October on the Cutler Coast: A Trail, A Risk, A Beginning

I had always planned to hike the Cutler Coast Trail alone.

It was October—fiery leaves, sharp air, and the kind of stillness that invites clarity. I had planned a solo trip to visit my brother in Vermont, then drive down the coast into Maine for the hike. Just me, the road, and the wild. I craved that open space—the kind only a long drive and a long trail can give.

But a little over a month before the trip, I met someone.

We had just started dating. It was all so new—sweet, uncertain, filled with those delicate early moments when everything is still unfolding. When I told him about the trip, I expected a kind smile and a “have fun.” But instead, he asked if he could come.

I almost said no.

But something in me, maybe curiosity or courage—or just the soft instinct of the heart—said yes.

We stayed in Lubec, Maine the night before the hike. It was everything you’d hope for in a coastal town: quiet docks, salty wind, weathered lobster shacks, and streets that smelled like the sea. Lubec felt like the edge of the world in the best way. It was the perfect threshold before stepping into the wilderness.

The Cutler Coast Trail was unlike anything I’d ever hiked in the Midwest. Tree roots wove across the ground like nature’s warning signs—watch your step, slow down, be here. The forest was thick and ancient, and the trail clung to the edge of cliffs that dropped into a churning Atlantic. The ocean never left our side. Sometimes it whispered. Sometimes it roared. But it was always there.

We hiked under a canopy of spruce and maples, the leaves above us like stained glass in gold and crimson. We didn’t rush. We didn’t talk the whole time. But when we did, the conversation was honest and easy—just like the way our footsteps fell into rhythm beside each other.

At Black Point Cove, we sat on the rocks and let the tide speak. The waves moved with the kind of confidence I envied—pulling in, pulling back, never questioning their timing. We didn’t say much in that moment, but I felt it: something soft and real was beginning.

I came to Maine expecting to be alone. I left knowing that the trail doesn’t just show you where you’re going. Sometimes, it shows you who you’re meant to walk with.

The Cutler Coast gave me more than ocean cliffs and tangled roots. It gave me a beginning I didn’t see coming.