Talk Of The Town

Somes Sound splits Mt. Desert Island in half, much as a knife would spilt an apple in two pieces. To the east of the seven mile long sound, the majority of land for Acadia National Park can be found, along with it's tourist base, Bar Harbor. The two summer colony's of Northeast and Seal Harbor, with their shingle style cottages, quiet main streets, and classic yacht clubs also sit east of the sound. In short, most anything on the eastern side of the island is likely to draw the tourist trade, and the hustle and bustle that arrives for three months every summer. Yet to the west of the sound, one can explore the more rural side of the island, where fisherman outnumber summer people and Lobster boats control the harbors. Southwest Harbor, positioned perfectly at the western entrance to Somes Sound, has it's share of summer folk, but tends to be a little grittier than it's neighbor Northeast Harbor across the way. Southwest's downtown has it's nice restaurants and bookstores, but it also has a bevy of old hardware stores and marine and tackle shops, where rugged lobster men jump out of their pick up trucks and haul their supplies down to their boats. Further down the road, the town of Bass Harbor has a working feel to it, which is reinforced by the truly amazing amount of lobster traps that line the shores of this tight harbor. On a brisk early November morning, with the wind chill values dipping into the low thirties, I spotted a dusty old wharf where a middle aged man was quickly unloading traps from his truck onto the dock and then carrying them down to the end where at least a hundred more traps sat, stacked on top of one another like a brick wall. I asked If I could poke around and shoot the morning scene. He didn't even look up, just muttered, "don't fall in, it's a cold one out there today, got something blowing in pretty good." I took his advice and carefully navigated the trap strewn dock. Like going through a maze of yellow metal, I walked between the lines of traps until I reached the very end of the wharf. In front of me, the chilly waters of Bass Harbor tossed and turned with every gust of the howling wind. The majestic mountains of Acadia rose in the distance and the clouds enveloped the sky, which was gray, gray, gray. Everything on this morning hinted at Winter and the dark and gloomy colors that only she can provide. To the east of Bass Harbor, Acadia National Park beckons in all it's glory with the twin hiking trails of Ship Harbor and Seawall. The Ship Harbor trail winds through a thicket of pine and spruce trees where a broad opening seemingly thrusts you onto the craggy shore's edge, where the waves come rushing in on the rocks like a hungry bear about to devour it's prey. The sheer power of these waves is in a word, awesome. The sound they make as they crash into the shore is like a canon firing, the foamy white spray they spew just barely reaching your cold face. This is the Atlantic Ocean! No breakwaters or islands to slow the charge of the rushing water, only jagged rocks to meet the ocean's final fling. I sit, huddled up, transfixed at the sight of it all! This is the bold coast of Maine, the true measure of the land and it's strength against the ocean and all her raging power. The rain, spotty in the morning, began to fall harder and the afternoon turned downright frigid. On the drive home to Camden, the Penobscot Bay appeared restless as white caps and waves dominated the view. Blue Hill lay shrouded in fog. Storm clouds brewed over Islesboro and the Camden hills played a game of hide and seek with the clouds. Back in town, I stopped to grab some dinner. Talk was of the weather and when the sun would shine again. "Not till Thursday," I heard in the background as I reached for a cup of chicken noodle soup. "Gotta pretty good one coming through tonight I hear." Funny I thought to my self, the weather, in this cruel month of November, still dominates the conversation wherever you go. Life in Northern New England moves on, as Winter slowly marches forward, her arrival a mere formality now.