I was adding my miles from my logbook of hikes for the year when, in one of the entries I had written, a lesson revealed itself.

It went like this. “Hiking imparts lessons that I sometimes get and other times, they just fly on by.”

It wasn’t my first hike of the year. It really wasn’t a hike, more a combination of ski trip and winter climb. The date was March 5, 2005. It was still considered winter until March 20. The day started clear, cold and windy as my four partners and I left the Golden Road at Abol Bridge. We were skiing in for an overnight at Abol Campground in Baxter State Park. If the weather held off, we planned to climb Mount Katahdin the next day.

Reading the entry I could almost hear the wind that roared above the treetops that day. As my partners and I left the road we met a haggard-looking guy on his way out. He said to one of us, “You guys just going in?”

We responded that we were, and he said, “I’ve been coming up here for 18 years. It’s the coldest I’ve ever seen it. Good luck, stay warm.” And with that we skied off.

The lesson there should have been turn around and go home, you clowns, it’s too cold. Only we didn’t, of course. We skied in, slept over in a 10-degree night, and the next day the four of them, without me, went to the top. My friends climbed up in what they described as whiteout conditions on The Tableland, near the summit. I turned back about halfway up Abol Slide after seeing the clouds obscure the top. I hated turning around, yelling to my friends that I was going back.

To kill time at the bottom while waiting for my buddies, I skied up to Katahdin Stream Campground and back.

The lessons became obvious that day. Sometimes, it’s just not my day for the summit. The views will be totally obscured by clouds. The very reason I came on the trip, to see winter views, doesn’t always work out the way I want. Still, it was better to be there than sitting home wishing I had gone.

I suppose that’s true for most hikes, but for some reason, it took being turned back that day before I got it. Not all lessons are that great or profound. Some are really simple and practical.

Like in Acadia a few entries in the logbook later. The entry was from April 14, and I wrote that there was still ice in the gorge on the Giant Slide Trail up Sargent Mountain. The lesson there? There’s still ice on the trails in Acadia in April. Not very profound, but definitely useful for future reference.

In a later entry, the ice was long gone from the Traveler Loop Trail on July 3 when Scott Fisher and I hiked the 10.6 miles in a blistering 6 hours, 40 minutes. We went that fast because of the bugs. The black flies should have been long gone by then, but due to the wet spring they had lingered. That day taught us not to plan for the bugs to depart on any timetable but their own.

As bad as the bugs were, the hike was outstanding. The views were excellent, we just couldn’t stop to enjoy them. I’m still not sure if I’ll ever learn enough to beat the black flies. But I know this from that day – the bugs couldn’t have been any thicker and still we managed to have a great hike. I took it to mean you can’t let the bugs ruin a great hike.

Another log entry in September reminded me of another lesson learned. This one was about the weather. I spent the night at Horns Pond on Bigelow Mountain. Rain beating on the tent woke me up around 6:30 in the morning.

I got up, made breakfast, and waited for the sun that was forecast to shine. By 11 o’clock, with still no sun, I had all but abandoned my planned hike for the day. I was ready to turn around and go home. Instead I decided to climb up the South Horn and go across the range to West Peak anyway. It’s a spectacular range when there are views. The clouds broke partway across the range, presenting the great views I expected to see.

The lesson that morning wasn’t obvious until now. I’m pretty sure the lesson was, “Don’t give up on the day. It might clear.” Of course, the sky could have turned black and poured. Then I would probably have cursed the mud across that range. But, it didn’t. It was a great day, once I got going, and the miles flew by.

Not every hike in my logbook had a lesson. Most didn’t, really, just miles and wildlife and more weather observations.

Actually, the logbook does reveal that I’m generally a fair-weather hiker. Sometimes I hike with partners, sometimes solo. Sometimes I get lost, too.

The best lesson I’ve managed to glean from all the miles I’ve hiked this past year probably hasn’t been revealed yet. That’s good. It means I’ll have to hike more next year to get it.

Brad Viles is an avid hiker who has logged some 8,000 lifetime miles, including the Appalachian Trail. A trail maintainer for the Maine Appalachian Trail Club, he has climbed Mount Katahdin more than 75 times. He can be reached at sball1@ prexar. com