There’s one hike I look forward to every year. Well, ever since New Year’s Day, 2000. That’s when I started what has become an annual tradition for me, climbing Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park before dawn to see the sunrise.

The first time it was just a way to celebrate the turn of the millennium. Now the countdown to the hike begins as early as Thanksgiving. It has become a symbolic walk, away from the dark days of the year before, toward the bright, first light of a new day and the New Year.

Over the years I’ve either hiked it solo or with a changing cast of friends. We’ve encountered all the weather you can expect on the first day of January. There has been rain, cold, ice, no snow, no sun, you name it. In past years we’ve taken the auto road, the North Ridge Trail or the South Ridge Trail. This year, I hiked with a frequent hiking partner, Scott Fisher from Ellsworth, and a couple of his co-workers at Maine Coast Memorial Hospital, Robin and Sam, and his chocolate Labrador retriever, Max.

We parked the vehicles at the gated Eagle Lake Road entrance to the park and set off around 5:30 a.m. We hiked under a quarter moon and starlight up the road. Soon, we came to the trailhead and the start of the trail. We weren’t the first up the trail and it made for easier hiking. Judging by the snowshoe prints in the foot of new snow from the day and night before, two others had broken trail ahead of us. Somehow, I got ahead of Scott and company and had the trail to myself.

The trudge through the deep powder was made easier by the snowshoes. However, in no time I started to heat up under several layers, even though it was only around 15 degrees. Soon, the sky was getting light and the outline of the mountain was silhouetted by the coming dawn. I checked my watch and it read 6:05. Now, I could turn out the headlamp.

A short time later, I turned around to see Max sniffing at my heels. I greeted him with a pat and a rub, then heard Sam’s voice say, “Brad, is that you?” I answered him, and then he said, “I’m surprised I caught up with you.”

I told him I was surprised that it took him so long. Again we were on our way in the increasingly brighter light.

I checked the watch again about halfway up and realized that we may not make it to the top in time to see the sun break the horizon. I told Sam I didn’t think we’d make sunrise. We had about a mile to go and only a half-hour in which to make it. Ordinarily, meaning in summer without snow, it wouldn’t be a problem. Now we would have to settle for seeing the sky grow brighter from the shadowed side of the mountain.

Up ahead, the trail came near the road and I could see where Sam’s tracks headed for it. I followed them and met a woman standing there, taking a picture. I stopped; we exchanged Happy New Year’s greetings, then started up the road, with her on skis. We talked a while, and she introduced herself as Lili Pew, chairwoman of Friends of Acadia. We chatted as we headed for the top about what a great time it was to be outdoors in the park.

Soon, we began seeing the first few others who had watched the sunrise from the top and were heading down. We exchanged more Happy New Year’s greetings. I could see Sam a short way ahead until he rounded the last corner before the top. Shortly we joined him and, of course, we had indeed arrived too late for sunrise as the sun, by now, had been up for about 20 minutes and shining brightly, reflecting its yellow light on the open Atlantic.

Somehow that was fine with us. We had the summit to ourselves, and we figured it was better to see the sun than not and there was no better place to be, welcoming in a new year. I shared some hot apple cider from a thermos I packed, and we all agreed, after about twenty minutes or so, that we needed to warm up by moving again. Lili turned her skis downhill on the auto road, while Sam and I tried to find the trail.

We found it and, by now, we were wondering about Scott and Robin, who we hadn’t seen since down low. We knew that they both would stick together and could find the road, but we hadn’t seen them anywhere from the ridge. The snow across the bare rock of the ridge was formed in fantastic shapes. In one place, it formed meringue-like whipped topping. In another, it was fluted like molding, or drifted. We crossed a variety of shapes and consistencies. There was boilerplate, wind-packed or deep powder snow. The entire landscape was white and lit with bright, low angle, morning light.

Back at the gate, Scott’s truck was still there, but no Scott or Robin. It didn’t take them any time to show up. They told us they underestimated the time it would take in the new snow and got about three-quarters of the way up before taking the road back down. We told them our story and all agreed that a morning outdoors, on the mountain, was better than a day not on the mountain. Then, all famished, we headed for breakfast in town, where we would treat the local patrons to an eating event.

Well, Sam did anyway.

sourball@gwi.net