July 31, Thursday – Jump

This morning I took my hiking poles and headed for Knight Woods. Bradbury Mountain State Park has laid out a top class mountain bike trail. It’s listed as a black diamond trail for its difficulty. But armed with just my poles and gloves I took the trail head on. The trail is on level turf as it winds and twists through the hardwood forest but it has roots, boulders and ups and downs. I can see why it attracts serious cross-country bikers. However this morning I was out by myself. I focused on the terrain as I walked at a steady pace with the hiking poles going up and down like pistons. Occasionally I glanced up to sweep the forest in hopes of seeing some wildlife because there is no under story. A person could go anywhere without having to deal with underbrush because the ground is only covered by dead leaves, needles and mushrooms, mushrooms of all sizes, shapes and colors.
My eyes were locked on the trail ahead when something exploded six feet off to my left. I jumped so high I thought my head was going to hit the branches of a white pine tree. A fawn that was blending into the dead leaves jumped up and scampered off. I’m glad only the fawn and the trees were present to hear my startled response. It was a nice early morning workout in a beautiful setting. Then after the forest it was a drive to the laundromat. Now that was a real jump… down.

July 30, Wednesday – Going to Town

Bradbury Mountain State Park is such a hole-in-the-wall state park. It’s empty most of the time except for six or eight campers. No rush here. Sit and talk to the campground host or help the ranger stack firewood. It’s slow time; my time. I asked the ranger how to get to the city of Auburn, which is inland, rather than go out to the freeway to Portsmouth. He shook his head and tried to layout the route. I picked up road names here and there and told him not to worry. I’ll find my way using google maps. Back in my office (aka, the RV table) I memorized the numerous intersections and back roads to the city. Boy, did I get lost! I loved it. I’d pull off the road and fire up the laptop to find out where I was. (I’m glad I don’t have a GPS. It would take all the fun out of the surprises.)
The countryside was mix of delights: houses and barns built 150 to 200 years ago; hay fields, hardwood forests and the roads, oh, my god, the roads. Once leaving the major highways one is introduced to the rural road systems of Maine. Are they a total mess: ripples, cracks with grass growing in them, holes with patches, crumbling shoulder pavement; dips and valleys in the pavement. Driving Maine rural roads is an experience one must have to know the state. I was really upset with the conditions of the roads until I talked to a local. They have yet to figure out how to do road building in a state that has massive frost heave. Talk to any farmer and he will tell you about the new crop of rocks that show up every spring due to the lifting powers of ground being frozen. Roads are not exception.
So here’s Ramblin’ Ron at the helm of the 29 foot Winnebago named Snee-Oosh like he was trying to negotiate Dodd’s Narrows in the Gulf Islands at maximum flood. First the rig would lurch to the port as she struck a diagonal pavement mound; correct to the starboard; fractured shoulder pavement; twist the helm back to port. Oh, my god, oncoming big boat (farm truck); watch rigging clearance (don’t hit mirrors!!). Ripples in the pavement and all the dirty dishes start chattering in the sink. The helm wants to jump out of my hands. Things crash to the floor. “What’s going on back there?!?” Oops, missed a turn. Round up into the wind! (Pull over) Gotta go back. Falling off. Prepare to come about. (Turn around) Coming about in a 29 foot land yacht is no easy task. Reaching hull speed on this puppy for these conditions. Cut the knots (speed)? Hell no!! Haul in the sheets!! More RPM’s needed to get up the hill and bank to the starboard. Love those stonewalls. “Reduce Speed” sign; slow down. The four way stop intersection in downtown North Pownal was made up of a century old church, a town hall and eight houses with a "for sale" café. Then it was back to the country. I was laughing the whole time sawing back and forth across the road with the RV heeling this way and that, trying to handle the totally uneven surface, .
Maine is a treasure to be discovered. When it was made up of farms, small towns existed everywhere connected by farm-to-market roads. With automobiles now these wonderful little villages struggle to keep alive. First Gloucester, then New Gloucester, then followed by Upper Gloucester; all towns right out of England and labeled in the same manner; first the town, then a newer town with the same name; then a town further up the river with the same name and since it’s either up the river or up on the hill, it gets by default the name of Upper.
Finally the density of the houses increased and the speed limit dropped and I reached the outskirts of Auburn. I caught a glimpse of the town’s history through the houses. There was a large pond on the Androscoggin River with long two and three story red brick buildings lining the banks. The town was first a farm town but when the railroad arrived, it turned into a mill town attracting many French Canadians to work in the shoe factories or textile mills.
I stopped and discovered a tomato on the bench behind the helm. “Now how did that make its way up forward??” I cranked up the laptop again and with the help of google (charts) maps, I found the main drag. However the very simple task of changing the oil on the RV became a journey of going to one place then another all telling me that the rig was too big for their place. I finally ended up (the fourth try) at a Ford dealership that specialized in trucks. They could take me in thirty minutes and so the satisfaction of being self contained proved to be rewarding. I turned the hot water tank on and did that noisy sink full of dirty dishes. Life is good.

