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Day By Day: Lemhi Pass to Anaconda

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This section was jampacked with miles, mountains and memories. After some much-needed rest in Salmon, we hiked our last days in Idaho before ditching it (byedaho!) and embracing Montana as our final state on the CDT.

Lemhi Pass to North Fork 

Day 92-93: some miles/ some ft gain

Time in Salmon was restorative. Being with my mom heals me like nothing else. We played games, went bowling, toured a brewery, took the dogs to the river, hiked to Goldbug Hot Springs and soaked up every moment together. Devin and I both agreed it was exactly what we needed before tackling the next long stretch. We love you, Linda! 

Day 94: 19.4 miles/ 4,400 ft gain

We hugged my mom, said tearful goodbyes to her and the dogs, and promised to see each other at Roger’s Pass in just over two weeks. I waved until her car disappeared down Lemhi Pass, my vision blurring—not just from missing her and my dog but from feeling the emotional weight of the trail. Devin pulled me into a hug, gave a pep talk, and reminded me it’s okay to quit. His permission was appreciated, but I still had the will to finish.

We settled into the trail again by mile two, climbing gently through shaded lodgepoles. During our first break, we agreed that while sagebrush hills had their charm, it felt good to be under trees again. Most of the day was spent weaving through forest and burn scar, until the final miles turned to sharp shale and rocky ridges.

Storm clouds grew behind us in the last hour, darkening each time we looked back. We pushed hard over the last peak, grabbed water from a spring and threw up the tent just before lightning, thunder and rain hit. We felt lucky to be inside as it all began at once.

Day 95: 25.1 miles/ 3,400 ft gain

The alarm went off early, but I snoozed it for thirty minutes. Cold air and stiff muscles made getting up feel impossible. Eventually I crawled out to grab the bear bags and make coffee, now upgraded with hot chocolate packets. By 7:00am, we were climbing again.

The first ridge warmed us quickly. Peaks and valleys unfolded on either side as we stayed high before taking a chossy alternate down to the creek. It saved a mile, though the energy spent avoiding a tumble may not have been worth it.

Breakfast at mile seven came with mosquitoes, so we kept moving. The next stretch was cruisy—pine-scented forest, soft trail, gentle decline. At Pioneer Creek, we snacked and filled water before continuing six miles to Hamby Creek. I missed a junction, adding ten minutes and .4 miles to my day, but caught the mistake quickly. Sunshine burned off clouds, humidity rose, and shade became our friend.

We rested under a pine before the final 5.4 miles and 1,000 ft gain. Light drizzle cooled us as we crested the ridge and met six SOBO hikers. Steep switchbacks dropped us into the next valley where feet and knees ached for the day to be done. A half-mile of road walking brought us to camp, set and in PJs by 3:30pm—impressive for 25 miles. 

Day 96: 19.5 miles/ 4,900 ft gain

Branches cracking outside of our tent made for a fitful sleep. Coffee hit extra hard as we started hiking at 7:00am, tackling 2,000 ft of gain in the first four miles. Cresting the saddle revealed lush meadows, dark pines, boulder fields and jagged peaks we’d missed.

On the descent, Devin’s face began burning as if from an allergic reaction. Nothing we tried worked, so we stopped for breakfast and texted my mom for advice. After twenty minutes, he felt slightly better and we moved on.

We climbed to the next saddle, then dropped into a valley wrapping around the north ridge. A 1,000 ft climb past lakes and over a pass in the hot sun tested our endurance before we descended steeply to our next break spot.

The last 3.5 miles dragged with three small ridges totaling 1,000 ft of gain. A passing storm wet the grass and our clothes, but we trudged on to the creek where we’d camp. Thunder rolled as we set up, and heavy rain followed for the rest of the afternoon—perfect for staying put in the tent.

Day 97: 24 miles/ 2,000 ft gain

Morning light painted our campsite while condensation clung to the rain fly. I peeled it off to dry while we packed up. With the routine complete, we hit the trail by 7:00am, facing an easy start before bigger climbs after mile nine.

The first 6.5 miles were fast, losing 1,800 ft with minimal gain on smooth trail. Cool air kept us moving, and we ate breakfast on a log in the forest. Plans made, we aimed for Big Hole Pass to refill water before walking down the road from there. This was a bit less than we had originally planned, but it made sense to push to town.

