At the north end of Jordan Pond are two mountains known as the Bubbles because of their rounded contours.  Viewed from Jordan Pond House at the southern edge of the pond, the North Bubble is on one's left, the South Bubble on the right.  Moderately difficult trails to the summits of both mountains begin at a parking lot on the Loop Road.  A nearly level path leads through woods until it makes a sharp turn and ascends to the saddle between the two Bubbles.  Partway up this sloping walk, which is reinforced by logs across the trail, one can choose to proceed straight ahead to the South Bubble or take a fork to the right toward the North Bubble.

The North Bubble trail is one of my favorites for a solo hike, and, prior to this year, I had also done it once with Kate (when she was in her teens).  I like it because it is reasonably strenuous without being exhausting (the path to the summit is less than half a mile); there is only one fairly rugged stretch across an expanse of sloping rock that is impossible to go around.  Beyond that point, the woods are punctuated at regular intervals by wide rock shelves that afford superb views, especially of Jordan Pond.  On a good, clear day, one can see beyond the southern shore of the pond to the coastline of Mt. Desert and even further than that to the Cranberry Islands.

This year, Kate and I decided to take the North Bubble with four-year-old Jeremy, who had never before done a mountain trail.  I should explain here that Jeremy was a premature baby and is small for his age, though, as this account will reveal, what he lacks in stature, he makes up for in spunk.  We fully expected that Kate might have to carry him at some points or, at the very least, would need to boost him over some of the steeper spots.  We couldn't have been more wrong.

When we started – I with my walking stick, Kate manning the video camera – Jeremy wanted to jump from stone to stone on the path, but Grandpa the Grouch had to warn him to conserve his energy for the challenges ahead.  Noting how I used my walking stick, he selected a much-too-long, much-too-fragile one of his own, but I soon found a sturdier one that was just his size.  By the time we got to the place where the trail began its ascent to where the two Bubble trails split, Jeremy was forging ahead like a mountain goat – or, more accurately, like a true trail hobbit.

I need to say a few words here about trail hobbits.  When Kate and I began exploring the trails of Acadia, I tried to refer to her as my "dwarf" (inspired by some comments made by Henry Fonda in On Golden Pond).  Kate had another idea.  Though this was long before Lord of the Rings (the movie), she was somehow familiar with Bilbo Baggins and decided to be called a trail hobbit rather than a dwarf.  And so it was.  She took great pride in being a trail hobbit and, as a mother, was now determined that her boys would become the same, carrying the trail hobbit's scepter – the walking stick – with the same pride as she had in her youth.

When Jeremy reached the top of the first climb ahead of us, we asked him to pose for the camera – and he did, proudly holding his walking stick and grinning from ear to ear.  "Somebody just got a big dose of self-esteem," Kate remarked.  Indeed, he had.  From there on, no boulder was too big to climb, and he was undaunted by the one rugged stretch (though he needed a little guidance since his natural inclination was to take the more hazardous route straight up).  There was no whining about "Are we there yet?" – he plugged on to the summit like a veteran.

On the way down, Jeremy decided to give names to all the patches of forest that we passed through.  The first, just below the summit, was a dark and gloomy one that he dubbed "the monkey forest."  We had to be very quiet, lest we arouse the sleeping monkeys.  There were also the elephant forest, the raccoon forest, and some others I forget.  When he was stumped for the name of a forest, I suggested, "I think it's the warthog forest."  He looked very serious for a moment and then exclaimed:  "How about that!  That was just what I was thinking.  It's the warthog forest."  So we strolled happily through the warthog forest and back down the rest of the trail to the parking lot.

Kate and I were pooped.  Although Jeremy had maintained a brisk pace, there were lots of starts and stops (including, of course, futile efforts to spot concealed monkeys), making hiking a bit more tedious than usual.  Jeremy, however, was ready to go on another hike.  As we drove back to the cottage, he prattled on an on about how the animals in the forest were now going to get together and hike over to the Jordan Pond House (he called it the Georgia Pond House) for supper.

Of course, he kept his walking stick.  After all, he was now a full-fledged trail hobbit.