July 29, Tuesday – Waypoint to Waypoint

My stay in Acadia National Park on Mount Desert Island off the coast of Maine set a record for the longest amount of time spent in one place for my Circle Tour. I feel I have a good grasp of the area. I definitely have enjoyed my residence on this lovely island and the coast that it’s connected to. I wish to return someday.
But now a re-focusing is happening. I’m turning south toward Rhode Island in preparation of picking up my good friend, Melanie, on Saturday. When she heard me talk about my circumnavigation of the US was going to include the maritime providences of Canada, her eyes light up. “I’ve always wanted to see Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and Prince Edward Island.” “Want to join me?” This conversation was held seven months ago and now’s the time for putting it together.
I drove the four hours south from Ellsworth inland to Bangor and Augusta (nice rolling wooded countryside) then back down to the coast near Freeport (remember So. Free. Me. ? I’m back….) to the tiny 33 site state park of Bradbury Mountain.
Here I’ll spend the next couple of days getting the RV serviced, doing the laundry and cleaning up my Man Cave for my road companion. On Friday I’ll drive through the last part of Maine, across the tip of New Hampshire and down to the Massachusetts/Rhode Island border and camp so I don’t have to do all the driving down to Providence and back on Saturday.
After being solo for four weeks, I’m wondering how much adjustment it will take for me to be an aware companion. I know that some of that adjusting will be in curtailing the scratching, belching and other bodily sounds that usually go unguarded.
Party on.

July 28, Monday – Last Day at Acadia

What to do? I just had learned that there was “another Acadia; a secret Acadia” known as the Schoodic Peninsula. It was off the island and attached to the mainland making up the east side of Frenchman Bay. Its main port was Winter Haven Harbor. I spent the whole day over on the peninsula driving, photographing seascapes and lobster boats and talking with a Washington couple from Whidbey Island, which is the island just south of my island in Puget Sound. (They knew my good friends, Phil and Cindy in Langley!!) I also spent time talking with three park staff members about the first major threat to the park in years. An Italian developer has purchased a huge chunk of land on Schoodic Peninsula that borders the park. He wants to put in an “eco-friendly” destination resort. What to do? The peninsula is mostly rural with tiny towns and has no accommodations other than small family run establishments. The economy is from harvesting lobsters. Having a large resort on the peninsula would alter the character of this finger into the Atlantic Ocean forever.
I found the coastline more subdued than those found on Mount Desert however they provided more accessibility and participation for the visitor to go check things out. It was will worth the journey inland across the head of Frenchman Bay and then the drive down onto the peninsula. Or I could have taken the power launch from Bar Harbor to Winter Haven Harbor for the fee of $29 RT.
The price of gas during the week that I’ve been staying in the park has DROPPED from $4.09 to $3.85!!! I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the trend will hold.

