In the Right Place: Spotty Performance

Here we see a White-Tailed Deer fawn yesterday, learning from her expert mother how to ruin our garden.

We’ve had a good White-Tail birthing season this spring and early summer, perhaps too good given the number of deer that consider this area theirs. Newborn White-Tails reportedly seldom exceed 10 pounds and are very dependent during their first few weeks of life.

Now, however, the fawns have been (or are being) weaned, filling out, running and gamboling nimbly, and a few are starting to lose their camouflage spots. They likely will start to shed their silky coats in September, continue gaining significant protective fat, and go into the winter weighing between 80 and 90 pounds. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 30, 2021.)

In the Right Place: Seeing the Light

I had the pleasure last week of seeing the WoodenBoat School fleet on a sunny day and getting these two views of Swifty with only one glance:

The dreamy sight of this Caledonia yawl in Great Cove was duplicated by her neighbor that day, the catboat Shenaniganz:

Seeing them, I was jolted into realizing that I had no idea what causes such a reflection to occur in one place and not in others under similar circumstances. Here’s a more perfect image of Swifty’s

It turns out that it also puzzled the Greek mathematician Euclid around 300 B.C. After experimenting, he proposed a theory about what happens to straight light rays when they reach a smooth surface and bounce off into space. About 1500 years after Euclid, his theory was enhanced by Alhazen, an Arab mathematician, and has evolved into the so-called Law of Reflection.

Basically, it seems, I was lucky to see Swifty reflected so nicely. In the first place, she was in sea that was smooth enough to prevent the water from absorbing the radiated energy of incoming light rays. A smooth water surface can make light waves bounce and reflect back to the eye.

But the light can’t just bounce willy-nilly for a good reflection. It must bounce back at the identical angle that it hits the water. And, we have to be in the right place to see that angled light during the bouncing.

If the sea surface moves too much, the incoming light likely will be scattered by that movement and not be reflective. But, a slight sea swell might only distort the reflection a bit., as it did that day with this nearby Mackinaw gaff ketch:

Sometimes a little distortion can make an image more interesting. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 25, 2021.)

In the Right Place: The Dark Ages

We’ve been keeping tabs on this vulnerable male Wood Duck during the summer. He still looks like a recruit at Marine boot camp, but he flew a short distance yesterday. He and his brothers have lost their outrageously colored and iridescent full-dress uniforms during their yearly full feather molt.

Brooklin, Maine, 08/26/21

It’s called the males’ “eclipse phase,” apparently because it’s like a dark shadow passing over their once brilliantly colored heads and bodies. These birds can’t fly during part of this phase and their drab coloration is thought to have evolved as camouflage during their endangerment. (Evolution has not yet been able to darken their Maraschino Cherry eyes, though.)

When the male Wood Ducks regrow their coats and helmets with sparkling new feathers next month or in early October, they’ll regain their ability to attract females and partner with them over the winter and during spring. Here’s a preview:

Brooklin, Maine, 10/11/17

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: The Other Woman

Here you see the sexy schooner Mistress posing in Great Cove on Wednesday, wearing only one sail. She arrived the afternoon before and spent the night anchored in the shelter of Babson Island.

We caught sight of her slipping across the Cove very early Wednesday morning:

Mistress hails from Camden, Maine. According to her website, she was built in 1960 as a small schooner and restored in 1992 to be more like a coastal cruising yacht. She’s only 60 feet long overall (46 feet of deck length) with three commercial cabins that, combined, can accommodate six passengers.

All of the commercial cabins have their own sink, head (toilet), and private companionway to the deck. Two of those three cabins have a double bed and the third has two bunk beds. She also has an inboard motor for when she doesn’t want to put on any sails. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 25, 2021.)

In the Right Place: Accustomed

The only way to get to lovely Little Deer Isle and Deer Isle, Maine, is by this high, narrow suspension bridge. That’s assuming that you don’t want to take a boat, or private plane, or swim there.

The bridge is the historic Deer Isle-Sedgwick Bridge, which was opened in 1939 after having many design- and construction-related issues. It takes a beating from rough weather and seems to be undergoing traffic-stopping or traffic-slowing repairs most of the time, as it is at this moment.  

The old Bridge is almost 1,100 feet long with only two travel lanes that have nothing between them but two yellow stripes.  Each lane is only about 10 feet wide; there are no public walkways and no bicycle lanes, although cyclists have been known to ride over the bridge and be another cause of slowdowns.

“The Bridge” spans Eggemoggin Reach, some of the best sailing water in the world. Because of this, it was designed with an arch that has a minimum under-clearance of 85 feet to accommodate masts on schooners and other vessels; the roadway is over 98 feet above the windy Reach.

