The Maine Shore

Which state has more islands than any other—5280 to be exact? Hawaii? No.
Alaska? No.
It’s Maine. Mark and I plan to tour the parks along the coast this week of Labor Day.

Our first stop the morning of our first, full day in Maine is Owl’s Head Lighthouse. We arrive before 7:30 a.m. yet see that the lighthouse is gated, and the gate is locked. Behind the lighthouse is the keeper’s house, and the keeper and his little schnauzer come out as Mark and I wander around taking pictures. The keeper invites us up to the top of the lighthouse even though it has been closed to the public since 9/11/01.

We have a clear view from up top this September morning and see a couple sail boats in the bay and a big clipper ship passing right in front of us heading in from sea. We thank the keeper and walk down the small stone steps, Mark almost tripping over the dog.

Our next stop is Fort Knox, built “during a period of tension between the United Kingdom and the United States over issues about the Canadian border. The intent was to defend the Penobscot River and Bangor, Maine” (Wikipedia.org). However, the place never saw any action, and in fact, its granite construction is—and will forever be—incomplete. Still, the fort is huge, so big we get lost wandering amongst its three levels of secret passageways, looking through the canon sights aimed out to the water.

After a picnic lunch and more than an hour at Fort Knox, it’s east to Acadia National Park, the first national park consisting entirely of donated land. As always, the first stop is the visitors’ center, where we see the day’s final showing of the park’s 15-minute introductory film. Then a ranger helps us with a park map, some trail guides and an Acadia National Park newspaper, all so we can plan our visit.

Acadia is in Bar Harbor, Maine, and the quaint, main street in Bar Harbor is packed with gift shops, surf shops, tourist offices and restaurants. We have reservations close for two nights. The first night Mark and I dine al fresco while listening to a jazz band. He has a steak; I enjoy a green salad with walnuts and raisins and a cup of lobster bisque.

We start the next morning on the Southwest Harborside. At Echo Lake Beach we park to hike the Beech Mountain trail. Though it’s up a mountain, it is only a 1.4-mile loop, so we decide not to encumber ourselves with water bottles.

The trail is marked moderate but it borders on strenuous and is littered with rocks the size of grapefruits and watermelon to refrigerator size. I don’t like climbing the metal rungs somehow sturdily fastened to the mountain, but I either go up them or go back. So I climb.

We are relieved to reach the top, and this eagle’s-eye view of Echo Lake Beach, where we stood less than an hour before looking up at where we’re standing now, is awesome.

Continuing the loop, we see the parking lot not too far away. Finally at Beech Mountain parking area, we are relieved the climb is over—before realizing our car is in the Echo Lake Beach lot. A bit thirsty, we continue on in what we think is the right direction and pass a couple with a map, who tell us we’re way off. Rather than backtrack, we aim in another direction and get lost.

We find the trail and get lost again and then refind the trail, admit defeat and head down the trail we headed up three and a quarter hours and about six miles earlier, meaning we have to climb down the ladders that I didn’t enjoy climbing up, clamber over rocks and brace ourselves for the steepness of the descent. We try not to think about how hungry and thirsty we are.

Finally at Echo Lake Beach lot, we collapse into the car and rest, doors wide, and each drain an Aquafina. It’s not even noon yet, and we’re nearly spent.

Finding enough strength to depress the gas pedal, Mark drives us to Pretty Marsh, our picnic lunch destination, however, there’s not a marsh in site. But the coastal location is pretty, and we sit at a wood table and eat our sausage, cheese and crackers undisturbed. After lunch we stop along a beach to see the natural sea wall, a bunch of rocks jutting into the ocean. The sea is going out, leaving many small pools in its retreat, undoubtedly filled with tiny sea creatures. But we are too exhausted from our earlier hiking fiasco to investigate them much.

In our room before 2 p.m., we shower and nap before heading to Main Street for some shopping, pizza and ice cream our final night.

Acadia National Park kicked our butts but the kitchy, cool Main Street of Bar Harbor heals all wounds.