TRIP #5, 2014--Out on the Water

Out on the Water

Air conditioning in all seasons makes this birch bark
home rather uncomfortable, according to Andy.

"I think as parks go, this is one of the best I've seen," said Andy, as we set out on the road this morning.  "It's immaculately maintained." The day was gorgeous, and now everywhere leaves were starting to turn.
Andy parked in the lot at the Wild Gardens of Acadia.  Volunteers transplanted ferns and reconstructed a stone wall to edge the brook.  We meandered along the paths to identify white and red spruce trees, New York and white flat-headed aster flowers, and ferns.  The area included a replicated birch bark Wabanaki Indian dwelling and the source of Sieur de Monts spring, now encased in glass. The Jessup Path, a long trail to town, included an extensive quarter-mile boardwalk.  We followed it through the bog, now totally dry, to the carriage-road intersection and then all the way back.  We could see evidence of animal trails along the way.
By the time we got back at 10:30 a.m., the parking lot was full and two tour buses had unloaded.
Ancient native peoples made their home here long before European explorers ventured across the Atlantic.  They left large refuse piles of sea shells estimated to be 3,000 to 5,000 years old.  In the 1500's the first Europeans made contact with the Wabanaki inhabitants, who hunted, fished and gathered berries near Somes Sound.  Archeologists now believe the Wabanaki may have had settlements inland, as well.
In 1524, explorer Florentine Giovanni da Verrazano christened the area L'Acadie.  It could be a Wabanaki word since the Indians were friendly or a corruption of Arcadia, an equally scenic and inspiring region of ancient Greece.  In 1604, the French explorer Samuel de Champlain named l'Isles des Monts-deserts, now Mount Desert Island.  It is believe that Champlain, who crossed the Atlantic 29 times, ran aground at Otter Point.
For the next century the French and British struggled for control here.  In 1759, the British prevailed when they defeated the French in Quebec.  Sieur de Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac had already named the island's highest mountain.  Eden, now called Bar Harbor, was incorporated as a town in 1796.
By 1820, most island inhabitants engaged in fishing, ship building, lumbering or farming.
Tourism emerged in the mid-1800's.  Fine artists, like painters Thomas Cole and Frederic Church, journalists and sportsmen were drawn to the vast, unspoiled wilderness.  Early visitors, known as "rusticators" or "summercators" bunked with the locals.  By 1880, Bar Harbor boasted 30 hotels.
And the national reputation as a summer resort was sealed when America's most socially prominent families--the Rockefellers, Morgans, Fords, Astors, Vanderbilts and Pulitzers--began summering in Bar Harbor and nearby Northeast and Seal harbors.  Here they built palatial "summer cottages" and entertained in lavish style.

Passengers shuttle back and forth from the
daily cruise ships in the bay at Bar Harbor.

In 1908, a group of summer residents, led by Harvard University President Charles W. Eliot, formed a public land trust to protect the island from uncontrolled development.  Their first notable acquisition was the chiseled headland known as "The Beehive" in 1908, followed by Cadillac Mountain.  By 1919, the area became the first eastern national park.  At that time it was named Lafayette National Park.  George Bucknam Dorr, director of the original public land trust, was appointed as the first superintendent.  Over the next ten years the park doubled in size through donations. The family who donated the 2,000-acre Schoodic Peninsula, staunch Englishmen, objected to the park's French name.  Dorr honored the stipulation they made and changed the name to Acadia National Park, a move that required an act of Congress.  Industrialist and philanthropist John D. Rockefeller Jr. donated more than 10,000 acres, including 45 miles of broken-stone carriage roads that wind through the interior.

From the bow we can see the fin
of a 40-foot Finback whale.

In 1947, a great fire broke out on Mount Desert Island, consuming some 17,000 acres and more than 60 grand summer cottages in Bar Harbor's "Millionaire's Row" and burning for ten days before it was brought under control.  This changed the nature of the park forever.
The observation deck of our Whale Watch boat was dedicated to Jessica Rekos, a first grader killed at Sandy Hook. She loved whales.  We boarded before noon and initially grabbed two inside seats on the outdoor top deck, the only two we could find together.  "Stay here," said Andy.  "I'll see if I can find a better spot."

One of three finback whales we
spotted during the day, this one surfaces
for air and then dives to feed.