That wind makes the narrow Bridge shiver and sway at times, which some motorists (especially unsuspecting tourists) find petrifying. There also can be issues with dense fog.

Yet, the Deer Isle Bridge is beloved by many of us around here. We’ve grown accustomed to it, as you might with an impossibly cranky old relative who is beloved. We can’t imagine The Bridge being replaced by something modern, sturdy, comfortably wide, and maintenance-friendly. (Images taken from Little Deer Isle on August 24, 2021.)

In the Right Place: Osprey Nest Report 15

Ozzie and Harriet’s nest has remained unoccupied most of the time for the past two weeks. However, I’ve seen one of the juveniles in the nest several times when I went by and, at one of those times, she begged for food continuously, as you see here (sex assumed):

At that time, after about 10 minutes of pitiful screaming, the dutiful Ozzie appeared, dropped off a fish, and left – almost in one motion.:

The juvenile then grabbed the fish and flew away with it, apparently to dine in the shade of a favorite perch:

Perhaps this juvenile is the youngest of the three fledglings, the one we’ve been calling June. She can fly well, but she may not fish well yet. No one teaches ospreys to fish; they rely on instincts to begin a trial-and-error education in survival. They undergo many unsuccessful splash-ins, some of them comical. Lucky for June that she has an understanding dad. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 24, 2021.)

In the Right Place: Beyond Memory

Yesterday, the sun finally won a dawn battle with the fog in Great Cove. The misty front lines reluctantly retreated to Eggemoggin Reach before the air became warm enough to breeze the fog away.

The Cove was polished by reflective light in the still air. Early morning sailing was languorous. Stratocumulus clouds were being born. Islands were floating between two worlds.

Later, the clouds would become massive cumulus mounds that, no doubt, inspired many Maine fine artists and at least one photographer to try to capture what they were seeing and feeling. It was too much for mere memory. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 24, 2021.)

In the Right Place: Reptilian Weather Report

We’ve been having a seemingly endless series of foggy mornings that often become foggy or at least gray afternoons. It’s gotten so bad that even the painted turtles have taken to basking when there is no sun. Just the absence of rain seems to suffice.

(Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 21, 2021.)

In the Right Place: Goodbye and Good Riddance

It was quiet, still, and foggy here early this morning, as you see. We’re under a dense fog alert until 9 a.m., but there has been no rain and no wind to speak of, and the sun is breaking through as I write.

It looks like maniacal Tropical Storm Henri exhausted himself before he got this far north. He’s expected to limp out into the Gulf of Maine and, thankfully, die there. Our hearts go out to those in Tennessee and elsewhere who weren’t as lucky as we.

At the risk of seeming frivolous, however, we do note that Henri’s departure means that the Hydrangeas around here will be saved the indignity of having their royal French hairdos ripped apart and scattered.

These bushes and trees seem to be peaking early this year here. (See the image in the first Comment space.) Perhaps it’s because we’ve had an unusually foggy and rainy summer; Hydrangeas like to be coated with and doused by plenty of water.

The name Hydrangea actually means water vessel in Greek. However, the name was given to the plant because the shape of its seeds resembles an old water vessel in the minds of some. (

The images here were taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 15 [sun] and 23 [fog], 2021.)

In the Right Place: Cove Sighting

Here we see the comely 65-foot Grayling in Great Cove on a gray morning yesterday. It’s hard to imagine her more than a century ago when she was seigning (trawler netting) herring and mackerel and then carrying sardines for a cannery.

Yet, according to reports on her, she was launched from East Boothbay, Maine, in 1915 as a seiner. In 1920, she began over 75 years of transporting sardines from fishing vessels at sea to a cannery in Eastport, Maine. In 1996, she was converted to the sleek luxury yacht that you see here.

By the way, as you may know, a “grayling” is a freshwater fish in the salmon family that prefers very cold water and is now grown commercially. There are Arctic and European species of the fish.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 21, 2021.)

In the Right Place: Eden Apple Report

It looks like we’re going to have a good crop of “wild” apples here in the fall, judging by the state of the fruit now. By “wild,” I mean apples in the many old trees that have been abandoned to nature, some for well over 100 years.

The deer have started to eat the apples, but for those of us who don’t have the teeth and taste buds of those tough ruminants, this fruit is too hard and much too tart. (Old-timers called them “spitters” due to the involuntary reaction humans had when trying to taste an August apple, as I foolishly did yesterday. Ugh.)

