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…A view of campsite C20 from the road. The bolt is in the woods to the right, just a few feet from the stone fire ring. |
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…An eyelevel view of the disk set into the boulder. This is the view we had when approaching the disk from the gravel road. |
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…Looking toward the Bluenose Inn, mark indicated. |
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…Looking NW over Hull’s Cove. |
…Looking S along the shoreline. |
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Another cool morning, Thursday dawned sunny and dry. Taking fate by the antlers we decided to try 2 Cats again, both agreeing beforehand to walk out if we were stuck with Chuck — you suck! — for our waiter. Fortunately, this time we were blessed with a burly hairy guy who was pirate-like, but confident and competent. He even, with a great swoop of his hairy arm, removed a dragonfly that had been terrorizing the Southern belles sitting in the corner. Today Rich ordered the plain pancakes and bacon (are you sensing the pattern yet?), while I tried the egg, cheese and Canadian bacon sandwich on thick homemade toast, and a cup of fresh fruit.
After breakfast, bought Margaret Todd tickets from a droll woman at a store that also sold such Maine tourist delicacies as Moose Poop candy (just chocolate-covered berries — I think!) and lamps shaped like lobsters. Then did the Great Meadow loop, a relatively new trail that we had driven by two days before (on our rain day) and were still mildly curious about. Found a BM (NPS ACADIA) just as we were finishing the trail and heading back to the car. Then went back into town to poke around for a little while before sailing. We found a new BM on the seawall, near the dock, just before sailing. The trip was relaxing and peaceful, but we didn’t see much more than a few harbor seals, and the water was so calm that we hardly went anywhere! It was still so nice to sit in the sun (and get burned) while rocking gently back and forth. We even helped raise the sails! Afterward we wandered around the pier; I had a sneaking suspicion that some of the other new NOS marks would be on the other side of the building, which is an area we had never checked before. We were able to find two – one atop the concrete wall right at the corner, half-hidden beneath a wooden structure resembling a bench (though there was no way to sit on it). The other was set into the middle of the concrete berm a hundred feet or so to the north.
We needed to rest following all this excitement, so we enjoyed a short nap in the room before heading to the Burning Tree for the meal we had been anticipating more than a year.
We began with a Thai Chicken Wing appetizer and a blue cheese and apple tart. I had the crab cakes with jalapeno tartar sauce (don’t forget Puff Crabby!) and boiled new potatoes with herbs and lemon zest; Swiss chard stuffed with seafood mousse, egg noodles and cream sauce (R); vegetable: broccoli, tomatoes, onion in vinaigrette dressing; lemon mousse with dried plums and red wine reduction; espresso.
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…Looking N from Park Loop Road toward the mark. |
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…Precariously balanced atop the seawall, I was very happy that I got the famous gazebo into this shot! |
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…Eyelevel view of the disk set into the concrete wall. |
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…Looking NE out into the harbor, mark visible on the berm. |
Day was sunny and cool (and windy!) as promised. We got a relatively early start and headed to Cafe This Way for breakfast. Today I had the oats (a huge bowl!) with blueberries and bananas, and Rich had the “country breakfast”: 2 pancakes, 2 fried eggs, hash browns, and bacon. After almost a week, we finally had a chance to ride on the lovely carriage roads! Today’s route was to take us to Bubble Pond (remember the loons! I know it’s a loon because it has such a distinctive loon-shaped head!) and Eagle Lake via the Eagle Lake loop. We then rode a short distance on Breakneck Road just to check it out, and to find a good spot to pee. I had entertained thoughts of going back to Jordan Pond House for more lobster rolls, but Rich had a better idea—today would be lobster day at Beal’s!
After we packed up from our ride we headed directly to Beal’s on the pier at Southwest Harbor. We sat in the enclosed area (claiming “our table” thenceforth) because the wind was so strong; at least it wasn’t raining. Our lobsters were smaller than we’d hoped for just due to our timing in the season, but absolutely delicious, and I think Rich enjoyed seeing me get all messy. :) I loved seeing him eat and laugh and enjoy his food, as I always do.