July 27, Sunday – Work Out

John Rockefeller, Jr loved Mount Desert Island. He was experiencing an explosion of the automobile, which threatened his love of driving a team of horses pulling a carriage. So on the island, which his family had their “summer cottage,” which were, actually stunning mansions he developed a pet project by overseeing the construction of miles of horse drawn carriage roads independent and separate from the automobile roadways. Today forty-five miles of these carriage roads are open to hikers, bicycle riders and horseback riders. It is a cyclists’ Mecca. A concessionaire provides the carriage rides. This morning I went on a ranger guided walk on a two-mile portion of the carriage road to explore the design of the bridges. They are masterpieces! Rockefeller hired local stonecutters to work with his engineers to construct these bridges. The stonecutters got so good at their craft that Rockefeller asked them to reverse themselves and make the stone surfaces more rugged, more rustic. It was the most enjoyable ranger lead walk that I had been on in months; our young National Park ranger was excellent and a natural at what she was doing. I strongly encouraged her to stay in the service.
After walking the carriage road and enjoying the views, I decide to keep going on this physical push by taking a bus out to Sand Beach and climb the Bee Hive. The photos of the Bee Hive had intrigued me. It had staple shaped iron bars in embedded in the rock faces to serve as ladder rungs and hand railings. Had to check it out. The trail up to the base of the Bee Hive was a series of granite stair steps up through the woods. Tucked into the trees was a bland signs casually mentioning that the trail was steep with vertical drop offs. To prepare you for the journey ahead you can look up the rock face and see the ant trail of humans slowly climbing up the face weaving first left and then right then straight up all with open exposed faces. Right away the trail tackles the elevation gain by starting up slabs with blue paint swatches on rock faces to mark the route. There was a gap between slabs, which was connected with an iron horizontal ladder, wall on the left, drop off on the right. There was a system of narrow ledges that the blue highway mapped out. When a vertical face had to be climbed, there were the iron ladder rungs with a nice free fall of space. Up and up. A couple were huddled against a ledge with the woman saying she had had enough and was going to stay glued to the wall until her boyfriend went to the top and came back down to help her to descend.
All and all it was a ten minute class four climb with aid in the form of iron bars in difficult places. There definitely was a hazard factor in the way of exposure. When I reached the top, I found a summit slab and kicked back and enjoyed the fog-free view. To get off the hive I took the trail down the backside enabling me to avoid not having to down climb the face.
To finish off my completion of the Bee Hive I walked the three quarters of a mile of the Ocean Trail between Sand Beach and Thunder Hole to watch the surf come slamming into the dead end canyon in the rocks. The seawater would send a plume of spray high into the air with a boom much to the pleasure of the crowd. To end my day I took a relaxing bus ride back to my car. As I did my final descent off the bus steps, I shoved a handful of bills into the donation can. I greatly appreciated the bus service that I used all week long. Thanks L.L. Bean for your contribution.

July 26, Saturday – Highest Place

It rained and drizzle all morning and then the fog moved in. Should I venture out? I was hoping to get information from the campground ranger station about the summit of Cadillac Mountain. No answer from the folks at the top but one of the rangers had just arrived from the “busy” side of the island and reported everything was clear except the last few miles to the campground. That was enough for me to set off in my VW to burn some petro to get to the summit of the “highest mountain on the east coast of North American” at 1,528 feet!?! When I arrived at the top, at least 300 of my friends were already their enjoying the view to Mount Katahdin inland but the fog still covered the ocean up to the shoreline.
On the way back to my fog shrouded home base, I stopped at an art show on the lawn in Southwest Harbor and saw the best watercolor painting I have ever seen. It was of two schooners at anchor at sunset; only $550; artist Carol Sebold. From one financial extreme to the other I saw on a storefront bulletin board an announcement of a bake bean and hot dog dinner at the American Legion Hall up the side street. What a way to meet the locals and help the local economy. If I couldn’t afford the painting, at least I could spring for a $7 supper. It was fun to sit in a corner of the basement of the hall and people watch. It looked just like a spaghetti dinner at the McLean Fire Hall; deeply tanned faces and white baldheads of lobstermen; beards and kids; Coast Guard families and old friends greeting and hugging. Good bake beans – two different kinds.

