Foggy Foray

The coating of fog that hung over Swans Island yesterday morning was as thick as a brick wall. Down in Burntcoat harbor, the sun tried as hard as it could to break through, but the feisty fog held it's ground. A few fisherman roamed the docks of the quiet harbor, dragging a few traps from the boat up to their truck. "I think it's suppose' to lift sometimes this afternoon," one of the men said. "Naw," the other man said. "She'll hang around here all day, always does." I sensed that the sun might be out on the mainland, but here on Swans Island, 8 miles out in the middle of the ocean, it may never appear! I watched the two men diligently go about their work. One would pick up the traps from the boat, while the other man would stack them neatly on the flatbead of their truck. This went on for about thirty minutes. The men never spoke, they just worked, back and forth, back and forth. The fog continued to swirl around the harbor. Boats would appear, then disappear, islands would sit under the the momentary glow of the sun, only to be shrouded in another thick layer of fog. This optical illusion went on for three more hours, the sky finally clearing around the 1 o'clock hour. The blue sky was now in charge, and the warm sun of an early fall day felt amazing on my body. I pedaled my trusty old bike down to the western side of the island, where a short path leads to a long dirt road which leads to a spectacular piece of land called Fine Sand Beach. The beach, named for it's beautiful white sand, sits at the end of a small peninsula and is bordered by a long and wide field of swaying grass and pine trees. The dirt road that leads you to the beach is rugged, but worth the hike. Huge fir trees soar all around you. Birds of all sort flew around me, as leaves slowly fell from the trees, littering the ground in splendid show of early fall colors. At the very end of the road, there is a small wooden sign that points towards the beach. The sign should carry a warning with it: "Once you enter, you may never want to leave." With the last few wisps of fog lifting off of Toothaker Bay, and the glorious afternoon sun shimmering off the water, the beach took on an almost surreal atmosphere. It was just perfect! The day was warm, the sky was blue, and the sand was cool under my feet. I sat down at the edge of the water and ate my lunch in sweet solitude. Here I was, once again, way Downeast on the coast of Maine, on a secluded beach on a wild and wonderful island, with my feet in the water and my head in the clouds. On the ferry ride back to Bass Harbor, the peaks of Mt. Desert towered in the distance, while the puffy white clouds of the afternoon raced across the sky. A few sailboats tacked around the outer islands of Frenchman bay. The blue sky seemed endless above my head, and oh, how I wish the day was endless as well. September is fleeting, but my goodness is it a gorgeous month!