While in Southwest Harbor, we simply had to try a few benchmarks. The tidal station at the Coast Guard depot still fascinates me, but in the interest of time we abandoned hope of getting it this year and just decided to pick up the easier ones in town. The first was a tidal mark (actually, it may be connected to the tidal station at the depot) set into a ledge in someone’s front yard just a few feet from the side of the road. Next, we chased a tri-station that showed up on the GPSr and appeared to be nearby in Manset. By the time I pulled out the datasheet we were almost there, and I was a bit disappointed to discover that it was simply a landmark station, the Manset Union Church. Fortunately, this one was a little more interesting than we might have expected. The church had been moved, for some kind of construction work, from one side of the lot to the other! While it appears they will be putting the church back where it originally stood, the station will most likely have to be marked destroyed. On our way back through Southwest Harbor, we decided to give K 13 one more chance. Having discovered that this USGS mark is also an NGS mark, we checked the recoveries and noticed that it’s the mark that was described by geocachers a few years ago as being on the Jumpin’ Java coffee house. I knew I would recognize the building if I saw it. Well, the coffee house was recently turned into a bank branch, we soon discovered, and though the appearance of the building has changed significantly, the mark is still there. The fence that had blocked access to the mark is now gone, and I was able to sneak into the little alleyway between buildings for a close-up. The reference mark, supposedly a chiseled square in the steps, is apparently gone. With bellies still full, we were energized and not quite in need of supper just yet, so we took one more drive to the Cadillac summit to take a few more photos of CADILLAC 1975 on a clear day.
As if we hadn’t already eaten enough, after a rest break in the room we went back to Rosalie’s (for those of you keeping count, it’s the third time), sat upstairs, and finished off the evening with a small mushroom and a small plain pie.
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…The outcrop is in the corner of this yard in front of the house at the intersection of Clark Point Rd. and Claremont Rd. View NNW. |
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…The disk is set vertically in the foundation wall. The small alleyway between the buildings is currently open and the mark is accessible. |
Ah, yes, Tuesday. It’s the rain day you’ve all been waiting for (you knew it was coming, right?!). We awoke disappointed but determined to enjoy the day anyway. Our activities began with breakfast at Jeannie’s, where I had pancakes again (banana this time) and Rich ordered the French toast made with thick slices of Jeannie’s homemade oatmeal bread. By the time we finished eating, the brighter spots that had shown in the sky while we were waiting were again dark, and the rain was coming down hard. Knowing how vastly different the weather can be at different points on the island just miles apart, we decided to take a drive down to Bass Harbor. Of course we had our sights set on a tri-station, but flexibility is the key on wet days like this. The lighthouse would look nice in the mist, and even going for a drive would be scenic and adventurous enough, if it came to that. But I was really hoping for decent weather and decent access to the tri-station.
As noted by us as well as another geocacher, the aerial photos show a rather distinct trail or old road heading nearly directly from the road to Bass Harbor Head lighthouse east toward the tri-station. Before heading out, Rich and I had used USAPhotoMaps to find coordinates for the apparent intersection of the trail and the road. At the site, though, wandering around in the mist, we couldn’t find a single access point or even any indication of an old road. We find this strange because the aerial photo is just over 10 years old. The only hint of a trail we found (and promptly lost) began at the lighthouse parking area. We entered the woods and headed northeast on this trail and then bushwhacked toward the coordinates. There is a small network of trails in this area and, we were thrilled to see, someone has set up well-constructed wooden bridges here and there along the trails! (I won’t confirm that they’re for mountain biking, which isn’t allowed in the park except on carriage roads, but let’s just say I’d love to ride here.) The woods were incredibly thick with pine, blueberry and other scratchy scrub trees which cut us up as we picked our way toward the coordinates. Eventually we reached an area clear of trees, though we were still waist deep in scrub. Small rock outcroppings appeared here and there, and though it took us a while to zero in on the bolt, we eventually found it just a few feet from a large pile of rocks. The reference marks soon followed, fortunately, because by this point the mist had turned to a heavy sprinkle, and all our equipment was getting wet. We measured and photographed, and then picked our way back out through the moist mossy gnarled woods. Somehow on our way back we stumbled across some different segments of trail, and some new bridges. I’m very impressed with the quality of workmanship!
