JOURNAL
In response to many questions: I’ve not seen Bernie & Benice Beaver or any activity that could be associated with them (more trees down, dam leaks tended, lodge construction resumed, etc.) in three weeks. They apparently have moved on. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because they claim-jumped part of the territory of our alpha coyote, who would love to snack on the kits B&B plan to have this spring. Safe travels, my friends.
(Leighton Archive image of Bernie eating an appetizer.)
Meet Molly & Mike Mallard, who appear to be scouting our corner of Great Cove for nesting real-estate. I’ve seen them together in that area since winter. They’re clearly paired and float and fly everywhere together.
Mallards in Maine usually nest from early May through August. Females lay eggs in hidden, ground-level or elevated locations near water, often returning to the same nesting area annually. When the female starts to incubate eggs, the male typically leaves. The ducklings can walk and swim immediately after hatching. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 14 and 15, 2026.)
Here you see a spring tide lowering in Brooklin’s Great Cove earlier this week. There was little wind bothering her, so the Cove had time to work on her reflections. As the water receded, she revealed blooms of her swaying rockweed, which soon became tangled mats hiding crabs and snails that waited patiently for the tide to come back. It always has.
The Cove’s changing personality is perhaps her most remarkable feature. Every day, her two tides rise and fall about 9 to 12 feet, covering her completely and then exposing her mysterious tidal pools and pungent mud. Then, there’s the disappearance act that she can do in fog.
In the winter and early spring, there’s a beautiful vastness to the Cove, when her cold waters seem vacant, except perhaps for a few dabbling ducks and swooping gulls. In the summer and fall, Great Cove is a carnival for those of us who are addicted to the pleasures of “being on the water.”
Summer in the Cove, when she’s at her most frenetic, is worth a few word pictures: colorful small and large sailboats seeking the same winds; singing passengers on tall-masted windjammers helping to lower and raise big anchors and huge sails; luxurious or just strange power boats that contribute the husky background sounds of their engines; lobster boats churning up big bow waves as they take shortcuts through the islands; water-bugging skiffs, kayaks and paddleboards and, on occasion, a seaplane landing so its passengers can watch the finish of a regatta.
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 14, 2026, and August 6, 2023.)
Progress is being made on this fine-lined little vessel being built in the Brooklin Boat Yard’s auxiliary shop. By summer, she’ll be a speedy, center-consoled runabout with T-top, comfortable perimeter seating, and fine woods:
She’s described as a Muscongus Bay 18 (18-foot overall length) designed by Mark Fitzgerald. He’s a prominent naval architect who operates Fitzgerald Marine Architecture, Inc., in Camden, Maine. Muscongus means “fishing place” in the Abenaki Tribe’s language and was the name of one of their villages at a bay on the Maine coast. That Bay, now also named Muscongus, is known for its boat-related activities.
(Photos taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 15, 2026.)
Pussy willow catkins are profuse now on Salix discolor shrubs. They’re beneficial to our earliest pollinators, one of which (a mining bee?) can be seen in this image by those with sharp eyes:
The soft, cats’-paw-like catkins are weather-protecting coverings that only grow on the male shrubs. The female shrubs have hairy green flowers that are caterpillar-like. The male cats’ paws soon will open and spew enormous amounts of powdery yellow pollen into the wind to fertilize the nearby female shrubs and give allergy-prone humans sneezing fits.
These shrubs reportedly host up to 18 species of butterflies and moths. Their bark contains salicin, an aspirin-like substance that has been used for centuries to treat human inflammation and pain. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 14, 2026.)
Below you’ll see Fyke nets in Blue Hill’s Mill Stream. At high tide, they’ll try to capture migrating young American eels known as glass eels or sometimes as elvers. Most of them are sold into Asian markets, where they are farmed to maturity and then sold as delicacies.
The average price to Maine fishermen for glass eels peaked at over $2000 per pound in 2023. As of April 11, 2026 (the latest state preliminary price data), it was reported to be down to $197. This fishery, once considered lucrative and important to the state economy, apparently is in trouble.
The season this year is scheduled to extend through June 7. Maine only allows 425 fishermen to hold the licenses necessary to take a quota of migrating eels during a season. As original license holders drop out, they’re replaced by applicants who are chosen by lottery.
The reasons for the low prices may be varied, but the market for the baby eels seems to be glutted. Timothy Larochelle, a veteran Maine glass eel fisherman and fishery advocate from Woolwich, thinks that “the low price has a lot to do with Illegal fishing in Canada and Haiti the past few years.” An internet search indicates that he may be right.
(Image taken in Blue Hill, Maine, on April 10, 2026.)
We’ve been following the creation of DYLAN, the Brooklin Boat Yard-designed boat in the foreground of the above image of BBY’s main shop. She seems to be coming along nicely. By summer, DYLAN will be an exquisite Eggemoggin 47+ (overall length 47’6”), the third such racing sailboat in that class.
The green-hulled sailboat being repaired to DYLAN’S left is ZINGARA from Belfast, Maine. She’s a 45’ racer/cruiser that’s considered to be a "Spirit of Tradition" yacht -- a vessel that combines a classic design with modern materials and performance technology.
Being created to the left of ZINGARA is a 47’ Express Cruiser designed by BBY, a sleek power boat that apparently hasn’t been named yet. She also seems to be coming along nicely. She’s in line to be completed soon after DYLAN. See also the image of DYLAN’s graceful bow:
(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on April 9 and 12, 2026.)
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.)
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.)
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
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.)
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.)
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.)
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.)
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.)
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.)
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.)
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 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.)
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.)
