A Little ME time - The Kayaks vs. The Seaplanes!

Our hotel affords a fantastic view of the morning sunrise over Frenchmen's Bay, provided you are awake to see it. We were not off that ilk this trip I'm afraid. The sun was well into its workday when I got up. I snuck out on the patio and noticed at once that a big cruise ship had pulled in over night. It would have been more dramatically framed against a flaming sunrise, but it was still a pretty awesome morning view.

Click to enlarge.

L, as is her habit, was up pretty soon after I was so we abandoned the other lug-a-beds and went down to the lobby for coffee and hot chocolate and enjoyed the early morning sunshine on the lobby terrace. On returning to the room after our fine morning refresher, we roused the sleepers and strolled up the hill a bit to the Looking Glass restaurant for breakfast. I'm not usually a breakfast person - tea and coffee are my usual and sufficient staples, but vacations away from home sort of demand it. A few half-eaten pancakes later --I assure you there was no half-eaten smoked salmon omelet! -- it was back to the room to dive into swimsuits and go play.

One of the things the kids remember most about coming to the Wonder View Inn, or at least think they remember most (N has many detailed memories about things he couldn't possibly remember first hand), is the old tire swing down on one of the many lawns. That so trivial a resurrected castaway can provide so much excitement amazes me. After watching his daredevil sister tame the savage beast, N insisted on a turn of his own, but being rather timid of heart, within an oscillation or two he graciously gave over full swing rights to his sister, who, while probably not particularly polite, was nevertheless pleased. N, on the other hand, was perfectly content to gather acorns and lay them out on the picnic table as a feast for the neighborhood squirrels.

The swinging bug effectively squashed, we headed back up the slope to the hotel pool where an additional ration of prepubescent energy was effectively neutralized while Mommy and Daddy suffered greatly in the pool benches.

As surprising a thought as it was to L and N, we actually did not come to Acadia to hang out at the hotel all day. We had bigger plans in mind. We dried off, hopped in the White Monstrosity, stopped in town only long enough to mail a letter and grab some sandwiches, and were off across the island for some outdoor fun in the sun. Our destination: Long Pond and the kayak rentals! Our joy was momentarily deflated when we walked up to the rental stand and saw the "sold out" sign, but as we turned to slump moodily back to the car a lady wheeling two kayaks up from the beach stopped us and said someone had just turned some in, so we could still rent if we wanted to. Many smiles and some parting of cash followed.

Stacy and I rented a kayak and paddled Long Pond ten years ago on our first trip to Bar Harbor together. It was sweet to rent two kayaks this time. I got L up front while Capt. Stacy had First Mate N. Kayaking with a wife who has a vague idea of rhythm and synchronized paddling is a far different experience than kayaking with a seven-year-old who can barely keep from plunging overboard at any time, let alone have any concept of tandem stroking. After about ten minutes of paddle clunking and total drenching I encouraged L to just sit back and enjoy the ride and "leave the driving to us." She complied for a few minutes, but the thrill of wielding a six foot paddle could not be fully surpassed and soon she was back at whacking me repeatedly. Once we decided to make a military march of it ("Left! Left! Left! Right! Left!"), things got marginally better.

Defective kayak.  See how low it rides in the back?

Shortly after we put in, while we were still in the thick of the padding coordination battles, a seaplane docked at a neighboring pier fired up. It slowly pulled into the lake threading among the various canoes, kayaks and free swimmers, heading down lake a bit, then turned and began circling back. The kids were fascinated and froze staring at the plane as it approached. I tried to weave left; Stacy tried to weave right; the plane didn't seem to be weaving in any particular direction. Finally Stacy and I agreed on a get-out-of-the-way direction and proceeded thusly, only to have the plane then turn and bear down on us again. Frustrated, we simply stopped and waited it out, hoping the plane would decide what it wanted to do and get it over with. But the plane didn't drastically change its direction and eventually killed its engine. The pilot pulled open his window and pointed us in one direction - the one we originally were heading before he barreled down on us. We swiftly complied. The plane fired up again and soon was again heading down lake, this time at full throttle, and rose up dripping into the sky and flew off over the pine trees. I would spend another two or three paragraphs complaining about what kind of jerk would circle a seaplane around in circles in the middle of a canoeing and kayaking area, but it was cool enough to watch that I won't berate the guy any further.

Evidently Freddie Kruger vacations in Maine too.

Adios!  Don't hurry back.

Having successfully avoided being propeller pulverized, we headed our own vessels down lake and took off. (A little less quickly and slightly less elegantly.) It was a beautiful afternoon and lake and surrounding shorelines were stunning. After about a mile we emerged from a narrow neck of the lake into the broader lakebed and the breeze picked up and gave the water a little chop. Our prearranged goal, the far shore about another mile away, took a little more effort on the open lake, but we soon made it to the woody shoreline where we found a few exposed boulders expressly laid out for our lunch break.

Lunch break

The return trip was smooth sailing. I was pleased no one attempted to use us as an aircraft carrier. We got back to the dock and I returned the kayaks while L and N took advantage of the swimming platform and roped off swim area. We let them burn the sugar while Stacy and I once again stretched out by the water's edge and did as close to nothing as the needs of circulation and respiration allow.

Our final major adventure for the day involve a little more driving to Bernard on the far side of the island - home of Thurston's Lobster Pound! The whole extended family went there a couple of years ago when we celebrated Mimi and Grampy's 40th anniversary on the island. You can't get a more idyllic spot. Stacy and I each got our coveted crustacean and I got my mandatory side of steamed clams. I was hoping for great things from the kids, but L and N turned their noses skyward and insisted on a paltry hotdog. L was so disgusted by even the smell of the lobster that she couldn't eat her corn on the cob because it smelled like lobster. I'm not taking this affront to my heritage lightly and put the blame squarely on the thoroughly unadventurous strains of the Harris bloodline.

A pass through Southwest Harbor with its compulsory stop for ice cream, and our day was pretty much done. Back to the Bar! (Which has such a different meaning than it did twenty years ago...) Once settled into the hotel with 100% zonked children Stacy and I sat out on the patio and enjoyed the moon rising over the bay now abandoned by the cruise ship. I probably said something real romantic, and she probably giggled and blushed. She probably put her arm around me and I might even have given her a peck on the cheek. Vacation nights all tend to blend together.