Blowin' Stink

Hurricane Irene might not have lived up to the hype that proceeded her arrival this past weekend, but she did bring some heavy seas to Downeast Maine. Up on Mount Desert Island, where winds gusted 60 mph, heavy bands of surging surf crashed into the jagged cliffs and massive rocks of Acadia National Park. Whipping winds whistled up through Somes Sound, where the surrounding shores turned the usually placid fjord into a virtual wind tunnel. Across the island in Southwest Harbor, boats rocked back and forth, as the stormy seas tossed and turned. Tourists and locals hurried down the town's tiny Main street, where many shops and marinas remained closed, in anticipation of Irene. The majority of boats on the Island sought shelter in Northeast Harbor, which has always been known for it's exceptional protection from the open ocean. Tucked in to the east side of Somes Sound, Northeast is a big enough harbor to hold a great number of vessels, but it's entrance is also small enough to avoid the large swells of neighboring Frenchman Bay. In Bar Harbor, two lonely fishing boats sat in the harbor, while a few tourists stood on the edge of the town dock, watching the seas rose and fall past the porcupine shaped islands that guard this venerable port. The drive off the island was interesting to say the least. The wind kicked up another notch as the afternoon turned to evening. Trees swayed back and forth, as branches and limbs fell to the ground, littering route one and the surrounding back roads of Ellsworth. The Bucksport bridge crossing was not one I would like to make again. The wind caused my car to jerk right and then left, and my heart to race. I could not across the at bridge fast enough! All in all, Irene did not hit the Maine coast with the force that she was projected to, but a coastal storm is still a coastal storm, and to watch the surging seas of the Gulf of Maine crash into the jagged Rocks of Mount Desert Island is always a thrill. Just don't get to close, you may never see it again!

Brooklin's Finest

With a heavenly late summer breeze whipping off the Eggemoggin Reach, a sultry stream of white clouds raced across the sky, as another picture prefect August afternoon began to turn to dusk in the sleepy little town of Brooklin. Way down at the end of the Blue Hill Peninsula, where the cool waters of the Eggemoggin Reach flow into eastern Penobscot Bay, one can find what has to be one the greatest collections of wooden sailboats in the world. Home to the world renowned Wooden Boat School, Brooklin is a boat builders dream. Center Harbor, the towns cozy central inlet, is the grand gallery where all these wooden beauties are displayed, their gorgeous lines and sturdy masts casting shadows in the late day sun. Concordia, Hinckley, and Morris, all the big names are here. Look out across the water, and you will see what amounts to a vast catalogue of almost every wooden boat design from the last hundred years. I walked the wooden docks of Brooklin Boat yard yesterday, my faithful Nikon at the ready. My senses were overcome with the smell of the sea, and the steady sound of the wind. The majestic fir trees on Harbor Island swayed in the distance, their branches flopping back and forth as the salty sea breeze sprayed the jagged rocks on the island's rugged shore. The day was perfect! It was one of the late summer days in Maine when you feel as if you are living in a dream, that this lovely blend of sea, pines and boats cannot be real. It is just to beautiful to be real! This is no dream though, this is the downeast coast of Maine, and this is the sacred month of August, where the days are warm and the nights are cool. Fall will arrive shortly, but for now, summer holds sway. On the drive home, I sped down the winding back roads of Blue Hill, before heading back to Camden on Route one. As I came into town, the sun began to fade over Penobscot Bay. The sky turned pink and the light of another summer day slowly began to fade. It put on a sweater and walked down to the beach, my mind at ease, and my soul at peace. What a beautiful time of year. What a beautiful place to be. What a beautiful place to hang my hat.