Excitement over a shorter day kept our pace quick. The trail meandered through huckleberry bushes and we stopped often to snack. At mile 9.7, we began a gentle four-mile climb along Bradley Gulch, stopping once for water before the final steep mile.

The top offered easy walking through lodgepole forest and berry-filled meadows. At Big Hole Pass, we decided to keep going, starting the nine-mile road walk to Highway 93. It was long, hot and uneventful—except for me falling off a roadside swing.

Just before the highway, a passing truck offered us a ride. North Fork welcomed us with free camping, showers, cheap laundry and a store stocked with snacks. We were so glad we pushed to town! 

North Fork to Anaconda

Day 98: 6 miles/ 500 ft gain

The Post Office opened at 9:30am, so we had a leisurely morning and filled up on coffee and breakfast burritos while we waited outside. Once it opened, we packed our bear bags with the contents of our resupply box and headed out, hoping to get a hitch up to Lost Trail Pass, 25 miles north. Not five minutes into standing on the side of 93, and a man pulled over in his Jeep to offer us a ride. He rearranged some things and both Devin and I hopped in the front. Devin sat on a bucket where the passenger seat used to be and I sat on the floor in front of him. 

Colorful conversation and quick driving made the ride fly by. Pretty soon, we were standing on top of Chief Joseph Pass, as he offered to drive us all the way up to the trail- thank you, KB! We planned on just seeing how we felt to determine how far we would go, since we were a little ahead of our schedule. The first few miles of trail north of the pass coincide with maintained Nordic trails in the winter and was easy walking. 

About a mile in, we walked by a couple van camping. They let us pet their dog, Dingo, and gave us a few drinks for the road! A couple of miles farther, we found some comments on Far Out about an alternate that passed Hogan cabin and cut off a few miles in a burn area. We decided to take it and aimed to camp near the cabin. The first part of the alternate involved a bit of bushwhacking on an overgrown road, but the rest of it just followed Forest Service roads all the way down to the cabin. We set up camp by the creek and enjoyed an afternoon with snacks and our drinks from our earlier trail magic! 

Day 99: 16.4 miles/ 3,400 ft gain

We woke up to a blanket of fog in the valley and a thick layer of condensation on the rain fly. It is no fun when everything you own feels damp and the cold seeps into your bones. The morning routine took a bit longer this day  as we just didn’t want to get up. Sandhill cranes walked through the meadow in the distance while I cooked breakfast. We lingered longer than usual, wrapped in our bags and watching the cranes and fog. 

By 7:30am, we were walking. The air was frigid and our shoes got soaked as we trudged through the wet grassy meadow. We started our long 12 mile climb up the gentle slopes. As the sun rose, the mist lifted as well, steaming the plants and making the air hot and humid. Combined with smoke that blew in from last night’s storm, the air was hazy and thick. My lungs hurt as we trekked and continued to all day long. 

About 2 miles in, the landscape changed drastically from lush forest to barren burn scar. The burn extended for 10 and a half miles of trail and even farther in either direction of us. Lucky for us, the clouds rolled in and the sun wasn’t as intense as it could’ve been for this climb. We stopped for a break about 7 miles in, ate a snack and laid out the rain fly to dry before continuing the last 5.5 miles up the ridge. 

A gentle slope made for easy climbing as we crested small ridge after small ridge. Once at the top, we said goodbye to the burn and rentered healthy forest. We took a quick break in the shade, and then tackled our last 4.5 miles of the day. The trail became more rugged and rocky as we entered to Pintler’s Wilderness. We descended for about a mile before traversing the ridgeline and then eventually climbing up to Surprise Lake. 

The lake lived up to its name and pleasantly surprised us with its beauty! We found a flat, shaded spot with a lake view on the north end to set up camp. After a quick dip, we cozied into our sleeping bags and enjoyed the rest of the afternoon. 

Day 100: 22.1 miles/ 4,700 ft gain

Layers of yellow, orange and blue stacked over the horizon as we woke up. The air was a perfect cool temperature, and birdsong echoed between the trees. Our morning routine comensed- coffee and oatmeal, get dressed, brush teeth, pack up. We hit the trail by 7:00am, ready to take on a challenging day of miles and elevation. 

