JOURNAL
Above, you see Naskeag Harbor at low tide on Monday. This picturesque Maine working waterfront often illustrates those special qualities of varying Maine light and weather along the state’s rugged coasts that attract many artists here. Here’s one of them trying to capture the spruce trees and rocks along the Harbor shore:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 2, 2024.)
Yesterday was as close to perfect as it gets in Great Cove: pure-smelling breezes that got worked up to double-digit gusts; a bright sun in a blue sky, temperatures hovering around 70 degrees, and sails up everywhere, greedily grabbing the air and running with it.
It gets better. About midday, the classic schooner “Stephen Taber” was sighted cutting down Eggemoggin Reach and really moving before a following wind. She usually passes several miles outside of the Cove. But, yesterday she decided to short-cut through the Cove at a nice clip, constantly adjusting her big sails to catch as much air as possible:
Watching that fly-by was like peering back into the best of the 19th Century. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 3, 2024.)
We had some hard rain and significant winds over the weekend, and I was worried about the wild apple tree branches and the fruit in the unpruned trees. So, I went over to my favorite abandoned orchid yesterday to check things out.
I found that there was not only no damage, but that the trees were choking with fruit from top to bottom. Moreover, the apples seemed prematurely advanced in ripeness. They were very hard and spit-out tart, though.
They could be picked and pressed into passable cider, I suppose; but that won’t happen. They’ll just fall and be eaten by the wildlife or rot. Nonetheless, the black bears will have plenty to gorge themselves on before their winter’s sleep this year. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 2, 2024.)
Below, you’ll see the pocket cruiser “Martha” in Great Cove yesterday afternoon during a small Down East weather event. The fog was receding but not totally gone, sunlight was beginning to reach the water, south-southeast gusts of maybe 10 miles per hour were rolling the water intermittently, and a late-summer haze was filtering out color.
We live on a ridge above the Cove and we look down on “Martha’s” mooring. She has become one of our weather descriptors. For example, when I’m not near a southwestern-facing window and the fog is moving in or going out or its raining hard, I might ask Barbara: “Can you still see ‘Martha’?” The answer can tell you a lot.
As many of you know, “Martha” was built for the author E.B. White by his naval architect son, Joel, the founder of the famous Brooklin Boat Yard. She’s not quite 20 feet long and reportedly a joy to sail. “Martha” is now owned by Rich Hilsinger, the former Director of the WoodenBoat School and a Brooklin resident who has a fascinating music show on WERU. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on September 1, 2024.)
[NOTE: August here in the nation’s self-designated “Vacationland” is THE BIG MONTH. Be prepared for many images in our comprehensive visual review of our August scenes and activity.]
As usual, we start with images of the local vistas that we record monthly through the year. Here are the August views of Mount Desert Island , as was seen from Brooklin’s Amen Ridge; the old red boathouse in Blue Hill’s Conary Cove; the summer house on Brooklin’s Harbor Island, and Blue Hill at the end of Blue Hill Bay:
We’ll move now from some of the well-travelled areas to examples of Down East’s hidden trails and byways that were especially inviting to knowledgeable hikers, cyclists, and (in some cases) motorists during August:
The state of stream flows and ground water levels always is a concern in August, when there can be dry or even drought conditions here. But not this year. This year, there was ample rain and the streams and ponds generally stayed at acceptable levels:
The essence of high-summer is in the green fields turning dusky and becoming crowded with white, yellow, and purple flowers that attract the last of the butterflies. This year, the August fields contained an abundance of white Queen Anne’s lace and daisy fleabane; yellow goldenrod, black-eyed Susans, and tansy, and purple meadowsweet, bull thistle, and loosestrife, among other last-of-the-summer blooms. But, along the field edges, the wild blackberries were ripening.:
August is when you can tell how good the fall apple crop will be, and all signs pointed to a bumper crop. The same was true for the rose hip crop that was maturing on beach rose bushes as the flowers were disappearing:
We had a relatively cool and wet August, which meant that some of the stranger flora appeared, including Indian pipes (a colorless wildflower) and various fungi including large red-belted polypores acting like shelves on trees, small scarlet waxy cap mushrooms, and yellow and white coral fungi.
