It sounded, at first, like one of those things that can’t happen here. Perhaps some somewhere else, where life is cruel and hearts are hard, but not here. Not in easy-going, carefree, tolerant Maine.

People are getting yelled at for taking walks.

Here’s the story, still unfolding. At the University of Maine campus in Orono, there is an extensive network of trails winding through field and forest, developed and maintained by the university, the state and a couple of school and community activity clubs. The lovely trails are free and open to the public for any and all non-motorized uses – biking, blading, walking, jogging, frolicking, sauntering, strolling hand in hand, and, in winter, cross-country skiing. Only lately, it seems, a small group of cross-country militants are confronting and verbally abusing those of differing recreational creeds.

According to letters and phone calls coming into this office during the past week, the outrage goes something like this: a perfectly normal person is navigating one of these trails in some law-abiding manner other than on skis; a skier, usually clad in some garish, form-fitting ski garment, races up in a fury and proceeds to scold, often very loudly and bluntly, the non-skier for ruining the trail and for essentially being the cause of everything that’s wrong in the whole entire world. The skier then races off and the nonskier is left to fume for the rest of the day.

It turns out I personally know a substantial and growing population segment that’s been assaulted this way. At last count, it was five adults, two children and one dog. (Incidentally, the dog is an exceedingly well-behaved animal and is no more likely to make doo-doo on the trial than any of the five adults and at least one of the children.)

Last Saturday, seeking to calm the roiled waters, this newspaper published a brief and exceptionally cogent editorial suggesting that, with a little accommodation and consideration, all users could share the trails in peaceful coexistence. The immediate and violent response from some of our skiing readers was that no, they couldn’t.

Essentially, the responses take two approaches. The first is the ultimate slippery-slope argument – anyone who thinks people ought to be able to walk along a trial used by cross-country skiers probably thinks Humvees are OK, too. The second is the public safety angle – nothing against walkers, per se, but an errant clod of snow kicked onto the ski track could cause the skier to ”catch an edge” (that is, trip) and, given the volatile nature of Lycra-clad bodies hurtling through space at speeds upwards of seven miles per hour, to burst into flame.

So I roll up to the old flagship campus Monday, maybe to catch a glimpse of flaming skiers, maybe to get myself yelled at. It was a gorgeous afternoon of mild temperature and brilliant sun. I walk down several trails, careful to stay well clear of the ski tracks. I see a total of eight skiers but no fireballs. Nor am I rebuked. (A colleague, however, points out later that, as I had not planned this outdoor excursion, my attire that day – sort of a casual Gotti motif -might have been a little off-putting.)

Not rebuked, but definitely not welcomed. Of the eight skiers I see, six are of grad-student/faculty age. They are skiing alone, recreating with grim determination, heads down, avoiding eye contact, letting cordial greetings slip by unacknowledged, their dreary demeanors a stark contrast to their flamboyant garb. I stop at one trail intersection, yielding to a guy in a black-and-fuscia number. He shoots me a sideways look of pure disdain as he glides by.

Later, although I’m as far to the edge of the trial without being knee-deep, a woman in psychedelic lime zips by a close as possible, her inside pole and ski coming menacingly close, her pace and self-absorbed concern about her heart rate far superceding such banalities as politeness or another’s safety. As an occasional skier myself, I recognize in these six the skills of the passably fair amateur – on the outside. On the inside, in their Mittyish minds, they’re in the Olympic finals, fleeing the Gestapo across some Nordic border or rushing life-saving serum to a remote village above the Arctic Circle. Ta-pocketa, ta-pocketa..

The other two? A couple of young guys, undergrads probably, Lycra-free. They’re laughing, joking, having fun, saying “Hi.” God bless ’em.

I check in with David Ames. He’s UMaine’s associate director of athletic and recreational sports, a lecturer in physical education and the guy pretty much in charge of the trails. We get the nuts-and-bolts stuff out the way – none of these trails are exclusively for skiers. The university grooms the trails in winter for skiing, at considerable effort and some expense, but that by no means implies that their use is restricted and it is unfortunate that some skiers see the grooming as some kind of entitlement.

Then we get around to what I really wanted to talk to him about – the increasing conflicts among recreational users of public resources and the tendency among those doing the recreating to take the fun out of having fun.

It is, Mr. Ames agrees, a growing problem and a significant issue for those in the recreation industry. Not to long ago, he says, the big conflicts were between motorized and non-motorized activities, largely noise and fumes issues. Today, the non-motorized world is increasingly Balkanized: sailors, kayakers, canoeists, swimmers and Frisbee-tossers hate each other; bicyclists, runners, skateboarders and roller bladers compete for precious pavement, the winter landscape isn’t big enough for skiers, snowshoers and hikers. It’s an issue dear old Vacationland better get a grip on or people are going to be going home with some pretty crappy vacation memories.

What to do? Education, Mr. Ames suggests, a greater appreciation for other people and their interests, plus some good old sharing. If not, I think, a more volatile blend of Lycra ought to do the trick.

Bruce Kyle is the assistant editorial page editor for the Bangor Daily News.