The first 2 hours and 7 miles flew by, though the trail was not easy to navigate. We trekked through another burn area with significant blowdowns over the trail. Climbing over or walking around the downed trees both make for inefficient hiking and difficulty finding a rhythm. Though somehow, it didn’t slow us down at all. The smoke from the day before had cleared a bit, though we could still see the line of haze as it settled over the peaks in the distance. 

After a quick snack break, we continued for another 5 miles to a stream. The trail looked identical to what we had walked through earlier in the day- steady elevation gain and loss through blowdown areas. Minus the obstacles, it was pretty easy and enjoyable walking. We filtered some water and took our “lunch” break at the stream. Lunch included some Hiney Stinger Gummies and a That’s It bar for me and a beef stick for Devin. 

We climbed the next 4 miles up to the ridge before turning off of the CDT and down toward Saw Cabin Lake. The alternate then took us up a steep treed gully which required a bit of route finding and scrambling. The exposure was never dangerous, but was definitely there. We climbed up and over both of the saddles and made our way down a steep grassy slope to Oreamus Lake. Devin took a quick dip and reported that it was very refreshing! 

After a short break, we cut back to the CDT. Once we junctioned with the trail, we had a short, but steep climb up Pintler Pass. Our legs were feeling it by this point though we pressed on to just get it over with. The view from the top showcased Pintler Peak and the lake we had just came from. It was all downhill from there and 1.5 miles of switchbacks later, we made it to our camp spot at Johnson Lake! We found a designated site along the lake shore and enjoyed the afternoon swimming and relaxing to the sounds of the small waves lapping against the shore. 

Day 101: 18.8 miles/ 5,100 ft gain

Based on our rough plan for the next few weeks, this day appeared to be one of the more difficult ones in terms of elevation gain and loss in its short amount of miles. While a little anxious to get it over with, we also were excited as the Pintler’s were a range high on Devin’s list to see and we both enjoy alpine hiking. We started off our morning with each of us getting our own coffee (we had been splitting one, so this was a real treat)! After packing up, we set off at 7:00am to tackle our first climb: 1,400ft in about 2 miles up Rainbow Pass. 

Gentle in spots, but steep in others, we traversed up the opposite side of the valley from Rainbow Mountain. As we climbed, the view opened up to the rocky layers of the surrounding peaks. We could see the pass, a little notch on the far east side of the valley, almost the entire time. Huffing and puffing, we made it to the top, but the work wasn’t done as the descent to Rainbow Lake was steep and unforgiving on the legs. 

We kept descending past the lake for 3 more miles. The trail eventually became forested as we dropped. We took a break for breakfast at 9:00am, 7 miles in, with another big climb ahead of us. After 20 minutes, we started moving again. The 2 miles and 1,200ft of gain were surprisingly mellow, and we got to Warren Lake quicker than expected. Warren Lake sits at the base of Mount Warren and the view of its face is spectacular! We cruised down the switchbacks and dropped deep back down into the next valley. After crossing several creeks and admiring all of the mushrooms along the trail, we took a break at the West Fork of the La Marche Creek. 

Another long climb awaited us, so we wrapped up our break around 11:10am and started up the 3.5 miles, 1,700ft to Cutaway Pass. Similar to the climb before, it was gentle all the way up. We cruised up the switchbacks and made it to the top by 12:20pm. Clouds clung to the mountain tops and the air was cool, which also helped with our quick pace. The top of the pass revealed a long trail down into the next valley and our cycle of up and down continued. 

We were flying down the trail when the clouds engulfed us. Thunder crashed above our heads and it started to hail furiously. We kept trekking for a bit, but then took cover under the branches of a tree as it came down harder and harder. After the hail came the rain and it poured. We estimated that more than half an inch fell in the 30 minutes that it soaked us. The trail up the last mile was a river. We finally reached our camp spot and set up as quickly as we could with our frozen fingers. Everything was wet and cold. We zipped our sleeping bags together to huddle for warmth and waited out the rest of the storm. 

Day 102: 12.8 miles/ 2,400 ft gain

The end of the storm from the day before never really came. A sleepless night with temps in the teens.  The clouds hung low from the peaks and the air was thick with moisture. We woke up with a layer of ice on our rain fly, and mustered up all of our strength to get ready. Everything was still sopping wet- shoes, clothes, plants, trail, everything. It was a tough morning to get going. 