We suspect that virtually all the old apple trees around here were planted primarily to produce hard cider and applejack liquor. In days of yore in rural areas, cider often was preferred over coffee and tea (because water in those drinks frequently got contaminated) and even more popular than beer and wine (because cider was less expensive).

Nowadays, a fair number of local apples will be picked and pressed by neighbors to make cider. We hear that it takes about 36 mature apples to make a gallon of apple cider with a bit of a kick. See also the image in the first Comment space. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 15 and 18, 2021.)

In the Right Place: Cruel Irony Department

It’s high summer here in “Vacationland” and we’re still getting more days of gruel-like fog and/or intermittent rain than days of our famed dazzlingly blue skies filled with mounds of white clouds. Sailing classes at neighboring WoodenBoat School sometimes seem to require use of meteorological braille.

The aftereffects of Tropical Storm Fred arrived as hard rain last night and this morning. We’re bracing for T.S. Henri to come and spend his last troubled days here over the weekend and/or next week. Some say he’ll turn into a hurricane a bit south of here and leave us with manic rain.

Yet, the cruel irony is that the majority of Maine still is abnormally dry or even in drought – and it got slightly worse last week in the State’s northeast counties, according to yesterday’s weekly U.S. Drought Monitor report of data recorded August 17. The Monitor maps are accessible online at https://droughtmonitor.unl.edu/CurrentMap.aspx

Yesterday’s Monitor map for Maine, above, shows that, as of August 17, the State’s coasts are normal (white), but other areas are “abnormally dry” (yellow), in “moderate drought” (tan), or in “severe drought” (burnt orange). (Brooklin, Maine; fog image taken at WoodenBoat on August 12, 2021)

In the Right Place: Invasions We Have Known

A carousing flotilla of at least 14 female and juvenile Common Mergansers swarmed into the fast-moving waters at the mouth of Patten Stream on Tuesday. They had a fabulous time chasing each other on top and below the water without catching a single fish. Their long, sharply serrated bills often seemed to be smiling or even laughing in a grotesque, prehistoric way.

There also was plenty of loud, stand-up wing clapping applause by these ducks. (Here you see a Merganser clapping and not standing on anything, it’s treading water:

The reason that virtually all ducks make such displays is not fully known, as far as I can tell. It apparently is not a sexual display. Most researchers seem to theorize that it simply is a way for ducks to stretch and relieve cramped wings; some say that it’s a way to shed beaded water from their backs, and one “scientific” article offered the unlikely finding that the move is to activate the ducks’ preening oil gland (“uropygial gland”) at the base of their tails.

(Images taken at Surry, Maine, on August 17, 2021.)

In the Right Place: A Necessary Paradox

Dragonflies have the grace of lightness, flying balletic maneuvers in sun-glinted blurs and landing with a touch so soft that a slender leaf does not appear to feel it.  The Dragonfly seen here apparently is a male Blue Dasher (Pachydiplax longipennis) that was descending to a favorite perch in a local pond on Monday, August 18:

Yet, from nymph through winged adult, they are carnivorous and considered to be among the world’s most vicious and successful territorial predators.

Adult Dragonflies hunt almost any flying insect, from tiny midges and mosquitoes, to smaller dragonflies, to moths and butterflies that are larger than they are. They reportedly can consume up to 10 percent of their body weight in fellow insects daily.

The adults’ predatory skills derive from their excellent eyesight and extraordinary aerodynamic design. Their four wings can be moved and rotated independently. This enables them to attack in a straight line with incredible speed, yet fly straight up, straight down, stop and turn on a dime, and fly backwards.

Leighton Archive Image

Their hunting tactics seem to vary due to species. Some are so-called “hawkers,” which roam continuously over their territories in search of prey. Some are “perchers” (or “salliers”), which perch in poised position and wait for prey to come by before taking off; often they will return to a good spot after a kill and wait for another victim. Others are “gleaners,” which alternate perching with slow hunting flights through vegetation; they seem to favor stationary victims.

Blue Dashers , such as this one seen Monday, are perchers, They also are very aggressive protectors of their territories and sometimes seem to spend more time chasing other Blue Dashers than hunting.

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Hail to the Chieftain

You never know what you’re going to see around here. This is a replica of the small Gislinge Boat excavated in 1993 near the town of that name in Denmark, which is pronounced “Jiss-ling,” I’m told.

Archaeologists reportedly think that the vessel might have been built for a Danish Chieftain in or about the year 1130, soon after the Viking Age.

This replica, on the other hand, was built by WoodenBoat School students in this year’s Stitch-and-Glue Boatbuilding Class. They used computer-cut marine plywood with wire stitches and epoxy, among other things.