Among the cultivated flora, the many August standouts included sunflowers, tiger lilies, and viburnum bushes:
On the fauna front, August is when the young wildlife come of age and start to learn the ways of their worlds. We had a good birthing of white-tailed deer fawns this year; they blend well into the white-speckled August fields. Other young mammals exploring their new worlds included newly-born eastern cottontail rabbits.
The fields of August always are good classrooms for young wild turkeys who learn from their moms and aunts how to find seeds and pounce on insects. In the nests above them, there still was at least one fledgling osprey who hadn’t learned to fish yet. She returned regularly to the family nest and begged until Dad brought her a fish (after he had eaten the nutritious head).
Other fishing birds that were very active in August included great blue herons, snowy egrets and herring gulls. But we must never forget our seed-eating black-capped chickadees, the Maine State Bird. They’re very active in August, even though they wear their winter clothes all summer.
Finally, as to fauna, we turn to the insects. Among the two most important are the monarch butterflies and dragonflies. The August monarchs, whose recent ancestors migrated here in the spring, produced the caterpillars that will pupate into the last Maine generation of the year — the generation that will migrate to Mexico and reproduce there to begin a new cycle. The dragonflies consume millions of mosquitos and other annoying pests and some migrate in August and September, but not blue dashers such as the one shown below.
On the waterfront, August is a busy month here for classic windjammer visits, lobster fishing, and recreational boating. As for windjammers, five of them overnighted in Great Cove during the month in varying weather. Usually, their passengers come ashore and explore the renowned WoodenBoat School and Publications campus there. Here are the August visitors:
American Eagle
Angelique
Mary Day
J.&E. Riggin
Stephen Taber
As for the working harbor, you’ll see below the August portraits of six of our resident fishing vessels at rest after hauling lobster traps:
Blue Sky and Judith Ann
Dear Abbie:
Dream On
Meghan Dee
Tarrfish
I should mention that this year the Town of Brooklin added a new boat landing and docking float at Naskeag Harbor to assist fishermen and the public at large. Here’s Tarrfish using it:
As for the recreational waterfront, the first Saturday of August is the day for the Annual Eggemoggin Reach Regatta for wooden boats, which ends in Great Cove. This year, the race was socked-in by fog, but that show went on as it virtually always does:
Nonetheless, there were very spectacular days — sunny and foggy — in Great Cove during Augusr. That’s where the WoodenBoat School sailing classes take place, exotic vessels visit, and well-balanced individuals glide.
Finally, we come to the month’s full moon. It’s called The Sturgeon Moon, the name Native Americans gave it because those fish run in August. Like the fish, this year’s August full moon was difficult to see. We had fog and haze during the three nights and dawns that it was supposed to be full to the human eye, but there was one short period when the sky cleared.
(All images in this post were taken in Down East Maine during August of 2024.)
We caught two handsome schooners trying to sneak out of Great Cove earlier than usual Thursday morning. They passed the almost-20-foot “Martha” (previously E.B. White’s cruiser), which was a good indicator of their size, although perspective makes estimations tricky.
Above, you see the120-foot “J.&E. Riggin,” launched in 1927 and now out of Rockland, Maine. Her quick-identification points are her spoon bow and low-slung black hull that has a continuous sheer to the stern without any fancy taffrail around the afterdeck. Below, you’ll see the 110-foot “Stephen Taber,” launched in 1871 and now also is out of Rockland.
The “Taber” has more quick-identification points. They include her very dark green hull that often looks black at a distance; a decorated bow top with separated white bowsprit above; a high, often-unused main topmast, and her fancy white taffrail around the afterdeck.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 29, 2024; overall lengths used.)
