Autumn Air

The winding roads and rolling hills of Downeast Maine were alive yesterday with the spectacular colors of fall. Route 1 was awash in a collective blaze of reds, oranges and yellows. The blueberry barrens of Columbia, Milbridge, and Steuben, sat drenched in a beautiful blanket of crimson red. Fall had come to the coast of Maine, and the result was something out of a dream! Out on Great Wass Island, the sky was blue, and the clouds were wispy and white. The Bright blue waters of Englishman bay shimmered in the October sunshine. The sun warmed the green grass of this wild and rugged island, and cast shadows on the jagged rocks and smooth granite that adorn it's craggy shores. I had come to Great Wass to hike the famed Nature Conservancy trail. I immediately found myself in the middle of an enchanted forest, where giant spruce firs towered above me and sultry strands of salty sea air tickled my nose and awakened my senses. The trail was demanding, a jumbled mess of exposed roots and fallen branches. Giant rocks and boulders lined the twisting path. Squirrels and foxes rustled in the bushes to my left and right. Not a soul was in sight, just the way I like it. After two miles of near bushwhacking, I found myself at the edge of Cape Point, on the southeastern side of the island. From there, a series of rocky headlands and sandy beaches connected to another treacherous trail, which meandered towards Mud Cove, a cozy inlet known to sailors for it's excellent protection from the elements. Past Mud Cove, the trail returned to the forest, where the rocks seemed to get bigger and the footing went from shaky to sketchy. After 4 hours of ducking, jumping, sprinting, and doing whatever I deemed appropriate to get through the trail, I completed the loop, a little worse for the wear. I sat down against my car, sweat dripping from my body, and ate a quick snack. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, and wind was starting to cool the island, in anticipation of another bitter night in Downeast Maine. As I drove back to the mainland, I stopped over on Beals Island, where I watched the sun fade over the Moosabeck Reach. Dozens of worn and weathered lobster boats rolled back and forth under the shifting sea. The boats were anchored so close to each other, resembling a diesel fueled family, that had just sat down at a crowded dinner table. A lone fisherman talked on his phone at then end of a long wooden dock, while an old beat pick up truck slowly made it's way through the center of town. The man at the wheel looked my way and raised his two index fingers at me, while the other fingers clenched the steering wheel. I waved back, not knowing who he was, but knowing all too well what he meant. When I find myself in these far flung corners of the Maine coast, I get to see first hand, how the hardy souls of these small coastal towns make their living. Some fish, some build, while others simply cut grass and stack wood. Some men mend lobster traps, some men coach high school basketball teams, and some men tend bar at the local watering hole. Everybody does something to get by and that means tat everybody is in a sense, in it together. It is this communal sense of survival that sets Downeast Maine apart from the rest of the country. It is a different world up here, and I am more than happy to visit it, for I know that no matter where I am, be it Cutler, Lubec, Machias, or Jonesport, somebody will always be there to wave at me, as the wooden lobster traps that sit stacked in the bed of their truck, rattle around and glisten in the afternoon sun.