By Robin Lloyd, Globe Correspondent

IF YOU GO . . . The Keeper's House has four guest rooms and the oil house. The house includes three bathrooms with hot water and showers. A room for two in the main building includes three meals. Write to Jeff and Judi Burke, the Keeper's House, PO Box 26, Isle au Haut, ME 04645, or call 207-367-2261 for off-island reservations.

ISLE AU HAUT, Maine -- Under the soft gentle glow of gas lights, we sipped cider and talked about what we'd seen during a full day of challenging hiking over moss-covered forest paths and open granite ledges -- 200-foot cliffs dropping off into deep ocean; rocky beaches strewn with the wreckage of old boats; and a snowshoe hare and a family of loons. We'd traveled more than 10 miles that day through heavily forested mountain and oceanside trails in the western corner of Isle au Haut, a rocky sea-battered island off the coast of Maine.

The warm smell of freshly baked bread floated in from the kitchen. Outside through the window, we could see the flashing red light of the lighthouse beach. In the fading evening light, a lobster boat headed into the harbor, followed by a noisy wake of squawking seagulls. Our home-cooked dinner was almost ready. The waitress told us the salad was from the garden, and the fresh squash soup with mushrooms was the chef's favorite. We were having sole, pan fried potatoes, and mixed vegetables. Dessert was chocolate cake with fresh blueberries, strawberries, and whipped cream.

We were guests along with 10 other fellow adventurers at the Keeper's House -- one of the few functioning lighthouse inns in the country and the only bed-and-breakfast for visitors on the island. These were remote and isolated accommodations. There was no electricity. No telephones. Solar panels mounted on the lighthouse beacon provided hot water. The cooking was done on a gas stove. Over dinner, our waitress -- a Keeper's House veteran -- told us that until recently many people got their messages from the mainland personally delivered by the captain of the mail boat. Actually, there are two mail boats -- the Mink and Miss Lizzie -- which offer daily links between the mainland and this isolated island. Miss Lizzie even delivers the Keeper's House guests directly to the lighthouse dock.

My wife and I had been given what the off-island booking representative for the inn had described with a mischievous chuckle as the ''honeymoon suite.'' We were in the old oil house where the kerosene for the lighthouse had once been stored in the days before the beacon was automated. It's a separate bungalow tucked away in the woods with a view of the ocean. ''Sounds romantic,'' I said. ''Oh yes'', I was told. As we were celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary, I thought this would be an appropriate spot.

We were met at the lighthouse by our host Jeff Burke, a quiet man with a dry sense of humor. He and his wife, Judy, have been running the lighthouse as an inn for 11 years. Never far from Jeff is Cisum, his Great Dane, who looks fearsome but is quite harmless. I inquired about the name and was told it is ''music'' backward. ''We didn't name her,'' said Jeff anticipating my next question but never did explain how the dog got this unusual name.

As we walked down the path toward the oil house, Jeff gave us the speech he probably reserves for all of his guests. ''Some people find this very charming,'' he said, ''but it's not for everybody.'' As if that wasn't ominous sounding enough, he then added, ''Oh, and you're welcome to come up to the main house and use the facilities there if you want to.''

My wife surveyed the tiny oil house with the studious glances of people keenly aware of creature comforts. The small structure couldn't have been more than 8 by 10 feet. It was just big enough for a bed, a small dresser, and table. Three tiny windows with blue laced curtains dressed up the otherwise sparsely furnished room.

On one side of the tiny building, there was a deck with a view of the entrance to the Isle au Haut harbor. My wife stopped to examine the outside sink, which was actually a water receptacle on top of an old sink basin. Her eyes warily glanced over at the shower, which was nothing more than a plastic solar heating bag. When she discovered that the bathroom was an outhouse, I knew there was no question that she'd be taking Jeff up on his earlier offer to use the facilities in the main house.

We'd been to Isle au Haut once before several years ago, but the foggy weather had thwarted any plans for scenic hiking. We'd come on a boat and had always wondered what it would be like to stay at the Keeper's House. This was our chance. I'd had to book these reservations months in advance as the Burkes are usually fully booked during summer. Fortunately, the weather seemed to be cooperating.