He did.  We gathered our belongings and headed for the outdoor bow, right in front of everything.  With a couple of tremendous blasts on the horn, the boat with a few hundred people headed out of Bar Harbor.
By 12:17 p.m., we had spotted our first wildlife--three porpoises off the right bow.  The naturalist explained we would motor about 25 miles out to whale feeding grounds where Labrador and Gulf currents intersect and zooplankton is abundant.  For the first 15 miles, colorful lobster buoys bobbed everywhere.  The boat didn't hurt lobster lines because it ran on jet engines without a propeller. Even so, the captain turned and twisted gently to avoid hitting the trap markers.  A small research boat kept pace with us.  "They are our friends," explained the naturalist on the public address system.  "They study whale behavior and keep an eye out for animals."

The lighthouse and research station at
 Mount Desert Rock attracts wild life.

About 1:00 p.m. a large flock of birds kept pace with us for a while.  Dark in color, they were probably cormorants.  And then we spotted our first seal and shortly after that, a finback whale (also call fin whale).  During the next hour, the captain maneuvered here and there to follow three finback whales and give all the passengers a chance to watch the grey seals and harbor seals cavort in the water.
Slightly larger, the grey seal can weigh up to 800 pounds and can dive down as much as 1,500 feet for food.  The naturalist said they go after lobsters in the traps so are most certainly not a lobster man's friend.  The people on the boat, however, loved them.  "I've never seen so many seals on a whale watch," commented the naturalist.

Researchers live for weeks at a time on this lonely island
called Mount Desert Rock, 25 miles out to sea.

Islands dot Frenchman's Bay as we
return from the three-hour boat trip.

The finback whales arched their backs to dive for food.  "They can take in 40 pounds of plankton in one monstrous bite," said the naturalist.  "They are great for the environment, because they poop so much and it is rich in iron."  Here, the water was only about 200 feet deep, and finback whales can actually dive to 750 feet.  They didn't breech much because the water wasn't that deep.  She told us that this whale species had not been hunted to near-extinction because they are smaller and faster.  Like larger whales though, they were boat-friendly and not fearful of humans because of their immense size.  The ones we saw surfaced nearby and continued feeding.

Warned ahead of time that temperatures could be 25 degrees
colder on the water and with predicted highs of 57 degrees on
land, we bundled for the few hours of expected chill.

It was a satisfying day out on the water.
Our final slow-down was at Mount Desert Rock, a lighthouse and research facility for Atlantic University.  "Imagine being stationed out here," said Andy.  "It would be really lonely with no electricity."  At least now they have solar power to replace kerosene lanterns for life on the rock.

Andy makes friends with Calamity
Jane Cow, but only on a limited basis.

Shedding our sea legs and comfortably back on land, we drove through Seal Harbor and cruised past some of the rambling homes on the peninsula.
The cow named Calamity Jane by the side of the road was one of many cows auctioned off for charity in New York city.  A sign said she would be happy to be our friend for half price--a mere $1,900.

TRIP #5, 2014--Lookin' Down

Lookin' Down on Creation
So far I've seen two animals on this trip, besides all the red squirrels and chipmunks in the woods: a pencil thin green snake and the fawn that crossed in front of the car ahead of us last night.  They weren't of much note! Everyone else must be busy looking for winter homes in the woods.
This morning felt like autumn.  We stepped out the door of the motel to temperatures in the 40's, and trees had yellowed overnight.  But the sun was bright. It would be a lovely day.
We stopped at the Acadia Visitor Center to check in for a park pass.  A John Muir quote said, "Everyone needs beauty, as well as bread... places to play and pray, where nature heals and gives strength to body and soul alike."

Rugged cliffs line both sides of Sand Beach.

Andy said there was another part to it that suggested Americans would never have that beauty because they didn't respect the land or anything. That's a sad comment about our values.  But I guess it's like a lot of things... 
like the older lady yesterday at the lighthouse who just stood behind me while Andy tried to take my picture.  She thoughtlessly stepped into the frame and just looked at him.
Or like the man who banged his muddy boots on our porch railings at 6:00 a.m. this morning.  It shook the whole building.

Few trees grow on the sheer sides of Precipice Cliff.

Andy took the road to Sand Beach.  He had studied the literature last night and read about Great Head Trail.  It was a 1.4-mile hike around a peninsula that climbed 145 feet to the top of Great Head.
I guess that didn't include the walk across Sand Beach and about 30 stairs to the start of the trail. But what a walk!  The blue-blaze path scaled granite boulders and sandy sheets of stone, climbed over walls of pink and white granite interlaced with tree roots, and skirted the cliff edges for spectacular views of Sand Beach and Precipice Cliff.
It took us a couple hours of hard up and down, but this trail wins the prize for having it all.  Others thought so too.

