Katahdin Woods and Water

Friday, October 7, 2016

Leaving Augusta, we headed north on 95, which was blessedly lacking in traffic, and enjoyed the leisurely drive (speed limit: 75) on a mostly open road lined with nature’s bounty of color.

I-95 North of Bangor

In August, I read an article about President Obama designating the Katahdin Woods and Waters National Monument in honor of the 100^th anniversary of the National Park Service, which will protect approximately 87,500 acres of Maine’s mountains, forests, and waters, including the eastern branch of the Penobscot River.  We have been through that area in years past, but never really explored it.  Thus, the name of our blog and a desire to go to see what is there.  In my research, I also learned that Roxanne Quimby of Burt’s Bees fame donated the land to the Federal Government and $100 million to use for initial park needs and future maintenance and support.  Since we are ongoing visitors to national parks and we always look for reasons to visit Maine, we made it a part of our traveling itinerary.

We chose the small town of Millinocket as our base because the Park Office was headquartered there and also because of its proximity to the “monument.”  We arrived about 3:30 on Friday afternoon, desperate for lunch. 

KW&W NM Headquarters - 3 P.M Friday - Closed!

Appalachian Trail Café - Open!

We found the Appalachian Trail Café, right next to the closed Park Office, so that’s where we ate.  A cozy, interesting place it was!  Because Mt. Katahdin is the northern end of the Appalachian Trail, lots of hungry, tired hikers make their way to this simple place.  The menu includes many vegetarian options, but I was still surprised to see a “carrot dog” listed—a whole cooked carrot on a hot dog roll covered with cole slaw!  We like to try new things, but that was a little much!  (Robin thought about ordering it just to take a picture of it.)  Robin had a crock of fish chowder and “Katahdin fries” and I had haddock sliders.  (Katahdin Fries are the poutine we have discovered in Alberta and Quebec—fries with gravy and cheese curds.)

We met a young man who had just finished the trek.  His family had met him there and were feeding him well.  The acoustic tiles of the ceiling of the café are signed by hikers who have completed the hike from Springer Mountain, Georgia, to the summit of Katahdin.  We also met another hiker who had hiked all the way from Georgia (after her job had ended) as a way to relieve depression.  As she was preparing to climb Katahdin, she fell and hurt her back.  She thought she was going to have to go home to Alexandria, VA, and wait for her back to heal and then return to hike up the mountain to the end.

We decided to head to the wilderness, the “monument,” to see the sunset over Mt. Katahdin.  We forgot we were in big country where people drive 25 miles to see their neighbors.  We also forgot that it gets dark earlier in Maine.  As we drove along a paved road in search of the park, enjoying the colorful foliage and the Penobscot River along the way, and using a map the café owner had given us, we thought we would never get there.  Finally, we found the dirt road that led into the park, and it went on and on and on—a rutted, dusty road.  After about 30 minutes of driving through the most wilderness I’d ever been a part of, not yet knowing what tomorrow would bring, we convinced each other that we should turn around and go back and return early tomorrow when dusk was not pending.  Mt. Katahdin wasn’t even in sight yet.  We ended up at sunset in a farmer’s field along the paved road with Mt. Katahdin in view, taking pictures.

Woods and Waters

Katahdin

Interesting enough, we soon learned that the “national monument” was a political issue.  We had seen large signs set up along the roads and in the towns.  Most of them read: “National Park NO!”  A few read: “National Park YES!”  Hmm.  And we thought we were escaping politics by heading for the woods!  In talking to residents, we learned that most of the locals are strongly opposed to creating a national park at Katahdin Woods. They object to the Federals interfering with their logging, hunting, fishing, and snowmobiling.  Stay tuned!

Ah, Maine!!

Thursday, October 8, 2016

As we left the hotel, we had a plan—to take the coastal route as we moved north in Maine.  Before we were five minutes from the hotel, I discovered a yarn shop—a quaint, cedar-shake cottage housing a wonderful array of yarns and needles, a sweet pooch, and a welcoming proprietor.  We were delayed about 30 minutes while I had a good chat with the owner and found some yarn and needles that I had to have.  Keep in mind—I had my knitting bag in the car with two projects already started and two new balls of yarn!

The Yarn Sellar - York ME

The coastal road (Rt. 103) along York Harbor was such a wonderful find!  What a happy place to spend several hours enjoying the exquisite views.  This town is so generous with public access to the sea.  A low rocky wall lines the edge of the beach, separating it from the sidewalk and roadway.  Tide was in and the surf slapped up against those rocks. 