Isle au Haut is a little-known paradise for hikers. Half the island is part of Acadia National Park. There are 17 miles of trails over varied terrain through forests, along cliffs and beaches, and over mountaintops. There are even trails to a fresh-water lake -- all part of the national park system.

Jeff equipped us with wide-seated, wide-tired American bikes (with the old-fashioned pedal brakes) and some sobering words of advice about the bad road that leads to the park. He told us that just the day before one of his guests had lost control of her bike and run into a tree. We needed no further warning.

We headed due west along a winding dirt road that gave us fleeting glimpses of the coast. This was the Maine that several generations of Wyeths have so wonderfully portrayed in their paintings -- the craggy grandeur of a granite coastline, crumbling farmhouse, wooden dories hauled up to the high-tide mark.

Soon we spotted a familiar national park sign that let us know we were entering Acadia. The bumpy road at this point got even rougher. Off to the side we spotted the lavender color of steeple bush and another wildflower that blooms in August called everlasting. We passed blueberry bushes, red heather, and juniper. The road was certainly hazardous for someone unfamiliar with a pedal brake system. There were near-vertical drops and lots of loose gravel. My wife hurtled ahead while I crawled along at a more cautious pace, fearful that my brakes would fail. It took us about an hour to reach Duck Harbor, which is the main entrance to the park and the harbor where the mail boat drops off day hikers and a few campers.

The park provides five campsites, three of which have wooden Adirondack-style shelters. We left our bikes at the side of the road and began to hike up Duck Harbor Mountain. It was slightly foggy and overcast, but the views were still promising. So far we'd seen only one other couple hiking in the other direction. The park restricts the number of summer visitors to 7,000 a season. This is quite a contrast when you consider that each summer there are an estimated 2 million visitors to the main section of Acadia National Park on Mount Desert Island.

We split off from the main trail and took the hiking path called Western Head -- a 2 1/2-mile hike over rugged terrain around the western tip of the island. It also is supposed to have the most stunning views of any on the island. Trees marked with blue paint guided us through a forest of sweet-smelling spruce and balsam. The path was thickly carpeted with a cushion of lichen and green moss.

Soon we emerged through the trees to a spectacular sight. Giant granite ledges gently lowered themselves into the sea. Jagged 100-foot cliffs tumbled into small rocky covers. The path took us down to a rocky beach littered with driftwood and broken lobster pots, testimony to the fury of past storms. We stopped to have our picnic. As part of the Keeper's House experience, Judy packs a picnic of homemade bread, cheese, and fresh cucumbers, and some tasty brownies.

It took us three hours to hike around the western tip of the island. The most unusual things we saw were trees that had been decorated with lobster pots. I was told later by the park ranger that this was the work of bored hikers. The island has a healthy deer population. But we saw mostly birds and rabbits. Toward the end of the day, spitting rain and drizzle had started to cloud our views, but fortunately the rain held off and we made it safely back to the lighthouse by dusk.

We traded stories with our fellow guests. One couple had brought their own kayaks, which gave them an even more varied experience than we'd had. We also listened to another hiker's description of Long Pond Trail, where he said that on his way back he'd gotten lost because the trail was poorly maintained. This was unusual because most of the trails we saw were well-marked and in good condition.

The road around the 18-square-mile island is another story. The cars are also something to behold because many get little or no maintenance. We tried our hand at hitchhiking through the non-park area of the island and found ourselves fortunate enough to be picked up by two elderly summer residents on an expedition to pick wildflowers. They dropped us off at Long Pond, where you can have a refreshing, fresh-water swim several hundred yards from the ocean.

Despite our earlier misgiving, our accommodations in the old house were more than adequate. Flashlights helped us make those evening jaunts to the outhouse, and the soft glimmer of candlelight proved to be a welcome change to electricity.

Breakfast at the Keeper's House lived up to all expectations. On our last day, Judy prepared pancakes sprinkled with a wild blueberry sauce. Before leaving, I decided to visit Wayne Barter, the park ranger for 13 years. I found him outside his house where he was building an addition. Barter is a direct descendant of one of the first settlers to come to the island more than 200 years ago. I asked him what he considered to be the main problems of the park.

He seemed puzzled. He paused for a moment, and then replied, ''I don't think we really have any serious problems.''

I wondered how many other parts of the country's increasingly strained national park system could make that statement.

Published 07/26/98 in the Boston Suday Globe's Travel Section