It was dark and misting with a very low tide in Patten Bay when I got to the mouth of Patten Stream. In a word, it was gloomy; I immediately decided to leave if a scan turned up nothing interesting. Then, a great blue heron moved from behind the rockweed-draped rocks to stalk a school of small fish. A great blue’s slow, gangling grace on the hunt is fascinating.
The heron stalked into an area where the light was mostly behind him. He immediately was transformed into a double silhouette, he and his shadow slowly but steadily approaching his prey. Reptilian in a way.
Before the great blue could strike in this dark drama, a snowy egret suddenly swooped into the area on soundless wings, apparently seeing the same school of small fish. This disrupted everything. The surprise contrast simply was jolting. It was like an angel – pure, startlingly bright white – suddenly appearing with a message atop dark waters on a dreary day. This message was confusion.
I forgot it was raining and watched the two hunters use their different styles looking for the small fish that got away.
(Images taken in Surry, Maine, on August 28, 2024; sexes assumed for better narration.)
This sail catamaran gets the prize for the most interesting vessel to moor in Great Cove this week. It’s not so much how she looks; it’s where she apparently comes from. Her transom says that she’s “Three Score” from Newport Beach, California. If she does hail from southern California, how did she get here? Panama Canal? Cross-country truck/trailer?
I’m not great with estimating sizes, but she appears to be about 40 feet long overall and maybe 20 feet wide. That mast is substantial (70 feet?). She was flying a U.S. flag. She stayed several days here, mostly just moored to a WoodenBoat School mooring.
Anyone know more about her? (Images taken August 26, 2024.) See also the image in the first Comment space.
I was in the woods Monday, softly “pishing.” (Don’t jump to any nasty conclusions; see below.) A common yellowthroat warbler had just flitted into a dense area and I was hoping that I would provoke its curiosity enough so that it would show itself again.
~~ EXPLANATION BREAK FOR NON-BIRDERS: “Pishing” is a way to attract small birds by making soft, repetitive sounds that might provoke their curiosity, such as “pish, pish, pish,” or “siss, siss, siss,” or even “fish, fish, fish.” ~~
As I was saying, I was “pishing” in the woods. All of a sudden, this grumpy black-capped chickadee – the Maine state bird – popped up out of a cluster of spruce needles as if I had just awakened him while he was sleeping on the couch with the TV on. He cursed me as only an angry chickadee can, then disappeared into the dark interior.
Our chickadees are not as flashy as yellowthroats. But the yellowthroats soon will take off and head south where flashiness is common all year. The chickadee was wearing his plain winter outfit already. (Of course, chickadees always wear their plain winter outfits, but that’s another story.) Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 26, 2024.
The Town’s new float at Naskeag Harbor not only looks good, it seems to be working well. Many fishermen are now tying up their dinghies there when they come ashore after hauling lobster traps. They also can tie up their fishing vessels there for short periods when there is a need, as you see happened Sunday:
The float also a public float for locals and visitors and part of a much-improved boat-landing area. In addition, it has become a picturesque fishing spot, which may not have been in the original plan:
I hear that good-sized striped bass (aka rock fish in some southern waters) sometimes run in the Harbor. Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, at noon and sunset August 25, 2024.)
Wild common blackberries here are starting to ripen into high-summer delicacies for outdoor hikers who don’t mind consuming unwashed fruit and an occasional thorn-nick. (The dark ones shown here were tangy-scrumptious.)
These brambles also are known as Allegheny blackberries, as their scientific name indicates (Rubus allegeniensis). They’re members of the rose family and native to eastern and central North America.
Common blackberries on the vine often are difficult for the casual observer in the wild to differentiate from their rose family cousins, black raspberries, which grow in the east as Rubus occidentalis and along the west coast as R. leucodermis.
However, it’s easy to tell the difference. After a berry is plucked, look at its bottom: if its center is hollow like a thimble, it’s a raspberry; if its center is “corked” like a jug, it’s a blackberry:
(First image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 25, 2024.)
