The Impulsive Traveler: Skiing on the beach? In Cape Elizabeth, Maine, you bet.

The beach was empty of chairs, towels, pails and shovels. But there were tracks from other skiers and paw prints from their furry sidekicks.

We turned to the right and started gliding in the tracks, parallel to the ocean, hearing waves instead of rustling trees, breathing in the unmistakable ocean aroma instead of pine. The waves washed up, ran out of steam and slunk back down.

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When we got to rocks, we turned inland and connected with the trails of Crescent Beach State Park. We skied among the evergreen trees before turning around and retracing our beach route home.

The next day offered yet another new cross-country adventure. This time we skied in the woods with local residents on “neighborhood” trails indicated on a simple map printed on an 8.5-by-11-inch sheet of paper. It was so simple, in fact, that we couldn’t quite make out how to get to the trails from the few black lines that indicated roads.

We knew that we were close. We could see trails on both sides of the road. But we couldn’t figure out where to park to get to them. A tad frustrated, we stopped at a little building with a sign that said “Swap Shop,” and I jumped out to ask directions.

Inside, I was accosted by the scent of dust and the sight of shelves piled with used books, toys and old games. There didn’t seem to be a cash register or anyone in charge.

“Anyone here local?” I asked in a loud voice.

All four of the people rummaging through the piles looked up. I asked if someone could tell me how to find the parking area for the trail we were looking for. Two of the people double-teamed an answer, explaining that I was just a few hundred feet away.

When I got back to the car and told Adele and Sheara the story, they looked at me for a second before starting to laugh hysterically. “Is anyone here local?” they kept repeating.

Of course they were local. Out-of-towners do not come from miles away to pick up an old Monopoly game or drop off used books. Ohhh. No wonder there was no cash register.

Finally, we found the little parking lot for Gull Crest Trail and got on our way. The trails, quiet and relatively empty, were groomed for cross-country skiing. But by whom?

We kept seeing signs for the Cape Elizabeth Land Trust. It turns out that the town maintains a collection of town and land trust trails that connect to form 7.5 miles of paths between Crescent Beach and Fort Williams Park, with its 18th-century lighthouse. The trust, started by a few residents a little more than 25 years ago, protects and maintains more than 560 acres of land for public use.

After another great day of skiing, we changed into appropriate attire for a Saturday night on the town: jeans and hiking boots.

On our way to dinner in nearby Portland, big fat flakes fell, turning the city into a storybook scene. As we stood inside the warm Street and Co. restaurant, the snow started melting from our hair and faces and coats and scarves, dripping onto the floor.

Clearly, the sight of people thawing out is not unusual in Portland restaurants. The hostess cheerfully handed us white linen napkins to blot ourselves with and led us to a table, where our food arrived hot and delicious.

Which was perfect, because despite hours on the trails, we hadn’t shot a single thing of our own for supper.

Cape Elizabeth, Maine: How to get there, where to stay, where to eat, what to do

Perlman is a Washington writer who blogs at www.boldlygosolo.com.