A World Apart

There is always a discussion to be had about where "Down East" Maine really begins. For sure, anything west of the Penobscot Bay can be considered mid-coast and southern Maine. What is up for debate is where exactly the line of demarcation sits when the Maine coast becomes Down East. To me, the line sits at the end of the bridge in Bucksport. Once you cross the Penobscot river, the mood, scenery and feel of the land start to change dramatically. This past Sunday I took another trip up the coast to this storied place where the land is more rugged, the people more independent and the lobster boats bigger. On a beautiful mid-September morning, with the temperatures in the low 50's, one can feel as if they are leaving the rest of the world behind, every mile that passes as you head east. Past the Turn off to Blue Hill and Deer Isle, through the bustling town of Ellsworth, there is a left turn that changes everything. Straight ahead sits Mount Desert Island and the tourist draw of Acadia National Park, but to the left sits the section of Route 1 that takes you way Down East, and way down the coast. You start to notice the lack of cars, the lack of houses and the lack of people. The towns, like Hancock, Gouldsboro, and Addison sit like forgotten needles in a pine tree filled haystack. Once you cross into Washington County, the "sunrise county," the land starts to stretch forever. Bridges take you across majestic rivers that wind and twist through thickets of Pine trees and flowers. Derelict buildings and houses line the highways, relics of times gone by. As you pass through Harrington, Columbia and Jonesboro, the roadside attractions and business drop off at an alarming rate. Millbridge, a beautiful fishing town located on the banks of the Atlantic has its real estate agencies and its gas stations, but the people look different and the land looks different. You feel as if you are back in the 1950's, with the abundance of old cars and decaying houses. Finally, you Reach Machias, and there is life. A few restaurants, a college, and a few bars with Red Sox and Patriots regalia adorning every window, line the streets. But once you reach Machias, a back road leads you down to the town of Roque Bluffs, Population 264, and you sense that you have found the real "Down East." I visited this lovely town 5 miles out of Machias on Sunday and it was hard to leave. The air was breathtakingly clear, the pine trees a brilliant green, and the ocean looked like a real ocean, tough, blue and constant, wave after wave rolling in to crash over rugged rocks and sand. There is a small town office, right cross the road from a small community chapel. The town beach, a spectacular mile-long stretch of white sand is something to see, and the view out to the Roque Island Archiplago is also something to see. I have made 10 trips Down East this past year, and every time I enter this fabled territory, I realize that I truly have entered god's country. A world apart indeed.