Lonesome Pine, Fort Kent ME

Skiing Maine is a must. It changed my life. I am now a devoted t-bar convert.

Having driven what seemed like a 1,000 miles since leaving my house at 4:00am in the morning after Christmas with stops at Big Rock and Quoggy Jo, I finally reached the outpost of Maine, Fort Kent, at 6:00pm just in time for some night skiing at Lonesome Pine.

The logistics of reaching Fort Kent - hundreds of miles, many without another car, the cost of gasoline and outrunning a storm zoomed through my head and made me question the soundness of my ski quest. I still needed to drop down Route 11 in the dark to put 2 hours between me and the northern border. Always get a bit anxious about driving around Maine at dusk with the potential dreaded moose encounter.

Inside, the lodge was a hubbub of people bristling about, but outside the night air was cold, crisp and clear. Snapped on my skis since t-bars and snowboards do not mix well for me at all and skated to the t-bar.

In southern New England, rope tows, t-bars, j-bars and the like, usually spell disaster because the snow is icy and hard with pre set ruts that pull and tear at your skis while pushing them in awkward directions as you fearfully cling to the tow. Not so in Maine. I was pleasantly surprised that the t-bar scooped me up nicely and sent me along my way with my skis comfortably gliding over the powder snow. It was silent except for a slight whooshing sound beneath the skis and an occasional shriek from skiers and snowboarders finding their way down the hill. Feeling enough calm, I looked around and enjoyed the immediate scenery - frosted evergreens against the dark black night. And then I became cognizant of this strong hand (the t-bar) gently guiding me up the slope to bigger and better things. It was not hurried, not frenetic but a firm push that moved with purpose - like the hand of God delivering me to some unknown destination.

And then I arrived at the top and on my own as the t-bar clankingly sprang away. From the top I could see what appeared to be other lighted trails all around the valley until I realized that I was looking at street lamps and snowy roads.

My descent was slightly harrowing with teenagers literally flying by me, but I eagerly awaited my quiet time on the t-bar for the return trip. I endured several ski runs just to experience "the hand of God" one more time.