Something that I often hear new-ish parents fretting about is how to get their offspring to enjoy hiking. Frankly, I don’t think it’s possible to “get” any kid to become a hiker, because those of us who hike find our own ways to hiking. It might be through early exposure to giant cascades like Ripley Falls, It could be a desire to recreate the cross-country journey in The Adventures of Milo and Otis, in which a mischievous cat and a long-suffering pug roam the Japanese countryside. Or maybe you’re at a rural-ish fast food joint one afternoon, eating at one of those picnic tables out back, and there’s an unmarked path into the surrounding woods which your child decides to wander down as you’re discarding the abandoned remains of their Rodeo Cheeseburger.
These hiking gateways aren’t exclusively for kids—they can work for adults too! But in my professional opinion, your best bet for introducing someone to hiking and having the memory stick is to take them on a trail that leans into the fantastical elements of a foot journey: the features you’d find in a children’s book of illustrated mazes.
For instance: Cliffside stairs. Frothing water. Creaking oaks.
A wiggling bridge.
Maine is particularly adept at creating trails that feature these storybook elements. We’ve talked about the infamous “iron ladder rung” trails in Maine, which aren’t just an Acadia feature. (You’ll also find ladder rungs in the Mahoosuc Range and on Mount Katahdin.) And Maine’s prolifically bushy forests and expansive waterways are reliably overwhelming in their beauty. But you don’t have to venture deep into the vast Pine Tree State to experience a storybook-like hike. One of my all-time favorites is hidden in plain sight, less than 20 minutes north of the New Hampshire state line, and even closer to Kittery’s outlet malls, fried seafood joints, and other commercial treats that you can use to lure a first-time hiker to this adjacent and deeply atmospheric trail…
It begins at the little town beach of York Harbor—an alternative to the crush of humanity at New Hampshire’s Hampton Beach. If you walk toward the east end of the beach, you’ll find a wondrous coastal feature: the York Cliff Walk. Weaving roughly half a mile along the town’s cliffs, in the same manner of Newport’s famous clifftop path, the York Cliff Walk oscillates between paved and uneven stony surfaces, with railings and stairs thrown in for good measure. A few narrow spots add some tingling to the hike. Expensive houses loom overhead as you trace the coastline. But there’s something about being so close to the surf, on the edge of the land, that feels both improbable and humbling. The cliff walk functions almost like a secret path through glitzy, hotly-commodified territory. (You’ll see a lot of NO TRESPASSING signs along the path.) But the presence of lapping waves and the crumbling, ragged appearance of the York cliffs makes you wonder how long this area will remain desirable for.
The York Cliff Walk truly has something for everyone: a sense of enchantment for the kids, and double helping of enchantment and climate anxiety for the teens and adults!
How many trails can offer that?
But the cliff walk is half of what’s to come—it’s Part II in a trilogy of Maine storybook elements. (The beach from which you access the cliff trail is Part I.) After returning from the cliff walk, you can proudly strut across York Harbor Beach with that special self-satisfaction of having hiked to a destination that most people park at. Head to the west end of the beach, climb a wooden ramp, and tread across a patch of open grass, and you’ll soon be standing at the unsigned trailhead of the Fisherman’s Walk.
If the Cliff Walk is a taste of Maine’s rustic, ecological qualities, the Fisherman’s Walk is a showcase of Maine living. Ambling along the York River, which feeds into the harbor, the trail passes private docks, moored fishing boats, and little pockets of wildflowers rooted near the water’s edge. You’ll smell bait, briny water, and motor oil. If you wanted to bottle a sample of the Maine coast—as most of us imagine it—and mail it to your aunt in Nevada, you could do a lot worse than the Fisherman’s Walk.
But thankfully, the postcard-perfect, domesticated side of Maine doesn’t overstay its welcome on this easy hike. Because after Route 103, the Fisherman’s Walk suddenly reminds you that Maine is a vast, forested, and mysterious state: the kind of place that can shape fantasies and nightmares in comparable measure. The trail reaches a narrow dam that runs across Barrells Millpond, and as you walk across the top of this dam, you finally see it: a tiny, wooden suspension bridge with green steel towers, which connects the end of the dam to the deciduous trees of Steedman Woods.
This is the accurately named Wiggly Bridge, which is allegedly the smallest suspension bridge in the world. I’m not sure if I buy this—I’ve crossed suspended bridges at mini-golf courses that could compete with this one—but you don’t have to believe it. The Wiggly Bridge is a piece of Maine lore, just like the Pocomoonshine Lake Monster: a big old serpent that supposedly lurks within one of the state’s easternmost lakes. It’s the perfect denouement to a hike that features two faces of Maine’s coastal realm: a swinging affirmation of Maine’s enigmatic, uncanny beauty.
For both kids and adults, hiking these two sort-of-connected trails could be the beginning of an obsession with the Pine Tree State (and speaking of Pine Trees, be sure to wander around the loop path in Steedman Woods before starting your return journey.) I’ve long maintained that the true allure of Maine isn’t actually its lobster rolls and its tidal coves. It’s the range of raw feelings that Maine evokes in many of us. I don’t think the Wayne’s World tagline quite works here. You won’t necessarily laugh, cry, and hurl when you’re roaming around Maine. But you will swoon. You will shudder.
And you’ll wonder.
York Cliff Walk and Fisherman’s Walk to the Wiggly Bridge
Hike distance: 2.7 miles out-and-back
Elevation gain: 102 feet
CLICK HERE for a trail map
HOT TIP 1: Free parking is available along York Street, especially as you get farther away from the beach heading east.
HOT TIP 2: On AllTrails, it looks like you can access the York Cliff Walk from Milbury Lane, at the east end of the path. Technically there is a connection there, but it’s on property that’s closed off to the public. If you want to access the Cliff Walk without potentially getting hassled by a homeowner, begin from the western end at the beach.
HOT TIP 3: The York Cliff Walk is a potential smash hit for kids, but there are a few narrow sections of the trail that could make it hazardous for kids under 5. Consider saving this part of the “trilogy” for when the little ones are a little less little.
In recent hiking news, I enjoyed this Guardian essay from Mallory McDuff. It’s about the love language of walking together, wherein the faster person slows their pace in order to savor the time with their hiking companion. This can apply to friends, lovers, families, you name it. And it mirrors my own hikes the Walking City Trail in Boston with groups of urban hikers. My favorite line of McDuff’s essay is “Like most of life, it’s the friends who make the trail.” That’s not to say that hiking at different paces and intermittently regrouping can’t be meaningful too. Sometimes there’s a powerful feeling to setting off on a long hike with a friend, experiencing the hike at your own clip, and then coming back together beside a pond or an overlook to rest or compare notes. But when I think about the most loving relationships I’ve had and continue to have, my mind always starts wandering down real paths that we’ve been on together.
On a very different but still outdoorsy note, I’m pleased to report that The Meg 2: The Trench is a considerable improvement on The Meg. When your sales pitch is “Jason Statham fights a huge prehistoric shark” you’re making a very specific type of movie, which the makers of the first film didn’t seem to grasp. Thankfully, in the genre-literate hands of Ben Wheatley (who’s directed some truly awesome B-movies, such as Kill List and In The Earth) we have America’s favorite cockney badass going hand-to-fin with sharks, kronosaurs, giant squids, and more. There’s even a delectable moment when Statham uses the word “chum” as a double entendre. Perfect. I have no notes.