Postcards From Maine: Remembering August

In Hancock and Piscataquis Counties, Maine

August slowly delights us and then suddenly leaves before we can say goodbye.  We try to be content with memories of precious moments with her, but they fade quickly.  To slow this loss, we’re sending you and ourselves August “postcards,” delivered by the link below.  These are images of small moments in the month, each of which is special in its way.  And, in total, we hope that these postcards convey the traditional message:   “Having a wonderful time, wish you were here.”   

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

So, we see August as the time when gaudy Mother Nature dons all her late-flowering jewels at once:  dangling orange earrings of Tiger Lilies; broaches of yellow and white Goldenrod and Queen Anne’s Lace; a brazen red necklace of Viburnum berries, and so on.   At times, we see her dance in veils of fog, which transform the once-bright charms of the garden into colorful shadows.

August is a time for us to travel down country roads to see the quirky functional art of Maine and the beauty of rural landscape:   the funny mailboxes; the connected barns and houses; a front yard filled with a shamble of lobstering paraphernalia, and garages that are shrines to the Maine obsession with vintage cars.  Or, sometimes, we just pause to appreciate the man-made grace of a curve in the wooded lane or the sunset gleaming on the white birches there.

 (© 2015 R J Leighton)

August is full of birds and butterflies and animals that hide but can be found.  Some soon will migrate away, such as the Yellow Warbler that is a flickering candle within the leaves and the Double-Crested Cormorant sunbathing with outstretched wings. 

 (© 2015 R J Leighton)

Some wildlife will disappear into hibernation, such as the swift Garter Snake that hunts grasshoppers in our Hay-Scented Fern.  Some will be shot and killed according to deeply-seated Maine tradition, perhaps one of the White-Tailed bucks that we’ve seen this year. 

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

August is a time to watch sunlight play on the waters of rivers, lakes, and the sea; it’s also the time to see people play on those waters in boats large and small.  The joy of sailing in the grip of a good wind can be obvious and contagious.

There is much more to remember about this August, now that she’s left us, as you'll see.

You can join us on the virtual tour of August by clicking the link below to see the postcard images, which can viewed in less than two minutes.  We recommend that your initial screening of the images be in full-frame on your computer monitor.  To make that happen, click on the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.  Use your left and right keyboard arrows to go back and forth; press Esc to return to the thumbnail gallery.)  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/Postcards-From-Maine-August-20/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

Five Windjamming Visitors

In Great Cove, Brooklin, Maine

۞This week’s posting is dedicated to our friend and schooner-lover Bill Borghesani.  Bill, now retired, helped pay for law school many years ago by sailing as a deckhand on the fabled schooner Alice S. Wentworth. Launched in 1863, Alice freighted commodities in Maine and elsewhere before becoming a cruise ship here.  She eventually was moored in Boston Harbor where she appeared briefly in the background of a scene shot for the classic Thomas Crown Affair, starring a cool Steve McQueen and a hot Faye Dunnaway.  She (Alice, not Faye) was destroyed by a storm in 1974 at the age of 111, but left behind a fascinating history, including many tales that Bill recounts to this day.۞

August has brought the Cove just about every variation of summer weather there is.  Thus, having our choice, we choose to begin on a sun-gleaming day.  There’s a steady sea breeze that shepherds a herd of clouds above the blue waters of Eggemoggin Reach.  It’s low tide, when strips of ledge in the Reach are revealed like a hidden world rising.  And out there, barreling south just beyond Great Cove’s sheltering Babson Islands, is Victory Chimes.   

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

She’s magnificently under full sail, formally dressed to travel back into time. Victory is not the oldest schooner working these waters (she was launched in 1900), but she’s the biggest:  170 feet long overall (counting bowsprit).  She’s the only remaining three-master in the Down East windjammer fleet and today each of those masts is under billowing sail and her three jibs are flying.

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

We return to the Cove when it’s engulfed in thick fog.   It’s fairly common to see schooners under significant sail leave the Cove “in the soup,” thrilling passengers and relying on radar, sonar, and lookouts. 