Since we were planning on getting to Anaconda before the post office closed, we were moving by 6:00am. As we ascended our first 1,000ft climb, we hit snow. It blanketed the peaks at around 9,000ft so several miles of our day were spent trudging through it. Not only was it wet and cold on our feet, but the clouds socked us in with its freezing air. The wind howled around us as we crested the first pass. We ran down the switchbacks, hoping to find shelter in the trees.

Our break from the wind was short lived as we headed up our next climb. The tight switchbacks were dizzying and icy as we climbed up to Storm Lake Pass. It became a foggy whiteout on top and our only goal was to get out of there as fast as possible. Once over the pass, we dropped down more switchbacks to Storm Lake. The wind persisted, but we were able to drop out of the damp clouds and snow. 

Since we were freezing, we decided our best bet was to access Anaconda from Storm Lake Road so we left the trail and headed down the valley. About 2 miles down the road, a truck drove up and rolled down their window. The man inside was a trail angel dropping off other hikers and offered us a ride into town! We felt like an actual angel was blessing us since it cut off a ton of miles and allowed us to get to town safely. Thank you so much, E.G! 

We got into town by 10:45am, much earlier than we anticipated. Anaconda is very hiker friendly and has many amenities including a free camp spot with showers! We took full advantage of that and were able to complete our town chores throughout the afternoon using the bicycles the Hiker Hut offered us. We love you, Anaconda!





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Artificial Intelligence Helped Rescuers Find a Climber’s Remains

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Monviso mountain towers above Turin (Photo: Vittorio Zunino Celotto / Getty Images)

Published August 8, 2025 01:51PM

Back in September 2024, a 64-year-old climber went missing in Italy’s Cottian Alps.

In late July, rescuers finally found his body, using a combination of flying drones and an advanced artificial intelligence software program, according to WIRED Italia.

Nicola Ivaldo, a doctor from Liguria, disappeared on the north face of 12,602-foot Monviso on September 14. Colleagues reported him missing when he failed to show up at work two days later, and search efforts began on September 17.

Ivaldo was an experienced mountaineer, but he was climbing alone. Monviso, which sits near the French border roughly 40 miles southwest of Turin, is a rugged, technical peak.

He also had not told his friends or family his intended route. However, before his disappearance, Ivaldo’s cell phone had connected to a cell tower north of the mountain, so rescuers believed he was attempting to climb Monviso from the north, likely via the peak’s northwest ridge.

Over the next several days, drones, sniffer dogs, and helicopters began poring across the northern and western slopes of Monviso, scouring a search area of 452 acres. But the rugged, dangerous terrain, coupled with bouts of foul weather and poor visibility—wind, rain, fog, and snow—stymied search and rescue efforts. By October, early winter snows had fallen on the mountain, covering any sign of the missing climber’s body. The search for Nicola Ivaldo was called off on October 9.

For nearly a year, the missing doctor’s fate was uncertain. But in late July, two drones, piloted by Italy’s National Alpine and Speleological Rescue Corps (CNSAS) took up the search again.

On the afternoon of July 29, the pair of drones flew over Monviso. During a span of just five hours, they documented almost every inch of the 452-acre search area, taking roughly 2,600 high-definition photographs from 165 feet above the ground. Later that day, these photographs were fed through an artificial intelligence built to recognize variances in color and shape. This software was directed to analyze the photos with specific focus on any irregularities in the landscape.

The AI program analyzed all 2,600 images the same day. What would have taken weeks or months, scanning hundreds of photos with human eyes, took a few hours. The software flagged a series of suspicious spots, including a smattering of bright red pixels that rescuers thought might be Ivaldo’s helmet.

They were right.

Less than three days after the initial drone flights, a recovery helicopter found Ivaldo’s body at approximately 10,335 feet, face down in a couloir high on the north face of Monviso.

One of the two drone pilots, Saverio Isola, told Wired Italia that the miraculous recovery was “a human achievement, but without technology, it would have been an impossible mission.”

Isola explained that Italian rescue crews have been using drones in a similar capacity for roughly five years. “In the recovery operations following the Marmolada glacier tragedy, it allowed us to operate in inaccessible areas and recover all the necessary artifacts,” Isola said. “It prevented the rescuers from risking their lives.” However, artificial intelligence analysis technologies like the kind used in this operation have only been in use for the last eighteen months. These tools were developed by the CNSAS, in coordination with Italy’s civil aviation agency.

