Quiet Grandeur

Trekking through Acadia National Park in the middle of November is like walking the halls of an empty museum. You are left all but alone to discover the beauty of this spectacular parcel of land on Mount Desert Island. The summer crowds have vanished. The packs of hikers have disappeared. The incessant clicks and rings of camera phones have been silenced. All that reamins are the locals and the occasional visitor who also knows of the best time of year to visit Acadia. The period of late fall through early spring allows one to fully capture the true essence of the park without the numerous distractions that swarm around its numerous hills, lakes and shores in summertime. On a warm Sunday afternoon, a few weeks from Thanksgiving, the trail to Acadia Mountain was silent. The windswept leaves of autumn blanketed the ground, the bubbling brooks flowed and the sun peeked through the dense canopy of maple, spruce and birch trees. Each step up the mountain, each lunge from boulder to boulder was done with a splendid sense of isolation. This wild forest was mine to behold. As the summit appeared off in the distance, I stopped, took a deep breath and closed my eyes. The smell of the trees was intoxicating. The feel of the cool air was invigorating. The audible absence of the real world was immeasurable. The day was perfect! I could have bottled it up and sold it for a great sum. The top of Acadia Mountain is a special place. Here, perched up above Somes Sound, you are afforded a grand view of the Maine coast. To the east the Camden Hills rise up in a rugged row of rolling ridges. The Islands of Penobscot Bay, North Haven, Vinalhaven, Islesboro sit like green jewels on sparkling blue canvass. Blue Hill Bay and the scattered inlets and coves of Deer Isle and Isle a Haut shimmer in the afternoon sun. To the south, the Cranberry Islands guard the entrance to majestic Northeast Harbor, her cottages and sweeping lawns lining the shores beneath you. To the west, the Peaks of Cadillac, Norumbega, Dorr and Champlain Mountains tower above Somes Sound. In the distance the islands of outer Frenchman Bay, Duck, Great Duck, Baker, Sutton, Greening and Mount Desert Rock protruded out of the water, their rugged shores barely visible in the distant light. Oh what a view! I sat back, reclined on a large rock, with all this quiet grandeur in front of me. It was enough to make the heart soar and the mind rest with ease. It reassures one to see how the raw power of the unspoiled natural world still can captivate and take hold of an individual who searches long and hard for it. My search eventually led my down the mountain where the descent was a bittersweet one. The world moves on unfortunately, and time cannot be made to stand still. I quickly crusied around the sound, headed for a late lunch Northeast Harbor. The afternoon light was beginning to fade as I walked the shores of this deep and protected port. The sailboats had mostly gone onto to shore for the winter, shrink wrap now covering their hulls. Lobster boats lay tucked tightly together on the docks, seemingly trying to prove to mother nature that safety does indeed lie in numbers. I called once again on my faithful Nikon and attempted to capture the harbor and it's surrounding hills, which believe me, never get old to look at. I have visited Northeast at least twenty times now, and each time I visit, I am struck by the sheer beauty of this place. It is no wonder why so many of America's most privaleged and powerful people have called it home over the last 100 years. My final destination for the day, and for most of my trips to Acadia was Sand Beach, down on Newport Cove. To watch the sun set over this stretch of sand is to witness a cascade of colors and crashing surf. Both knees firmly planted in the cool sand, I focused my camera on the fast approaching waves. I watched intenlty as they broke at the base of the beach and then raced up the sand towards me. After reaching it's end, the icy cold water would then retreat rapidly back into the trashing ocean, leaving behind a golden color on the sand that further glowed with the colors of the setting sun. I watched this pattern repeat itself, each time trying to capture that certain color left by the retreating wave. Satisfied that I had fully achieved my intended objective, I rose and walked back towards the end of the beach, where Newport Cove funnels into a clear stream of water that flows into the ocean. A half moon was rising to the east and the sun was now slipping into the sea. In the distance, a woman tossed a tennis ball to her chocolate lab, who snatched it out the air and ran full gallop into the crashing surf. The roar of the ocean was constant, and the scent of the air was sweet. The quiet grandeur of my surroundings had fully washed over me. I was completely at peace with this thing we call life. If I could only make time stand still!