The viewpoints on top offer breath-
taking panoramas of Sand Beach.

As we passed couples and small groups, we could hear the crashing of the incoming tide and see the white breakers coming in beneath us.  People walked on Sand Beach, and beyond it Precipice Cliff rose in the steep splendor of its black slate face.  "I could try it if you take me early in the morning," I offered.

Waves swirl around rock outcroppings
in the surf below us. 

Andy laughed.  "No way! I know your limitations. You'd never make it." He was thinking about the time in 1971 when I sat down and cried half way across the sheer cliff face.  Frozen with fear then, I clung to the spike driven in above my head, kept my feet as close to the inside of the one-foot wide shelf, and stared at the thousand-foot drop below me.  I had reached my hiking limit, and Andy learned fast!

Every turn of the trail brings
new beauty from on top of Great Head.

Autumn tinges the landscape
with color as berry bushes turn.

Andy has me pose at Thunder Hole in
spite of the crowds of people there.

Thunder Hole was closed because of high tide.  The tour bus had stopped and people milled around the pullout, sitting on the boulders and craning their necks to look over the edge.  When a giant wave crashed over the railings below us, it was easy to understand why the trail was closed off when the tide was at its peak.
"Gorham Mountain is next," said Andy.  "It's only a little over two miles round trip."

Climbing Cadillac Cliffs requires
a whole lot of rock scrambling.

And here I thought we were done for the day!  This scenic climb took us through the woods and up Gorham Mountain to the summit at 525 feet.  We forked to the right going up, scrambling over the granite to Cadillac Cliffs.  Here sheer walls of black slate had broken off in slabs.  My legs were not long enough for some of the natural steps, and going uphill was a challenge for muscles and lungs.  Then the trail climbed again over flat slabs of uplifted granite.  Yellow-leafed aspen fluttered in the breeze, and the red blueberry bushes accented the rock ridges.  We could hear the buoy bell clanging in the distance, and every turn opened up a stunning panorama of water, waves and autumn foliage.  Several times we selected boulders and sat to take in the breathtaking beauty.  A brisk breeze, maybe 20 m.p.h., swept the top of Gorham Mountain (524 feet), but it took effort to leave a place of such beauty and magnitude.  For the most part, I'd add solitude, but the trail was popular, and on a day like today many took advantage.

From the top of Gorham Mountain we have
unobstructed views of the ocean inn every direction.

Jordan Pond supplies drinking water for the restaurant and nearby towns.  It is so clear that the bottom is visible to as deep as 45 feet.  Boating is allowed but not swimming.  According to the sign,  boats are cleaner than people.  Three tour buses and hundreds of people had stopped.  We walked down to the dam and one of the old Rockefeller carriage bridges.  In the distance rose two rounded mountains.  "Do you remember those?" asked Andy. "A guy told us they were named for boobs because they reminded a Frenchman of a woman's breasts. They used to be called Les Boob-les."

Wind sweeps across the granite top of Gorham Mountain,
but it's a place to relax and breathe in the beauty of nature.

"Now they are called The Bubbles," I said, reading the sign.
"That's a shame!" he criticized.  "I guess the park is trying to be socially correct instead of historical."
We drove to Cadillac Mountain along with a zillion other people.  "This is the highest point on the Atlantic Coast," explained Andy.  At the top we were at 1,530 feet in elevation.  From one pullout we watched a little boat ferry passengers back and forth from the cruise ship to the village of Bar Harbor.
I wondered if any of them ever got to the top of Cadillac Mountain.  If not, lots of others did!  Three tour buses, two Oli's Trolleys and at least 50 private vehicles.

The Bubbles rise from sea
level at the far end of
Jordan Pond.

"In spite of the masses, I'm impressed," said Andy.
I looked at him in surprise.  "You?  Who hates contending with crowds?"
"Yes, because it's spotless and well maintained," he answered.
And he was absolutely right.   At 3:15 p.m. we were on top of the world, looking down on creation. And it was magnificent.

Pristine Jordan Pond provides drinking water for the
restaurant and several towns nearby.