July 25, Friday – Rain

No urge to get moving because it’s raining and foggy. I’m SO glad that I decided to bring the big rig up here rather than leaving it parked two hours south of here and tent camp in the national park. The creation of the Friendship Sloops is located just up the road from my campground so I took the VW to the Ralph Stanley Shop in Southwest Harbor. I was surprised how small the boatyard was; just one building set near the water with an office manager, one mammoth wet dog and four boatwrights. They were in the process of restoring a boat. The shop was like every other shop; rough cut lumber stacked in every available free space; planners, jointer, table saws, band saws, drill press. Open bench space was at a premium. Jigsaw shaped marine grade plywood scraps were stacked against one of the scaffolding legs; scaffolding with planking of both rough cut planks and planned planks surrounded the sloop mid hull. Someone was down on the cockpit sole (floor) and was doing the knee killing work of drilling pilot holes for fasteners into the planking. There are literally thousands of holes drilled, fastened, plugged and sanded on a wooden boat. Even in her naked bare wood state and the necklace of walking planks surrounding mid way up, her hull was a thing of beauty. The offset plug patterns in the hull planking revealed the internal rib patterns, And every horizontal surface had a sediment layer of sawdust to compliment the broomed up piles of wood shavings here and there on the wooden shop floor.
I brought from home a T-shirt from the Northwest School of Woodenboat Building in Port Hadlock, Washington. I’ve been wanting to trade this T-shirt with someone for a local T-shirt and I was hoping that the Ralph Stanley Shop was the place for the swap. No luck. Everyone working. No talking with the traveler. The T-shirt left with me still looking for that trade.
I left the car and jumped on the #4 Loop bus to Sand Beach on the south end of the island. I decided I wanted to hike up the Bee Hive but I couldn’t find the trailhead after I was dropped off. So I hiked the Ocean Trail that skirted high above the surf to the Otter Cliffs in the drizzling rain. I had packed lunch, which I enjoyed on a granite slab high above the sea. This was a peaceful time, a reflective time. The tide was out exposing its underskirt of rocks and reefs. Within a few hours the seawater would be sending towering plumes up the rock cliff but for now it surged and gurgled a hundred feet out. The massive tidal changes in the Gulf of Maine and the Bay of Fundy provide for a continuously changing seascape.
Granite has been mined here for years. The quality granite is sent out of state; the rest is put to use everywhere. There are no guardrails in the park just blocks of granite outlining the right away of the roads. Granite is used to support dock systems with no worry of corrosion or worms to bring the wharfs down. Granite blocks make up the campfire rings at each site in the park.
Since buses go by every half hour, there is no need to hurry in the park. It invites you to stop and explore. While sitting on the bus at one of its stops, I spontaneously got off because I liked what I saw out the window and wanted to explore. When I finally stepped off the bus for the final time and headed home in the Jetta, it was so wonderful to enter into a warm, dry “house.” This RVing is going to make me into a soft man.

July 24, Thursday – Boom, Boom

Last night was the BEST thunderstorm that I’ve been in in many decades. Lightning constantly doing a light show; thunder shaking old Snee-Oosh. I took comfort knowing that I was in a low-lying campground that my RV had a fiberglass shell. So with my head shoved up against the back window I had a front row seat. And did it rain!!!
With breakfast out of the way I slid into the Jetta and drove out onto the park highways for the first time in two days. In the trunk of the car were two Group 27 batteries. Snee-Oosh had been disemboweled. She was laid open and all that was there an empty box with a handful of wires going to nowhere. I had googled ‘auto parts’ to find a list of stores on the mainland; then called them on my cell phone to find the best deal on batteries. The auto parts store I selected had a salesman my age; we just hung out and talked. Sweet.
The journey back to Mt Desert Island was done in the fog that came in after last night’s electrical storm. (Mt. Desert Island is said either ‘desert’ as a dry place or ‘dessert’ as a treat after supper. Now why is that? The French explorer Champlain looked at the top of the island, which is empty except for rock balds. He thought it looked like a desert thus named the island that. “Dessert” is the French pronunciation for “desert.”
With the new batteries in place and all the wires reconnected it was time for a walk in the fog down to the beach for a little bit of solitude time with the waves and rock shore. Because I live on an inland sea, we don’t get big breakers like they do on the open coastline. It’s so mesmerizing to watch rhythm of the water. Nice way to end a slow day.

