In the Right Place: Fair-Weather Friends

Above, you see stratocumulus clouds on parade yesterday above the near mountain called Blue Hill. Below, you’ll see that the parade began over the Atlantic Ocean and also passed in review of the western mountains of Mount Desert Island:

As you probably know, stratocumulus clouds are a combination of "stratus" (layered) and "cumulus" (puffy) clouds. They usually are happy clouds that come by in fair weather, but, like all of us, they occasionally get moody and bring light drizzle, mist, or insignificant snow. (Images taken in Blue Hill and Brooklin, Maine, on April 11, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Hatching of the Nutty Kind

Above, you see a red-breasted nuthatch; you’ll see its mate ibelow. The pair buzzed me repeatedly this week; they apparently have staked out a nesting area near one of my favorite trails. In Maine, we also have white-breasted nuthatches that have (you guessed it) white breasts instead of rusty-red ones.

Nuthatches are known for moving headfirst down tree trunks. They’re diminutive (less than 5” and less than 5 oz.), but surprisingly aggressive. I’ve seen one get in the face of two bully blue jays and chase them off a feeder.

Contrary to what you infer from their name, Nuthatches don’t try to hatch nuts like eggs. They’re named after the Middle English term for their habit of "hacking" or "hatching" open nuts and large seeds by wedging them into tree bark crevices and hammering them with their sharp, strong bills. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 8, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Eels of Fortune

This image of Maine glass eels appears with my monthly column in the current Ellsworth American. To read the column about troubling and promising events affecting this now-active fishery, use this link: https://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

n the Right Place: Pooling Resources

Above and below are images of some of our vernal pools where amphibians return in the spring each year to ensure the survival of their species. This year, the pools seem to have less water than prior years. Otherwise, they appear ready.

Vernal (spring) pools typically are small and temporary bog pools that appear in spring and fall and host a great diversity of wildlife. They’re disappearing in Maine and elsewhere, primarily due to the encroachment of human development. Since 2007, Maine has designated and protected “Significant Vernal Pools” by regulation under its Natural Resources Protection Act. Last year, the Maine legislature enacted a law that established a 100-foot “no disturbance” zone around these Significant pools.

Maine’s vernal pools are critical breeding and feeding habitats for salamanders (spotted, blue-spotted and four-toed); frogs (spring peepers, wood, green, gray tree and bull frogs), as well as American toads.

Other fascinating creatures rely on these wet Maine habitats for parts of their life cycles, including fairy shrimp, fingernail clams, garter snakes, herons, raccoons and diving beetles. Even moose use vernal pools as an early season opportunity to cool off, avoid insects and browse on emerging vegetation.

The first warm, rainy spring nights in coastal Maine trigger massive nocturnal migrations of amphibians to their local vernal pools to breed. Concerned citizens traditionally guess when that activity will peak and designate one or more nights as “Big Nights” to go out and help their tiny neighbors cross dangerous roads. Around here, a Big Night is scheduled for tomorrow.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 7 and 8, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Flakey April

Here you see it snowing yesterday while the temperature was mostly above freezing. No one was astonished. Millions of small, light snowflakes wafted beautifully down. Most of them suffered the ignominious fate of becoming wet spots on the ground. Some flakes survived: Our north field at first light this morning made us want to have sugared pastry for breakfast:

All of that sugaring probably will be gone by this afternoon. But, we’ll probably get more snow this month and maybe a significant storm, if history is prologue.

While April often brings warmer weather to Down East Maine, heavy snowstorms during the month are not unusual here. According to precipitation reports, significant snow (6+ inches) happens here in April about 22 percent of the time, and measurable snow has occurred in about 20 of the last 30 Aprils. We had a near-blizzard here in April of 2024; it dumped 12–18+ inches on us and other parts of the state.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 7 and 8, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Bernie & Bernice, I

This first report of 2026 on Bernie and Bernice Beaver is premature, but I’m getting many questions from their concerned FaceBook fans now. Above you see my last photo of one of them, taken at dusk in Novembe. There’s not much to report for this spring yet. Below is an image of B&B’s pond, taken yesterday:

As you see, the ice in their pond is virtually out and their half-built lodge was destroyed by weather and coyotes in the winter. I haven’t seen either beaver yet, but I’ve seen plenty of beaver tracks that indicate at least one is active, probably at night. There also seem to have been new tree trunks, branches, cattail blades and evergreens on their lodge foundation every morning lately. My guess (and hope) is that both survived the winter.