What’s not common is to see a large windjammer barreling into the busy Cove “with almost everything up” and sweeping into a tight arc to drop anchor 50 feet from another vessel.  That’s what we see this day:  The yellow-hulled, 145-foot Heritage suddenly parts a solid gray curtain of fog heading toward us.  She’s got all sails up except for her fore topsail.   She’s dropping her jibs as she swings around, and anchors.  The next day is sunny and we watch Heritage collect its passengers from shore and sail out.  Designed with schooner features, the Heritage was launched for passenger cruising in 1983.  

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

On a partly sunny day, we watch the Stephen Taber crew collect her passengers and treat them (and us) to a departure under sail.  Stephen, launched in 1871, was a true commercial coaster before being refurbished for tourists.  She’s 115 feet overall and appears to be one of the most responsive schooners when under sail. 

Fog returns.  We go down to the Cove and watch the Angelique raise her bark tan sails, hoist anchor, and disappear into the horizon.  Launched in 1980 for the tourist trade, she’s 130 feet long overall – a massive structure silently and invisibly sailing the Reach.

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

The Mary Day, a frequent visitor to the Cove, is now moored in fog here, with crew up high checking her rigging.  She was launched in 1962 for touring and is 125 feet long overall.  We return to watch Mary wake up to the sun.  Her passengers go ashore for the morning and return to the schooner, which drifts a few hundred feet to Babson Island and oversees a lobster bake on the beach.

You can join us on a virtual tour during these maritime days by clicking the link below to view 33 images.  We recommend that your initial screening of the images be in full-frame on your computer monitor.  To make that happen, click on the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.  Use your left and right keyboard arrows to go back and forth; press Esc to return to the thumbnail gallery.)  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Windjammers-and-Other-Boats/Windjammers-of-August-2015/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

In Hot Pursuit

In the Moosehead Lake Region, Maine

It began with a strange urge to see a live Moose, an animal that is undergoing disturbing declines.  During many years of diligent watching, we’ve never seen Maine’s official animal in Maine.  That’s primarily why we’re in Greenville, the gateway to the North Woods.  Other reasons are that it’s beautiful around here; the three-hour drive is full of interesting sights, and there’s a lovely woodland waterfall on the Appalachian Trail here that needs a visit.  

Greenville is just west of the center of Maine.  It sits on the southern shore of Lake Moosehead, one of the most popular vacation hubs in a state that calls itself “Vacationland.”  The 40-by-10-mile Lake reportedly is the largest fresh water body within a single state.  It abounds with boats, bush pilots in sea planes, white water enthusiasts, ATV cruisers, and campers.  It also is the departure point for “Moose Safaris.”

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

Around dawn and sunset, Moose roam into nearby bogs and  ponds, where they graze on fresh water shoots and other plants.  Unfortunately, they also sometimes think that the grass is greener on the other side of Route 15 and cross the highway with little regard for traffic.  “Moose Crash Area” warnings with flashing lights mark long stretches of road here. 

(Next to humans, Moose are the most dangerous animals on U.S. highways, where they cause a significant number of injuries and fatalities.  They’re about six feet high at the shoulder and can be almost 10 feet tall at rack top; they often weigh well more than 1000 pounds.  Most of their weight is in their humped and distended body, which is supported by long, skinny legs.   Due to their dark body and high eyes, drivers can miss any reflected gleam of headlights, although there is a debate as to whether Moose eyes gleam.  Due to the animal’s height, a speeding car invariably hits a Moose in its long legs, sweeping its body up onto the vehicle’s hood, which often channels the hurtling half-ton of fur, muscle, and bone through the windshield.)

We hire a guide to find us Moose using her company’s van.  This is a good practice if you don’t know the area well and you want to protect your own car.  Generally, if you want to watch the animals in their natural environment and not poke around in canoes, you have to travel over some of the country’s worst unpaved, washboard, pot-holed, and frost-heaved roads.  Moreover, these roads usually wind for miles through a boring tunnel of dusty scrub greenery.  Most of the “good” sightings are at remote locations on a pond or in a swamp.  And, we have to get to these spots within the “good” hours between about 4:00 p.m. and dusk.  This means that most of our precious time is spent driving over ruts to the current "lucky spots."