Tempted by Beal’s we drove over to Southwest Harbor. It struck me that there were some USGS marks in this area; one was supposed to be on the post office, which appeared before us on Clark Point Road. The building was from the 1930s, so it was possible that this was the original post office, though it didn’t quite look right. We parked and rounded the corner to the north side of the building, making our way to the northeast corner. The mark was supposed to be set into the building foundation one foot above the ground and 12 feet in from that corner. Nothing matched up, though. Not only was there a wall from some sort of enclosure (admittedly a recent addition to the building) right at the 12-foot mark, but the concrete foundation didn’t stretch more than nine inches above the ground before the layer of brick began. There was no room for a mark. The young man in the post office was a new employee and had no idea about its history, though a man waiting behind us in line claimed that the old post office had been up on Main Street and was now the Little Notch Bakery. File that away for later.
We continued on Clark Point Road to Beal’s, but the place was packed. The indoor tables were claimed, and with rain was still coming down, drizzly and chilly, we decided to wait for another day.
Rich parked briefly back up on Main Street and I investigated the Little Notch Bakery. There was even less here to suggest that a mark had ever existed on the northern side, so back to the drawing board.
After a brief but lovely little nap back at the room, we drove (now in pouring rain) to McKay’s Pub for supper. In an atmosphere of dim light and quiet (no screaming kids! How we hate screaming kids, and the parents that let them scream!) we enjoyed a relaxing supper as we talked over our day. A couple pints of Guinness were the perfect accompaniment to (well, anything, but in this case) Welsh rarebit for both of us, fish and chips for me, and a bistro steak for Rich. I also had the McKay’s salad, a colorful combination of lettuce dressed with vinegar, pears, Cashel blue cheese, walnuts and golden raisins. Rich’s steak was cooked perfectly (which for us means barely cooked) and served with mashed potatoes and petite green beans in a mushroom and marsala sauce. Havana and the Burning Tree are much more exotic, but I was impressed both this year and last by McKay’s offerings, when we’re in the mood for something just a little less intense.
The rain was still pouring down on us when we walked to Cool as a Moose. I bought the “Life is Good – Cool as a Moose” shirt I’ve wanted for a year now, and Rich bought a hat (“Think Outside the [TV] Box”). Then, drenched, we hurried back to the car and then back to our room for a long night of relaxation. With the promise of the rain being long gone by morning, we slept well and dreamed of our adventures to come!
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Drizzly day. Breakfast at Cafe This Way, which we’d somehow managed to miss until now. We had to change tables because of some screaming brats positioned in the corner right underfoot, where we were initially seated. The drizzle turned to mere fog, with some patches of slightly brighter sky from time to time. Rich surprised me by wanting to do a simple hike to Fernald Hill. The tri-station there was near the bottom of our list because it has already been found by so many geocachers; still, the promise of doing a complete and careful recovery always tempts us. In addition, most geocachers were simply finding one or both of the reference marks and not the station itself, which is an admittedly difficult-to-spot copper bolt. After the hike we retreated to Jordan Pond House, where we sat indoors to warm up, watched the rain showers pass through as we devoured our lobster rolls with grapes and chips, blueberry tea and the famous popovers. In the Jordan Pond House gift shop we spent some time looking for a jacket-in-a-sack for Rich (there were none left of the proper size) and playing with various moose items. At some point, I recalled seeing a USGS benchmark that was, I thought, near an outlet to Jordan Pond. I was only half right. The benchmark was, according to the description, near the outlet to Bubble Pond instead. In the woods we first spotted the little stone and wood dam across the outlet, another neat artifact that we would never have seen if we hadn’t been seeking a mark. Carved into the stone dam was a distinct chiseled square, made all the more evident by the bright orange pine needles that had fallen into its recessed areas. After plenty of confusion Rich finally located the disk, and we spent the next half hour in the humid woods taking photos and just enjoying the colorful and peaceful scenery. We then took the long winding drive to the top of Cadillac Mountain and located the elusive CADILLAC 1975! Supper was two small pies at Rosalie’s, comforting and delicious as always.
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…Eyelevel view of the RM set into the bedrock ledge. |
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…Looking NW from the Bubble Pond outlet toward the stonework dam. The "trail" we took downhill to the dam is visible in the background. |
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Under Construction!
This Sunday morning dawned clear and bright. Of course, we were still in bed long past sunrise so we missed the spectacle of it all, but the weatherman and the cool morning air assured me that the skies had stayed clear right through the night.
