No Rain In Maine, But Next Time Take A Plane

We had good weather.

Bob was nice enough to accompany me to Bill's place on Grand Manan.  Bill has been asking me to c'mon up for many years, but responsibilities always got in the way.  I finally realized that I'd never get there unless I made the time.  Life is like that.

Bill has helped me out numerous times on construction tasks where my education has proved lacking.  I needed to provide some small service at his place where he needed a hand from someone who could at least hold "the stupid end of the tape measure."  This was the time.  But Grand Manan is a long way from Rochester, NY.

We stopped at Belfast, Maine.
The view was as nice as the waitress at the restaurant where we ate.

She recommended our hotel across the bay.
From there, we could look back at the lights of Belfast.
Airplanes make interesting lines in time exposures.

The following day, we took Coastal US 1 to the border.
Acadia National Park and Bar Harbor were in the distance.
We didn't make that side trip.  Maybe next time.

Bob the Explorer on the rocks overlooking a tidal flat.
Not sure which way the water was flowing at this point.

Another tidal flat along the Maine coast.
As Bob pointed out, our timing was good, because if the tide was high,
we would only have seen the water.

These poles were placed here purposefully.
I have no idea why.  Perhaps you can tell me.
Do they hold fishing nets?

The view including Saint Croix island to the left, the site of an early French settlement.
With latitude the same as France, they had no idea that the winters could be so hard here,
and stranded themselves on the island in a deadly river of ice.
The ones who survived the winter did not make that mistake again.

A cleft in the rock that makes this low-tide portion of the mainland
into two islands at high tide.

Our ferry docked quickly and we were soon on our way.

This eagle oversaw loading operations.

Off we go!
The green ramp is locked in place and the bow doors are closed.

Grand Manan is actually closer to the US Maine-land than the Canadian mainland, but after the American Revolution, people who'd never been there decided that the island should continue to belong to the Crown.  The residents didn't mind.  The Tory sentiment continued through and after the War of 1812, making it a little awkward for the American residents.  

The current effect is that the the Canadian ferry comes down from the north rather than being an American ferry traveling a shorter distance from the west.  It's a fine ferry and a nice crossing, at least in good weather, so no matter other than extending the driving time.

Rock formations on the north end of the island.
They looked positively man-made.

A stream runs down to the sea.
Judging from the houses above, there must be a road there,
But we did not get to see this sight.

The Swallowtail Light indicates the way to the North Head Harbour.
Does anyone really care about lighthouses for their intended purpose
now that GPS is in place?

Bill took us on a whirlwind tour of the island.
The cliffs at Southwest Head were impressive.

In both directions.

Team picture from Ben's house, far above the water.
Ben provides housing for lobsters.
More about Ben in another post.

The ferry rounding North Head for the harbour.
Same boat on the crossing we would have taken if we'd missed our reservation.

Interesting how the ferry fee collection works.  On the way to Grand Manan, as long as there is space, drive right on.  On the way back?  Better have a reservation that shows you have paid, or be prepared to use credit or that plastic Canadian money.  Stuff really makes you miss the linen feel of greenbacks.

Maybe the Canadian government is trying to increase the population of the island.

Salmon farm circles in the channel between Grand Manan and the much smaller Wood Island.
As a boy, Bill would go to Wood Island to explore the abandoned houses of the settlement that was no more.

Sunset at Bill's place.
He built the gazebo himself,
cutting all the lumber from native trees with his razor knife.

The place looks pretty great by day, too.

The original cabin interior, later augmented with additions.
The rustic appearance actually has a purpose.
Insulation and drywall are problems since the sea air provides constant dampness.
Perhaps better to stay rustic and not need to deal with wet interior materials.
But the no-longer-resident wood stove would have been nice to drive out dampness.

Only brilliant people are allowed to sit in this chair.
It remained empty during our visit.

Grand Manan is a great place for fishing or relaxing or writing the Great Canadian Novel.  With about 250 square miles and 2500 people year round, you can be alone if you want to be.  You don't have to worry too much about hustle and bustle.  

And you can collect rocks.
The north eastern rocks are flat...

While the south eastern rocks are rounded.
There was more variation in shape and coloring
than I've ever seen anywhere else.

On the ferry over, Bob decided that he'd rather wait to grab something to eat on the island rather than have ferry food.  "Must be a some delis or a cafe where we can get a nice bite.  Maybe fried clams!"  (Bob is a native New Englander.)

Ahhhh...NO!  There wasn't any haute cuisine to be found.  In fact, the best place we found was a diner that also doubled as a general store.  And I don't think we missed anything.

I was also reminded of a game my family used to play while driving through the northern wilds of Wisconsin and into Upper Michigan.  To keep us kids from driving their parents completely crazy during the many miles we used to cover in the family station wagon, we'd play Good Town/Bad Town.

We had to decide if it was a good town or a bad town based on the number of churches vs. the number of bars.  I'm sure Dad viewed the game with a wry smile.  I'm not so sure about Mom.  We would gleefully point out the bars and churches in every little burg we passed through, taking our minds of the drudgery of being a child in a station wagon.  I wonder if either Mom or Dad had any inkling that they were also training us for later life...me for identifying bars, and my sister for identifying churches.

Applying the game to the island, I have to say that Grand Manan is a REALLY, REALLY good island.  There must have been 20 churches, and my highly trained eye failed to turn up a single bar.

Smoked Herring was a big business on the island, many years ago.
Numerous smokehouses stood unused at Seal Cove.

The story goes that the herring thinned out and then just stopped running near the island.
The smoked herring industry is now centered in Norway.
I think the Norwegians figured out a way to lure the fish away to their fjords.

Bill told us that some of the old smokehouses were being converted to apartments.
For fishermen, I suppose, since I can't believe the smell of smoked fish could ever fully leave.

Bill's cousin's are lucky to have him building this fine cottage, two doors down.
"Why," you might ask, "is the retired guy working so hard on this place?"
"I'm happiest when I'm building something," Bill would answer.
"I see," said the blind carpenter, as he picked up his hammer and saw.

Bill creating cabinets.
Pete, his side-kick, creating mayhem in the other room.

Junipers outside on the rocks above the view of the ocean.

And the abandoned light, far out to sea.

Bob and I needed to return before too long.
Our task completed (documented in the next installment),
we headed through Seal Cove and back toward the ferry.

But not before we stopped at Dark Harbour.
It was a very strange place.

Though there were buildings and boats around, we didn't see a soul.
We didn't stay long.
It was downright creepy.

Bill told me later that the seaweed delicacy "dulse" is harvested here.
They only harvest at low tide once every two weeks, so no one was there.
Perhaps he will bring some back to the States for a taste test.

We took another peek at a cove on the north side before we left.

But we hustled back to the dock when we saw the ferry.

Soon the ferry stuck out its tongue...

And we replaced the vehicles in its belly
to begin our long journey home.

I'd be remiss not to mention the people on the island.  Everyone we met was welcoming and happy to make our acquaintance.  And all seemed quite bright and well informed.  Perhaps this is due to the company Bill keeps, but I had the feeling it went beyond just that.  Is the norm is pushed to the high side of center by the inability to hide anything due to life on a small island, and the personal responsibility imposed by dealing with the sea?

Maybe we should all live on small islands.