In the Right Place: Hunkering

Here we see our winter-vacationing Common Eiders taking some sun together on Saturday, February 8. (Such a group of Eiders is a “paddling.”)

They started to arrive in Blue Hill Bay in September and often hunker at the mouth of the Blue Hill Falls natural spillway. They wait there for the right time to enter the Falls’ fast, lowering water and feed on the mollusks and crustaceans being exposed and tossed about in the spillway. We estimate that we’ve had about 400 Eiders at times this year in this part of the Bay. The males are mostly white and black and the more numerous females are mostly bronzy-brown.

(Prior year image)

Eiders are our largest native ducks and are among the few waterfowl that are strong enough to swim up the whitewater of the Falls. They’re no slouches in the air, either. They’ve been clocked flying at 70 miles and hour, according to researchers. (Blue Hill, Maine)

In the Right Place: Blubbering

It was cold and raining when we visited Mystic Seaport Museum in Connecticut last week. But, the bad weather turned out to be a good thing when we decided to go outside and explore the Charles W. Morgan, shown here. We had her all to our wet and shivering selves. The Morgan is one of the Seaport’s most popular sights; she’s had tens of millions of visitors walk her restored topside and lower decks and she’s apparently still seaworthy.

The Morgan’s popularity stems mostly from the fact that she’s the last remaining American wooden whaling ship. She was built in 1841 in New Bedford, Massachusetts, and spent her first 81 years whaling in the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. She sailed as a double topsail bark with a capacity of over 300 new tons. Her other vital measurements in feet: overall length 113; beam (widest width) 27 ½, and depth 17 ½.

The Morgan hung five whaleboats on her side davits and stored a spare one atop her after house. These approximately 30-foot vessels were light, fast, and highly maneuverable by oarsmen who got dangerously close to a whale to enable a harpoon throw. The boats often had different trim colors to allow identification from a distance. Whaleboats were “double-enders” (pointed at both ends), a design that allows beaching and refloating without turning around.

The Seaport’s historic Danish training ship Joseph Conrad was moored for the winter close by. She was built in 1882 in Copenhagen to train Danish merchantmen and was christened the Georg Stage. She was sunk in 1905, but raised and repaired. She was bought and put under the British flag in 1934, when she was renamed after the famous adventuring author Joseph Conrad. In 1936, she was bought by an American and served as a merchant marine trainer in this country. In 1947, she bacame the property of the Seaport by act of Congress.

In the Right Place: Peeking

Last night’s full moon rose from behind Acadia National Park and barged uninvited into the cloud conference there about how much rain to deliver to us today (which has been plenty).

The moon, which was a super moon, played peek-a-boo among the clouds while still in its early, Martian red ascent.

 It turned platinum in about 10 minutes and reached for us with a glitter path whenever it could see Blue Hill Bay.

The primary name given by Native Americans to this February full moon was the Snow Moon, but it also was known by some tribes as the Storm Moon and Hunger Moon. In other parts of the world, the February full moon reportedly has been called the Chinese Lantern Festival Moon, the Mahamuni Pagoda Festival Moon, and other names. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Reality

Friday’s snow and ice storm was a reminder of how horrible a real Maine winter day can be – bitter cold winds; slippery and slushy roads; ice- laden trees blown down, and power outages. Yesterday was a reminder of how beautiful a real Maine winter day can be after an icy storm – air so clean and clear that inhaling it seems like receiving a sacrament; sun so bright in the snowy landscape that we have to wince to take it all in; ice-glazed trees that, when caught by the sun’s rays, look like the most delicate of blown glass, and orange-burnished sunsets welcoming warmly-dressed deer to nuzzle darkening, snowy fields. But, still cold.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: NOTICE

ITRP will be taking a few travelling days off. We’ll probably be up and running here again next week. In the meantime, here’s a placemarker from yesterday’s walk in the woods that might get you in the mood to contact your own muse.

Cheers! (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Heartbreaking

This residence at 627 Naskeag Road went up in flames of unknown origin yesterday afternoon. Fortunately, no one was hurt; it apparently was a summer residence or otherwise uninhabited at the time.

First responders and equipment came from Brooklin, Blue Hill, Deer Isle, and Sedgwick, as well as the Peninsula Ambulance. Investigators reportedly will be studying the scene today.

More images from the scene are below:

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Putting Up

A seven-member wild turkey troupe that came by yesterday to peck and scratch and excrete under the bird feeder. We have at least three distinct nomadic tribes of them that wander by regularly according to some schedule known only to them. Here’s the apparent leader of yesterday’s tribe:

We’re finding it increasingly difficult, however, to love the turkeys the way we do the deer and red squirrels, which also have become overpopulated and bold to the point of sometimes being pests and traffic hazards.