These sightings are consistent with what I‘ve seen and read about American beavers. April is a time of transitioning from their winter routines to spring activities, a time  when they’re focused primarily on repairing winter damage, foraging for fresh spring growth, and preparing for the birth of their young.

Beaver kits in Maine are typically born in spring, primarily during late May and June, with some born as early as April or as late as July. Females reportedly give birth to an average of four kits per litter, which are born with full fur, open eyes and (of course) sharp teeth. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 6, 2026, and November 18, 2025.)

In the Right Place: Yahoo!

Here you see the fishing Vessel TARRFISH pulling, bucking and swinging on her mooring in Naskeag Harbor during Saturday’s high winds. About 200 feet away, FV ALL-IN also was acting like a lassoed wild horse:

I’m not sure what mooring gear these Brooklin boats are using, but it must be substantial. The literature indicates that lobster boats typically use heavy-duty gear designed for stability and 360-degree swings into tides and winds.

The anchors commonly are 2,000-to-4,000-pound blocks of concrete or granite, or mushroom/helix anchors on the seafloor, The anchors usually are connected by heavy galvanized ground chains, shackled to lighter top chains that are connected to the ball buoys. Swiveled inter-connections prevent chain twisting. Heavy duty rope or a poly steel line finished with anti-chafing gear links the buoy to the vessel’s bow.

Note that both of these boats fly blue and white International Alpha Signal Dive flags; these indicate that wetsuit diving is done from the vessels.  (images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 5, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Dam Right They Can

Here you see Fyke funnel nets in Mill Stream trying to trap glass eels just below the dam at Blue Hill Bay. These migrating immature American eels (sometimes called elvers) swim up our streams to spend the best years of their lives in freshwater. But you might wonder how they handle a dam such as this,

During some high tides in the spring, the Bay water reportedly comes in over this dam, which makes it easy at those times. However, glass eels have been known to wriggle up the wetted, vertical surfaces of some dams, often at night, though they much prefer man-made specialized eel ramps or ladders. (Images taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on April 4, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Let It Rain

Here’s an image of an uncomplaining Tarrfish in yesterday’s rain. Today is clear, but April showered us each of her first three days and the hope is that she will relieve us of the severe drought that we’ve been suffering since fall.

During the last week of March, temperatures were above normal across most of New England, but Maine and New Hampshire observed below-normal temperatures (2–8 °F), according to the U.S. Drought Monitor. Despite the snow and rain that we received in March, there was no significant improvement in our drought intensity, as you’ll see in this week’s USDM map::.

We need as many gloomy, rainy days as April has in her weather warehouse to ensure that the water soaks into the soil. (Photo taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 3, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Bad Breath Beauties

April is doing a good job showering away March’s discarded snow and watering the eastern skunk cabbages. This spring’s crop of those beauties with bad breath may be one of our best. Their curly spathes (flower-protecting modified leaves) are especially varied in color this year.

The color variations in the spathes apparently are caused by natural, inherent genetic diversity and environmental adaptation. These variations, often resulting in marbling or solid colors, serve to camouflage the plant against early spring leaf litter. 

The spathes usually last only a few weeks before the plants’ large and lush green leaves fully emerge and grab as much light as they can. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 2, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Long Shots

April’s full moon was behind clouds last night, as you can see, but I had no problem finding it. Nor do I think our Artemis II rocket team will have any problem finding it, after watching their breath-taking launch yesterday. But I have to admit that I’ll be nervous until these brave astronauts return safely.

As you probably know, this April moon traditionally is called the Pink Full Moon because its arrival generally coincides with the blooming of pink “creeping phlox” wildflowers, Phlox subulata, which signify spring’s rebirth. To help you visualize that fine thought, I offer this merged image:

(First image taken in Brooklin on April 2, 2026 [35:38 a.m.]; second image composited from Leighton Archive images.)