July 23, Wednesday – Decisions

For the last two weeks the house batteries have not been holding their charge. During my almost five months on the road I have not been charging up the batteries with the onboard generator, but running it done to 0% then getting a site with power. At the start of the trip I could go four days without recharging. When the indicator showed zero, I would get a site with power and charging the batteries over the night or being on the road charging the house batteries as I moved down the ribbon of asphalt. I’m re-thinking this practice of deep discharges then recharge through shore power. I decided this morning to replace the two-unit house batteries; they were “new” in February. I’ll try to recharge each day with new set.
But now back on the bus. I wanted to have lunch in Northeast Harbor, which is across the month of Somes Sound (the only carved fjord in the lower 48) from Southwest Harbor. Northeast Harbor was different than the other harbors that I’ve seen along the Mid Coast / Down East area: there was a large marina accompanying the normal moored fleet in the harbor. This could be done because the depth at the shoreline was great enough to accommodate deep keel boats.
It was again a long day of exploring but I’m getting a feel of the land and the people who come here.

I’ve been reflecting on my trip and have come up with the following: My trip is like a digital wristwatch – the face magnifies the now: 11:56 a.m. No reference to what went before or what’s to come. By trip is day-to-day, I hardly look at a calendar. I know what I’m going to do today; have a suggestion of what I might do tomorrow and only a vague idea what might happen the day after tomorrow. It’s 11:56 a.m. and that’s all I know.
Wristwatches that are analogs give a much broader view of life. When you look at the face, the hands show you what time it is but it is in reference to eleven other numbers and many, many minutes. There is comfort and security with an analog watch. There are anchors in the morning, at noon and in the afternoon. The hands will help you find your way home. My numbers drop into view one at a time like Coke cans out of a vending machine. Now is where it is at; tomorrow will come tomorrow.

PS: I wear an analog wristwatch

July 22, Tuesday – Orientation

I bolted through the Seawall Campground at a determined stride. I had to walk the quarter mile to the campground entrance to catch the 8:55 bus to Bar Harbor. For ten years L.L. Bean in cooperation with the National Park Service have put together a public transit system made up of propane powered buses. Seven different lines cover 85% of the island and it is free to anyone. Lucky for Ron Boy the bus was late because so was Ron. I was amazed by the makeup of the ridership: local workers, students, locals with business to do and us tourists. By the time my bus arrived at the hub city of Bar Harbor an hour later, it was standing room only. My seatmate was a young lad from California but went to a boarding school in Philadelphia. When I ask the name, he said he was a junior and named it plus saying it was a Friends school. Andrew and I talked most of the bus ride. It was so refreshing to ask questions and hear his answers. Our conversation flowed freely; I thoroughly enjoyed his company. As we went our separate ways at Bar Harbor he introduced me to his folks who were sitting a few seats behind us. I was very impressed with him.
My first stop was to take another bus to the Park’s Visitor Center to get information and to see their introduction film in the auditorium. The film “The Gift of Acadia” was excellent. From there I started my trip of orientation of the park, which was taking The Loop bus along the coastline and through deep woods. One factor that stood out was that all the land that makes up this national park was donated to the US government to make the park. The government did not buy up the land. Many of the country’s most wealthy families had summer homes on Mount Desert, one of which was the Rockefeller family. The Rockefellers wanted to construct a separate road system for just horses and horse drawn carriages away from the auto traffic. There are 45 miles on the island set aside for hikers, bike riders, horseback riders and carriages. The outstanding stone bridges and the gate houses rival the natural setting. The park is a major draw for kayakers, runners, families and people just sitting in lawn chairs on the multi layered rock slabs that stair step down to the sea.
When I got off the bus at the campground at 5:30, I was one beat traveler but for the first time in 8000 miles, I got to see the landscape through a window of a vehicle other than Snee-Oosh or the Jetta and better yet I wasn’t at the helm.

July 21, Monday – Movin’ Up Again

Sunday was a day of being quiet and still except for getting the laundry done. I had spoken to some folks that had come down from Acadia National Park and they said the place was empty compared to what normal summer crowds are. Not to worry about getting a camping spot at the non reserve campground called Seawall. This was good news because I was heading up there.
I deliberated as whether or not to take the RV up to the National Park and just tent camp with the Jetta and leave the big rig behind but then the weather changed and Sunday it rained almost all afternoon and evening. Tent camping in the rain sucks even when you put up a blue tarp. Besides it was only two hours away.
I was amazed at the terrain and vegetation changed in that short seventy five mile run from Camden to Desert Island which makes up Acadia National Park. For the first time since Portland, Maine there were open straight stretches of road. The countryside became flatter and the oak trees disappeared; pine, spruce, birch and maple were the dominant trees in the campground. The smooth glaciated granite slabs started to poke through the topsoil. After winding around on the main island interior, finally the road to Seawall broke out onto the flats and there was the Atlantic sending waves into the low rocky shoreline. I’m going to spend about a week in the park and this was a muted but powerful welcome to the scenery that I’ll be seeing a lot of.