 








This went on for at least a mile and ended in a small commercial area that included public parking and clean, well-maintained public restrooms, right along the beach.  We spotted the Goldenrod Kisses restaurant and headed in that direction for a late lunch, curious about its name.  Turns out, it was started in 1896 as a place that sold homemade pulled taffy kisses, thus its name.  Candy cases full of many different flavors of taffy and other sweet delicacies, met us as we walked in and worked our way to the rustic dining area.

Our next stop took us through a neighborhood with beautiful homes overlooking the ocean that led us to the Nubble Lighthouse, which seemed to be saying, “take my picture.”  We sat in awe on a rocky cliff in the sunshine and soft breeze, listening to the waves crashing and watching the ocean spray bounce off the rocks, and the lighthouse standing guard over it all.  What a day!

As we left this charming place and continued our journey north along the coast, we encountered trendier towns, more pristine places.  We tried to get glimpses of the water but discovered barriers—closely planted trees or hedges or walls or fences.  We happened upon what looked like the possibility for another adventure along the water, only to discover that the fee to park was $12!  We kept going and found a parking area with a beautiful view—“Permit Parking Only.”  At that point, we decided to move away from the seaside and head toward the Maine woods, saddened with the thought that some people could own and monopolize the coast, but, also keeping in mind we might feel differently if it was our seaside.


On our way north, L.L. Bean beckoned.  We were there 29 years ago in the middle of the night after we arrived by ferry in Bar Harbor from Nova Scotia and had no reservations--couldn't find a campsite or hotel room, so we drove until we found L.L. Bean, a haven in the night.  People were shopping; sales people were helping.  Things have changed here over the years.  It now looks like a college campus with a courtyard between its stores.  The first store we entered contained furniture, décor, kitchen items, etc.  We walked across "campus" to the fishing, outdoor, and clothing store.  A beautiful, welcome setting; however, even the items on sale were very pricey.  I looked at a $64.95 shirt on the sale rack, and it was marked down to $59.95.

We are spending the night in Augusta, Maine’s capital, and will have a two-hour drive to our destination in the woods tomorrow.

Leaving Cape Cod

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

My idea of a cranberry bog has always been what I have seen in the Ocean Spray commercials with two men in waders standing thigh-deep in water with cranberries floating all around them.  That’s what I’ve been looking for; however, harvesting time in this area is almost a month away, I hear.  So the first order of business today was to find a real cranberry bog, which we did.  They are everywhere—they just didn’t look like the ones in the commercials.  The growers had not flooded the bogs with water yet.  I’d been seeing them and not even realizing what they were.  The one we observed was right next to a Bass Outlet down the street from our hotel. 

A typical Cranberry bog

I know that’s probably too much information, but those are the kinds of little things we like to learn when we travel.

We checked out the little town of Hyannis a bit with all of its shops and headed to the main road off the Cape.  As we drove along, Robin discovered a small pollination garden, a part of the Mashpee National Wildlife Refuge—a small plot of beautiful wildflowers with “pollinator nest boxes” to protect over 1200 species of bees. 

We left this sweet world and encountered our designated path, the cultural shock of I-93.  Earlier we thought we would stop and have a glance at Plymouth Rock.  Then, we saw the brochure advertising it, and it was so much more complicated than glancing at a rock.  It had a map of all the things to do there, streets, shops, very touristy, and we nixed that idea pretty quickly.  Besides, we wanted to get through Boston before rush hour, and we thought we were fine because it was only 3 p.m.  Oh, well—rush hour starts early there, and we crawled along for two hours in traffic and then came upon road construction after that.

What we noticed up here in Cape Cod and Maine is that it gets dark earlier than it does in Virginia.  Robin says we’re a lot farther east than we are in Richmond.  So, here we are in York, Maine, in the dark, which we will explore tomorrow.

North on Cape Cod

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

North on Cape Cod

One may stand there and put all America behind.

                                                            Henry David Thoreau (paraphrased)

Yesterday, Tuesday—oh, my, what a wonderful day!  We headed to Provincetown, which is on the northernmost tip of Cape Cod, almost hanging out into the ocean. Cape Cod National Seashore is 40 miles of beaches, salt marshes, ponds, lighthouses, trails, and even some cranberry bogs.  If readers remember from some of our previous blogs, we often find our way to glatial deposits, and Cape Cod is another glatial deposit.  We have been told that the shoreline here changes naturally, as the water and wind move the sand from one place to another.  Apparently, the Pilgrims arrived here in 1620 and hung around briefly before sailing over to Plymouth on the mainland.

Salt Pond beside the Cape Cod National Seashore Visitor Center

Before we began our trek through the Cape Cod National Seashore, we decided to try our first lobster roll.  All the times we’ve been to Maine and we never had one!  We decided to order only one and share it—just in case.  Good idea!  It was plentiful—every bite resulted in lobster spilling out of it and onto the plate or our hands or clothes. 