The students used plans, based on the original vessel’s measurements, that were developed by Class Instructor John Harris’s Chesapeake Light Craft Company, which markets boat kits and plans. (Brooklin, Maine; images taken August 14, 2021) See also the image in the first Comment space.

In the Right Place: A Moment of Silence

On Saturday morning, I was watching the sun battling the fog in Great Cove and saw no living creatures except seagulls and a lone cormorant. Then, a moving speck among the islands out in Eggemoggin Reach caught my eye. It slowly became a large schooner under full sail, coming silently toward the Cove’s southern entry, apparently trying to escape the Reach’s heavier fog and haze for a while.

She passed through the Cove with no sound and returned to the foggy Reach through the Cove’s northern entry. (See the image in the first Comment space.)

It was a moment out of the 19th and early 20th Centuries. The schooner was an old friend, the 170-foot Victory Chimes, launched in 1900 as the Edwin and Maud to freight fertilizer, coal, and lumber. As with the other coastal cruisers that have come to see the Cove this summer, the Chimes seemed to have fewer passengers than in prior (non-Covid) years. (Brooklin, Maine, image taken August 14)

In the Right Place: Hippies

Many Beach Rose (Rosa rugosa) hips are now cherry-tomato-sized and providing our deer a crunchy alternative to unripe apples. Humans also consume these hips for their vitamin C, antioxidant, and flavonoid content. Beach Rose plants are popular here, despite the plants’ highly invasive nature.

The plants originated in Asia and were imported into New England for ornamental use as well as to stabilize shifting shorelines, hence their common name. Their flowers, usually white or a shade of pink/purple, are attractive:

Since this hardy species had a high tolerance for sea salt, it was tried along New England roads that got plenty of salt and other chemicals in the winter. It prospered; some would say too much.

Firmly established Beach Rose plants create dense barriers of thorns and spines that can be painful, if not impenetrable, to walkers and dogs. They also are almost impossible to remove without heavy digging equipment. (Brooklin, Maine, images taken August 13)

In the Right Place: A Tale of Two Ladies

Here you see yesterday’s dawn sunlight touching little Martha and big Angelique as they sleep in Great Cove. It was a wonderful sight, especially since we haven’t been able to see the Cove on many mornings lately, due to heavy fog.

Martha is a local legend. She was built in 1967 by the famed Brooklin naval architect Joel White for his even more famous father, the New York- and Brooklin-based author E.B. White. Martha was named after Joel’s daughter, E.B.’s granddaughter.

She’s a sloop-rigged Crocker Pocket Cruiser that is almost 20 feet long overall (19’ 9”). After E.B.’s death, Martha was sold by the White family to Rich Hilsinger, Director of the WoodenBoat School here, who promised to keep her in Brooklin. Here’s an archive image of Rich sailing her in the Cove:

Leighton Archive Image

Angelique is a 130-foot topsail ketch. She was built in 1980 for the tourist trade and is designed to look like a 19th Century English North Sea trawler. Nonetheless, Angelique has unseen modern touches, including a metal hull, full (not retractable) keel, and two powerful diesel engines. Here’s a close-up of her yesterday:

(Brooklin, Maine)

In the Right Place: Colliding Ways of Life

This image was taken in Stonington, Maine, on August 1. It appeared yesterday in our monthly column in the Ellsworth American, which discussed “Gentrification” pressures in Maine.

Click on the image to enlarge it. To read the column, click here: http://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Maine Drought Report

The above-average rain and fog of July on the Maine coast is now the above average rain and fog of August here. The moisture has increased our ground water and is relieving the coast from the State’s significant dryness problem. (See the drought report below.)

In the image above, you see Patten Stream in Surry, Maine, tumbling fresh water into salty Patten Bay at very low tide on August 6. The image shows an interesting mixture of life that is below water at high tide.

The bright green strands on the rocks appear to be the algae known as Green Rope Seaweed (Acrosiphonia spp.). In the upper background are fields of seaweed that appear to be Knotted Wrack (Ascophyllum nodosum), the brown algae that is our most common form of Rockweed.

About 10 feet upstream, you’ll see that some of the rocks are spotted with what appears to be Common Orange Lichen (Xanthoria parietina), also known as Maritime Sunburst Lichen:

Despite the precipitation here on the coast, today’s federal “U.S. Drought Monitor” reports that Maine still has a significant dryness problem, as of August 10.

This week’s Monitor map, above, shows that the majority of the State remains “abnormally dry” (yellow), in “moderate drought” (tan), or in “severe drought” (burnt orange). See the image in the first Comment space. (Brooklin, Maine)