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

We initially travel for about 45 minutes just to get to one of those rutty old roads, which we then rattle down for about another 40 minutes.  We finally stop at a not particularly special looking place and enter the woods.  At the end of a descending path, the trees open up and we suddenly become part of a stunningly beautiful vista at the edge of First Roach Pond.  We wait for a hungry Moose to step out of the woods on the far shore.  The only things that come out of the woods here are other Moose-seekers who, with difficulty, portage canoes into the still water.  In doing so, they make plenty of unnatural noise.  We decide to leave, very much worried about our disappearing time.  It’s about 5:30 p.m. now and the only mammals we’ve seen are tourists.  (At first, we hoped to see a big Bull Moose and Cow near each other, or a Cow and her calf together.  At this point, we would settle for a glimpse of a calf's butt.)

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

It’s about 6:00 p.m. when our next rutted road opens onto Lazy Tom’s Bog.  Again, the transition is startling:  this is a beautiful glade with a meandering clear stream.  And, there he is:  a young male Moose with a small rack, dipping his long snout in the stream and munching grass shoots. He’s about a quarter of a mile away.  He strolls away upstream, eating all the way, and disappears behind a bend.

We return to the highway, zoom to another rutted country road, and rumble to the end.  There, at the end, is Prong Pond in the golden light of a fast-descending sun.  It’s spectacular.  But, people are noisily winching their motor boat out of the water onto their boat trailer. This is not the kind of thing that a respectable Moose abides at dinner time.  Our daylight is fading fast.

Our smart guide reminds us that we have achieved our basic goal of seeing a Moose.  She says that, if we leave Prong Pond now, we have time to go to Greenville's Blair Hill and see a glorious sunset.  This sounds better than watching a boat being winched.  (Besides, we now realize that we have to work more on aligning our patience and satisfaction thresholds.  After all, one Moose in the camera is worth two in the bush.) 

We speed to Blair Hill, which overlooks a vast area of Moosehead Lake.  The sun, wrapped in a rose-tinted cloak, is sinking below thick threads of back-lit clouds; the Lake‘s high peninsulas and long islands gradually are turning into massive blue-black alligators slowly entering the shining water.  Satisfaction arrives.

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

We stay in Greenville overnight, eat dinner at Kelly's Landing and breakfast at Auntie M’s, see a few interesting sights in the “downtown” area, and take a short trip up to a nearby ridge in the mountains.  We're looking for Goodell Falls along the Appalachian Trail.  We find the Trail entry signpost.  It contains a skull and bones symbol: the warning that there is dangerous hiking ahead. 

(© 2015 R J Leighton)

The Appalachian Trail at this point is only about 60 miles south of its terminus at Maine’s Mount Katahdin.  But, they are among the roughest 60 miles on the 2100-mile trek.  Nonetheless, getting to Goodell Falls is a relatively easy (though steep) descent.  We pay our respects to Mother Nature with positive murmurs and travel home over the mountains through spruce forests and down into the plain through fields of golden rod, hay, and corn.

You can join us on a 40-second virtual tour of these happy two days by clicking the link below.  (We recommend that your initial screening of the 33 images be in full-frame on your computer monitor.  To make that happen, click on the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.  Use your left and right keyboard arrows to go back and forth; press Esc to return to the thumbnail gallery.)

Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/Vacationland/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

On Fog

In Brooklin, Maine

Fog has provoked awe, daring, and flights of artistic imagination.  Carl Sandburg famously imagined fog as something that quietly “comes on little cat feet.”  He was inspired by fog that arises when moist, warmer air flows over cold water, technically called Advection Fog.

© 2015 R J Leighton

To be sure, we have feline fog around here.  But, it’s hard to imagine a cat silently swallowing a 125-foot schooner as it leaves Great Cove under sail.   We prefer to imagine this fog as the silver ghost of a huge octopus that raises its oblong head, stretches out its wispy arms, and swallows everything near it.  Since we like fog, we also prefer to imagine this octopus as Disney-character-like.  It just swallows, never chews, puffs up its cheeks and spits out all it consumes unharmed; it also sometimes does a Michael Jackson moon dance over an island.  But it doesn’t sing; the silence of fog is one of its mystical qualities. 

© 2015 R J Leighton

(Schooners often enter the fog under full sail, something their ancient ancestors would not have done unless there were an urgent need.  The difference today, apparently, is that our windjammers have radar, sonar, and fog horns, and their captains usually post bow lookouts as well; perhaps just as important, our schooners have paying passengers who are thrilled to sail in fog.)

