for how I powered through.

But how does someone who plans every detail of her trips down to the dishes she'll order at specifically selected restaurants months in advance, embark on a hike she doesn't know will take hours and miles? And how does anyone accidentally end up on a 3.4-mile hike? I'll tell ya. It started with wanting to fulfill one of my Junior Park Ranger requirements for Acadia, which meant attending a ranger talk or taking a ranger-led tour. And according to the schedule, there was going to be a late afternoon ranger-led stroll along the Jordan Pond trail. So I was mentally planning to attend, but I lost track of time sitting in this sweet little hidden spot I found overlooking the waves smashing the rock cliffs of Sand Beach. Then I took too long down at Thunder Hole, Otter Cliff, Otter Point, Otter Creek, and Little Hunters Beach. Everything along the one-way scenic loop drive is so spectacular to see. 

And trying to find parking at the Jordan Pond House was a feat I still can't believe I accomplished...that probably ate up another 30-40 minutes. And then I had to quickly eat up a sandwich because I hadn't consumed anything other than a few fistfuls of pistachios for breakfast. After inhaling half a sandwich and cramming the rest into my backpack for safe-keeping or more likely a messy surprise to clean up later, I rushed to the pond. But which side would they be on? There were people pouring off of the trail in both directions that were separated by about a quarter of a mile.

I ended up reaching the trailhead on the left-hand side of the lake-like pond just six minutes after I was due, but there was no tour group to be found. Must've just missed them. But not giving up without an honest Junior Ranger's effort, I followed my instincts and started the trail clockwise. Maybe if I walk fast enough, I'll catch up to them, I thought as I started the path with pep in my step and my faded American flag Jansport backpack bouncing behind me. I wore a teal hoodie, brown riding boots––not hiking approved, but how long was I really going to be putting them to use? Plus, sneakers suffocate my freedom-loving feet. It was October 11th, and peak fall foliage was almost fully upon us…just in time to get every penny's worth of the peak-priced hotels on Mount Desert Island.

When you begin the trail on the left, it starts out with two thick wooden planks running above the ground, maybe 15 feet from the shoreline. The wood was fun to walk on, and it was fun to scoot to one side so smiling people could pass me going in the opposite direction. Some said hi, some said thanks, some said nothing. I love parks people.

With dense woodlands to my left and that massive body of pond to my right, I noticed a mirage of yellow, orange, red, and green hues radiating from a wavy treeline. A cute couple sat in a hammock overlooking the mesmerizing mirror effect on the water and ate sandwiches out of ziplock bags––no doubt prepared at home the way those super cool, true Parks people do. And here I marched along, a true Parks lover, but not one with the footwear or backpack to match. 

I'd been walking for a while. I couldn't see the pond house when I looked back anymore. I was pretty sure I'd never link up with the ranger-led crew, so I took my power walk down to a power stroll. I ditched my mission to catch up and just let the beauty surrounding me consume me completely. I was along for the ride. 

After a while, those wood planks I was walking on disappeared, and beneath my feet was just a dirt trail running alongside the lake. A while after that, there was some construction on the trail, and it detoured me into the woods that were well-marked, of course, in true NPS fashion. But I was still happy to be within earshot of a group of people who were chatting and walking at a good pace in front of me. They helped instill confidence that I was still on the trail and that humanity wasn't too far off. There's something about being surrounded by tall trees that makes me feel uneasy…perhaps a bit claustrophobic, but it never happens when steel skyscrapers surround me…only dense forests. Reminds me of driving through Western Washington and how I'd have such a sigh of relief the moment there was a wide-open clearing from the timber towers engulfing the road and my vehicle carrying minuscule me.

The hike through the woods started to get pretty uphill, and I started to get hot…bad sign…that's when it felt like a mission again. I hate being hot and I hate exerting myself too much. Just get me out of this thick, dense no-fun zone. Where's the pond? I'm here for the pond. Where's the colorful foliage, I only see brown and green. I got irrationally aggravated with the non-specifics of the ranger-led tour and how it wasn't coordinated with the preciseness of GPS coordinates and exact instructions. How quickly I go from calm to cranky the moment my body temperature increases just a few degrees.

 Eventually, me and the crowd in front of me were more or less out of the woods, but now we were all up in the rocks. Big boulders became the trail. I felt out of my league and wondered if I was even equipped for such treacherous terrain. And I use the word treacherous VERY loosely…Alltrails.com rates this hike as moderate…not difficult or advanced but again, remember relativity. I was tempted to ask the folks in front of me some kind of question for peace of mind: Have you done this before? How much longer till that easy-to-walk-on wood comes back? Are your legs getting tired too? Are we there yet? But they were probably Parks people, and I didn't want to whine to cool strangers who were having a good time. 

