Tuesday, October 27, 2009
While traveling through Acadia National Park with my wife on our 10th anniversary, we saw many monumentally beautiful things. The likes of which have been waxed and waned poetic for years.
The first day of our 2-day sojourn was a complete downpour. A nor'easter was blowing in steady pounding rain throughout the entire Mt. Desert Island region. We drove the loop road that basically circles to outskirts of the entire park, in an attempt to get a good feel for what we would explore the next day come fairer weather.
No matter what the weather, the scale and grandeur of the scenery as well as the raw heartiness of the local fauna was incredible. So incredible were the various scents, that it was impossible to miss the changes as we hiked. We drifted from salty rocky low-tide air to crispy fallen leaves, to dense pine. occasionally a combination of two or more creating a feeling of chapters as the hike progressed. All of this is, of course, no secret to anyone who's visited.
Driving along the loop road on our first rainy day pass through (about 2/3 of the way through, just past the land bridge), we noticed an old car pulled to the side and the smell of campfire smoke and a plume rising above what was a very steep hill on the bay side of the road. We both noted, 'wow, with this downpour, those are some hearty campers'. Thinking about this the next day on our second drive through the area, I intended to check out what or where this campfire was. I parked our car and descended the steep muddly slope which had no real footing to speak of aside from some exposed tree roots and the occasional rock. As I came down closer, I noticed a small shingled rooftop visible on the rocky shore below.
Once clearing the final bit of slope and foliage, this is what I saw.
Now, knowing how well-armed folks in Northern Maine are, I stepped warily. I called out hello to be sure and not surprise any troll-like resident that could possibly be there.
I stepped away from the shack to gain a better vantage point.
Now, relatively assured there was no one there, I approached the only door to the place. I noted there were several freshly-painted lobster floats with the numbers 1952 carved into them.
As i got up to the door I looked inside the dirty sea salted glass.
At this point, I was coming up with all sorts of back stories as to who might live here. Inside, I noticed a small fire stove with 3 fresh Duraflames. Also noticed a pretty crude food storage cooler and some sort of cookware on the ceiling. Most interesting was gazing up the rickety stairs, was what appeared to be a sleeping loft. Looked like squirrels had been living there the past 5 years. The great thing was, this places official resident was here yesterday in the rain. What a sweet deal, having your own private lil fishing shack smack dab in the heart of Acadia. Despite the overall salty conditions, it appears it still is all about Location. Location. Location.