March Postcards From Down East Maine

March of 2026 here on Maine’s Down East coast was upside down and volatile. The first half of the month often was spring-like, while the second half often was wintery. There were above-average snow accumulations, as well as some significant periods of rain and sleet and power-outing mixes of all of those conditions with gale-force winds and flood warnings. Yet, we remained in severe drought the entire month. And, to top it all off, we had some of the most beautiful, sunny days that ever graced this gifted coast.

For example, there were days to bask in the sun and days to be tormented by rain, sleet and fierce winds:

As usual, let’s document the four iconic scenes that we always show in the Postcards for cross-referencing purposes. First there’s Brooklin’s Naskeag Harbor house, which we’ll show in March’s spring-like and wintery moods:

Next, here’s thde Brooklin view of the mountains on Mount Desert Island on a cold, clear March day:

In Blue Hill, granite-coasted Conary Cove also seemed to be at its best when the ice and snow were mostly gone. However, judging by the holiday wreath, someone considers March to be in winter:

As for the last of the four scenes of record, March’s snow and sea ice seemed to be the best choice for a view of the near-mountain named Blue Hill and the Bay named after it:

March’s snowfalls, themselves, often were gusts of small flakes that came in plumes, like a white dust storm. But, when the sun came out the next day, it often was clear that March’s white dust was of the magic kind.

Of course, significant snowfalls have to be plowed. And, if we get a lot of them, as we did this March, that plowed snow becomes old, dirty piles that everyone wishes would go away.

March also is the bringer of spring and daylight saving time, which can be hard to appreciate fully while surrounded by piles of snow or on cold, rainy days that seem to conjure cemetery spirits:

Yet, our first spring flowers always come in March, although they’re hidden inside the colorful, protective spathes of eastern skunk cabbage. Tightly-closed rhododendron and other March buds showed hope for April, even under snow. And, most trees and bushes seemed ready for spring activity, including speckled alder female seed cones (strobiles) being at the ready near the trees’ elongated male catkins.

Nonetheless, March’s freezes and thaws may have adversely affected tree tapping for maple syrup (see if you can find the falling drop of clear sap):

March’s meteorlogical madness got mixed reactions from our resident wildlife. Our white-tailed deer and smaller birds, such as black-capped chicadees, seemed to have no problem with the volatility. Our wild turkeys did have difficulties foraging when the snow was deep, but the Toms turkeys’ testosterone was spiking and the ritual March struts were not postponed.

As for non-residents, the Canada geese migrating south had no problem with the cold and snow, and they seemed grateful that we haven’t (yet) required them to show IDs:

On the other hand, the baby American eels (aka glass eels or elvers) arriving from their birthsites in the Sargasso Sea were a different story. They seek the freshwater in streams and ponds to mature. In Maine, they have to run a gauntlet of nets, which can be seen in full only at low tide at river and stream mouths. The captured live eels mostly are air-shipped to Asia, where they will grow in aquaculture farms and be sold later as delicacies.

Speaking of fresh water, March’s precipitation tended to run-off, rather than sink into, the soil, This didn’t help remedy the drought, but it did significantly enhance stream flows and pond levels.

Of course, Down East Maine is better known for its salt water than its fresh water. Among other maritime activities, this is a place for serious boat building, and one of the most serious at designing and building boats is the renowned Brooklin Boat Yard. During March, three BBY-designed vessels were being built among other activity there — a 47’ 6” racing sailboat , a 47’ power cruiser, and an 18’ skiff:

Although the Brooklin Boat Yard’s pier has been stripped of its docking floats, it is an attraction year-long due to its unique design and the constantly changing shadows and reflections of Center Harbor:

The famed WoodenBoat campus is not far from BBY. The headquarters of WoodenBoat Publications is there as is the WoodenBoat School, where students from all over the world are taught boat building and other maritime crafts in the summer. WBS also has a significant pier and boat house on Great Cove that are year-long attractions:

As for commercial sea activity, March is the last month for scallop-dragging in Maine waters, although diving for hand-harvested scallops will continue into April. Lobster boats that are active in summer are rigged with masts, booms, winches and drags (dredges) for scooping up Atlantic sea scallops from the sea bottom in the cold months:

There also are commercial vessels here that spend their winters and springs seemingly wearing sleeping masks and dreaming:

The March sky often was impressive this year. The month’s full moon traditionally is called the Worm Full Moon to signify the thawing of the ground and the reappearance of earthworms. Well, those worms often were thwarted by snow and ice this year. However, the fallen snow under the bright moon sometimes turned night into day, complete with shadows:

Finally, we leave you at the end of one of March’s finest days, when the sun had done a good job of melting snow and refused to go gently:

As usual, we’re having a wonderful time and wish you were here.