                                 We checked in town to pay for our reserved seats on tomorrow's whale watch.  Weather predictions call for clear skies but a little cooler temperatures.  The clerk said, "Dress warm.  It can be 25 degrees colder on the water, and the high for tomorrow is a predicted 57 degrees."

Tourists line the top of Cadillac Mountain, the
highest point on the Atlantic Coast in the United States,
 to catch the last rays of sun as it sets in the West.

After dinner we stopped at Otter Point.  The tide was low.  We did not see any otters.  "Why would it be called Otter Point?" asked Andy. "Otters are fresh water animals, and this is the ocean!  Are you SURE it's not Outer Point?"
"Sure. Check the map," I told him.  I couldn't answer that one.
Thirty-eight stairs led from the road down to a rocky beach with no name.  "And why did we stop here?" I asked.
"It looked interesting" was my answer.   At 5:30 p.m. it was too early to go back to the room and too late to hike.  "I want a moose," said Andy.
So did I!
We drove up Cadillac Mountain to the Blue Hill Overlook.  We might have been looking for moose. People collected at the top to watch the sun set.  There were even a few dogs.  Huddled on the side of granite-capped Cadillac, literally a couple hundred gazed as the fall of fire dipped behind a lower cloud layer. It wasn't spectacular.  I'd be lying if I wrote that it was.  But it was fun to be at the top of the world looking down on creation.

TRIP #5, 2014--Autumn Signs In

Autumn Signs In
First full day of fall, and up here in Maine the leaves are turning.  It's not cold outside, but it's damp, much like an Oregon day on the other coast.
Andy said, "I read last night that they get lots of fog here."

Fog blankets the shore,
obscuring the Bass
Harbor Head Lighthouse.

"So this morning we are seeing what is typical," I answered.  The world was socked in a white cloud.  There's hope though.  It's early in the day.
We also noticed For Sale signs everywhere.  The recession must have hit this area particularly hard.  "But they are not giving things away," said Andy.  "I looked at the real estate books last night."
There were lots of signs of land for sale, as well.
 A red squirrel ran across the road in front of us in Pretty Marsh, a picnic area in the woods.

Ship Harbor Trail follows
the rugged coastline.

The Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse, constructed in 1858, cost about $4800 to build.  The land then was $80, purchased to build a lighthouse to protect shipping interests from the dangerous rocky coastline.  The light, although automated and managed now by the Coast Guard, has never gone out.  "We'll come back if the sun comes out," suggested Andy, after we had descended three banks of old wooden stairs and clambered over granite rocks.
"But fog is the purpose of lighthouses," I answered.  This one was definitely fulfilling its purpose.  The light flashed red, and the fog horn blasted in the distance.  We were surprised how many people were out at 9:00 a.m.
Ship Harbor Trail, a generous 1.3-mile loop, wound around a bay with moss-covered forest and blueberry patches.  Up and down the trail gently climbed inland and then turned out toward the water.  There, the waves crashed and broke against the pink granite of little coves and shoreline.

Sunshine and clearing skies create a
beautiful scene at the lighthouse.

Wonderland Trail followed a straight line of forest on a peninsula for 1.4 miles out to the point and back.  "We took this trail many years ago," said Andy.  There were lots of short side trails out to the water.  "I think this is what we are going to get all day," said Andy about the fog.  But no sooner had he said it than a small patch of blue opened up before us."Eat your words!" I joked with him, and the whole sky changed to blue.
"We're going back to the lighthouse! Come on!" he exclaimed.  It was a four-minute drive, and he wasn't going to miss the opportunity.

Artists and photographers capture the perspectives.

At noon the Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse was a popular place.  Couples held hands to make their way across boulders, photographers set up tripods and adjusted for the light, and artists with easels dabbed away with oil paints.  The contrast to early morning visitors was amazing.  We scrambled out toward the crashing waves as far as we could go, me grabbing Andy's hand for dear life and balancing the camera.  Surefooted?  NOT!  but he got me there safely for some beautiful shots of the lighthouse and shoreline.

In all weather the Bass Harbor Head
Lighthouse protects ships from
the rocky Maine coastline.

Seawall Picnic area was a low-lying rocky beach. 
We pulled in right on the stones next to 10 or 15 other cars, but the area was so expansive there was "private" beach for everyone.  Andy found another lobster buoy, and I looked for sea shells and caught some digital waves breaking. "The tide is going out," said Andy.  "Can you imagine what those waves are like when the tide is coming in!"  The sea gulls scolded, apparently delighted to see us leave.

