Perhaps no one suffers cabin fever like a seasonal park ranger. By this time of year, I begin to go a little nuts, hankering to resume my post at Daicey Pond, Baxter State Park. I literally begin to pace indoors, like a dog. I stare longingly out the window. I repeatedly climb the ridge behind my house. I imagine what's happening in my corner of the park, as spring rubs the sleepy sands from its eyes and tries to throw off the blanket of winter.

I enjoy the two seasons of life, split almost exactly in half, one indoors, one out. Being a park ranger feels a little like college did for me. When I was at school, harried with exams and various pressures, I longed to be home laying about, even working at a mindless job. When I was at home, I couldn't wait to get back to school, to all my friends and even to my classes.

Unlike many Mainers, I relish the winter. For me it means being able to go online whenever I want. Being able to play soccer with the guys on Sundays ("Our Lady of the Offside Trap") and play music in Portland clubs with my band. It's great to be able to do dinner and a movie with my wife, and spend days upon days with my little boy, pursuing all the adventures he thinks up. I like being able to schedule things without precision.

By February, though, I find my thoughts turn more and more to a cabin in a field below a pond with a magnificent view of a mountain. I begin to romanticize about the absolute quiet of nighttime at Daicey. About the feel of the spray on my face from Big Niagara Falls, in a fury of spring runoff. I think of hitting the squishy trails in an attempt to get myself back into shape. (I like to tell people I "grow as person" over the winter.) I imagine conversations with friends who I haven't seen in six months. I picture myself paddling on the placid pond before anyone else is around. I daydream of hard physical labor. Of humping buckets of water up hills. Of remembering to answer incoming calls with "10-3" rather than "Hello." Of driving my truck through the gut of the park, following Nesowadnehunk Stream on my way to Nesowadnehunk campground. Of catching up with my regulars, many of whom return almost when I do so they can fish. Of repairing cabins and clearing blowdowns. Of work days that begin at 6 a.m. and and end at 9 p.m.

These transition times are the hardest. I inevitably have dozens of work-related projects I have to get done before my park season starts. I have to complete all of those spring tasks that face the homeowner, preparing my house for the long summer, by early May. I have to ready the car for the beating it will take on the Nesowadnehunk Tote Road.

I have to gear up my family as well. My wife, and especially my boy, look forward to summers at Daicey Pond, but they also feel a little anxious with the prospect of losing Dad a couple of nights a week. Our calendars become tangled messes of dates and times and schedules in which there's no flexibility. It's never easy.

I report for duty in about a month. I can't wait. At this time of year, I even long for the blackflies.

- Filed April 13, 2008.

Andy Vietze is a Maine State Park Ranger and a Down East Magazine contributing editor.

The views expressed on this Web site are those of the authors alone and do not necessarily represent the views of Down East Enterprise or its employees.