(All images in this post were taken in Down East Maine during March of 2026.)

In the Right Place: Still Crazy After All These Years

We say goodbye to March today with an image of her on one of her better days, a day when she wasn’t suffering from her severe meteorological madness:

That’s the Naskeag Harbor house and its buddy, the fishing vessel TARRFISH, trying to show March what spring should look like. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 28, 2026.)

In the Right Place: The Eyes Have It

Our white-tailed deer seem to have overcome the vicissitudes of March, assuming there are no more climate surprises in these last two days. Here you’ll see part of the herd that has hung out at our place all winter. These white-tailed deer that can move fast like to engage in long-range staring contests with white-headed men who can’t.

Those beautiful and phenomenal deer eyes rotate independently and have oval-shaped pupils that enhance the white-tails’ ability to see along the horizon. In fact, these deer reportedly have an amazing 310° peripheral field of view. We humans have 180°, if we’re lucky. White-tails reportedly also have about 18 times better nighttime vision than we do. But they are impolite when it comes to staring at those who are physically less fortunate than they.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 28 and 29, 2025.)

In the Right Place: March Molluskness

I happened to catch two of our scallop draggers (dredgers) moored at Naskeag Harbor in the friendly late light yesterday. Above, is TARRFISH, a traditional Down East lobster boat with added mast, boom. drag (dredge) and winch for winter scalloping. Below, is CHRISTOPHER-DEVIN III rigged similarly, but she’s a “Novi” (Nova Scotia) vessel, a design favored by our neighbor to the north.  

The scallop rigging soon will disappear as the boats get spruced up for summer lobstering. Maine’s scallop dragging season has ended in some areas and will end state-wide on March 31, unless the regulators decide to do something unexpected. Some diving for hand-harvesting scallops in wet suits will be allowed into April, unless sustainability requires closure. David Tarr, the owner of TARRFISH, is a scallop diver as well as a dragger. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 28, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Thoughts at the Pier

The Brooklin Boat Yard pier in Center Harbor is an enigmatic sight that is best seen in the open air, as French artists say, “en plein air.” It’s one of the many places that can’t be seen as it really is in a photograph’s reproduction of an instant.

It’s best to see the ever-shifting light, shadows and reflections here while feeling a sea breeze and breathing in a sea scent. And, as part of getting to know the place, you should see, feel and smell the differences that weather, seasons, tides and various perspectives make.

This pier shows the scars of modern replacements of historic parts that were destroyed by a nasty winter nor’easter in January of 2024. Metal and composite walkways now balance on the ancient granite block pilings; a bigger shed seemingly stands precariously on stilts and, in winter and early spring, the docking floats and colorful small boats are gone and its gangway is pulled up like a pirate’s plank, perhaps for long-winded photographers.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 20 and 23, 2026.)

In the Right Place: The Right Strut

As you’ll see below, Toms around here have gotten their spring testosterone spike and are now performing the wild turkey strut. This performance is one of the most complicated and strenuous displays in the animal kingdom.

There seem to be three major aspects to the turkey strut, a courtship and domination phenomenon. First, there’s the swelling-up. The Tom contracts his many muscles at the base of each feather on his back, breast and sides, making his tail fan out and other feathers stand up. Most Toms can swell themselves up to twice as large as they were when relaxed.

Second, there’s the related dance moves and sound effects. The Tom’s primary wing feathers are drooped down while he shuffles, stiff-legged. The wings scrape the ground and make a rustling sound, while he pulls back his head to expand his chest to the ultimate size possible. While doing this, he growls with a drum-like sound and “spits” or “huffs” with sounds amplified by vibrating his breast feathers. He then periodically shakes himself all over to make his fanned tail and wings rattle.

