Updated on December 5, 2001

Secret Worlds, Part I - The Great Wall of Northport

Having grown up in suburbia, where property lines are rigorously maintained and "recreation areas" clearly defined ("City Park"), one of the most refreshing things I find about living in a rural state is that there is a lot of land, whether privately owned or not, that is available for exploration. That's not to say we don't have our share of "no trespassing" signs and less-than-friendly neighbors. But since there is so much undeveloped land around, one doesn't have to travel far to find a woods path or snowmobile road to explore.

Some have said that I take this "exploration" liberty a bit too far. We live in an area consisting mainly of summer cottages, and I figure that once the owners have boarded up the windows and headed south for the winter, their waterfront decks and porches are fair game for those of us "year-rounders" who want to catch an ocean sunrise or stare at the moon's reflection on the water. After all, my being there is serving as a deterrent for any "malcontents" who might otherwise think a boarded-up cottage was an invitation to vandalism. Tis a noble deed in which I partake, and one which I have mastered well.

Maine, especially the northern sector of the state, is crisscrossed by countless numbers of old logging roads and snowmobile trails. And although I don't have a snowmobile, the trails make ideal paths for hiking, mountain biking, and cross country skiing. It is said that one could travel from Pennsylvania, up through New York, New Hampshire, and Maine, and on up to and beyond Quebec on snowmobile trails.

Locally, there are plenty of woods trails to be discovered. Last winter, just such an adventure nearly did me in, or, rather, did my dog in. Jasper is getting up there in years and the combination of hip dysplasia and arthritis have done their best to limit his mobility. But the lure of following me when I take off on cross country skis is too much for even an old, lame dog to resist, so follow me he did. The half mile trip to the golf course went fine, but when we started pushing through some heavier snow on the course, his hips started to give out again and again. It took me a while to give in to the fact that I should be worrying about the dog rather than my skiing, and when I finally did I came up with the brilliant idea to take a shortcut through the woods home rather than subject the dog to a return trip through the heavy snow on the golf course.

So we veered off into a path that I was sure cut through the woods and ended up on the road just in front of my house. That was a nice theory, anyway. There turned out to be many forks in this path, and I apparently made a lot of unwise decisions as to which fork to take. When at last I and a very tired dog emerged from the woods, we were in someone's back yard, high up on a hill where I had never before realized there were houses. The prospect of turning back now was even more ominous than it was way back when on the golf course. So we cut through the yard, to a road, followed it a ways, and then ended up in somebody's front yard. The woman there shoveling snow was very polite when I told her I was lost, and suggested that the best thing I could do was go back the way I came.

Being on the top of a hill, I could see the ocean in the distance, along with a house that I recognized as being on the same road as my house. Clearly, getting to that house was a much more direct way of getting home than retracing my steps.

Of course, in keeping with my other brilliant ideas of the day, this idea, too, proved to be a bit on the, shall we say, "dumb" side. It took us about another hour to wind our way through thick woods, blowdowns, and 2-3 feet of snow before we finally made it to the road. Had there been any way I could have carried 105 pounds of dog out of there, I would have. On several occasions he plopped his body down and refused to move another inch. Pleading and threatened abandonment did nothing to sway his opinion on the matter. I came to find that what did work was to let him sit until he was good and ready to move on - and then do my best to keep him moving. Suffice it to say that he pretty much slept (and no doubt had nightmares about the misadventure) the next day and a half.

Since then, I've been a bit more selective on whether or not to bring the dog along on my trail exploration adventures.

But I digress.

A bit further down the road from our house is another path leading from a dirt road into parts unknown. For over a year we have been passing the path on our daily runs, wondering where it led and vowing to find out some day. Late this summer, I decided to finally put that wonder to rest. And once again, I got more than I bargained for.

Hopping on my bike, I took off down the road and hung a right onto the trailhead. As the trail headed up hill, it got continually narrower. And steeper. About 1/3 of a mile in, I had to get off and walk the bike. The trail took a sharp left and continued up over some granite boulders. A bit farther up, the trees and brush surrounding the trail thinned out. Determined to find where the trail led, I continued on.

And then, suddenly, the trail ended. And there, to the left, in a small clearing in the woods, was a rock wall. Not your typical New England rock wall, many of which were constructed in the 1700s and 1800s by farmers who were clearing their fields. No, this rock wall was very big. Very, very big.

How big is big? I'd estimate that the wall is about 100 feet long or so. Due to the contours of the land, it is much taller on one end then on the opposite end. The "tall" end is about 20 feet tall, while the opposite end is maybe 5 feet tall. The thickness is relatively consistent from end-to-end, at about six feet wide. A very big rock wall.

Towards one end, there is a stone stairway that leads from the top of the wall down to... well... nothing, really. The wall is stuck on a hillside in the middle of nothing, and there is little to suggest what it's original purpose might have been for.

A very, very big rock wall.

There are other rocks scattered around the site, but nothing that could really be construed as an old foundation. There are, however, a few iron pipes lying around, suggesting that plumbing or electricity might have been run up to the site at some time. But the wall, itself, doesn't seem like it would fit into a typical landscaping scheme. It's just too big, too curvy, and too disconnected from anything else around.

The views from the top of the wall are quite spectacular. Peeking out above the trees is a panorama of the bay and the islands beyond. If this was someone's homesite in the past, before the trees had grown to partially obstruct the view, they certainly enjoyed quite a vista with their morning coffee.

And so, my innocent little foray to discover where a path would take me had turned into a most intriguing mystery. What was this wall doing here? Was this an old homesite? If so, what had happened to the home? Why was this place, with it's magnificent view, abandoned? Who owns the land now?

Small towns are hotbeds of gossip and gossipers. One doesn't have to look far to find someone who knows just about everything about everyone in town. In fact, sometimes I think that these folks know what I'm going to do even before I do. So it would seem that somebody around here surely knows the story of this mysterious wall and how it came to be...and how it came to be forgotten.

But, alas, if you are looking for the answers to these mysteries here, you will find none. So far we have been unable to find anyone who knows anything about it. Not that we've looked all that hard - we've just mentioned it here and there in hopes that someone could offer up some information. And so, the mysteries remain.

There are a lot more unexplored paths around. A lot more things hiding in the woods. A lot more mysteries to present themselves - "secret worlds" just waiting to be discovered. Next time, we'll take a trip on more well-defined paths that hold secrets nonetheless - the local snowmobile trails.