But climbing those rocks ended up being a challenge I enjoyed once I ripped my sweaty sweatshirt off. It was way better than the walk in the woods, especially since I could see the water and the foliage pouring over it. I kept eyeing the bend of the pond and the other side of it, waiting to reach the very top part of its almost soda bottle shape, so I'd know when I was halfway home to my car. I don't think it hit me until right then that I was walking all the way around this mammoth pond, and I'd been eyeing at the side I needed to get to for well over an hour. How much longer to halfway? Will I make it back by sundown? What have I gotten myself into? I kept trudging on with the optimistic mindset of, "How much further could it actually be," But apparently it was actually a lot further than I'd imagined.

A dark-haired couple with European––perhaps Italian accents––shared the hikes they'd done and were planning to do with a short-haired blonde woman walking a small dog who was acing the rock jumps and the whole hike with grace. The dog mom had done every one of the hikes they mentioned. She sounded like a local or a regular at Acadia. They branched out into discussing other national parks they'd been to and loved. Some of which, I'd been to and loved, but it felt weird to yell from 10 feet behind them, "I loved Yellowstone and the Tetons too!" when they didn't even know I was there. So I kept quiet – listening and silently stewing over the simple stroll that turned into a strenuous one.

Eventually, there was a particularly challenging climb to conquer, so naturally, the group ahead of me slowed down, and I caught up to them. We exchanged hellos. No one blurted out anything about how insanely long this hike was turning out to be – they all knew what they were in for and didn't seem to mind. The woman with the pup looked out for him, helping him hop from one rock to the next, and then she helped me. "It's a bit tricky over here, but if you cross like this…you should be good." How kind that was of her to show me the ropes, and watch to make sure I made it across ok. I've experienced this kind of kindness with strangers before, and I'm always so moved by it.

Now we were walking together. I asked the kind stranger if she'd done this trail before, and indeed she had, many times. Not a Maine native, but a frequent visitor and a future retiree resident. "Yeah, this is the last of the tricky parts…it'll go back to solid ground soon." I stifled the urge to blurt out: how much longer?? Can you carry me? Isn't there a shuttle bus somewhere just outside these woods?

And truthfully, I really was hoping for a bus pickup once we made it past the midway point on the other side of the lake. I know it might sound as silly as hoping for a magic carpet interception, but the seed of getting picked up after long strenuous hikes was planted on a hike earlier last year through Watkins Glen State Park in New York. I hiked all the way to the highest point, a monumental 1.5 miles from the base of the gorge to the top of the trail, including over 800 stone steps that really gave my legs a run for their money. And at the end of that steep trail, I got picked up by a convenient shuttle bus that brought me right back down to where my car was parked. I loved that park! And that ride...what service!

I also seemed to recall seeing a shuttle bus map that looked like it ran along the far side of the pond. So I got up the nerve to ask my new hiking friend, Beth. She laughed, "Are you pooped already? We're almost halfway, hang in there! There is a shuttle, but it doesn't stop along this trail, only the Bubbles trail and at the very end of the pond." The Bubbles trail…I remembered that one from another conversation I'd picked up on…my takeaway was that it was an absolute no-no for me…deemed strenuous by those who probably thought the rock climbing portion of the Jordan Pond trail was a breeze. But somehow, Beth's words of encouragement––just a simple hang in there––and perhaps her company, put the dream of a shuttle bus from my mind. I was in it for the long-haul. Plus, it'd probably make a good story for later. ;)

But I still had to ask Beth, "So how long is this trail anyway?" "Oh, it's about three miles, she replied." THREE MILES?!?! Holy mother of god pray for us sinners now and at the hour of death by over-exertion…or something like that. To me, this was the exercise equivalent of signing myself up to donate $5 to charity when in actuality, I was signing myself up to donate $500, as per one of my favorite I Love Lucy episodes. I'm not sure if Beth knew the truth and just didn't want to scare me away, but I later learned that the trail was really 3.4 miles long. And thank goodness she didn't include the additional .4 miles because I might've collapsed in overly exaggerated self-defeat.

But hey, I was in it to win it at this point. So I kept on keeping on, with Beth and the puppy whose name I can't remember. Once we were passing the halfway point, we lost the couple who'd been walking with us. They might have stopped for a photoshoot, but Beth was cool, she took pictures while she walked. We paused for a few shots here and there, but she had pep in her step, and so did her pup. And to my surprise, my solo-traveling self was happy just to be walking with them.