Two For Tuesday

It had been over 6 months since I had traveled to the Down East section of the Maine coast, a magical place that I try to visit as many times as I can. This past Tuesday, I made the trek to Cutler, a small fishing community that sits barely 15 miles from the Canadian Border. About two miles past the village of Cutler, there lies what is perhaps the most dramatic hiking trail in the state of Maine. The Cutler Coast Public Reserved Land, a 2,220 acre tract of rugged land that juts out over the Bay of Fundy, is a very special place to visit, no matter what time of year you happen to go. I had been to Cutler three times before, each in the spring and early summer. Each previous experience has been breathtaking to say the least. On my fourth trip, I was joined by my mother, a seasoned hiker with a similar love for the Maine coast. Together, we navigated the rocky slopes, grassy paths, and jagged rocks of this Bold Coast treasure, spending a good 4 hours on a tough 7 mile loop that weaved in and out of the wild forests of Cutler and ended on the rocky shores of the Bay of Fundy. We had an absolute blast, mother and son, alone in nature, both doing what we love to do. My faithful Nikon by my side, I snapped away with a fury that was undeniably driven by the immense beauty that surrounded me. To stand out an a rocky ledge, with the ocean 200 feet below and the cool winds of the Atlantic whipping around you, is to stand on the edge of a world that seems to only exist in a dream. When nature holds sway over an individual, that individual is able to escape the real world, and enter a sacred place where their senses are treated to a grand feast of all that the natural world has to offer. Every time I travel to Cutler, I never want to leave! But leave we had to, and leave we did. The day however, was not over yet, not by a long shot. We sped down route 187 to Jonesport, where my mother was able to reconnect and visit with old friends. My mother first visited this salty fishing community when she was child. She would spend her time camping on nearby islands, taking long walks under the stars, and swimming in the frigid waters of Englishman Bay. She spent many summers in Jonesport, and has always had a special place in her heart for the town. She met with old friends yesterday afternoon, telling stories and recounting what the past 40 years had brought in terms of jobs, marriages, children and grandchildren. It was a wonderful afternoon for her, a real chance to relive her past, a past that had brought such simple happiness on the Downeast coast of Maine. We left Jonesport around 5, made Bucksport by 6:30 and returned home in time to enjoy a great meal, and a beautiful sunset. I love my mother, and love this coastline. Both are always in my mind, and will forever remain there. To be able to share both loves in one day made this past Tuesday, a truly special day for this 28 year old.

Morning Glory

The sun rose over Penobscot Bay this morning, peeking in and out of the early morning clouds. The sky was pink and grey, subtly changing colors as the minutes passed. By 6 o'clock, the sleek silhouettes of sailboats could be seen across Camden Harbor. All kinds of boats sat on top of the water, mainly sailboats, powerboats, yachts, dinghies, and skiffs. I walked down my road to Laite beach to watch the morning make its daily appearance. How lucky I am to live in a place where a 5 minute walk can put me on an empty beach, where the lapping waves of the Penobscot Bay arrive at my feet. Mount Battie and her neighbor, Megunticook lay shrouded in silky strands of fog. The sun continued to rise as a few boats began to start up and head out for the deep waters of the bay. scores of seagulls raced round Curtis Island, their screeching cries piercing the silence of the still morning. I walked back and forth down the beach, just letting the water wash up on my feet. The sky above me was now turning pink, and the clouds that enveloped the harbor at daybreak, were slowly parting, revealing a beautiful sky of blue. I slowly walked back home, a smile on my face. Life is good, for August has arrived on the coast of Maine.

Sweater Weather

There are few places in the United States where the second day of August carries with it a high temperature of 61 degrees in the middle of the afternoon. Here in Mid-Coast Maine, where the winds blow hard off Penobscot Bay, the weather can always change with the drop of a hat. Two weeks ago, 90 degrees was the norm. Now, as that ever so beautiful month of August holds court, the mornings are cooler, the afternoons breezier, and the nights call for a sweater and a soft blanket. Port Clyde village was downright chilly yesterday afternoon. Summer tourists strolled the docks, wearing pullovers and fleece vests. Doors to galleries and shops were closed, and the American flags that fly so proudly above them whipped in the salt water scented wind. I pulled a fleece over my shoulders as I made my way down to the town dock, my faithful Nikon at the ready. The breeze was steady and a low blanket of fog was beginning to roll in. Lobster boats rolled back and forth in the late afternoon chop, as a few sailboats sailed in to the inner harbor, apparently trying to beat the fog. It is afternoons like this that remind me and all Maine residents, how short and precious summer can be. With fall only six weeks away, every remaining day of summer must be enjoyed to the fullest, no matter what the weather calls for. Sometimes you have to put on a sweater in the middle of August, it happens to everyone at some point in mid- coast Maine.