Rescue teams across the United States commonly use aerial drones to spot missing hikers, and to scour hundreds of acres of terrain when a helicopter is not readily available. In 2021, a drone equipped with thermal imaging spotted a missing hiker outside of Santa Barbara.

In 2023, a stranded motorist tied his phone to a drone so he could send an SOS message to rescuers.

But using drones in conjunction with artificial intelligence software to scout photographs is not as common.

The CNSAS hopes that in the future, rapid implementation of artificial intelligence analysis could save missing hikers and climbers before it’s too late. In search and rescue missions for living hikers, color and shape recognition software could be combined with thermal imagery analysis. “AI is also able to interpret thermal data, and provide valuable information in just a few hours,” Isola said. While helicopters or ground rescuers are dispatched, the drones could also deliver lifesaving supplies, like food, water, or first aid kits.

Owen Clarke is a freelance outdoor sports writer. He often writes about climbing, but his work also covers motorcycles, long-distance trekking, and environmental conservation. He also authors the dark fantasy series Void Injection and is the founder of the collaborative writing workshop Dead Foot.



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Ranking the Final Three ‘Alone’ Africa Participants

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(Photo: The History Channel)

Published August 8, 2025 01:01PM

Perhaps its the dry air. Maybe it’s the thorny bushes and rocky terrain. Perhaps its the skittish nature of the warthogs, kudu, wildebeest, and other delicious animals roaming the plain.

For whatever reason, Alone Africa has had an attrition rate like no other season in the show’s history. And after 19 days, just three survivalists remain.

And of the three, one appears to be teetering on the edge.

(Spoiler Alert) Nobody tapped out during Alone Africa’s eighth episode, which aired on Thursday, August 7. But all three remaining participants—Katie, Kelsey, and Nathan—faced major setbacks.

Kelsey endured another fruitless hunt, and watched as her warthog jerky—she shot and killed a wild pig back on day 1—dwindled to just ten remaining pieces.

Katie also ventured into the backcountry to kill game, and tracked two wild boars across the bush-covered hills. But they escaped and she came back empty-handed, instead opting to once again eat seeds, berries, and roots that she foraged from the Karoo. To add insult to injury, Katie also was robbed by baboons.

Nathan suffered the worst calamity. For the last few days he’s been building a massive house out of sand and rocks, and on day 22 one of the walls collapsed, rendering the structure useless. Then, while fishing, Nathan’s two baited hooks became snagged at the bottom of a lake. He had to dive to the bottom of the frigid water and was only able to salvage one of the two hooks.

In each obstacle, the three survivalists revealed elements of their personalities and mindsets that, in my mind, are good predictors for how they will fare in the final two episodes. And while I don’t always like fixating on Alone’s eventual winner—the show is about more than just who stays out there the longest—I do believe it’s worthwhile to assess the strengths and weaknesses of the three survivors.

A Capable Hunter

Kelsey has struggled with fish. (Photo: The History Channel)

Kelsey got out to an early lead in Alone Africa by stalking and killing a wild boar on the first day in the bush. Since then, she’s survived by eating the pig meat, which after three weeks is somehow still there.

The kill showed us just how talented Kelsey is with a recurve bow, and how accomplished she is at cleaning and processing a carcass amid an extreme environment. And huge kudos to her for her innovative water storage system, which has allowed her to venture into the backcountry without having to boil potable water all of the time.

But Kelsey’s major weakness appears to be the mindset that has crept in during the last few episodes. She doesn’t deal with setbacks very well, and has a hard time rebounding from calamity. It’s totally understandable, especially with hunger and malnutrition becoming a daily obstacle.

We saw this back in episode 3 when Kelsey’s shelter was flooded during a downpour. It was obviously a very traumatic and terrifying ordeal—one that other participants navigated as well. But since then, setbacks have really gotten to her.

Kelsey has sought positive energy from the animals she’s seen in the bush. But these bursts of happiness seem to be fleeting.

She’s also tripping into the pitfall that Woniya Thibeault wrote about in her most recent Alone column, which is thinking about her friends, pets, and life back home. As Woniya explained—[colon (:) When] when the mind wanders to normal everyday life, it’s a sign that the survivalist no longer enjoys living in the backcountry.