© 2015 R J Leighton

 We get a slightly different fog on shore when the air temperature is below the dew point; this is so-called Radiation Fog.  It comes sweeping up our north field, not on little feet, but on gossamer wings.   The live and dying wild grasses gradually are shaded into pearly greens and sienna browns, glowing here and there with white sprinkles of Queen Anne’s Lace and yellow dabs of Tansy and Golden Rod.  We can’t see much from a distance; but, if we walk down the field slowly and almost silently, we may get lucky and see animals that think they’re invisible in fog.  We see a Wild Turkey with her poults and one of two resident young bucks.      

© 2015 R J Leighton

© 2015 R J Leighton

Fog seems to love small islands.  It paints and repaints these mini-universes with a muted palette, sometimes creating subtly beautiful shades that we’ve never seen.   If we’re lucky – and today we are – the scene painted by fog is turned into a sublime work of functional art when a colorful lobster boat breaks through the mist and begins to work close to the island’s rocky shore. 

© 2015 R J Leighton

Nearby, we see something that might appear surreal to people “from away,” as they say here:  a kayak class getting instruction on a spit of beach as the fog starts to swallow them.  The students soon paddle out into the mist.

© 2015 R J Leighton

During the winter months, when very cold air passes over warmer water, we can get Steam Fog, also known as Sea Smoke.  Whereas other fogs may appear to the naked eye to be descending, Sea Smoke appears to be rising, often giving the incongruous impression of the sea being a sizzling frying pan on a day that could be well below freezing.

Words can’t adequately recreate the sight and feeling of being in a foggy field of grasses and wildflowers or at the edge of a lapping sea as the ghost visits.  Although also inadequate, photographic images come closer to capturing the moment.  If you’re interested, click the link below to take a 30-second virtual tour in the fog here. (As usual, we recommend that the initial screening be in full-frame, which can be achieved by clicking on the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.  Use your right and left keyboard arrows to proceed or go back; press Esc to return to the thumbnail gallery.)  Here's the link:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Out/On-Little-Cat-Feet/n-9nbBZV/i-8FrRLcG

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

WHATSUP?

In Blue Hill, Maine

It’s a cool, gray day with occasional soft rain.  We should not be standing on the narrow Stevens Bridge over the Reversing Falls, also known here as Falls Bridge.  This bridge has no walkway, but here we stand.  Not only are we watching the roiling waves of the in-coming tide, we’re also marveling at two talented performers in what reportedly is the fastest growing water sport:  Standup Paddleboarding (aka SUP).  The sport, we later find out, is the subject of a number of popular magazines, including the SUP Journal.

John Frachella                                   

(©2015 R J Leighton)

Below us, in that cold green water, are John Frachella and Peter Lataille, who are practicing an advanced form of the sport:  Standup Paddleboard Surfing.  John resides in both Hudson, Maine, and Bend, Oregon; Peter hails from Hampden, Maine.  They love paddling, kayaking, and surfing; today, in a way, they’re combining all three.   Both men get good rides in the tricky waves.

Peter Lataille

(©2015 R J Leighton)

John is on a red board shaped by Titus Kinamaka, a notable big wave surfer in Hawaii; Peter is on a white board that he made for himself.  John rides with his left foot forward and paddles up-current into the waves.  He often hunches over with a wry grin on his face -- especially, as we'll see, during difficult current shifts. 

Peter is right-footed; he's rigged a red rope to the bridge that allows him to swing into mid-channel near the beginning of the waves, then let go, often standing almost erect

It’s time for a 20- second virtual tour of this event via the link to our photosite below.  (As usual, we recommend that the initial screening be in full-frame, which can be achieved by clicking on the featured [largest] image on the gallery page to which the link will take you.  Use your right and left keyboard arrows to proceed or go back; press Esc to return to the thumbnail gallery.)  Here's the link to the images:

https://leightons.smugmug.com/Maine/Windjammers-and-Other-Boats/SUPing-the-Reverse-Falls/

Cheers,

Barbara and Dick

[P.S. in Response to Questions:  the Postcards From Maine for July already was published; see the “Out & About” Section in the “In Maine” part of the photosite.  The monthly Postcards for August will be issued in early September; we’re "collecting" them now.]