Some trails demand endurance, while others simply invite you to slow down, breathe, and take in the world around you. La Verna Preserve in Chamberlain, ME, is undoubtedly the latter. This 2.4-mile out-and-back trail winds through peaceful forests, over quiet streams, and eventually unveils a breathtaking stretch of Maine’s rugged coastline. With minimal elevation gain, it’s not about the climb—it’s about the journey, the solitude, and the rhythmic pull of the ocean just beyond the trees.
From the very start, the trail offers a sense of quiet wonder. Passing through a private property easement, it gently reminds hikers to tread respectfully, honoring the land that so graciously welcomes us in. Soon, the woods envelop you, their branches whispering overhead, until glimpses of blue appear between the trees, hinting at the vastness ahead. And then, as if the forest is peeling back its curtain, the trail fully opens—revealing the rocky coastline of Muscongus Bay in all its wild, untamed beauty.
There’s something about the ocean that stills my mind and settles my heart, no matter how many times I’ve stood before it. This place isn’t just a trail—it’s a reminder to pause, to listen, and to let the rhythm of the waves quiet the noise of everyday life.
Finding the trail was easy—we always rely on AllTrails when exploring somewhere new. The parking lot was a decent size, though I can imagine it filling up quickly on a warm, sunny day. To start the hike, we had to cross the road, where the entrance quietly welcomed us into the woods.
Since we visited in early April, the ground was still damp from the lingering grip of winter. Mud pooled in certain spots, but a well-placed wooden pathway guided us through the wettest areas, making for a smooth start. The air was warm with a slight breeze, the kind that feels like a quiet promise of spring. Around us, the trees stood mostly bare, their branches just beginning to stir awake from winter’s hold.
As we ventured deeper into the woods, the landscape shifted—tall pine trees surrounded us, their deep green needles standing in contrast to the bare branches of deciduous trees still caught in winter’s grasp. The bright blue sky stretched overhead, and when the sunlight filtered through just right, it cast a golden glow that felt almost magical. The mix of colors—the rich greens, the earthy browns, the crisp blue—was vibrant and full of life. The trail itself was well-marked and easy to follow, allowing us to simply move, breathe, and take it all in.
As we continued, the trail opened up to a small wooden bridge crossing over a gently flowing stream. The water moved steadily beneath us, carrying with it strands of green grass that swayed in the current, catching the light as the sun filtered through the trees. For a moment, we paused, taking in the serene sounds—the quiet rush of water, the occasional rustling of leaves in the breeze. It was one of those fleeting, peaceful moments that felt like a painting come to life.
Parts of the trail remained blanketed in fallen leaves, remnants of last autumn still clinging to the forest floor. Some rustled more than others, and with a closer look, we realized why—hidden beneath them, small critters stirred, including the occasional snake slipping silently out of sight.
Eventually, we reached a sign marking our entrance into La Verna Preserve. Here, the trail split into two directions—left or right. Although the overall route was an out-and-back, this section formed a loop, meaning whichever way we chose, we’d end up back at this point. We decided to head left first, following the Ellis Trail deeper into the forest.
We remained surrounded by trees, the earthy scent of pine and damp soil filling the air. But then, through the gaps in the branches, we caught our first glimpses of the ocean ahead—small slivers of blue peeking through the trees. The salty sea breeze reached us before the full view did, wrapping around us like a quiet invitation. Step by step, the forest began to thin, and then, just like that, the trees gave way to the vast, open expanse of the sea.
As the trail opened up, the dense forest gave way to sweeping views of the ocean. We followed the trail signs, guiding us closer to the rocky coastline, where Maine’s rugged shore stretched out in all its untamed beauty. Looking straight ahead, the horizon blurred as the ocean met the sky in a seamless expanse of blue.
Ducks dotted the water, gliding in every direction, their chatter carried by the breeze. Some dove beneath the surface, only to reappear moments later, shaking off the cold Atlantic water. The wind picked up as we neared the shore, but instead of feeling harsh, it felt invigorating, like the ocean itself was welcoming us into its vast, endless rhythm.
As we continued down the trail, we spotted a small, rocky beach tucked below the cliffs. Curiosity led us to find a way down, weaving through the uneven terrain until our feet landed on the scattered stones. We wandered along the shoreline, stepping over smooth, sea-worn rocks and climbing onto the larger ones, exploring the rugged beauty of the coast.
There’s something about sitting by the ocean that stills my mind in a way nothing else can. I found a dry spot on a rock and settled in, letting the world around me fade into the steady rhythm of the waves. The ocean stretched endlessly ahead, the sky mirroring its vastness. I listened to the waves rolling in, to the soft bubbling as the water curled around the rocks, to the quiet hum of nature filling the space around me. No distractions, no rush—just a moment to be still, to breathe, to exist in the presence of something so much greater than myself.
As I sat in stillness, soaking in the moment, my partner wandered further along the rocky coastline, drawn to the craggy edges and hidden corners of the shore. When he returned, his eyes were lit with excitement. “You have to see this,” he said, motioning me to follow.