Yesterday was one of those days here that we’ll dream about in February as we try to remember high-summer. The sky was vast and blue and safe for little clouds to play there; an occasional breeze gave you the subtle thrill of a meaningful touch, and the warming sun was kind and restrained, never letting the temperature get higher than 76° (F).
It was a good day to take our August 2024 record photograph of Blue Hill across Blue Hill Bay to share with those who will dream of a Maine summer in February. (Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on August 24, 2024.)
It’s been a revealing week at the Osprey Nest. As you probably know, that’s the local summer home of the fish hawk couple known here as Ozzie and Harriet. They’ve raised three fledglings there this summer, whom we’ve named David, Ricky, and June for narration purposes. All three youngsters have been flying well since they left the nest.
However, during the past week, I’ve seen only June, the youngest, return to the nest to be fed. That’s June in the above image: she had just flown to the nest and was begging loudly for food as usual. And, also as usual, Ozzie soon showed up with a headless fresh fish that he flipped into the nest for her; he’s not completely selfless; he apparently eats the head for its most nutritious brain and eyes:
If David and Ricky continue to avoid the nest for meals, it will be a safe bet that they’ve finally learned how to plunge dive for fish and feed themselves. June will have to learn that essential maneuver soon, since Ozzie probably will migrate south next month no matter what.
I haven’t seen Harriet for two weeks. She’s successfully done her grueling job of birthing and protecting three selfish raptors in all sorts of weather. She’s probably migrated south early, or at least is enjoying a well-earned Maine vacation in solitude. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 21, 2024.)
It looks like we’ll be having a bumper crop of wild apples from abandoned trees this fall. This apple tree arising out of choking undergrowth is probably over 100 years old, based on local history. It’s full of ripening apples:
That fruit will not be harvested by humans, but wildlife will eat much of the crop. Some apples will last long enough to ferment and make some creatures drunk.
The prospect of a “bumper crop” of apples made me realize that I had no idea why an abundant harvest is called a bumper crop. Well, it seems that, in the 19th Century, the verb “to bump” also meant “to bulge” when describing solid objects. (Its use with wine and beer is another story.) When sacks bulged with a harvested yield, they “bumped,” and the harvest was called a “bumper crop.”
That word use is now defined as obsolete, but I’ve grown to accept some obsolescence in life. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 21, 2024.)
Here you see the first supermoon of the year as it appeared over Great Cove yesterday at 5 a.m., when a curtain of overcast opened briefly. The moon still was considered full, although it first appeared full Monday, during days of rain, overcast, and fog prevented us from seeing it here until yesterday.
Within minutes of this image being taken, the curtain of overcast started to close again, and the morning fog continued to roll over Eggemoggin Reach toward us:
By 6:00 a.m., Babson Island and most of our north field had disappeared in fog. The sun burned it off later in the morning.
This moon is considered to be a “supermoon” because it’s orbiting about 14,000 miles closer to Earth than average. It’s also a “blue moon” because it’s the third full moon in a season with four full moons. (The second full moon in a rare month with two full moons also is considered to be a “blue moon.”)
Finally, this August full moon traditionally is called the sturgeon moon, a translation of the Algonquin tribe name for it, because the month is one of the best times for catching those fish. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 21, 2024.)
Here you see one of the most vicious creatures known to man, if you judge by disposition, size, and weight. It’s a male blue dasher dragonfly (Pachydiplax longipennis:.
He’s a bit longer than one inch and weighs much less than an ounce. As usual, he’s sitting on a favorite spot in his territory, ready to fiercely attack any other male and hook up (literally) with any female of his kind that gets close. (Female blue dashers are mostly brown and yellow, despite their name, as you may know.)
This blue male also is ready to dash out and kill any small flying insect that comes by, including mosquitos, moths, and flies. Blue dashers have voracious appetites; they reportedly consume up to 10 percent of their body weight in insects daily. (Imagine what 10 percent of your body weight in daily solid foods would look like.) Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 5, 2024.
Here you see one of the most publicized Maine-built vessels emerging from the fog in Great Cove on Saturday. Significant restoration hides her hard life and age. She’s the renowned yacht “Grayling.”