I learned that Beth worked for the ASPCA for over 20 years. We talked dogs and how I'm pretty selective about the ones I choose to surround myself with. We talked cats because that's more my forte, and she loves both equally. I shared with her the mind-boggling struggle that a friend of mine's been having with a rescue dog she and her husband bought off of Craigslist. That sentence alone provoked an, "Oh, brother, this doesn't sound good," reaction from Beth. I told her how it definitely wasn't good, and how the dog has a ton of trauma, can't be around other people or dogs, gets aggressively territorial over his owners, and extreme measures are taken just to have another friend over for dinner. Doggie Xanax, a muzzle, a citronella shock collar, doggie CBD, no human contact, and more. And now my friends were spending a fortune on a dog psychiatrist to try to break him of his haunting past so they could feel comfortable bringing a child into their world.

I was curious what Beth's take would be, given that she was a woman who currently owned four dogs, three cats, and two birds, plus, devoted the majority of her life to caring for and protecting animals. But Beth's opinion was logical and straightforward, "That's so terrible and all too common. He should really be put down – that's the only way." I was shocked by her ability to separate her feelings for animals from the situation to present such a cold, hard solution to my friend's pup problem. Even I, someone who's far from being a dog lover, hadn't thought of that. My mental solution was always just to give the dog away or maybe set him free in the woods or something––though I've recently learned that is illegal.

She went on to present a really rational explanation about how the dog suffers as well as the family trying to help it does, and how some animal behaviors just can't be unlearned. I thought it was so interesting how I'd imagined anyone working for the ASPCA or being so clearly devoted to animals as wanting to keep animals alive at all costs. But my conversation with Beth sparked a new realization…sometimes, you're loving something more by letting it go than holding onto it. What a resounding concept for anyone who has trouble letting go of things – always wanting to hold onto things – myself very much included.

The second leg of the loop around the pond went by far faster than the first. I think it was a combination of easier grounds to traverse, the pace required to keep up with Beth, and to my surprise, simply enjoying her company. We also had a bit of added hustle because storm clouds were rolling in, and we were still at least half a mile from the end of the trail. That's right about when I spotted the ranger-led tour walking in our direction. They started at the other end of the loop! I couldn't believe it! I think I was half expecting them to recognize me and say, "Hey, Laur! There you are! We were wondering where you were." even though they'd never met me.

A ranger tour would've been great – they always are, but I'm glad things worked out the way they did. I learned and experienced a lot in my 3.4-mile hike around that deceptively-long pond. And it's funny, I'm usually of the mindset that if I'm alone and there's no one to whine to, then I'll have to work through it on my own…I'll have to be strong for me. I'm also usually of the mindset that if there's someone around to hear my whining, I'll fall apart even more because someone is there to listen and console me. Like when I so fearfully get blood drawn…it's especially comforting to have a friend or family member with me for added comfort, but I've noticed that I'm much more likely to cry and carry on even more with an audience there to help pick up my pieces. When I only have me to rely on and be strong for, that's exactly what I do – I try my best to be the tough cookie that I am.

But on this particular occasion, the opposite came true. Had I not gotten to chatting it up with Beth, I would've been trapped in a hell of my mind's making, struggling to be present, and embrace the beauty around me. The distraction of a new walking buddy completely shifted my experience. The struggle mentality had been replaced by a much lighter, getting-to-know-someone mind frame.

I even told Beth about my reality before we linked up…how I was pretty much accidentally on this hike. And being the doll she was, Beth said, "Oh yea, this is a long, tiring one…[dog's name], and I will surely be done for the day after this." I could've hugged her! It was the most beautiful validation I could've received in that moment. You know that feeling when you're so hot and so cranky, or you're so tired of waiting in line for something, and you know good and well that you're being so overly dramatic, but the excessive emotions have set in, and they're navigating the reigns of your mind? And then someone throws you a bone by saying you were a trooper for sticking it out like you did, or maybe they really send you over the moon by saying they couldn't have withstood what you did. It's a figurative ice cream sundae served over a bed of tax-free cash.

With the Jordan Pond House finally back within sight, Beth told me there was a shortcut off the trail if I wanted to head that way, but she usually continues on to this beautiful clearing towards the end that most people miss. I surprised myself with my automatic reaction to stay on the trail to the very end, despite my twitching thighs. I even went a little out of my way to walk Beth to the lot where her car was, then she gave me directions to get back to mine. Just a testament to how much I was enjoying her company and my time on the stroll. It started to rain just as I got to my car. Timing. 

I headed back to Bar Harbor to treat myself to a congratulatory, create-your-own mac 'n' cheese with lobster, bacon, and shrooms. Sat at the crowded bar alone, certain everyone could see my 3.4-mile hike battle scars written all over my face. I was sure someone would ask, "Wow, what did you conquer today?" But in reality, I had no visible badge or wounds…not even a Junior Park Ranger badge because I didn't finish my required tasks in Acadia. But all that was ok. The whole experience from bliss to endurance was my gift to me. Just how I like 'em...challenging and rewarding. So I sat and savored every bite of creamy, truffley, cheesy goodness, smiling and giggling to myself over my epic Acadian adventure.