July 19, Saturday – Friendship

I thought the poster said 10:30 but as I pulled into the Public Dock parking lot in Rockland. As I grabbed my camera gear I past an old pickup with a man working on a line. I would re confirm the time. He glanced up as I approached him and asked, “What’s up?” “I’m here to watch you do an eye splice around that thimble.” “Don’t watch too closely.” “What time does the “Parade of Sail” happen for the Friendship Sloops?” “You have to go over to their tent and ask.” “Where is the parade going to happen?” “You have to go over to their tent and ask.” By this time both of us were laughing. “Well, I think I’ll go over to their tent and ask. Bye”
I was an hour off – 11:30. But the entire Friendship Sloop fleet was in and it looked like old home week: the fifteen boats with their crews and families gathered and talked then broke up and formed another group. Kids were hard at task filling water balloons at the dock hoses and putting them into buckets. While some kids weren’t looking, other kids would steal balloons out each others buckets. I was not alone with my camera. Photographers were underfoot shooting this eye candy of beautifully handcrafted boats. And I finally learned where the name “Friendship” came from after seeing my first one thirty-two years ago. The slow, heavy boats were the “trucks” of the sea for lobstering before the gas engine. They were built in the town of Friendship, Maine.
I connected with the captain of the Mary M. and we chatted about his boat and others in the regatta. He said to come back sometime and perhaps we could go out.
Slowly the fleet left dockside to do their “Parade of Sail out by the breakwater so I moved back to my car. As I entered the parking lot I heard a VHF marine radio on so I thought I would check it out at the dock. The skipper of a small launch call “Two Toots” had left it on so I listened to the harbor business. As I returned to the parking lot here was the same guy looking at the splicing jobs that he had just finished so I started talking to him. The conversation lazied along until his cell phone rang. He said, “Okay, I’ll be there.” Turning to me he asked, “Wanna go on a boat ride?” “Sure.” All the time I’m jumping up and down inside screaming, “YES, YES, YES!!” “Here take this line down to the launch while I go take a pee.” Thus began an hour encounter with “George, the harbor taxi guy.”
Freeland basically doesn’t have a pleasure craft marina so a couple of a hundred boats are on permanent mooring buoys scattered through out the large protected harbor. Dinghy docks are everywhere but a lot of times it’s easier to just give George a ring on his cell phone. First we delivered one couple to their boat and then got another call from someone at his dock so we headed back. He said I could get off or go out again. I said I would go another round. “You sure it’s all right?” In his dry New England humor he said, “I just said you could come out.”
As we dropped off the man at his boat I could see the sloop fleet in the middle of a downwind run for the leeward buoy on the race course. George was telling me about all the jobs that he had held here in the harbor of which one was sailing instructor so he was trying to second guess the leaders strategies. We headed over to the fleet and for the next thirty minutes we talked and he told me the history of the area and the landmarks and the schooners out in the harbor. I loved hearing he talk about the good times and the bad. When the racing fleet came by, we stopped talking as I was firing away with my camera. What pure delight it was to be on out on the water again in an open launch with a man my age just shooting the breeze!! I’m one lucky guy!!
George’s cell phone brought us back to the working world. Then another call. The questions were always the same: Where are you and how many?
He said we had to go back into his dock to pick up the first group then he would head over to get the second group. As we approached his dock he asked if I had my papers. “No, just experience.” “Have you had a drug test?” “No, but I’m clean.” “I’ve got to let you off then because I’ll be carrying my capacity of passengers and you aren’t covered to be a crew.” “Thanks, George. I’ve loved spending time with you. Here’s some gas money.” “If you don’t have something to do, come back sometime.” Bye, George... and thanks for the word: “Always leave two lobster pot buoys between you and the shore and you’ll never go aground.”
SEE THIS LINK FOR MORE PHOTOS