She was built in 1915 in East Boothbay, Maine, as a double-ended (two-“bowed”) fishing vessel with a distinctive cypress pilothouse. She seine-netted mackerel and herring at first (hence the double-ended design), and then became a sardine carrier in 1920. She trucked sardines to and from canneries for 70 years and then, when her useful life was thought to be at an end, she was “put on the hard” and, basically, left to rot.
She was rediscovered and restored for a client in 1997 by Doug Hylan, a Brooklin, Maine, boatbuilder. The result was this distinctive, ketch-rigged yacht that sleeps 11. She’s long (almost 65 feet overall) and thin (12.5-foot beam), which means she must carry significant ballast (10 tons) and use her staysail to help avoid excessive rolling.
By the way, as you may know, a grayling is an attractive freshwater fish in the salmon family that prefers very cold water. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 17, 2024.)
Above, you see a male monarch butterfly on goldenrod trying to reenergize himself after chasing females all morning. Below, you’ll see a somewhat-worn female laying eggs on a common milkweed leaf:
I think these two orange beauties are the second-to-last generation of their kind here, and that we’re probably seeing them perform their last hurrahs before they die.
Monarch generations live from two to five weeks during their breeding season here. The second-to-last last generation of Maine monarchs will produce the fertilized eggs on milkweed that will become the fancy striped caterpillars of late summer that look like all others. But, they’re not.
Those last caterpillars will transform themselves (pupate) into special monarch butterflies that will have delayed reproduction capabilities. They’ll use all their considerable energies to migrate to central Mexico, where they’ll overwinter and produce a new generation of Mexican monarchs.
That new Mexican generation will include the monarchs that start the generational relay race called the spring eastern monarch migration. Maine will be one of the last stops for some of the more adventurous migrators, and the cycle will continue unbroken if conditions allow.
Whether those conditions will allow is questionable, as you’ve read many times in these posts. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 15 and 16, 2024.)
We’ve been having foggy mornings in Great Cove for about a week, but yesterday’s early fog was especially dense. We were in a thick cloud until mid-morning when some of the boats moored in front of Babson Island began to appear.
Then the trees on Babson Island began to show and with them two schooner mastheads:
Soon, the 120-foot J&E Riggin was disclosed; she had overnighted just off Babson’s beach. She was on a five-day private charter, according to her schedule:
The Riggin, launched in 1927, has no in-board engine, but she does have radar and radio. When the fog cleared enough to navigate, the schooner’s 16-foot diesel yawl boat was strapped to her stern like an outboard motor, and she was powered into a turn-about and motored out of the Cove headed South. She never raised a sail as she departed us.
I wonder what the drill is for such an outboard-powered schooner to avoid a surprise collision when she finally attains cruising speed. Long vessels with large in-board engines can try “full reverse” to slow things down a bit and can surge power for radical turns. (Having someone jump into the yawl boat to reverse or turn off the engine seems a bit awkward and time-consuming.)
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 17, 2024.)
Beach rose flowers are losing their petals with a little help from Japanese beetles, but the remaining large, fleshy seed pods known as rose “hips” are looking very good this year.
This plant (Rosa rugosa) originally was imported from Asia to shore up eroding beaches. It has naturalized itself and grows wild along coastal areas, much to the chagrin of property owners who find it almost impossible to get rid of the dense, invasive shrubbery. Nonetheless, the plant’s rose hips are valued by many for their high content of antioxidants, especially Vitamin C, and polysaccharide-peptides.
The origin of the description the seed pods of rose plants as “rose hips” is unclear. It apparently has no relation to the human body. Most etymologists seem to trace it back to the pronunciation of the Greek word for a similar plant that has large seed pods, the dog rose (Rosa canina), which is native to Europe and Asia. In Medieval times, apparently, parts of the dog rose plant were used to make salves for dog bites, hence it’s Latin and English name.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on August 12 and 13, 2024.)