The air was still chilly as we waited, seated outdoors on the porch, at 2 Cats for our breakfast. And we waited, and waited. I’m usually the one to feel the chill and to take it to heart, but today I was plenty warm while Rich was shivering. I went to fetch his dark red sweatshirt from the car parked across the street and down the block. And when I returned, our omelets still had not arrived.
We lost track of time, and fortunately had our maps and our conversation to distract us, but at some point our food was plunked onto the table. “A number 3,” the waiter grunted when he put down Rich’s plate, “and a number 2,” putting a plate in front of me. “Uhh … I ordered the number 6,” I said hesitantly, not sure I wanted to wait another half hour for another omelet to be made, but also quite sure I didn’t want the one containing walnuts, which would be the number 2. I was entitled to get what I’d ordered, however, and we both assumed that the waiter would request the correction to be made right away, and/or give me something else to chew on (some of their famous biscuits with strawberry butter, for example) in the meantime. Well, neither happened, and we ended up eating in two shifts, Rich first while his omelet was still warm, and me at least twenty minutes later when my (correct) order finally arrived, with barely more than a “sorry ’bout that.”
The food is always delicious at 2 Cats, and I’ve never had this kind of trouble with the service before. We declared that from this day forward, we would avoid “Chuck” (the waiter’s name as indicated on the bill) at all costs. Rich and I couldn’t decide whether he was surly (my word) or simply clueless and incompetent (Rich’s), but we agreed that — “Chuck — you suck!”
We had decided, while awaiting our eggs, that today would be perfect for a hike to the summit of Bernard Mountain, on the western side of the island near Seal Cove Pond. I had never hiked here, and it was nearly like new to Rich, too, since it had been years since his last hike on Bernard. It probably comes as no surprise that there’s a tri-station, WEST PEAK, atop Bernard Mountain as well. It has had no official recoveries since 1956, and surprisingly no geocachers have defiled it with poor recoveries either, which was a major incentive for Rich.
WEST PEAK’s original description contains a minutely detailed to-reach which, in all honesty, completely lost me as I tried to read and follow along with the map. I have a good feeling that the “town dump” is long gone, and I also wonder what kind of a “traffic circle” ever existed in this maze of unimproved narrow gravel roads. In the interest of time and sanity, Rich and I decided that we would not attempt to confirm or correct the to-reach this time, but would simply find our own way to the peak. The West Ledge Trail appeared to be somewhat longer (which generally means less steep) than the South Face Trail, and so our game plan was devised.
The area near Seal Cove is densely wooded and close, without a hint of being so near to the ocean. Were it not for all the moss, I could easily have believed we were in the Pennsylvania mountains. We rolled along the dirt and gravel lanes for several miles, hearing the crunch beneath the tires, working our way through the labyrinth guided by my GPSr. We parked at a small 2-vehicle turnout along Western Mountain Road, almost to its western terminus at Seal Cove Pond, and found the trailhead directly across the road.
The West Ledge Trail, like many Acadia trails, leads through woods on its first stretch, with rocks everywhere underfoot for us to aviod (or not). The trail soon becomes much steeper, and we peeked out onto an open bedrock ledge every once in a while, though we were still surrounded by trees on most sides. Then, the payoff: a wide expanse of bedrock leading us to 180° views over Seal Cove, the low densely forested hills along the shoreline, and the ocean. Fiery oranges and golds were just beginning to appear in the trees. These fall leaves trembled in the breeze and the ocean sparkled in the sunshine — the whole scene was shimmering and lovely. We could see it all from our natural rock bench on the ledges, where we sat to share a drink and snack.
With somewhat rested knees we resumed our hike, and the trail soon took us into the woods again, winding through some lush green areas as well as some strangely dark and spooky ones. When we emerged, just a few hundred feet from the tri-station coordinates, we saw on the rock ledge before us four iron rods set out in a square, and a ring set into the rock at the midpoint. Could this have been the remains of the “small summer house built of native timber and chained to the rock”? The proximity to the station disk, and the fact that the direction checks as well, is strong evidence that it was. How neat! We were both thrilled to have discovered such an “artifact” and, thanks to the datasheet, to know what once stood there.
