By Marty Basch

They are the best seats in the house. Situated on the southwestern face of ledgy Sabattus Mountain, a pair of memorial benches offer solace, rest and introspection while gazing at a landscape of mountains, lakes and hills in two states.

Tiny Sabbatus Mountain in quiet Lovell stands a mere 1,253 feet tall. Yet it is a viewing platform to the White Mountains and Kezar Lake area. The highest peak in the small town, it's a member of the far-ranging Oxford Hills bunch, including 2,240-foot Mount Zircon near Rumford, 1,960-foot Mount Abram outside Bethel and 1,170-foot Streaked Mountain by South Paris.

Sabattus is on a state-owned 177-acre parcel of land with its mixed forest of pines, hemlocks and birches. Finger-like Kezar Lake is to its west, while 1,104-foot Mount Tire'm stands in the east in Waterford and to its north stands a wintry-looking Mount Washington and the tops of other Presidential summits.

Hello Old Friend

On an early November Saturday morning, I visited the small peak for the first time in several years. I had never hiked it, only snowshoed it, and remember getting a flat tire maybe 10 years ago on the dirt road leading to the trailhead on Sabattus Trail Road. That malady increased my hiking for the day as I was forced to walk about a mile or so to the nearest telephone, as I had yet to make the leap to cell phones. The landline happened to be at the Center Lovell Inn, a property that comes with a side-note to history as it drew national attention in the 1990s when the then-owners offered it as the grand prize in an essay contest.

On this day, there were no flat tires to report during the sunny morning with brisk temperatures in the 40s. The day was fine for all sorts of outdoors lovers. I also saw a man along the road involved in bikejoring. Two energetic huskies were pulling him up a hill, the man clad in blaze orange on a mountain bike. That seemed to be the neighborhood color as a vehicle passed, the driver clad with a blaze orange cap and firearm hanging from inside his rig.

Clockwork Orange

During hunting season, I routinely carry a blaze orange hat in my pack and made sure it was on during my sojourn. I try to hike in high country during this season, but frankly wasn't in the mood for snow. I also adjust my attitude and expect to come across hunters. Plus, I make sure to stick to the trail and though I'm not much of a bushwhacker, I'm sure not to do it unless it's an emergency.

A parked pickup truck in the trailhead was the signal I wasn't going to be alone on the short, relatively easy 1.4-mile counter-clockwise circuit. The trail is not initially blazed, but yellow blazes are found during the down trip. There's maybe 500 feet in elevation gain, starting through the mixed hardwoods. I was alone, though I did see a brief flash of white in the woods and later heard a shot far away in the distance.

Near the summit, I saw something else - a deer hunter. He, too, was clad in blaze orange, and we chatted amiably on the trail. He had once taken a bear near the trail and had seen signs of deer on the summit, but hadn't seen one this morning. He told me his father was working the other side of the mountain and I told him I planned on doing a loop.

We parted ways and in no time I was staring at the remains of a fire tower. The tower was built in 1939 and taken down in 1963.

Look Out

I soon was out on the stunning ledges with the two memorial benches, one painted a type of green, the other a black metal seat outfitted with a scene showing a trio of moose in the woods.

I didn't remember seeing either bench during my last visit to the dramatic ledges and at least one could not have been there, since it was dedicated to a woman who died in 2005.

After appreciating the legacy of both strangers and the attention of their heirs, I returned to the trail that afforded a couple of more peeks out from ledges before the views were no more but memories.