Where do I begin? The last week and a half I’ve spent most of my time experiencing what the beautiful state of Maine has to offer. Earlier in the week, last week, I camped in the Acadia National Park situated on Mount Desert Island, halfway up the coastline of Maine. It’s one of the most visited national parks in the country, and I could see exactly why. The cool, salty air is thick and rich, especially during low tide. It stings the nose, but it’s the type of smell a true New Englander loves. It flows off the ocean water, which by the way, reaches no warmer than 55 degrees F due to the Atlantic current. The aromas that float out of the tiny restaurants and ice cream parlors are enough to drag anyone inside. And the view, whether you’re in downtown Bar Harbor or sitting atop Cadillac Mountain, is absolutely breathtaking. Last time I visited the area was about 14 years ago, so I was definitely excited to come back and check out what this place had to offer.
When I made my way onto the island, I made it my first mission to find shelter. I was weighing the idea of camping versus seeking a cheap motel for the night, since there was talk of evening showers coming through. However, I forwent the idea of having a sturdy roof over my head and made my way to the visitor station to purchase my pass. They made it known to all those migrating inbound to the island that all the campsites were full, but I decided to test my luck and go directly to the campground itself. I pulled up to the ranger station and questioned if the rumor was true. An older gentleman greeted me, and said that there actually were, in fact, just a handful of campsites unclaimed. I paid for two nights, and sought out my plot of land. I was nestled nicely in the woods amongst other campers, mostly families and younger kids.
I set up my tent between two pine trees, and then tied a rope between them about two feet over my tent. I proceeded to hang up a blue tarp in a V-shape over my tent, so incase it were to downpour, I wouldn’t have to worry about my tent getting soaked. The clouds started to hustle in with the wind and I was losing daylight rather quickly, so I decided to collect firewood and kindling for later in the evening. As soon as my campsite was situated–tarp, tent, chair and all–I headed down a few miles into town to contact my parents (since I had no cell service at the campground). As well, I went to the local corner convenient store and purchased some burgers to cook over the grate installed atop part of the fire pit. Oh, and I picked up some marshmallows too, of course.
Dark was starting to settle in with a chill, so I threw on some sweatpants and lit the fire. It was awe-inspiring, staring into the flames. The embers look as if they’re trying to talk, with their waves of orange and red shimmering over the torched debris. After I ate my burger (which was delicious as all get out) I engorged myself in a few mallows. The smoke swayed in the moonlight and danced with the surrounding fires of other camps. It was only 9:30 but I was destined for bed. I tuckered in to my tent and wrapped myself up into the sleeping bag, and proceeded to fall asleep to the smell of campfire on my sweater.
The next day consisted of adventures and discoveries. I began by hiking around Great Head trail, which takes one around the cliffs of Sand Beach and peaks around one corner of the island to deliver breathtaking views. Although a few hundred feet up from the ocean, the waves crash onto the rocks and splash beads of water into the air, landing on my face. The air has never felt more crisp and clean; this is God’s country-—this is where one goes to calm the mind and cleanse the soul.
After my hike, I shimmied down the hillside to relax on the beach. The water was too cold for my taste (three years in FL will do that) but the sand was warm on my back beneath my towel. After the beach, I decided to head downtown to Bar Harbor, which got its name from the out-going tide. The seawater washes away and exposes all the mystery beneath–crabs, starfish, sea urchins, and more. Kids were squealing while carrying their bright colored plastic buckets and shovels in hand, finding the sea creatures. I remember feeling that same excitement when I was their age.
I felt a thirst coming on so I sought out the Bar Harbor Brewery and purchased two 2-oz summertime beers-—just enough to satisfy my pallet. But then my stomach started to growl, and what better way to settle the noise than with a lobster? The Lazy Lobster, situated a couple doors down from the brewery, was a perfect choice. Their seafood is all local and fresh, and the lobsters were caught just the day prior. A pound-and-a-halfer with melted butter and Maine-style slaw was such a delight, I couldn’t have asked for a better lunch. To me, a trip to Maine would be incomplete without indulging in said crustacean, really.
I headed back up to camp, but swung through the grocery store first. I picked up some hot dogs and a zucchini. At camp, after letting my lobster digest, I set up shop for the evening. I cut up the zucchini and wrapped it up in aluminum foil with some oil and seasoning, and threw it over the fire on the grates. While that cooked, I poked a stick through a dog and roasted it over the fire. Dinner was perfect.