Rich and I walked right up to the station disk, and found it to be in good condition, as was RM1. RM2 required a fair amount of measuring and digging (oh yes, we were sure to roll back the moss carpet!) but Rich eventually uncovered it. I wanted him to rest his knees while I took my photos of the marks; he rested for a minute and ate some peanut butter crackers, but was on his feet again soon to offer a helping hand with the photos. We have so much fun doing this together!
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…Looking SSE toward RM1 (on the small outcropping in the distance) from the summit sign near the station. |
While we were tidying up the area, I suddenly felt a chill. Was it because I had finally cooled off from the hike and all the activity at the summit? More likely it was due to the increasing clouds and a chilly, damp breeze. That breeze turned to wind as we headed back on the trail the way we had come, and before long, I could feel rain.
The shower was heavy by the time we reached the open ledges, and the wet lichen were slick as ice. We stepped carefully, slowly (probably comically so) all the way back down the trail, determined not to fall. Some slips were inevitable, but we returned to the car uninjured, if soaked.
Havana is one of my two favorite restaurants on the island (Rosalie’s does not count here; it’s in a class of its own). The food isn’t traditional Cuban as the name might imply, but it’s got a Latin accent. The place is just exemplary in every aspect, from the quality, creativity and attractiveness of the food (and mojitos!) to the competent service. We began with mojitos, of course, and a basket of bread, which is much less typical than it sounds: this bread was a moist pumpkin cornbread served with a mustard and apple cider butter. Rich, especially, was thrilled with this! We talked about this for days, and I’m still trying to find a recipe for something similar. Next came our mushroom spring rolls, fried perfectly crisp with a mushroom and noodle filling and a creamy mushroomy sauce alongside, and the potato-leek soup with a dollop of locally made goat cheese. As if that weren’t enough, our entrees came out next. Rich finally got his halibut. It was served with a creamy pink sauce, rice, and a spinach-like green that we haven’t yet identified. I enjoyed the Ahi tuna, rare, served over a blueberry rice cake and covered with wasabi tobiko and mango salsa. Everything was outstanding, and while we were more than satisfied, we weren’t uncomfortably stuffed. That’s just how a good meal should leave me feeling. We sat together and savored every moment while the rain poured down in sheets.
That night, though it was still pouring rain, was warm and wonderful inside. We drank a bottle of Moose — the official state drink of Maine, isn’t it?! — and watched a goofy movie (“The Italian Job,” I think) before drifting off to dreamland.
Under Construction!
We had experienced a long drive over two days followed by a grueling hike in oppressive humidity, so we were perfectly justified in staying in bed until well after 9:00am. (At least that’s the official excuse.) Once we finally dragged ourselves out of our moose-cave-away-from-home, we headed to Jeannie’s Breakfast for (if you can believe this) breakfast. Seated next to a sunny window — we took that table that no one else wanted because I didn’t mind being extra-warm — we began to plan out our day. The map was put away when breakfast arrived, and I began to devour my “very berry” pancakes topped with strawberry rhubarb jam and whipped cream, bite by berry-filled bite. Rich similarly enjoyed his Veggie Benedict, though he commented that the eggs could have been cooked just a bit harder. It was as exciting as ever to see Rich’s eager smile across the table and to know that the day would be filled with adventures of one kind of another, even though we were determined to have an “easy day.”
A restocking trip to the Mighty H (the Hannaford grocery store in town) was moderately successful, providing us with, if not everything we had hoped for, at least some local beer and Three Blind Moose for the evening’s relaxation, as well as drinks and snacks for hiking.
And so began our easy day! We had planned simply to take a slow sightseeing drive to Northeast Harbor, where we intended to inquire at the Chamber of Commerce about the availability of whale watch cruises. Rich, of course was dying for something as intimate and intense as the Audubon charter cruise he had experienced with Dave years ago. I was excited by the prospect, as well. But it took us longer to get to Northeast Harbor than it should have, because as usual we were distracted by the search for an elusive benchmark – W 144. This tricky devil had already eluded Rich five years ago, and may still haunt his dreams.
The description sounds straightforward, at least as much as the others in the 144 series, which have been generally easy to find. This one, though, remains hidden. For the better part of an hour, we poked around in woods and clearings and — oops! — people’s backyards, finding outcrop upon glorious outcrop, each ideal for benchmark placement, but no benchmark nor any remnants of one. No pole numbered 531 currently exists in this area, and it’s unclear which two-story house is referenced by the 1962 description. The most likely point, we determined, may well lie beneath a cabin in the woods behind one of the two-story houses. Though no one was home, we decided to stop and inquire if at any point during the week we saw someone in the yard or driveway.