If that hasn’t made you wonder about the biological purposes of the varying concepts of male attractiveness in this world, the final phase of the strut should. The Tom uses his blood pressure to transform his head and face. The top of the Tom’s head turns red, white and blue, while his “snood” (that fleshy flap that dangles from his face) gets engorged with blood and elongates over his beak. As if that’s not enough, he then elongates and swells his “caruncle” (that testicular-like growth on the neck), while making it flaming red.

Ah, romance …. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 25, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Glass Sealings

Maine’s glass eel season opened Sunday. Above, is a Fyke net perched at the mouth of Surry Stream to trap migrating glass eels, sometimes called elvers, that will swim up the stream when the tide comes in. These nets, named after a 19th Century Dutch fish trap, apparently are the favored method of catching the transparent baby American eels. Below is an eel’s eye view of a trap:

Fyke (usually pronounced “Fick”) nets, basically, are large, thin-meshed funnel nets supported by long poles with an eel trap and capture bag at the end. They’re placed in the historic paths of the incoming eels that migrate here from the Sargasso Sea. Most of those that are caught here will be air-shipped to Asia, where they’ll be cultivated and sold as delicacies when mature.

These prized baby fish (yes, eels are fish) are seeking fresh water to mature and reside in. After several years, the adults will migrate back to the Sargasso area, breed, and die there. Many of their offspring mysteriously will return to American waters to have their fates sealed with a Fyke net or some other means. Under Maine regulations, the young eels also may be caught with a dip net or a “Sheldon eel trap,” which is a netted or screened box trap that is named after its Maine inventor.

The Maine glass eel fishery has been in decline for complicated reasons. There were only two Fyke nets at Patten Stream yesterday, while there were as many as seven in prior years. Meanwhile, Surry Stream has kept on churning.

(Images taken in Surry, Maine, on March 25, 2026.)

In the Right Place: BBY Shops, II

Here’s a visual update on the three remarkably diverse projects that were designed by the Brooklin Boat Yard and are now being built there. Shown in the foreground above, in the main shop, you see DYLAN. She’s an Eggemoggin 47+ (47’ 6” overall length) racing sailboat that’s coming along nicely and may be done by June. In the background is a unique 47’ Express Cruiser, a sleek power boat that apparently hasn’t been named yet. She’s in line to be completed and painted slightly after DYLAN, I’m told.

Below, you’ll see the no-name 18’ skiff being built in the auxiliary shop. She’ll be the first one completed, I assume. She has a remarkably good profile for a utility boat; I especially like the way her bow flare eases into the hull.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 23, 2026.)

In the Right Place: Close Encounters of the Honking Kind

These masked characters slipped over our northern borders under cover of another snowfall yesterday and the only ICE in sight was on the ground. Canada geese have been coming south for at least two weeks.

In Maine, Canada geese consist of both migratory birds such as these and rapidly increasing "resident" populations that stay here year-round, adapted especially to environments with large lawns and still, open water.

There were no Maine breeding populations of these birds before 1960, but restoration programs were highly successful, if not too successful in some areas. Canada geese are magnificent creatures that are monogamous, extremely territorial, and can live over 20 years. But, as you’ll see, they’re not always nice neighbors.

The Canada geese that choose to reside here increasingly are the "giant" subspecies of Canada goose (Branta canadensis maxima), which were once near-extinct. The literature reports that the adult giants average around 12–15 pounds, with exceptional specimens exceeding 20–24 pounds. The common Canada geese adults migrating through usually are in the 7–9 pound range or just slightly heavier.

Yes, there are issues with resident geese. They can be highly aggressive in populated areas, especially when nesting. They threaten and scare approaching pets and people by hissing, honking and even striking. They also have been known to overgraze and ruin public and private lawns, and create significant scat buildup in public areas and water sources.

Thus, Maine wildlife regulators advise against feeding Canada geese, because it causes them to lose their fear of humans and build resident populations in numbers that are not naturally sustainable. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on March 23, 2026.)