Rattlesnake Mountain

One could say I don't like snakes. One could say I have a phobia. Others might say I fear them so much that I can't even utter their name and, instead, refer to them as "blanks" on the trail. So, last Monday, when Matt drove us out to Raymond, Maine, where we would hike to the top of Rattlesnake Mountain, my first question was: how did it get it's name?



I never found out. Probably because I was too mesmerized by the glory of fall that appeared to have fallen perfectly on that mountain just for us.



The hike was beautiful because we didn't have to wait for the summit to see the views. Oddly enough, the summit was more of a forest, a place to get lost and meander.



Long corridors of trees helped us find our way.



Golden leaves floating like ornaments.



Under our feet, the crunch of foliage.



Matt told me that the trees were hit by a fungus this year. You wouldn't know looking at these beauties.



Crescent lake in the distance.



Matt, the hero of the forest.



Me, insanely happy with a hiking stick.



Ah, to be in Maine...and luckily, we didn't see any snakes.