Already hot, filthy and sticky from the humidity, we fled the woods and made a run for the car and its conditioned air. We cooled off sufficiently while on our drive down to Northeast Harbor.
The girl at the Chamber of Commerce disappointed us with her assurance that no whale watches sail from Northeast Harbor. Our only option would be the gargantuan vessels sailing from Bar Harbor, with hundreds of tourists and their snotty wailing kids aboard. Thanks … but no thanks.
Ahh, an easy day, relaxing near the ocean, not a care in the world, not a cramp in our legs. Well, we can’t have this, now can we?! The hour was still early, and we were cooled and dried off from our exploits in the woods and brush south of Route 233. Why not just try a little scouting expedition to one of the island’s oldest tri-stations, PARKER? Come on, just a quick peek. It’s probably private land, and we won’t be able to get past the dogs or the people with guns, anyway. But aren’t you curious?
It turns out that the area is indeed private, and was easy to access off Route 102 via the aptly named Parker Farm Road. The gravel road led us east past turn-offs and driveways to quaintly named sea cottages, and eventually to within a tenth of a mile of the coordinates. Here the road ended at another cottage with a sparkling view over Somes Sound. A convenient parking spot was available, and we headed directly into the woods. I have rarely seen such a steep, thick, sharp section of woods — and we only had a few hundred feet to walk! We poked our way very carefully under, over and around the pines and spruce and stabbing deadfalls everywhere. A zigzagging route finally took us to the coordinates. To say that looking for a bolt in this jungle of fallen trees, pine debris and moss was like looking for a needle in a haystack would be an understatement. Fortunately we had reference marks to rely on (provided we could find them) and, as you might have suspected, the “huge boulder” referred to in the 1934 recovery note hadn’t moved an inch.
Within minutes, Rich had located RM2 on a prominent boulder while I stumbled my way slightly downhill and spotted RM1 on a similarly obvious outcropping. Neither of us could see the station very well from our respective reference mark, but Rich was able to walk a line on the bearing indicated by RM2′s arrow toward the station. I crouched down and followed my reference mark’s bearing line with my eyes, and told Rich to stop walking as soon as he crossed it. “Look there,” I said. At his feet, beneath a fallen log, was a perfect little outcropping boulder and, beneath the moss, the bolt set in 1870. The reference marks had served their purpose! What an exciting find!
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…The woods are thick in this area, and the brush and fallen branches are twisted and sharp and grabbed at our legs when we tried to walk. This is the view we had of the huge boulder when approaching the coordinates. |
Taking photos was a bitch due to the conditions, and Rich ended up soaked with sweat and covered in pine needles (cute, but he was feeling a little cranky, I think!). We did the best we could, though taking measurements from the station to the reference marks was out of the question. We exited the area by a slightly different route and returned to the car (which Rich had since moved down the road a bit) smelly and dirty and triumphant, and starving.
Mexican was on the menu for tonight’s supper. We had both been thrilled when we noticed in our Menu Guide that Miguel’s Mexican Restaurant had made a comeback. I had eaten there in 2005, but last year Miguel’s was gone, replaced by some goofy American restaurant that did not appeal much to us. The weather was warm and lovely, so we sat outside. The salsa could have been better; neither of us was excited by its bland taste or dry texture. The old Miguel’s had much better salsa, at least according to our memories (or perhaps we’ve been spoiled by our southwest adventure earlier this year?). Our appetizer, mini chimis filled with chicken, black beans, cheese and corn, were much better. We both could have eaten about a dozen more. Rich enjoyed his burrito verde with shredded beef, while I found my shrimp tacos to be very unusual and tasty. As we always do, we ate slowly and savored each bite, talking enthusiastically about the day’s accomplishments and eventually moving on to some of our other favorite topics, like the universe, the ridiculousness of religion, and the sorry state of U.S. education.
