I first learned about cairns from Harvey during the first year we were dating. He and two friends headed to Maine for an epic backpacking adventure after graduation from college. In describing the trails in Acadia National Park, he told me about piles of stones that served as trail markers. Having only experience hiking in forests with trail markers on trees, at first I didn’t understand why these rocks were used. Harvey explained that these trails traversed open rock faces. It still didn’t compute with me because I had seen painted slashes of color used as trail markers on such stone faces. Ever patient, he described that the extremely foggy conditions at Acadia necessitated using a three dimensional marker. Ooohhh!
Reading up on cairns, I discovered that the cairns at Acadia, termed Bates-style cairns, are unique. Erected in the early 1900’s by pathmaker Waldron Bates, they consist of two side-by-side rock stacks of two to four rocks, a lintel stone spanning their tops, and a directional stone on top of that to point the way a hiker should head. These cairns fell into disuse over the years, and were replaced by the typical conical mounds of stones that Harvey and his friends came across. In 2001, however, the park service decided to return to using the Bates-style cairns, being easier to maintain, as a way to use fewer rocks, and to honor Acadia’s history.
Since Harvey’s tale of hiking by following cairns, I have come across just a few. Never a whole trail, but scattered here and there when the trail crosses a long expanse of stone. I much prefer them to the more frequent use of paint. However, vandalism still occurs, as when cairns are purposefully dismantled. I also seem to be seeing lots of random cairns on the trails now. Maybe they mark a significant place for the persons who started them. It seems to be hard for others, myself included, to resist adding to the stack of a found cairn.
There are calls to stop the making and expanding of cairns, though. Naturalists see them as a kind of vandalism to the natural landscape. It’s akin to picking wildflowers or removing wildlife. When rocks are removed from the soil, it disrupts the micro-ecosystem living there. Too, elaborate stone configurations erected by humans can mar the natural beauty of a place.
Cairns have been around since prehistory and can be found on most continents. They were used as trail markers, as we use them now, but also to mark a place of significance, as boundary markers, and as burial sites. Many of these ancient cairns are still standing.
These collections of stones gathered from the environment, having permanence, are fitting reminders of solid truths.
Cairns tell us, “This is the way.” Clear directions can be liberating. Rather than wandering aimlessly, guides can point us in the right direction. And there are many guides in our lifetimes—a person, a book, a sign from the universe, or a deep sense of knowing.
Cairns also tell us, “At this spot, the divine made an appearance.” And maybe it’s not a literal cairn that you choose to use to mark a significant location. Perhaps you raise a flag, bury a written note of gratitude, or plant a flower.
When you happen upon a cairn, either directional or random, stop and notice. It just might be telling you something.