The following day was my last in Bar Harbor. I was determined, from the moment I drove onto the island, to find lobster ice cream. Sounds gross, I know, but since my first time visiting over a decade ago, I’ve been craving it since! Somehow, patience prevailed, and I walked right into a parlor that, low and behold, had it in stock. I ordered a scoop; buttery vanilla ice cream, slow churned and thick, with chunks of salty, rich lobster. The two textures and flavors sent mixed messages to the brain-—“is this good? I can’t quite tell.” But trust me, it’s worth confusing the taste buds. As I licked the dripping cone off my hands, I made contact with Bryan, a friend from college who invited me down to Portland for the weekend, and up to Fryeburg to float the Saco River-—something I’ve always wanted to do since I was a teen. I accepted his offer, and made way down the scenic Route 1 to Portland for the night.
Unfortunately for Bryan, he had to work all Thursday, so I took the time to go downtown to Old Portland and entertain myself. I walked through the docks and made my way to the Shipyard/Sea Dog Brewery for a tour and free beer sampling. Shipyard’s Melonhead and Sea Dog’s Sunfish were two divine summertime beers. I’ll definitely have to get my hands on more while I’m in New England. I found lunch at an old clam shack on the water where I ordered, shockingly, fried Ipswich clam bellies. They literally melt in my mouth, the bellies exploding a rich, fatty goodness on my tongue. From there I drove down to Old Orchard Beach to walk the seashore. I found a little unoccupied driveway about a mile down from all the hustle-and-bustle in the tourist town.
That Friday, Bryan and I headed up to Fryeburg, ME where we were greeted by about 50 people within our “community”. A tent was pre-pitched for us in the sand, which saved a lot of headache. The captains of our little community created a barge to float down the river on, and the night ended with an intense game of flip cup on the beached barge. I went to bed with no recollection of who won.
I prevailed through the next morning, somehow. A coffee and breakfast bagel from Dunkin Donuts always does the trick. The goal was to meet up with the captains on the barge, and tie up with our floats. Rest assured, we found them at the launching dock, with about a hundred other people tied up. The water was speckled tye-dye with all the colorful floats and bathing suits. The five-hour float proved successful. Even though I lost an earring and a pair of sunglasses, I found I had gained a good buzz and formed some great bonds with amazing people.
After our weekend adventure at Saco, I rested at Bryan’s house back in Portland for one more night before heading down to Durham, NH—-home of University of New Hampshire and the Wildcats! Again, I drove the scenic route, going through Ogunguit, York, and Kittery, Maine. I found a quiet beach to relax and close my eyes at for a about an hour, and also happened to stumble upon old Fort McClary. I went to Durham to visit my good friend Jay from high school, who had the day (now Tuesday) off to show me around Durham and Portsmouth. We chowed down on some Irish eggs benedict for breakfast, and toured two breweries come lunch. First stop was Red Hook, and for $5 each we toured the brewery, received a pint glass, and tasted about 30 ounces worth of different craft beers. We proceeded to Smuttynose (aka Portsmouth Brewery) where Jay and I split a flight, and I ordered myself a pint of their special cask- Dirty Blonde made with lavender and chamomile… and HOLY CRAP it was probably one of the BEST beers I’ve ever had in my entire life. I must go back for more, someday.
Now came Wednesday, and I had to suit up for a meeting with the managers of the Cheesecake Factory outside Boston (and by suit up, I mean jeans and t-shirt). After working at the one in South Florida, I found I could transfer to any CCF in the country. I chose this location since it’s close to family and friends—I can bounce around and stay with them if necessary. However, it got too late last night for me to make arrangements, so I slept in my car in the parking lot outside of work. I parked underneath a few bright light posts, and when I saw a security officer drive by, my worries subsided a little bit. I took a sleeping pill and went off into dreamland.
Now I’m just waiting to start my first shift tonight at Cheesecake, and from there I can easily begin to manipulate my schedule around adventuring the area for the next month. So Boston area, I’m here at your beck and call! Let’s see what you’ve got up your sleeve for me. I hope it consists of the Red Sox, Sam Adams, and the seaside. 🙂
For more pictures, check out my instagram @kpolucha or #blondiewanders!
BLONDIE WANDERS... 