After supper we enjoyed a chilly stroll through some of the local shops, including Cool as a Moose, of course. We browsed until we were hungry for dessert. As planned, we stopped at the Mount Desert Ice Cream storefront adjacent to the village green for sorbet (blackberry cabernet for me, cantaloupe for Rich). Our huge scoops were too much, but we ate as much as we could while sitting on a park bench. Local kids were hanging out by a pavilion, giggling and attempting tricks on their skateboards. We were exhausted.
Back at the room, it took little more than a beer and a few minutes of some moronic television show to put us right to sleep, and I slept soundly through the night beside the man I love.
Under Construction!
I was half asleep by the time we exited the highway at the I-95 rest stop in Kittery, just after crossing from New Hampshire into Maine (so it’s a good thing I wasn’t driving). It was 1:30am. For the second year in a row, the women’s restrooms were being cleaned when we arrived, so I washed up in the handicapped restroom instead, which was quite posh in comparison.
The rest area lights are piercingly bright (at least in the wee hours) and can be hard to avoid, but this year one towel hanging from a back window was enough to darken the inside of the car so we could sleep. We slept surprisingly well, though the night never became as cold as I was expecting, so I woke sweating around 5:00am and threw off the wool blanket. We both awoke for good about an hour later, sticky and yawning but eager to get back on the road. Could anything possibly delay or distract us? Well, yes, of course — a benchmark. I had known for two years that a tri-station existed somewhere at the rest area, but neither of us had searched for it. This year we decided to take a quick look, even though we had no datasheet. In the damp early morning air we walked behind the welcome center and onto an access road. Walking toward the coordinates, I began to have doubts. The coordinates took us to a spot just a few feet off the side of the road, and no monument was evident. Perhaps it is buried beneath the grass. After a cursory look for nearby reference marks (of which we found none), we decided to give up on our casual search and head back to the highway. We were certain there would be no scarcity of survey marks to find over the next two weeks!
L.L. Bean in Freeport is another traditional stop along the way. I was happy to have earned $75 in “cashback rewards” from Discover Card to spend here, and after much deliberation I selected a blue-green wool sweater, a blue-green long sleeved t-shirt, and a hot coral fleece pullover. Rich found nothing that tickled his fancy this year. We checked out the tents, and we laughed together at the goofy moose items (gummy moose [and lobsters], moose droppings, and moose-embroidered balsam pillows, for example).
After another half hour or so on the road, it was time to stop for some real breakfast. The moose brownie remnants were tasty, but we wanted something heartier … an egg sandwich, perhaps. Well, we reached the McDonalds in Waterville at 11:00am, which is apparently about 30 minutes too late for breakfast. Our first order consisting of a Big Mac, a chipotle snack wrap, and a large coffee somehow ended up on the floor as Rich transported it toward our table, with one-half of the Big Mac being the only survivor. My poor snack wrap, as well as one of the Big Mac patties, drowned in an ocean of coffee. I reordered, and we were pleasantly surprised by both the flavor and the quality of preparation of our food, so the Waterville McDonalds gets a thumbs-up from these mooses. We ate quickly, and laughed together the whole time.
It was after noon, a little later than usual, by the time we crossed the bridge onto Mount Desert Island. Our traditional orientation stop at the Welcome Center afforded us some pamphlets and information on the Isle au Haut ferry, as well as a new map of the island. A few minutes later, we checked in at Bar Harbor Manor and started unpacking. We were staying in Rich’s usual room, number 3.
We napped briefly after getting settled, and then headed off to hike/climb the mcuh anticipated Precipice Trail! I haven’t been able to hike this trail in the past because I have always visited Maine in June, when the trail (and several others) is closed due to nesting peregrine falcons. While I’m not sure the birds would be bothered by anyone’s presence on the cliffs, the park service seems to think they would, and therefore closes the trail from mid-April to mid-August (yes, that’s a very significant portion of the hiking season in this area of the country). I have an affinity for these “non-technical climbing trails,” ones that don’t require ropes but have plenty of difficult rock scrambles and climbs on rock faces with the aid of rungs, ladders, handrails, etc. Many of them require some tricky moves and nerves of steel to overcome the sheer exposures, and I love the challenges whether physical or mental.
