We had been forewarned about Maine's legendary fog. It rolls in when it wants to. And it goes away when it feels like it. In the meantime, you're in pea soup. Well, we woke up for the second day in a row in that soup. We packed up our gear, not much in the camping mood as the drizzle fell.

Without much to look at, we drove to Ellsworth for lunch. A burrito and a walk across town did nothing to stop the rain, though. We kind of lost momentum. But we headed back to Acadia, fog be damned. We parked by Jordan Pond, grabbed our ponchos, and hit the circumnavigational hike 'round the pond.

At left, as the hike begins, the view of the east shore of Jordan Pond is underwhelming. I mean, it's beautiful, of course. Just white. Very white. Taking a detour from the flat walk, Beth and I hiked up to the Bubbles--an intense climb, albeit a short one.

At the top of South Bubble the clouds whipped across our faces in a howl, and we looked down onto the blankness below. There was nothing. Just nothing. Beth said it was scary. I said it was exhilarating.

Once again, our focus turned to the world closer at hand. Below, several of Acadia Park's year-round residents leave their marks.

As we descended from the Bubbles, we passed a couple about our age heading on the way up. "Is it much farther?" the guy asked, anxiously hoping for a comforting response. We were honest; the climb was actually rather tricky on the rocks--and quite a bit further to go. We left them to decide what to do with that information and bounded on securely down the rocks. I felt a lot better since flopping on my ass by Mt. Acadia. I was getting in shape again. And it felt great.

Back at pond level, we continued our route around the waterway. By now the visibility had doubled to maybe 60 feet. We still couldn't see across the pond, but we could see more of it at least. But by the time we rounded the north end of the loop, the cloud began to dissipate. The fog was lifting. We followed the trail on the west shore and the colors came back.

After more than 36 hours living in a cloud, the sight of the sun shining down on us did wonders. Colors seemed more vivid than ever before. The lake shimmered. The trees shined. We smiled.

It became abundantly clear that we were in one of the most beautiful places on earth. At right and below, Jordan Pond glows in the first sun of the day, at late afternoon. The offending cloud is seen departing stage right, at right.

Rejuvenated, we celebrated at the Jordan Pond House for tea and hot cocoa. We watched the sunset from a bench set far off from anywhere else.

Content with the direction of the day after all, we decided to reward ourselves with walls, a hot shower, and a soft bed.

We spent the night in a hotel in Bar Harbor, one that advertised HBO in the AAA guide. This was the night of the series finale of the show Six Feet Under. And while this trip was all
about getting away from the TV (blah, blah, blah),
we had to make an exception. Since its first
episode ran in 2001, we'd been in its grip.

The emotional ride it provided was
unparalleled, and no small screen series
so moved me. There aren't too many
shows on the boob tube that you can
honestly say changed your perspective on life.

I'm not even a big TV guy. I just don't get sucked up
into shows too often. But this, well, this one was special.
For years I'd felt honored to get to know the Fisher family.

Tonight we said goodbye to the characters we'd grew to know and love.
We cozied up and bid farewell to a great achievement in the history of the television media.

It was sad, of course, to see the characters die, but it was also liberating--to be free from the Sunday night obligation and from the weekly punch in the gut that this show gave me. I sure did love the visceral reaction it spurred in me, though. In any event, it was a treat to spend the night in a soft bed afterwards.

The following day was as crisp and clear as our first in Acadia. It was as if the last few days had been a dream. A foggy dream. The sea was as blue as anything I'd ever seen.

Once the Beehive was successfully scaled, we had the choice of pushing forward or looping around. We pushed ahead, unsure of what lay ahead. Had we known, we would have tried to stop anyone else from turning back; The Bowl, a small lake lived peacefully just beyond Beehive's peak. Nestled slightly off the beaten path, the warm waterway was only a few steps below boulder steps--and totally surrounded by forest.

The Bowl was occupied by only a few fortunate folks, even on this hot summer day. 500 or so feet below, tourists clambered on the Sandy Beach for a taste of the frigid Maine ocean. Up here, kids dove into the water free of concern for hypothermia. A few leaches scurried about by the rocks, but they didn't seem to bother anyone. (I still had visions of the gruesome and hilarious Stand By Me and The Life Aquatic scenes the whole time.) We followed the example of one Canadian family (below, not including the scared daughter), and dove right it. It was perfectly refreshing.

On the way down, it became clear why the mountain was called "Beehive."

We had planned an afternoon whale watch expedition but discovered that it was canceled due to thick fog out at sea. It was bright and sunny by the water's edge; apparently the pea soup had moved 20 miles off shore. We debated our next step. Our initial idea of taking the high-speed to Nova Scotia seemed like it was out the picture; the timing would have required us to turn around shortly after landing in Canada, eh. Rather than try to figure it out, we used the time to play the disc golf course in Trenton, Hapana--two miles from Mount Desert Island.

The official disc golf course directory didn't list Hapana in its Maine page, but the kind folks at the Edgecomb course alerted us to its attention. Glad they did.

Though Hapana was also a pay course on private grounds, the $3.75/round fee didn't bother me too much. (The stupid "Yankee Hater" logo on the door did.) The entry fee paid for a scorecard and a scoring pencil, which made me happy.

We paid up and stepped ahead to the 327-foot first hole. Immediately, it was clear that we were in another heavily wooded course. We made a quick request to the disc golf gods that our shots stayed true and straight and that the trees stay far, far away.

Hapana was a beautiful disc golf course.

At left, hole #5 stand behind a fallen tree. Photo taken by the spot of my second shot; I couldn't nail the birdie on the 223-foot hole, though.

The pin for hole #6 was suspended above the ground, tied with an orange bunjee cord from a thick tree branch. Though it was only raised slightly off the Earth, it swung freely, swaying in a light breeze. It was interesting to shoot at a moving target. I blame it for my bogie, though that had nothing to do with anything.

I made up for the +1 on the 511-foot hole #14. Beth wasn't so lucky. Below left, Beth is shown in mid-drive on hole #9. The narrow driveway cut between trees and favored right-handed throws.

As we're wrapping up the back-nine in a clearing by hole #18, Beth points up toward the sky. The sun is setting, and there are a few wisps of clouds floating by. She asks me if I think one uniquely low-hanging cloud looks like a lobster. Amazingly, this was not a case of an overactive imagination; there was a lobster in the sky. I snapped a shot (below) before the winds blew it apart. Without a caption, Aaron saw that picture and said to me, "Did you know there's a lobster in the sky?"

We had bested the Beehive, picnicked in the park, leapt into a lake, and now completed a disc golf course. The day was dripping away, and we had no plan, no place to go, no purpose ahead. Beth made a suggestion: "How about we get back on the 1 North and see what the northern coast of Maine is like?" The less-traveled region known as "Down East" lay north of Acadia. Grinning, I said "Let's hit it" and flipped her the car keys.