Far below us from the ledge on St.
Sauveur Mountain we can see islands
in the Somes Fjord.

"Southwest Harbor will be our coffee stop," said Andy.  He didn't count on the prices at Little Notch Bakery though.  Two small coffees and two blueberry pastry pockets were $14.00.  "That's worse than New York City," he said, bringing the goodies to the outdoor table I had reserved for us.

Temperatures warm to the low 70's
in the afternoon.

St. Sauveur Mountain (679 feet) afforded a challenging afternoon climb from sea level.  "That was some workout," Andy said, as we made it back to the car.  "I was more concerned coming down because down is more dangerous."  He was right, but the two-hour trek was well worth our efforts.  The views from the trail out-croppings were stupendous.  Broad expanses of sheer granite gave us places to stop and admire the fjord more than 600 feet below.

Blueberry patches add swatches of color to the already
gorgeous landscape on St. Sauveur Mountain.

The roots, slippery pine needle-covered surfaces and huge rock chunks forces us to watch our steps, but the colors were amazing on this first full day of autumn.
"I could live there," commented Andy about the old Carroll Homestead, "even if it isn't by the water."
The old farm house, surrounded by haphazard stone walls just piled to clear fields, was buried in a wooded area.  We peeked in the windows and walked around the apple trees in the yard.
A mile or so away Echo Lake glistened in the afternoon sun.  A man in a wet suit paddle-boarded over the small waves.  "That takes some skill," said Andy, "and that water must be mighty cold."

Sailboats cruise along
Somes Fjord in the
afternoon breeze.

At 4:00 p.m. we took Sergeant Drive around Northeast Harbor for views of Somes Sound.  It's the only true fjord, an inlet carved by a glacier and flooded by the sea, on the American eastern seaboard.  Somes Sound is as much as 150 feet deep, so it never empties, even at low tide.
In the last two days fall has painted the silver maples and blueberry patches with shades of deep red.  Maybe it was the chill of the cold front or the shorter days or just the late afternoon sun, but we suddenly see a big difference as the slight tinges of yellow become gold here and there.

From Schooner Head Overlook the waves crash on rock
outcroppings as the tide comes in.

After dinner in Bar Harbor we drove to Schooner Head Overlook as the setting sun cast last rays on the jut of land.  The incoming tide sent waves crashing over boulders along the coast.  They broke in white bursts and sent spray high into the air before rolling in to shore.  It was a steep walk down to the rock cliffs below, but the well-worn path indicated many others before us had enjoyed sunsets looking out at Schooner Head.

Andy scrambles up the rock ledges
that overlook Schooner Head.

Downtown Bar Harbor was considerably quieter than last night.  All the cruise ships had left.  We walked around town again.

As the sun goes down, the wind picks up
in the harbor at Bar Harbor.

Most visitors were bundled for winter in coats and scarves, but I guess I can't blame these tourists from warmer country.  Wind gusts of as much as 40 m.p.h. blasted the pier, and boats rocked in the harbor.  Clouds again moved in, chasing away the day's high of 72 degrees and letting us know that winter was on the way.

TRIP #5, 2014--See Summit to Sea

See Summit to Sea
"Forty percent chance of showers in Ellsworth this morning," announced the weatherman at 8:00 a.m. when we returned to the room after breakfast. I could hear the cloudburst as I turned in the key and checked out.  And by 9:00 a.m., as we drove towards the Schoodic Peninsula, the downpour steadily beat on Little Red's roof.
"She's leaking again," I told Andy.  I stuffed Kleenex and napkins into the molding above my window.   Quickly the pieces saturated.  When I reached up to take them down, the cold stream ran down my arm.  Wake up call!

At the top of Schoodic Head
we follow the trail
out to the overlook.

"It's only water," joked Andy, but he wasn't getting wet.  We parked at the Frenchman Bay Scenic Overlook, and the dripping got worse.  It was finally high tide when we were sitting by the ocean in daylight, and we couldn't see a thing!
By 10:15 a.m., when we crossed the channel to Acadia National Park, Schoodic Peninsula, the rain had stopped and a couple patches of blue sky broke through.  "I think we'll just drive the six miles around the peninsula and come back to the start," said Andy.  "It's supposed to clear.  Maybe that will give it enough time."
At the top of the drive on Schoodic Head (440 feet), the gravel road and summit trail were completely dry.  We climbed the quarter-mile loop over granite outcroppings covered with grey and multi-shaded green lichens, around blueberry patches, and under balsam fir boughs. A little sun poked out temporarily, but the overcast sky melded into the grey ocean in the distance.