The heat and humidity were going to be a problem, I could tell from the start. We both suffer from leg cramps (oh, there is no pain like waking at 2:00am with legs in knots, and if you’ve ever felt them you know exactly what I mean). I was also concerned for Rich’s knees, which have also been troublesome lately. But we climbed slowly, savoring each view over the ocean though the day was hazy, and resting on each ledge that was wide enough for comfortable standing. We checked the marshland below the cliffs for moose, our optimism fading as the afternoon wore on. And no, we never saw our moose, but we did reach the summit of Champlain Mountain! High hooves all around, and of course I wanted to repeat the trail immediately. Hiking down is more difficult, though, and not as much fun. We had planned to hike down the Bear Brook Trail (newly renamed the North Ridge Trail) to the East Face Trail, and after resting a few moments and checking on NEWPORT 1860, that’s exactly what we did.
The Bear Brook trail leads over the smooth, open north face of Champlain Mountain. Rich and I were trapped in a thunderstorm here in 2005, a rather dramatic episode in which we could see the storm powering toward us across the bay but had nowhere to hide. Today, the weather was docile. We checked on another of our old friends — JDR/USA — before turning east to climb down the steep and rocky (but mercifully short) East Face Trail. This took us back to the Park Loop Road, just a five-minute walk from our car.
Supper was cheap, fast, and the number one object of our cravings for the past fifteen months: Rosalie’s Pizza. It’s still as awesome as ever, with a perfectly crispy and flavorful thin crust that bubbles up in spots, a generous amount of simple, tangy tomato sauce, uniform sprinkling of cheese, and my favorite topping: sausage! (I still like it just this much better than the pepperoni, R!!!) We had no trouble claiming a booth, and there’s hardly a better combination than relaxing with my favorite person, a Shipyard Summer Ale, a large Rosalie’s sausage pizza, and 50s music playing in the background. Warm and satisfied, we returned to our room where we fell asleep early and dreamed of discovering some of the secrets this island has saved for us.
Under construction!
In which Nutty and Fruity Moose begin their wild September adventure!
Today’s adventures consist mainly of non-adventurous driving, and are actually only a half-day’s worth to boot, since we did not leave Jessup until nearly 7:00pm. We didn’t cross into Maine until sometime after midnight, which means that September 7 is considered the true starting point of the Maine portion of our trip. But the journey is always part of the fun (at least on the way out), so I have spared a few moments and some space to write about it.
I had worked all morning, so as to avoid taking an extra vacation day and to wrap up any loose ends that might remain. The morning passed easily enough, followed by an interminable afternoon. At 4:30pm, I recall feeling the same as I’d felt in high school when the last buzzer of the day rang at 3:20 for dismissal. I shot out of that confined space, navigated through the swarming traffic onto the Interstate, and was home by 5:00. With just a few items left to pack, I was ready in just over an hour, and Rich pulled in the driveway just before 7:00pm, not a moment too soon.
Rich packed all my various bags and sacks and loose items expertly and swiftly into various corners and crannies of his Outback. (He could probably pack a moose inside a refrigerator box, as long as he could get it to tilt its head down just so!)
Speaking of moose — and there is to be an awful lot of moose-speak on the adventure to follow — mooses of the sweet chocolate variety provided us with a quick snack before leaving. As a quick surprise the day before I had baked two small pans of brownies, filled one with walnuts and the other with dried cherries, and used my moose cookie cutter to cut moose-shapes out of the middle of each pan. Rich was as amused as I thought he’d be, and seeing his smile started my journey on the perfect note. We took a few bites each of our mooses, detaching antlers from heads and saving the rumps in a plastic bag for later, before embarking.
The drive was unadventurous, as we always hope our drives will be. Traffic was relatively light, even in the trouble spots. Rein’s Deli in Vernon, CT, the traditional third-of-the-way refuel spot, was unchanged from the previous two years. We enjoyed our potato pancakes with applesauce and sour cream (had to get a second order of those!), a bagel with veggie cream cheese for me, and brisket (“tasty, but a little too fatty”) for Rich. A couple from Tucson sat at the table next to us, and we kept commenting on how they should take us back with them. (I don’t think they heard, or else they were just ignoring our pleas.) As we ate, we talked about a program Rich had heard about the animals at the Sonoran Desert Museum in Tucson, and we discussed our previous southwest adventure with a touch of sorrow that it’s already so many months behind us. But a new adventure awaited, which we also discussed with great eagerness and anticipation. We were back on the highway again, headed north, by 11:30pm. Midnight passed while we were somewhere in Massachusetts.