June 18, Friday – Celtic

The morning was spent juggling around the campground. Since I entered the state park on Monday without a reservation, I had to take a “First come, first serve; Drop in; Non Reserve-able” site. However my house batteries seemed to not be holding a charge so I moved to a hookup site so I could recharge my two deep cycle Group 27 batteries. Breaking camp and moving is a breeze and I don’t mind at all transferring from one site to another. Which I did.
In the afternoon I wandered up coast to Belfast to take in their Celtic Festival but first I stopped at a VW place on the highway and got JV (Jetta Volkswagen) a new (used) wheel cover to replace the one I saw leaving the highway in New Mexico those four months ago. Now JV has shoes on all her feet. She looked so unbalanced with that missing wheel cover.
Belfast is a nice town. I like the layout. On my way to the event grounds I had to go by the public docks and there sat the three similar sloops that I had seen a couple of days before when I was on my way to the bridge towers. Someone was working on deck so I came down to the docks and watched. Finally I said in my best Maine imitation, “So what’s the story with the three peas in a pod?” “These have three different owners that had similar boats so they decided to get them all restored at the same time. They were old college buddies and when they’re all done one will go to Finland, another to Rhode Island and the last one to Michigan. They’re Herreshoff Buzzard Bay 30’s.” And from there the conversation flowed. He was a young rigger/sail maker from Boothbay. There had been faulty poured bronze fittings on the boats so he was changing them out. The turnbuckle pins on the shrouds, for one. He showed me a becket block that failed. Most of the bronze use to come from Sweden or Denmark but now it comes from India and is of very low quality. The lad had worked on the Lady Washington and decided to come to Maine because this is where the wooden boats are. He was working and was happy. I just love hanging out and listening and talking and the decade on schooner Rejoice gives me the confidence to go with the waterfront crowd.
The Celtic Festival was just getting into first gear for the weekend. Last year they had around 5,000 folks for the weekend gathering but right now the number was around 100. I decide to check out the local fare and ordered a “Lobsta” roll for the local Rotary Club food trailer. Good.
The Celtic Band on the hill was still going through the sound checks and played a few bars as I explored the area. Down below the hill was a croquet court so I thought I would check it on. However right next to the court was a tent with a scattering of folks listen intently to a guy in kilts pointing at a slide show screen. I grabbed a sit in the back to see what was going on because I’m drawn to PowerPoint presentations like some folks are drawn to yard sales. I couldn’t notice that several people in the audience had pads of paper and were writing down what the man was talking about. I stayed. I learned. Much of Maine was settled by the Scot-Irish. (Think potato famine and Maine Potatoes – second to Idaho’s.) The kilted man was talking about different Maine coast families and was both tracing their heritage back to the mother country but was also giving us an excellent history lesson of Scotland, Ireland and England. His photos were of the countryside and town sites that produced the immigrants to this country. And the heroes of the conflicts between Scotland and England. He focused on such families as the Armstrongs. Notes were being taken by the audience, which made me smile. He pointed out that so many people in the Belfast area could trace their roots back that it was a shame that this was only the second year for the festival. Their pride should have been celebrated for centuries.