Maybe it’s that turkeys insist on traveling by gawky-headed walking, rather than elegant flight. Maybe it’s that they look like they were designed by a madman: head like a vulture with boils; neck that can be elongated like a feathered snake; body like a bulbous gourd (or shmoo, for old Al Capp fans); naked, scaly legs and sharp toes like an ostrich or giant chicken….

Nonetheless, we’ve come to think of them as our turkeys and we put up with them and they with us.

(Brooklin, Maine)

January Postcards From Maine

The first month of the new decade was very mild for a January in Down East Maine. There often was a stillness to it., except for the energetic streams carrying snowmelt to the bays.

The low light of the season always had us checking the skies near dusk, when sunsets and their afterglows often made the day’s end dramatic.

January’s nights could be as dramatic as its days. The month’s full moon was the Wolf Moon, according to Native American legend. And, this year we had two lunar bonuses. The moon was a Super Moon, being at its closest point to earth. Also, in the latter half of January, the moon became a brilliant waxing crescent that would race above us on its way to the rest of the country.

Of course, it wouldn’t be January in Maine without snowstorms. But, we had to make due with only two plow-worthy storms.

Weather-wise, there are few things better than a sparkling sunny day after a night of blowing snow — and, we had one.

We also had ponds that froze, thawed, and refroze:

While we had little snow, we had plenty of rain and fog, often working as a pair to produce dream-like scenes.

Our usual wildlife seemed to snigger at the mild weather this January. There appeared to be no stress, even on those that lived by grazing grass, foraging for anything edible, or digging up buried nuts.

Many of our fishing vessels stayed in the water after lobster season and converted to trawlers with booms, masts, and wind-protective shelling huts. They dredge for scallops or urchins in January.

We end with a beginning — the calm of a sunny January dawn after a night of high winds and snow. It’s a good way to remember the first winter month of the decade.

(All images above were taken in Down East Maine in January 2020, except the “Wolf Moon” superimposition, which was created that month from prior images.)

In the Right Place: January Evening

Here we have images of the sunset afterglow over Great Cove at about 4:30 p.m. on Wednesday (January 29) :

A half an hour later, the waxing crescent moon climbing fast over that spot as the sky darkened.

It was clear, cold, and Venus, the Evening “Star,” tried to steal the show. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Orange Delicacies

We’ve had January cold weather for the past few days, which doesn’t make it easy for those who harvest scallops or green sea urchins. Here we see some of these stalwarts out in Naskeag Harbor on Tuesday (January 28), dragging for the seaweed-eating urchins.

The orange reproductive innards of urchins (gonads called “uni”) are delicacies in Japan and other parts of Asia, to which Maine processors air-freight the fresh creatures whole or their processed uni.

The commercial urchin-dragging season here ends in late February or mid-March, depending on zone. Harvesting urchins here also is done by raking, trapping, and diving. The urchin-dragging regulations require, among other things, that the drag net be no more than five and one-half feet wide and that the urchins taken be no larger than three inches and no smaller than two and one-sixteenth inches. Here we see a crew member measuring urchins to see if they’re legal:

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Coming to Her Senses

I’m certain from her actions that this young white-tailed deer was not aware of me while she was deciding whether to come fully out of the woods on Sunday (January 26). I was well hidden about 150 feet away and the wind was coming from behind her.

Thus, I wasn’t worried about her extraordinary sense of smell. (Research indicates that her nose has up to 297 million scent receptors, compared to a dog’s 220 million and our pitiful five million.)  I also wasn’t too concerned about her seeing me if I remained still. Deer don’t have extraordinary eyesight during the day and they can’t focus well to the side with only one eye. However, I arguably was within her hearing range. Although white-tails don’t have extraordinary hearing, they are programmed to alert when hearing a sound that is not natural to their environments.

Thus, when my camera “clicked” in taking the first image here, she alerted and turned her widened eyes, flaring nostrils, and revolving ears all in my direction.:

I don’t think that she saw me as I took the second shot, but she heard it and, trusting her instincts, melted back into the woods. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Getting Real

Sometimes, the difference between the intrigue and joy of abstraction and the grit and sweat of reality is merely a matter of framing. Here, we see eye-catching gear from last year’s lobster season.

Below, we see the gear as it really was Sunday (January 26), on a weather-beaten raft in foggy Naskeag Harbor.

The raft likely will be hauled up and stored with others in the pier parking lot there until being put back into the water in June. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Midwinter Day's Dream

Yesterday morning came to us shrouded in mild rain and fog. It enclosed us in a soft, dream-like world, where we could see the snow before us being washed away, but couldn’t see the herring gulls that were crying 100 yards offshore.

There was a dreariness in which beloved things could be imagined as being tested by human reactions: the desperation of the Cemetery’s old Camperdown Elm, as she tries to shelter her assigned souls; the loneliness of the abandoned shed on Brooklin Boat Yard’s pier, as it watches Chatto Island disappear….