The All-Star Forager 

Katie has been surviving off of foraged plants (Photo: The History Channel)

Katie, meanwhile, seems entirely focused on her life in the Great Karoo desert. Like the others, she’s faced multiple setbacks: flooding, bad days of fishing, and a monkey stealing her warm hat. But after each challenge, Katie has responded with an extremely pragmatic and positive attitude.

Of the three, Katie seems like the one who has most embraced life in the Karoo. It feels like it’s her permanent home, and not just the site of a very challenging camping trip. And Katie has, for the most part, focused on her life out here and not on the one she temporarily left back home in Australia.

She’s turned her attention to other tasks, like building a windscreen for her shelter. And she’s also displayed highly advanced foraging skills that are far beyond that of any other participant on Alone Africa. She’s stayed alive for three weeks primarily by eating the native flora: acacia seeds, mint, prickly pear cactus, and roots.

In episode 8 we saw her forage native garlic and allium vineale, a wild onion, for a soup. She also ground grass seeds into a porridge, which she soaked and ate for breakfast. It was an impressive meal considering it lacked any fish or red meat.

But Katie’s weakness is the lack of protein in her diet. She caught a fish back on day 1, but since then has only eaten plants. And all of the foraging skills and the world’s most positive mindset, alas, won’t be able to overcome food insecurity of that level.

The Problem Solver

Nathan’s house fell over (Photo: The History Channel)

Of the three, Nathan is in the strongest position to win. He semi-regularly hauls in massive catfish from the lake near his camp. He has a temporary and a budding permanent shelter. And he has a problem-solving attitude that’s helped him navigate several setbacks.

Nathan can credit this mindset with his advantage in food. Earlier in the season he struggled to catch fish—the meaty catfish in his lake were biting through the fishing line. Nathan innovated. He doubled up the fishing line twice, then braided it together, essentially creating a super-duper mega-strong line that was capable of holding the big creatures. Since then, he’s hauled in at least four giant catfish, which can feed him for several days.

Nathan’s biggest setback came in episode 8, when the rock house he was constructing fell over. I worried that the calamity would send him into a mental spiral. After all, he’s expended considerable energy building the structure, which now appears to be ruined. But Nathan simply sat with the problem, worked it over, and found a way to continue. He also brought this energy to his stuck fish hooks. Despite losing one, he rebounded.

The access to fish, plus the positive mindset, make Nathan a heavy favorite. Sure, Nathan may get sick, suffer an injury, or simply get outlasted by Katie or Kelsey. If I were able to place a bet on Alone at a Las Vegas casino, I’d put $100 on him.



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‘The Road Less Eaten’ Explores Aquaculture in Three Maine Towns

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Chef Biju in Camden, Maine (Photo: The Road Less Eaten)

Published August 8, 2025 12:28PM

In the latest episode of The Road Less Eaten, chef and host Biju Thomas visits three coastal towns in Maine, where life has been shaped by the land, the sea, and as Thomas says, “the people who make a living from both.”

There is a term for this in the East: aquaculture. Along the coast in towns like Freeport, Camden, and Biddeford, aquaculture knits together communities, grows local and larger economies, and cares for the planet.

Thomas explores itand coastal life in Maine by learning from a kelp harvester, walking on (yes, on) acres of wild blueberry farms, and by sitting with award-winning chefs and cocktail engineers who all understand that along the coast of Maine, it’s not just about the food; it’s about the feeling.

Freeport

 

If you’re visiting Maine, you’ve probably got your mind set on lobster and oysters, but Maine’s food story runs much deeper.

Freeport, a shoe-making and ship-building hub that later turned into a food haven, as drawn world-wide attention for harvesting something much less common: kelp.

Ken Sparta, owner of Spartan Sea Farms and the Freeport Oyster Bar, harvests different kinds of kelp (sugar, skinny, winged) alongside oysters. Most know about oysters, but kelp? It’s nutrient rich, and if harvested right, tasty enough to be a main dish, not just a versatile ingredient.

Kelp is planted in Maine in the fall when the water temperature drops below 50 degrees Fahrenheit. When the temperature rises, the kelp is taken out of the water and driven into town. Fifty thousand pounds of kelp were harvested during the 2025 season in Freeport, Maine.

But what Ken geeks out about the most is the fact that harvesting kelp takes nitrogen and oxygen out of the water, therefore lowering ocean citification and making our planet more sustainable.

“I’m making food for my friends and family and making the ocean a better place,” he says.

