Growing up in Massachusetts, I knew “Sugarloaf” to be shorthand for the best skiing in New England. But it turns out this mountainous region of western Maine is an autumn playground, too.
If you’re game for a bit of roughing it — minus my least favorite part, sleeping on the ground — a long weekend in the eco-friendly, backcountry lodges of Maine Huts & Trails is a perfect way to (mostly) immerse yourself in this vast green wilderness.
By the time you’re spending a sunny day out on Flagstaff Lake, listening to the eerie call of the loons as you paddle across the glassy water, you might find it hard to believe any other season matters up here.
After driving up to Maine from New York (six-ish hours), we stopped off for a night in the beach town of Wells and sampled some obscenely buttery lobster rolls at the Lobster Shack in nearby Ogunquit. From there, it would be a three-hour drive to our hiking destination.
We opted to divide our stay between two of the four lodges (the company’s plan is to eventually build 12) in the Carrabassett Valley. The huts — spread among 80 linear miles of trails crisscrossing the Bigelow, Crocker, Sugarloaf and Burnt mountains — are fully equipped modern structures offering hot showers, private ($269/night, sleeps up to four) or shared bunkrooms ($94/night, sleeps up to 12), a heated area for equipment-drying, home-cooked meals and cold craft beers.
The latter was music to our ears after an uphill, rain-spattered afternoon hike from the trailhead through the woods to Stratton Brook, the newest of the huts. It’s hardly a long haul, at just under three miles, but challenging enough given the muddy conditions and ensuing mosquito hordes (“state bird of Maine,” my intrepid companion pointed out cheerfully) that were entirely to be expected. (Come armed with DEET; Ben’s is a popular brand among skeeter veterans.)
Maine Huts & Trails, a nonprofit that opened its first lodge in 2008, is focusing on adapting its trails to further accommodate summer and fall visitors. New hiking and mountain-biking trails are being carved out to augment the wider ski- and snowshoe-friendly main trails like the one we took into Stratton Brook (a new trail nearby is set to open in the coming weeks; another dedicated bike trail will open next year).
Like a serious hiker, you’ll have to carry just about everything you need in your pack; they provide a pillow and mattress, but you bring in your own bedding, along with your daytime hiking gear, canteens, towel, toiletries and so forth.
Shortly after our early evening arrival, we convened for a hearty, locally sourced dinner of roast chicken, kale and freshly baked bread at one of the communal tables in the main dining room, whose high ceilings and blond wood — all of the lodges are designed by architect and nature photographer John Orcutt — manage to be both rustic-feeling and ecologically forward. The food is all included in the room rates, though beer is $5 and wine $6 to $7 (you can run a tab).
Once you’re full and maybe a little tipsy, the staff (post-collegiate and eco-savvy all) will spring the “energy tour” on you. It’s a walk-through of the green systems that power these progressive-minded lodges, and it’s actually pretty interesting. If you find yourself wincing at the pricey private-room rates, just appreciate that you’re supporting the development of sustainable plumbing, heating and lighting. (And that you don’t have to be involved in the maintenance of the fancy European toilet composting system, which involves red worms and bacteria.)
We retired to sleep in our private bunk, which, while fairly bare-bones — vinyl-covered mattress and pillows, plus a few pegs in the wall for hanging clothes — suited us fine.
For the next leg, we headed to Flagstaff Hut — the most family-friendly lodge, thanks to its trailhead proximity and lakeside setting — by way of the Shore Trail, a bit longer and more scenic than the 1.8-mile main way in. Our wade through waist-high ferns and swampy patches felt downright otherworldly in places; I half expected to see Yoda raising Luke Skywalker’s ship out of the mists.
Views of the lake to our left had us hopeful about paddling possibilities, and sure enough, a couple of hours later we had downed our complimentary packed lunch, secured two kayaks (canoes are also available) and pushed off from the lodge’s dock. It’s a fairly easy paddle across the lake — though it’s more than 22 miles long — and the perimeter near the lodge is dotted with inlets for exploring.
The evening meal of meatloaf, cheddar biscuits and green bean salad left us sated and sleepy, and we retired to the screen porch to nurse one more beer and watch dusk fall, listening to the attendant woodland chorus of birds, bats, frogs and crickets.
The next morning, we grabbed a quick breakfast and hit the lake for a final, quick kayak outing. Well, it was intended to be quick, but we let ourselves idle a bit on the lake’s far side, watching a bald eagle circle overhead and trying (in vain) to spot a moose. Next time, Maine, next time.