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Rising Up

Here we see a hen and two drake Mallards making themselves conspicuous in Blue Hill Bay on Wednesday (January 22). Perhaps they sense that the hunting season for them ended in the first week of the month.

Curiously, a group of Mallards on land or in the water is called a “flock,” but when they take flight, they’re called a “sord” of Mallards. (Note: some nature articles incorrectly call multiple Mallards a “sord” when they’re in “flock” mode and vice-versa. It’s helpful to realize that “Sord” is derived from the Middle English word “sorde,” to rise up.) Below, in an image from a prior year, we see a sorde of Mallards about to land and become a flock:

Nonetheless, when it comes to flying, Mallards are no slouches. They’ve been clocked at 70 miles per hour and can explode out of the water in virtually vertical flight.  (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Wave

Snow is melting fast, streams are overflowing their banks, and ice-entombed rain chains are dripping like leaky faucets. It feels good, but this is not usual for January. The cold and ice of early in the week was what is usual for January.

Since then, we’ve been having a winter warming wave – the high yesterday was almost 40 degrees (F) and the day before it was above 40. As we speak early this morning, it’s already 37. The historical average temperatures for this week have been less than 30 degrees, according to local records.

Meanwhile, precipitation this month has been well below average, which may mean that, when the rain comes, it will lead our Town’s boat builders to wonder what type of planking is best for arks. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Stonewalling

January 24, 2020

One of the best times to view New England stone walls is January when they’re framed in snow, according to “Exploring Stone Walls,” a field guide by Robert Thorson. Here, you’re viewing a local stone wall, as it was snow-framed yesterday, January 23.

This wall was constructed about 30 years ago over the remnants of an ancient stone wall designed to pen in sheep. It’s now a traditional “double wall,” consisting of two parallel rows of large stones with smaller stones and gravel between. “Single walls” also were built in neat, single-stone rows by fastidious farmers. More frequently, farmers created less artistic stone walls called “dumped” or “tossed” walls. These were all “drystone” (no mortar) field walls, usually built from cleared stone for agricultural purposes. More artistic “laid” walls, wet or dry, often were built nearer the house for attractiveness.

The oldest documented stone wall in New England was constructed by English settlers in 1607, north of what is now greater Portland, Maine, according to another book by Thorson, “Stone by Stone: The Magnificent History of New England’s Stone Walls,” a source for much of the material here. (Brooklin, Maine).

In the Right Place: Waiting

Here we see a low sun lighting a low tide yesterday afternoon at Naskeag Harbor. It was the kind of day that could bring contentment to January – cold, but of the freshening kind; snow-strewn in places, but not slushy or very dirty snow; disappearing light, but golden not pewter light.

The vacant, snow-clad house on Harbor Island seems to be waiting patiently for its summer residents to return when its grass will be green and its flowers in bloom. The Fishing Vessel Dear Abbie:, wearing her scalloping equipment now, also waits at her mooring, but more like a hunting dog that is eager to leap into action.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Second

In the Right Place: Second

While walking in the woods Sunday morning (January 19), I became quite confident from the state of the overnight snow on the path and the early hour that I was the first two-legged mammal to go that way that day. Then, I saw ski tracks coming out of a side trail that went where I was going!

In about a quarter of a mile, his or her ski tracks went right where I had to go left. It’s not so bad coming out second to The Phantom Skier. (Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: The Beat Goes On

Our second significant snowfall of the new decade came mostly during yesterday’s wee hours and was ready for plowing in the early day’s light.

The snow was wetter than its predecessor and, in places, the wind was able to whisk it into what looked like slathers of whipped cream – an oddly pleasing sight when served with rustling cattails around a marsh pond.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: The Day After

Yesterday, we wandered through Thursday’s dark but purifying snowstorm; today, we wander through the cold and clear day after, Friday (January 17).

As we see above, dawn had some gold in it as it slipped into the North Field and began to light the spruces at the far edge. On the other, eastern, side of Naskeag Peninsula, Acadia National Park stood in relief across Blue Hill Bay. Mount Cadillac usually mostly deep green, was powdered white..

Each snow storm has its special features. In this one, we think it was how the spruces and balsam firs seemed to be daubed thickly with a palette knife to add voluptuous textures to their overlapping layers.

Snow-dabbled winterberry shrubs competed with each other and with old apple trees for best in show, abstract art division:

The purity of that bright, snow-accented day brought out the character of houses, barns, and even institutions:

The deer started to arrive in the honeyed light of late afternoon, their heavy winter coats glowing. They waited until after dusk to socialize in the field where we began this little journey.

(All images above were taken on January 17, 2020, in Brooklin, Maine.)

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