Back at Freeport Oyster Bar, Thomas takes on kelp tacos and burgers. “If somebody didn’t tell me I wasn’t eating meat, I wouldn’t have known,” he says. Vodka is sustainably harvested from sugar kelp and distilled in small batches to sell at the bar, too.

Camden

 

 

Like Freeport, the small coastal town of Camden was once a 19th century ship-building hub, a protected harbor that eventually brought in artists and foodies alongside sailers. Camden quickly became known for its wild trails, blueberry farms and a food scene deeply rooted in tradition.

“Come late summer, the hills turn a deep, brilliant blue,” Thomas says, walking acres of wild blueberry farm alongside the owner of Brodis Blueberries, Jeremey Howard. “Wild blueberries aren’t the big plump ones you find at the grocery store,” Jeremy says. “They’re smaller, bright, with complex flavor.”

Brodis Blueberries has been running for nine generations, but the blueberries have been growing wild in this part of Maine for 10,000 plus years, though not a single patch was planted, Jeremy says.

“When the glaciers receded, they pushed away the fertile soil, and the only things that liked the acidic, ledgy soil, were blueberries.” Ron Howard, Jeremy’s father, explains how the different shades are different wild plants. Each is genetically different. These wild blueberries genetically modify on their own as they grow and thrive. There’s no need to mess with them.

Thomas tours Barren’s Distillery + Restaurant, where the shelves are stocked with blueberry gin, blueberry vodka, blueberry brandy, and more. The blueberries go through the fermentation process, and when they are complete mesh, (which is a wine at that point) they are put into a still that extracts the alcohol vapors.

“It tastes like booze with a kick of sweetness at the end, with the brandy warmth to it,” Thomas says.

Thomas also meets up with Jeremy’s business partner, Andrew Stewart on a trail run. “Apparently here, we hydrate with distilled fruit, then go run up a mountain,” Thomas jokes. The trails are closer to the ocean, and the views are unreal.

Chef Biju in Camden, Maine (Photo: The Road Less Eaten)

Stewarthelped launch Barren’s waterfront restaurant downtown. It’s become known for its seafood classics alongside its full line-up of blueberry spirits.

Biddeford

 

Along the Saco river, the town of Biddeford draws in the artistic and the young. It’s a hip, developing area that once stood out in the booming textile industry through the 1900s. Those same mills are now full of chefs and artisans like Kate and Jason Hamm, co-owners of Fish and Whistle, and semi finalists in James Beard awards’ emerging chef category.

Fish and Whistle’s main event is its fish and chips, but the happenin’ new place also serves up some seriously unique sandwiches, like the “squidwhich,” a sandwich full of squid, swallowed up by scored and fried milk bread, and smothered in marina and hot cherry peppers a seafood lover’s dream.

All the seafood at Fish and Whistle is caught fresh from the gulf of Maine, the couple says.

Thomas also visits Magnus on Water, where he chats with Brian chats with Brian “Cat” Catapang, director of beverage working alongside owner of the place, Julia Russell, to create an incredibly experience for those bustling through Biddeford.

Russell sees Magnus on Water as a neighborhood bar and destination restaurant. It is one of only 37 bars (of 10 in the U.S.) recognized by the pinnacle guide to excellence in cocktail craft.

Thomas joins Catapang as he explains how the “couch surfer” was born, the restaurant’s bread and butter, and a love letter to Maine.

“I would go to the beach and check for surf, if I got skunked, I started collecting some of the high tide water to make some sea salt in house,” Catapang says. “The beach has magical properties that no one tells you about.”

Carrying five-gallon buckets during high tide, Catapang brings fresh salt water back into the restaurant to cook down and add to fresh pineapple juice and egg whites for stabilization. The liquor is made with poblano peppers, creating that zippy experience, just like waves that can pull you under.

 

Chef Rafael Zimmerman of Magnus on Water, serves Biju the restaurant’s most popular dishes. (Photo: The Road Less Eaten)

Magnus on Water’s chef, Rafael Zimmerman, is constantly experimenting with Peruvian comfort food that makes for a fun menu. During his visit, Thomas tries the restaurant’s most popular dishes and is most impressed by the roasted cabbage, because its flavors catch him by surprise.

There is an energy forming in Biddeford, but not just there, in every quaint town with aquaculture at its core. There is a shared respect for tradition and nature, and for creative dishes and drink that truly embody coastal living.

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