Sixty-seven years ago, a guy named Winter cut the first ski trail on Maine’s second-highest mountain. Today, 162 ski runs stripe the massive cone, seen here from a freshly broken snowshoe trail. Do you recognize this snow-streaked peak?
Cold days and long nights wearing on you? To bust through those mid-winter doldrums, we have four heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping races for you to check out (or try out) this year.
March is coming, and with it comes Down East‘s annual list of the Best Places to Live in Maine. Once again this year, we crunched the numbers, weighed the intangibles, argued for our faves, and grouped the resulting 16 contenders into four divisions, based on population.
Each month, Down East editors select our favorite response to “Where in Maine?” Here is our favorite letter from the November photo of Deering Oaks park in Portland.
A non-profit community co-op’s current efforts to save the state’s third-largest ski resort look like an uphill battle.
A few hard-charging ski heroes want to take Maine’s nascent backcountry ski scene to the next level. You ready to gear up?
Ben didn’t have to go far to get this image of the December 14 full moon. Just a few hundred yards from our office, on the shoreline in Rockport, he caught it rising behind Indian Island Lighthouse. See more and submit your #Mainelife pics!
Mainers have developed quite a knack for building huge Yuletide trees — out of lobster traps, of course. Want to be awestruck this year? Here’s where to go.
Each month, Down East editors select our favorite response to “Where in Maine?” Here is our favorite letter from the September photo of the Oquossoc Angling Association on the Mooselookmeguntic lake.
Hundreds of military planes crashed in Maine during World War II, including 48 that resulted in fatalities. Wreckage is still scattered in the North Woods, on mountain slopes and lake bottoms, and off the coast. Aviation archaeologist Peter Noddin is on a mission to document the site of each crash — and to honor those who died.
Maine’s number-one visitor attraction lies just a few miles from this rugged fishing village, but it’s so quiet, you’d never know it — certainly not in December. Can you name this village?
Between 1888 and 1895, the light station was moved four times. Its first keeper, Eba Ring, was succeeded by Charles Ames, who was paid $25 a month for lighting the lamps at dusk and extinguishing them at dawn every morning.