Looking for an
authentic fishing village where the old ways of the sea still
dominate everyday life? Take a trip down route 15, over the rolling hills and past the rambling farmhouses of
Brooksville and
Penobscot. Take a right down into
Sedgewick and cross the
Eggemoggin Reach on the old green suspension bridge. Take the Reach road through Little Deer Isle, over the causeway to Deer Isle. Mosey on down through Northwest Harbor, past the coves and rocky inlets until you reach a small village at the end of the road. Take a left up the hill on Church street and park your car, get out, and stare into the distance. In front of you, laid out like a dinner table full of tasty treats, sit the granite and spruce covered islands of famous Merchants Row, the rigid and rocky outline of Isle A
Haut, and the Deer Isle
thoroughfare, crystal clear blue and littered with every fishing and
lobster boat you can think of. Take a deep breath of the fresh ocean air. Listen to the crys of the seagulls and the roar of
diesel engines. Let the warm October sun wash over you as a stiff breeze warns you of the fast approaching winter. You have reached
Stonington, one of the last true working harbors on the Maine coast.
Located at the southern tip of Deer Isle, hard on the eastern boundary of
Penobscot Bay,
Stonington is a town with a deep
tradition of men who make their living from the sea. Lobstering is still the name of the game here, even though there are a few art
galleries and cozy
restaurants sprinkled along Main street. Locals, and
lobstermen in particular have a
reputation, and it's not always a good one. One hears of the nasty looks and loud warnings fisherman give summer people. This is
a blue collar town, not a place that will ever resemble a resort,
that's for
damn sure! Yet, on a
Sparkling October afternoon, a conversation can be had with a local
lobstermen, who god forbid, allowed me to prowl around on his dock and take
photographs of his tools and surrounding environs. As I left, I thanked him. He
didn't look up, just nodded his head and said "yep." If Hollywood was to film a movie about lobstering on the Coast of Maine, they would come to
Stonington. There are so many fishing boats in the harbor and surrounding water, that is truly hard to count them all. Traps and beat up trucks seem to line every street corner, and there at least six different
wharves in town, all with an amazing amount of tied up skiffs, bobbing back and forth on the water, each vessel just waiting to
transport their owners out to the big boat, so a hard days work can be had. Down on pile of rocks, just left of the harbor, resting in a patch of
sea grass, I spied a run down skiff with a decaying paint job and rusted out interior. The name of the boat was "Shit Happens." It reminded me a of a f
riend I work with in the winter. He grew up on Deer Isle and
referred to anyone who didn't as a "reach creature," seeing that they had to cross the
Eggemoggin Reach to get to the island. He used to cracked me up when he would remind me what islanders call a fisherman who has to bend over to mend his
traps and his pants can't seem to stay up, if you catch my drift. "The Deer Isle Smile," he would say, with a grin on his face. I simply call
Stonington, the Deer Isle Delight!
Looking for an authentic fishing village where the old ways of the sea still dominate everyday life? Take a trip down route 15, over the rolling hills and past the rambling farmhouses of Brooksville and Penobscot. Take a right down into Sedgewick and cross the Eggemoggin Reach on the old green suspension bridge. Take the Reach road through Little Deer Isle, over the causeway to Deer Isle. Mosey on down through Northwest Harbor, past the coves and rocky inlets until you reach a small village at the end of the road. Take a left up the hill on Church street and park your car, get out, and stare into the distance. In front of you, laid out like a dinner table full of tasty treats, sit the granite and spruce covered islands of famous Merchants Row, the rigid and rocky outline of Isle A Haut, and the Deer Isle thoroughfare, crystal clear blue and littered with every fishing and lobster boat you can think of. Take a deep breath of the fresh ocean air. Listen to the crys of the seagulls and the roar of diesel engines. Let the warm October sun wash over you as a stiff breeze warns you of the fast approaching winter. You have reached Stonington, one of the last true working harbors on the Maine coast. 
Located at the southern tip of Deer Isle, hard on the eastern boundary of Penobscot Bay, Stonington is a town with a deep tradition of men who make their living from the sea. Lobstering is still the name of the game here, even though there are a few art galleries and cozy restaurants sprinkled along Main street. Locals, and lobstermen in particular have a reputation, and it's not always a good one. One hears of the nasty looks and loud warnings fisherman give summer people. This is a blue collar town, not a place that will ever resemble a resort, that's for damn sure! Yet, on a Sparkling October afternoon, a conversation can be had with a local lobstermen, who god forbid, allowed me to prowl around on his dock and take photographs of his tools and surrounding environs. As I left, I thanked him. He didn't look up, just nodded his head and said "yep." If Hollywood was to film a movie about lobstering on the Coast of Maine, they would come to Stonington. There are so many fishing boats in the harbor and surrounding water, that is truly hard to count them all. Traps and beat up trucks seem to line every street corner, and there at least six different wharves in town, all with an amazing amount of tied up skiffs, bobbing back and forth on the water, each vessel just waiting to transport their owners out to the big boat, so a hard days work can be had. Down on pile of rocks, just left of the harbor, resting in a patch of sea grass, I spied a run down skiff with a decaying paint job and rusted out interior. The name of the boat was "Shit Happens." It reminded me a of a friend I work with in the winter. He grew up on Deer Isle and referred to anyone who didn't as a "reach creature," seeing that they had to cross the Eggemoggin Reach to get to the island. He used to cracked me up when he would remind me what islanders call a fisherman who has to bend over to mend his traps and his pants can't seem to stay up, if you catch my drift. "The Deer Isle Smile," he would say, with a grin on his face. I simply call Stonington, the Deer Isle Delight!
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