The sun comes out as we
climb along the rocky
shorelines.

"I'm guessing," mused Andy, "but I think parts of the Maine Coast aren't developed because people don't have access to fresh water.  The rock inhibits deep wells, and shallow ones get contaminated with salt."
Lower shores of the Schoodic Peninsula were damp from rain, but color had spread across the forest floor in a stunning array of yellows, reds and oranges. As we came to the first beach stop, the sky promised to clear.  A sea gull landed near the pebble beach and waited for the sun.

Gulls welcome us with noisy chatter.

                       A sea gull rookery near the water's edge attracted lots of visitors, both avian and human.  Huge shelves of pink granite and black slate jutted into the water, and the tide was low enough for us to scramble from ledge to boulder and back.  Waves crashed and sprayed in every direction.

Waves crash as we scramble over the exposed granite cliffs.

"I could stay for a long time," I said, following Andy as fast as I could.  I guess the gulls thought so too.  They called to each other in a cacophony of nature.  One even posed and then stood, shook his tail feathers and took off.

Wild flowers find a foothold in
protected rock crevices.

"We never saw this Point when we were here in 1971," said Andy.  "It was a very dreary day then, and the Point was closed as a Coast Guard base."  Now we know what we were missing.

Down at the water
a strong breeze whips
across the barren rock.

Back up on top the scenery looks
very different under a blue sky.

Along the road around the Peninsula, we could see the shoreline shelves of pink granite.  "Finally blue sky without the mud flats of low tide!"  Andy heaved a sigh of relief, as I snapped a picture just outside the window. It had cleared to give us gorgeous views by noon.
The first non-native resident of Fraser Point was Thomas Fraser, a freed Black man who lived here with his wife and seven children in the 1790's. He set up a salt works near the mouth of Fraser Creek.
We took the same gravel road and foot trail to the top of Schoodic Head. Again, we were the sole visitors, but this time we had a panorama of blue sky.  Walking over the bald lichen-covered granite to the lookout was almost hot, in spite of the breeze.  We took the same pictures, amazed at what two-and-a-half hours could do.  But we were even more amazed when we turned around to head back to Little Red.  A white mist blew in around us; we stood in a cloud, and suddenly the scenic distance disappeared.  It all happened in five minutes.

The grey moves in and
mists Schoodic Head.

Tinges of color in the
undergrowth show
autumn is on the way.

Down on the beach again, the receding tide had uncovered an island.  As the fog rolled in, we picked our way across the wet seaweed and partly dried stones to the now accessible land.  As I took pictures, Andy called from behind a granite boulder mass."Look what I found!"  He had a red and white lobster buoy in perfect condition.
At another point he picked up a nearly brand new hat and an old plastic bottle.  "I do my part," he said.  "Did you know that a plastic bottle lasts 100 years and a glass bottle, if it isn't smashed, can last up to a million years!"

Spectacular rock beaches surround the
Schoodic Peninsula.

That certainly ought to make people think about littering.  The sun came in and out as we picked our way over the millions of smooth stones.  Tiny black spiders scurried away under our feet.  They had certainly chosen a scenic place to live.
Bar Harbor Cellars on Mount Desert Island gave free wine tasting.  We tried nine samples each from a mild refreshing Riesling to a sweet Apple Raspberry.  The fruit wines were particularly delicious.
After checking in at the motel and settling down in the room for the next few days, we headed into Bar Harbor to explore the village. "Do you remember any of this?" asked Andy.  What had been a quaint village in 1971 was a bustling tourist business that even attended to a daily cruise ship in the harbor.  People crowded the sidewalks and jammed the doorways of the small shops nestled between huge hotels.  We looked around.  We have four days to shop and check out the town.

TRIP #5, 2014--Blueberry Fields

Blueberry Fields Forever
It's a little warmer out this morning. That's good. But a layer of clouds is giving us a white sky. That's bad.  Just when a high tide provides us photographic opportunities, we lose the blue sky!
We got up an hour early this morning.  The cell phone alarm went off at 7:00 a.m. as usual, but it was really 6:00 a.m.  Because we had driven so close to New Brunswick, my cell phone had auto-corrected to the Atlantic Time Zone.  We never would have guessed what occurred if the same thing had not happened to a gentleman in the restaurant last night.

