Blustery Back Roads

Exploring the back roads of Deer Isle is somewhat like hopping across a rock strewn brook. Enveloped by water on all sides, you must carefully navigate from one dry piece of land to another, and each piece of land ahead of you is different than the previous one. On butterfly shaped Deer Isle, you seem to be constantly surrounded by water. The Penobscot Bay to the west, Merchants Row and Jericho Bay to the south, and the Eggemoggin Reach to the east and north, all lay claim to a portion of the island's jagged and rocky shoreline. You have to cross the Reach to get to Little Deer Isle, where you then have to take a winding causeway over a small section of East Penobscot Bay to enter Deer Isle proper. Confusing as it may be, the sight of all these beautiful bodies of salt water wrapped around one island is quite a thrill! Take a right at Northwest Harbor and wind down a back road out of Sunset Village and the Penobscot Bay greets you with its spruce covered islands and distant views of the Camden Hills. A short ride down Dunham Point Road leads you to cozy and tranquil Sylvester Cove, home to the Deer Isle Yacht Club. The moorings may be empty at this time of the year, but the thought of another glorious summer of sailing can never be too off for those who are lucky enough to reside here. Due south of Sylvester, sits Crockett Cove, a working harbor with tons of character and tons of lobster traps. I meandered down to an old wharf that seemed to be falling into the sea. A beautiful, but weathered sailboat sat at the edge of the shore, it's hull half in the water and it's sail taken down. A symbolic sight if I ever saw one. Here on the last full week of October, on a windswept afternoon that never had a prayer of seeing 50 degrees, was toy of summer waiting to be put away for the winter. The sailboat, like many Maine residents, had had it's fun in the sun, and was now preparing for what lay ahead: Winter and all her icy trappings. Across the Island on the east side, on the southern edge of the Reach, you will find one of the most remote and beautiful villages in coastal Maine. Sunshine, which protrudes out into the ocean and is blanketed by a dazzling amount of coves and inlets, defines the term working waterfront. Back roads lead to dirt roads, which lead to lobster pounds and decaying wooden wharves. Lobsterboats produce a golden outline under the late afternoon sun, their hulls rocking up and down, while the dark green spruce trees sway violently behind them. The wind in Sunshine must have been getting close to 40 mph, and the evidence came from the ocean, as a constant procession of white caps marched towards the rocks and slammed into the shore with great force, sending forth a foamy, white spray into the fall air. This parade-like pattern would be repeated throughout the day as the winds never really died down, giving this particular fall afternoon a feeling of a winter afternoon. All that was missing was snow. One particular back road in Sunset led me to a spit of land where a wooden wharf sat to the right side of the point and a long field of swaying grass occupied the left side. I happily trounced through the field, the sweet smell of the sea all around me, until I reached a small inlet with quite a view! In the distance the twin peaks of Mount Desert Island rose over Blue Hill Bay, their rocky slopes shimmering with the colors of fall. Spruce covered islands, some small, some quite large, covered the water, swarms of seagulls hovering above each one. The water at my feet was light blue, with a hint of green that seemed to swirl as the wind raked over it's rippling surface. Brilliant blue colored sea shells lay scattered across the grainy white sand. A few large boulders towered over smaller rocks, which sat covered with barnacles. The seaweed moved back and forth with the wind, and the sun lit up a cloudless blue sky. Once again, at the end of some rocky point of land, downeast on the coast of Maine, I had found my solitude. My faithful camera and my love of the coast had guided me once again. The only sounds were the whipping of the wind and the splashing of the incoming tide. There were no car engines, or boat engines roaoring in the distance. No casual conversations to be overheard. Just pure bliss, with a side of solitude, all served up off a dusty back road on beautiful Deer Isle.