July 17, Thursday – Up and Down

I needed some exercise and fresh air in my lungs so I set out early from my camp to hike up 1,300 feet to the top of Mount Megunticook. The tail climbs in the woods then plateaus on a bench then up the forested ridge to the summit ridge. When I reached the bench I heard a noise, a large noise, in the woods in front of me and saw a large furry animal step out onto the path. I stopped and held my breath. “What the hell was a moose doing at this elevation?” She looked back at me and then did a double take. I wasn’t watching her as much as I was watching the woods behind her for cows are a lot nastier when it comes to their calves. No calf. And off she loped up the path with a backward glance to check on me.
At the summit I ran into a couple from Campton, New Hampshire and after a few lines of conversation knew they were of kindred spirit. They had been to Nova Scotia and again local knowledge was cultivated. Good information from good people. After soaking up the spans of Penobscott Bay with all of her islands, I headed back down to camp.
After lunch I went down to the waterfront to hang out. The three schooners, Mary Day, Angelique, Lewis R. French were gone but a young lad was coming up the ramp and we talked. The big schooners go out on four to six day cruises but across the harbor was another fleet of schooners that do day sails. He said that eight schooners call Camden “Home Port” and that each town in Mid-Coast Maine has its own set of schooners. WOW.
I love taking things slowly. So I walked around the tiny harbor I past the waterfall from the old mill pond to the public dock and checked out the tables with umbrellas that made up the "offices" of the four different day cruising schooners. I looked at who was representing each schooner and I naturally drifted to an easy going woman, who was knitting and started talking to her about the schooner she was selling tickets for. I liked her. The Olad was built as a gaff rigged in 1927 and was 58 feet LOA. Walter Cronkite owned her for five years; the captain now owns her. She sounded like the specs and history of our schooner Rejoice back in La Conner. So I signed up for the 5 o'clock sail with 18 other folks. The Olad was well kept up but had been pretty much gutted down below in prep for some new workings. The 1st mate was a woman who moved slowly but with determination. When she asked for a volunteer to hoist the throat halyard, I was there. After the main was up, I coiled and hung the throat and peak halyards on the mast. I spent most of the two hours chatting with Sophia. She had been a boat person for a long time spending three seasons on the Pride of Baltimore on both sides of the ocean. The wind conditions were ideal out on the bay and the movement of the boat put me over the top remembering my water years. Sweet memories along with a sweet boat.

July 16, Wednesday – Only Three in the World

Again the value of talking to the locals is unsurpassed for information. Just happened to strike up a conversation with campground people. “Oh, you have to and see the new Penobscot Narrows Bridge up at Bucksport and Fort Knox, too!” The old Highway 1 suspension bridge over the Penobscot River was suddenly found to be unsafe for the loads it was carrying to the point that alternating one lane traffic was the only way to get across the river. In 42 months they built a “single plane cable-stay (Spider Web) bridge” And for kicks they put an observatory at the top of one of the pylons. You can (for $5) ride to the top 42 stories above the river then walk up a glassed in staircase three more flights to below the flashing light on top of the tower. Amazing fun and there are only three such bridges in the world that have observatories one is right here in River City, ah make that Bucksport, ME.
My day ended being brought down to earth by a conversation that I had in front of the campground restrooms. A woman passed me on her way to taking a shower and said something, I don’t recall what, but what ensued was a tale of hardship that she was experiencing. I stood and listened and affirmed her difficulty. She was a medical lab tech and wanted to go to med school. After researching the field decided to attend a medical school in the Caribbean. The school said that they had 90% placement in internships; after four years, she got her M.D. license. But no one would take her in the US because her schooling did not qualify. Being in her mid forties and way in school debt she turned to her old profession and returned to working in the labs. She was so bitter. She said that she was addressed as “doctor” and now she was a lab tech and now on one knew her. I count my blessings.

July 15, Tuesday - Snooping Around

Drove down the road to Rockland or Rocklyn as the locals say to see what it looked like. Their waterfront is more spread out than Camden and they have a long breakwater for a much larger harbor. Ran across a poster in the local marine supply store announcing the Friendship Sloop Gathering – this coming weekend. Guess where this child will be?
Before settling in for the night I drove up their “Mount Erie” Mount Battie. Nice, real nice views out over Penobscot Bay and her islands and her harbors.

July 14, Monday – Movin Up the Road

Driving up to Camden, Maine I was blown away with the countryside. We in the Pacific Northwest fawn over the historic town of Port Townsend with its waterfront main street of brick buildings and ocean at its feet. Wellll….every town in central coastal Maine is like that: Bath, Wiscasset, Boothbay, Rockland, Rockport, Camden. Everywhere you turn there is another “Port Townsend” with a rocky coast to sweeten the view in the foreground and a set of islands off shore.
After setting up camp, I strolled the waterfront of Camden small harbor. Schooners on the port; schooners on the starboard; topsail schooners, gaff rigged schooners, staysail schooners and was told that eight schooners call Camden homeport. And that almost every town has its own collection of schooners. And the time to be here is Labor Day Weekend during the Windjammer Festival to see the whole lot