The gentle, rolling shoreline of Roque Bluffs State Park
provides a beautiful setting for meditation.

By carefully following the map we found Roque Bluffs State Park.  The name suggested an isolated promontory with high cliffs.  "It's not what I expected," said Andy.  We parked near the trail sign and set off through high grass and wild flowers past some abandoned apple trees.  Evidence of animal life dotted the path.  Vegetation varied greatly from lush grass to deep pine woods, as we circled the peninsula from Starr Trail to Houghton's Hill Trail to Mihill Trail to Pond Cove Trail to the return Starr Trail.  It was probably 1.5 miles of gentle up and down over millions of tree roots and soft deer moss, but the varied terrain and peeks at the ocean inlet and Englishman's Bay made the walk pleasant and interesting.

Blueberry fields along the highway turn red with autumn's chill.

The Birch Point Trail at Petit Manan National Wildlife Refuge
starts with a blueberry field of wild flowers. 

We drove to the public access boat dock on the point for scenic pictures of the water and stopped again on our way back to U.S. Route #1 for pictures of the changing blueberry fields. Already red from autumn chill, they cap the hillsides with blankets of color.
Catherine Hill Winery was only open from 2:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. on Saturday.  "We could sit for two and a half hours," I suggested wryly.
"I don't think so," scowled Andy.
The winery, established in 2011, was in the town of Cherryfield, the blueberry capital of the world.  But the "Everything Blueberry" folk festival was still two weeks away.  I lost all the way around on this one!
Petit Manan National Wildlife Refuge wasn't easy to find, but we watched carefully for Pigeon Hill Road. "We're going to do a longer trail here, but it's a peninsula that's almost an island, so the terrain shouldn't be too hard," said Andy.  I looked at the map to see what he was talking about.  Only a narrow band of land connected the "island" refuge to the mainland.
The Birch Point Trail with two short side trails to overlooks was 4.6 miles through maple, birch and alder forest.  Wherever the sun broke through along the edges of the trail, thick bunches of baby balsam fir, the most popular kind of  Christmas tree, grew in patches.  An interpretive sign explained that only the strongest ones survive.
Interspersed near the beginning of the hike were extensive fields of blueberry bushes and wild flowers in a multi-colored collage that morphed in the breeze.  I kept thinking of John Lennon's song, but with my rendition it was "Blueberry Fields Forever."

Lobster Point attracts sea birds like cormorants and puffins.

After a mile of hiking, we took the short side trail out to the Carrying Place Cove Overlook.  There, Adirondack chairs looking out over the water provided a perfect break. At Lobster Point Overlook we saw four cormorants sunning themselves on a rock outcropping.
Beds of sphagnum moss lined sections of boardwalk, as we made our way out to Birch Point in Dyer Bay.

Birch Point at the end of the peninsula insulates visitors
from the outside world.

Picking our way among the seaweed piles and rocks, we had Birch Point all to ourselves.  Low key and peaceful, the scenery here was enjoyable, even if it was low tide.
"Here I could live," said Andy. "This is the spot for my summer home."
The trail back was a much quicker walk with chances to photograph some low-growing forest plants and wildflowers. I later identified the forest carpet as bunch berry.

As the sun sets, a brisk
breeze sweeps across the
water of Dyer Bay from
the Atlantic Ocean.
 

Specializing in blueberry wines, the Bartlett Maine Estate Winery on Chicken Mill Road provided a nice break after the hike.  We browsed for 15 minutes as an earlier group finished their samples, and then we joined two other couples for tastes of wild blueberry dry, blueberry semi-dry, blueberry zinfandel, coastal white, honey mead and loganberry wines.  Pleasant company made the tastings even more fun and relaxing.

A distant shadow, Mount Dessert Island rises above
Frenchman Bay from the viewpoint on U.S. #1.

                                        We found the lighthouse in Prospect Harbor, but it turned out to be a government-operated Coast Guard Station enclosed by electrified barbed wire.  "So that's it for today," announced Andy, and he headed for Ellsworth.  A scenic viewpoint off of U.S. Route #1 gave us a peek across Frenchman Bay at Mount Desert Island, the highest point on the East Coast.  Andy said the first point the sun hits when it rises on the United States is Eastport and Cadillac Mountain on Mount Desert Island.  It was 5:00 p.m. and totally overcast.  No sun here.  The Mountain rose majestically in shadowy outline from the grey sea.  It will challenge us tomorrow.