| The only national park in the northeastern United States, Acadia lies 2/3 up the coast of Maine, primarily on the isle of Mt. Desert (pronounced "Dessert" though, much to my confusion). After a drive through the island's most populous town, Bar Harbor, we drove to its highest point (Mt. Cadillac) to gain perspective on our surroundings. Climbing the Loop Road toward the top, each turn afforded us new vantagepoints with which to gawk. And by the top, our jaws were firmly agape. |
| As the tide falls, a small path connecting Bar Harbor to Bar Island is exposed (shown below). For only a few hours a day--at the low end of the tide's retreat--the two islands connect, allowing explorers to visit a usually off-limits isle of Acadia. As an island buff, I had to take the trek. We headed down, back to Bar Harbor, for a jaunt across Bridge Street. |
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When the picture above was taken (at 2:09 pm), the "road" to Bar Island was a barely visible strip of land over the surface of the water. But by the time we made it back down to Bar Harbor, it was a full-fledged walkway. We walked off of Mt. Desert Island, hiking to the top of Bar Island. The picture at right, facing back toward Bar Harbor, was from one of a few scenic spots at the small Acadia island. Walking back to Mt. Desert was a shock. The thin strip of land, the walkway, had now become a wide expanse of exposed land. |
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At left, cars and kids dot the pass between Mt. Desert Island and
Bar Island. (Photo taken at 4:22 p.m.) The landscape was wildly different
than it was one--and especially two--hours prior. The power of the
Maine tides was very much apparent.
Driving across the Bridge Street extension seemed to be missing the point to me. Besides, I didn't want to end up the schmuck whose car gets stuck when the water level starts rising again. |
| Despite Bar Harbor being the hub of Mt. Desert Island,
I made reservation in Bass Harbor--on the total opposite end of the island.
Our guide book called it the quiet side. Sounded good to me.
Our campground was by the southeast corner of the island, marked by
the historic Bass Harbor Lighthouse (at right). Built in 1858, the 32-foot
brick structure wasn't terribly imposing--but it was a pretty sight.
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Within the first hour of the hike, it was clear that we had our work cut out for us. The trail was steep, slippery in the drizzly early day, and, well, long; seven miles was more than I'd walked in a day in a long time. Giant sections of the trail were nothing but rocks, and climbing it required intense concentration and balance. I let my guard down for a moment, and my boots slipped out from under me. I flew up and put my hands down to brace for my landing. I scraped my right arm from my wrist up to almost my elbow, and I hit my thumb on a rock--causing it to turn purple immediately. This was the first mile. With some ointment and band-aids applied, I regained my composure and tried to steady my pace. We had many miles to go before we could rest. And along the way, we walked alongside Somes Sound--sometimes at sea level, sometimes from hundreds of feet above. I tried to mention that it was a fjord as often as I could. "Hey Beth," I'd say. "This fjord is very fjordlike, wouldn't you say? Easily the coolest fjord of all the fjords I've ever hiked beside." Or every once in a while, I'd just mutter to myself, "Nice fjord." |
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We stopped for lunch at a fjord overlook, enjoying the view of the trail we'd been following for hours. Shortly after this photo was taken, a thick fog rolled in, obscuring any future photo opportunities for the day. By the time we made it to the peak of Mt. Acadia, there was no view to be seen. We were deep in the clouds, still only 681 feet above sea level. |
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So our gaze turned toward the forest around us. The trees were gorgeous. The squirrels talked in high-pitched squeals. And Bethy spotted a group of birds, one shown at left. (If a bird watcher can identify its name--other than "pretty"--please let me know.) Beth and I sang lines to the Hot Buttered Rum String Band's "Evolution Valley" as we plodded up the mountain. Our round-trip hike took us to the peak of Mt. Saint Sauveur, only 24 inches shorter than Mt. Acadia. By the late afternoon, we were back at the parking lot. I was sweaty, bloodied, and tired. But overjoyed at a successful trek. |
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Instead of heading back to Bass Harbor to shower before dinner, we headed to Echo Lake for a sunset dip. The weather was still dreary, but once in the lake it didn't matter. The water was warm and clean, and a perfect way to rinse off the day's grime and freshen up for a nice meal. There were a couple of kids playing on the small, sandy beach, but otherwise the lake was ours. We swam for close to half an hour before heading in to dry off and put some fresh clothes on. Then it was time to head back over to the other side of the sound for dinner at the Docksider, in the town of the Southwest Harbor. The tiny town was deadly quiet at 7:30, almost no activity at all. A few teenager girls rode their bikes through the desolate streets. But the restaurant was open, thank goodness. And some overly priced but incredibly delicious crab cakes later, we were satiated and set to head home. The tide is low by the Southwest Harbor harbor, below. |
