The eastern Maine coast is one of the single most beautiful sites in the world. We do whatever we can to steal some time at the coast, particularly at Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park, whenever we get to Maine. We've fallen into a beloved family rut of staying at the same hotel, the
Wonder View Inn, overlooking Bar Harbor. Sometimes we go as an extended family, sometimes just our little huddle, but we do our best to reserve a day or two of our vacation down east. The final few days of this summer excursion were wrapped up accordingly.
We bid Mimi and Grampy and Grammy Betty a fond adieu, made our Sherman cemetery run, then hit the road for the coast. I don't know if the cemetery set a bad precedent, but as we drove the weather started feeling obligated to live up to the ominous forecasts we'd been dreading and got steadily cloudier and more dreary. We were still safe when we stopped for our quick lunch at a Greek/Italian pizza place in Millinocket, but as we rounded Bangor and abandoned the interstate for the iconic Maine back roads we were greeted with a light but thoroughly depressing bland rain that bode ill for our coastal bliss. When we hit the L. L. Bean outlet in Ellsworth (another vacation staple and one Stacy wouldn't give up under torture) we were joined by every other frustrated coastal vacationer in a hundred mile radius in what was the most insanely packed store I've seen since Black Friday. Everyone was buying rain parkas (including us) and sweatshirts (including us) and was in a generally grumpy mood (including us). After a few minutes claustrophobia began to take its toll, so I took the kids to go wait in the Great White Wonder while Stacy, oblivious to the human onslaught, continued her commercial entertainment.
Fully loaded with L. L. Bean paraphernalia and ready to face the rain (but not happy about it), we turned back onto Maine State Route 3 and proceeded south. Just past Trenton is the little bridge that takes you from the mainland onto Mount Desert Island. As we crossed our anticipation was already peaked, but how much more was it amplified when, as if by throwing a switch, the sun broke through the clouds and the doom and gloom high-tailed it to places unknown! By the time we got to our hotel and got up to our room perched at the top of the hill, we had a bright and sunny Bar Harbor splayed out below us, complete with rainbow. Chocolates on the pillow are nice, but the Wonder View Inn really went all out with the rainbow.
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| Bar Harbor view with rainbow. (No extra charge.) |
Bar Harbor is so named because at low tides a natural sandbar, otherwise submerged, is exposed that runs about a half mile from the town shore over to the small and woody Bar Island. The temporary land bridge is a tide pool wonderland and the island on the far end has a mild trail that climbs to a great view back on Bar Harbor. As many times as we'd been in the area, we'd never actually been out on the bar. Today, however, as we took our first walk from the hotel down to town we found our timing was right and the tide had just gone out giving us several hours to explore. Knowing any commands to the contrary would be utterly in vain, we "graciously" allowed the kids to run and play on the rocky sand and to wade in the placid surf. There is no happier allowance granted a kid who's been cooped up in a car for several hours (no matter how white or wonderful). Seaweed, clam shells, crabs, starfish: All were give the awed attention of a National Geographic exposé. Then normally oppressed N was granted permission to do something unthinkable - throw as many rocks in the water as his heart desired! Such joy! You'd have thought he'd been give the keys to the Great White Wonder.
Slowly we made our way across the bar, abusing sea life and coastal geology all along the way, and found ourselves at the shores of Bar Island. A well tended trail met the beach and at the trail head was a posted a warning sign giving the high and low tide times, lest you spend an unintended half day out on the barren island. Checking the stats Stacy and I was quite satisfied with the three plus hours afforded us and encouraged the kids to come on a hike up the trail. L followed with good will, but N blanched and hung back. We'd explained to him how the bar disappeared when the tide came in, but having no real grasp of time (ten hours is the same as ten minutes to him), he was suddenly very concerned that the oceans would rise up like the Red Sea and swallow the bar and all us procrastinators. Assurances to the contrary had little effect and as we dragged him on with us his terror was real and palpable. Throughout the hike it was "hurry Daddy," and "I think we should go now Mommy." We kept pointing out the handfuls of other unconcerned hikers we met on the way, but N found no consolation in being in the midst of other doomed fools. But reckless daredevils that we are, we continued on our hike and eventually got to the island summit with it's panorama of Frenchmen's Bay and the boat-strewn harbor.
N's tension ratcheted down a notch or two as we began retracing our steps, but was not completely erased until something jarred his attention completely off the subject. L and I were walking side-by-side out front and Stacy and N were right behind us and we were halfway across where the path traversed a little open meadow in its otherwise woody wanderings. L saw them first and squealed delightedly. Three does bounded out of the woods to our left and pranced in full view across the meadow in front of us and into the woods to our right. There was much hubbub! Denied their moose in the northern realms, they gratefully accepted their deer consolation prize. While L and N stood there chattering away in animal-spotting glee there was another disturbance off to the left. A fourth doe, evidently startled by the four of us, had shied back from the main herd when it bounded across the meadow and now stood on the meadow's outer reaches as if trying to figure out how to regain the herd. In a moment she made up her mind and in an instant sprang across the path and followed its predecessors into the woods. An extra helping of kiddie glee.
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| We were halfway across the meadow when the deer sprang across in front of us |
The sun was setting and N had forgotten all about the potentially deluged sandbar when the trail returned us to the shore. There it was, all dry and safe. Buoyed by their woodland adventure our fawns leaped upon the bar and frolicked and pranced from tide pool to tide pool, all weariness, fear and phobia long gone. As we slowly followed the kids on their distracted and meandering path across the bar Stacy and I managed to sneak a couple of sunset kisses and hugs. And then the ocean rose up, threw down its wrathful waves on the bar and sent us all to watery graves. Bummer.
Slowly we made our way across the bar, abusing sea life and coastal geology all along the way, and found ourselves at the shores of Bar Island. A well tended trail met the beach and at the trail head was a posted a warning sign giving the high and low tide times, lest you spend an unintended half day out on the barren island. Checking the stats Stacy and I was quite satisfied with the three plus hours afforded us and encouraged the kids to come on a hike up the trail. L followed with good will, but N blanched and hung back. We'd explained to him how the bar disappeared when the tide came in, but having no real grasp of time (ten hours is the same as ten minutes to him), he was suddenly very concerned that the oceans would rise up like the Red Sea and swallow the bar and all us procrastinators. Assurances to the contrary had little effect and as we dragged him on with us his terror was real and palpable. Throughout the hike it was "hurry Daddy," and "I think we should go now Mommy." We kept pointing out the handfuls of other unconcerned hikers we met on the way, but N found no consolation in being in the midst of other doomed fools. But reckless daredevils that we are, we continued on our hike and eventually got to the island summit with it's panorama of Frenchmen's Bay and the boat-strewn harbor.
N's tension ratcheted down a notch or two as we began retracing our steps, but was not completely erased until something jarred his attention completely off the subject. L and I were walking side-by-side out front and Stacy and N were right behind us and we were halfway across where the path traversed a little open meadow in its otherwise woody wanderings. L saw them first and squealed delightedly. Three does bounded out of the woods to our left and pranced in full view across the meadow in front of us and into the woods to our right. There was much hubbub! Denied their moose in the northern realms, they gratefully accepted their deer consolation prize. While L and N stood there chattering away in animal-spotting glee there was another disturbance off to the left. A fourth doe, evidently startled by the four of us, had shied back from the main herd when it bounded across the meadow and now stood on the meadow's outer reaches as if trying to figure out how to regain the herd. In a moment she made up her mind and in an instant sprang across the path and followed its predecessors into the woods. An extra helping of kiddie glee.
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