Curious, I climbed down from my perch and stepped carefully over the uneven rocks, letting my hands brush against their weathered surfaces. Up close, the patterns of erosion told quiet stories of time and tide—ridges smoothed by relentless waves, cracks where the ocean had slowly but surely carved its mark.
We made our way toward a small cave nestled into the rock, its entrance a quiet invitation. Stepping inside, we took in the way the light filtered through, highlighting the textures along the walls. Of course, we had to capture the moment—snapping a photo before stepping back out into the open air, where the endless ocean stretched before us once more.
We continued along the coastline, breathing in the crisp sea air, and taking in every detail of the rugged shoreline. Fallen trees lay scattered along the trail, their weathered trunks twisted into intricate patterns, their limbs stretching out in quiet surrender to time and nature. Some were so striking that we couldn’t help but stop, running our hands over the smooth, sun-bleached bark, marveling at the way nature creates art without even trying.
It was hard to resist the urge to stray from the trail, to scramble over the rocky coastline and inch closer to the water’s edge. The pull of the ocean is strong—its vastness, its rhythm, the way it seems to breathe in sync with you when you stop to listen.
I always struggle with choosing between a coastal trail and a mountain hike. Both give me something different, something I need. The ocean calms me, grounds me, reminds me to be still. The mountains challenge me, push me, make me feel like I’ve earned the view. On the rare occasions when I get both in one trail, it feels like a gift. But in the end, it all comes down to my mood—whether I need the steady embrace of the sea or the steady climb toward the sky.
The final stretch of the trail along the ocean revealed something unexpected—vibrant red and orange rock formations, so different from the cool gray coastline we had passed earlier. The contrast was striking, almost as if we had stepped into a different landscape entirely. A small tidal pool rested in the rock, a pocket of ocean left behind, filling and emptying with the rhythm of the tide, existing on its own quiet schedule. This was our last glimpse of the sea before the trail turned back into the woods. We lingered, letting the salty air fill our lungs one last time, memorizing the way the water shimmered under the afternoon sun. It’s always hard to leave a place that feels this alive, this untamed.
As we stepped back beneath the trees, the forest welcomed us once again. A low stone wall ran alongside parts of the trail, where tiny bugs scurried across sun-warmed rocks and pine cones nestled in the moss. The scent of damp earth and fresh pine filled the air, a reminder of the season shifting, of the quiet renewal happening all around us.
The walk back to the car felt different, as it always does after a moment of stillness by the sea. Spring in Maine has a way of revealing itself slowly—through the whisper of budding leaves, the softness of a breeze, the feeling that something is waking up. And in that moment, I felt like I was waking up too.
Reflections from the Trail
There’s something about the ocean that always brings me home to myself. The way the waves move in a steady rhythm, how the breeze shifts and dances along the rocky shore—it all feels like a reminder to just be. To breathe. To exist in the moment without needing to fill the silence.
La Verna Preserve was more than just an easy trail through the woods; it was a slow unraveling. The transition from bare trees to towering pines, the sound of a trickling stream giving way to the crash of waves, the contrast between the gray coastline and the fiery red rocks—it all felt like nature was showing me the beauty of change. That different doesn’t mean less. That every season, every shift, has its own kind of magic.
Sitting on that rock by the water, listening to the ocean’s endless conversation, I felt still in a way I hadn’t in a while. And maybe that’s why I’m always drawn to places like this—because they remind me that peace isn’t something you have to chase. It’s already here, waiting in the quiet moments, in the spaces where the land meets the sea.
And as I stepped back into the trees, I carried that with me.
Post-Hike Bites & Brews
After our invigorating hike at La Verna Preserve, we craved a place to unwind and reflect on the day’s adventure. A short drive led us to Bath Ale Works in Wiscasset, Maine, a welcoming, family-friendly brewery with a laid-back atmosphere that felt like the perfect post-hike retreat.
We each ordered a beer and settled in, letting the warmth of the space and the easygoing vibe sink in. To go with our drinks, we grabbed their daily special panini—a deliciously melty and flavorful sandwich—along with a side of pretzel bites served with warm beer cheese. There’s something about a post-hike meal that just hits differently, and this one was no exception. The mix of salty, cheesy goodness and a cold beer made for the ultimate reward after our time on the trail.
The brewery’s relaxed atmosphere made it easy to linger, with a mix of locals and visitors enjoying their drinks, chatting, and soaking in the cozy space. Whether stopping by for a quick pint or staying a little longer, Bath Ale Works proved to be the perfect spot to cap off a day of exploring the Midcoast.
Do you have any hiking trails you’d recommend? I’d love to hear your suggestions!
I’d love to hear your recommendations for my next hiking adventure! Feel free to reach out to me through my social media links below or shoot me an email at hellopeaceofmindy@gmail.com. Let’s connect and share trail ideas!
All the photos featured in this blog post were taken by me, unless otherwise noted.