Best Lobster Roll?

We started exploring at Coast Guard Beach at the southern boundary of the park, which was my favorite spot.  Cold winds blew.  The sea was boisterous, and what Thoreau wrote (above) was true—I was truly there and everything else was not.  Going to the sea has a way of lifting us to another plane.  I always feel so grateful in majestic settings, and yesterday’s respite on that beach was no exception.  The intensity of being there, experiencing all the elements and feelings, was right up there with the Alps, Crater Lake, the Canadian Rockies, and the Tetons.  How blessed we felt to have had this experience!

Old Coast Guard Station
















Nauset Light

We moved on to the Nauset Lighthouse and then wound our way through several neighborhoods getting back to the main road.  What I love about New England, and about this area in general, is the architecture of the quaint homes.  Most are, not surprisingly, Cape Cod style, many with cedar shakes and others with soft yellow or blue or gray siding.  What I especially love are all the additions that go in different directions—right, left, to the rear, up, etc.—to expand the homes.

We finished our day with an early sunset (6:30—ish) at Race Point in Provincetown—an area with high, rolling dunes that go on for miles.

The setting sun over a glassy Cape Cod Bay

Race Point Light




on Cape Cod

Tuesday, October 4, 2016
West Yarmouth, Massachusetts
  on Cape Cod


We left Richmond on Saturday, October 1, about 3 p.m., with plans to get to PA as our first stopping point for the night.  Life, however, has a way of changing your plans.  What happened was that Virginia’s State Fair was in full force on the first sunny day since it began almost.  We sat and occasionally crawled in traffic on I95 North until we reached the exit that would take us to 301.  Wow!  We thought we had wisely escaped that mess, only to discover a line of cars for miles, all trying to go into the fairgrounds from the eastern entrance.  Once we got through that, it began to rain.  We stopped for dinner in Port Royal, VA.  Robin pulled into the parking lot of a long blue building, and I told him that it looked like a bar.  He went in to check it out and came back with a smile.  “Come inside.  You’ll like it.”  The opposite wall in the dining room was lined with windows overlooking the Rappahannock River, and it was very nice.  We ended up driving in night rain to Glen Burnie, MD, where we spent our first night.


On Sunday we got to the PA Dutch Country and decided to have lunch at Miller’s Smorgasboard, where we dined 31 years ago with Pattie, Tod, and Kerry.  It is quite the place—buffet tables loaded with creamed cabbage, pot pie, pickled beets and eggs,
eight wonderful soups, homemade iced raisin bread, meat, veggies, shoofly pie, etc.  I could not commit to the entire “smorgasbord,” so I got the soup and salad buffet, knowing that I could have the beets and eggs and delicious soups.  On the other hand, Robin didn’t want to miss a thing on the buffet.  It took us back in time to when the kids were young and thought eating at a smorgasbord was an adventure.

After that, we hit the backroads and enjoyed the countryside through the vast farmland that is that area of PA.  This is what we love to do when we travel—make vague plans and see what happens on the way.  That day we traveled in five states—MD, PA, NJ, NY, and CT.  We decided we wanted to get through NYC on Sunday night, rather than facing it on Monday morning, so we kept on.  I was grumpy because I don’t like to drive at night so much anymore; however, the approach to the Tappan Zee Bridge over the Hudson River, and the beautiful lights on the bridge were breathtaking.  I wouldn’t have wanted to miss it.


We got into CT on busy I95 and got into traffic, so we pulled off at a rest area near Westport and waited until the traffic moved again.  As we prepared to pull back out onto  95, Robin was watching for oncoming traffic, and, as he began to accelerate, I saw something lying in the acceleration lane, just as he ran over it.  I told him it looked like a shovel.  Immediately, the car began to make a heavy clicking noise from underneath, and there was nowhere to pull off in the dark on this busy roadway to check it out.  I had visions of the tire(s) falling apart from hitting something sharp.  Eventually, we exited 95 into a small town that was closed for the night.  We pulled up in the parking lot of a men’s clothing store because there was light.  I looked under the car and saw a huge piece of hard plastic hanging .  I touched it and it wobbled.  My first thought was—where is Mindy when I need her!?  (Note: My friend Mindy and I were traveling from Hot Springs one day when something came loose under the car, and she was able to fix it with a string and a binder clip!  Another story.)  As I bent down to examine it, I started to laugh—it was a shovel—a snow shovel—dangling from something under the car!!  I felt such a sense of relief even though we were unable to pry it loose.  It was not slapping against the ground; instead, it was banging against the underpinnings of the car.  So we went looking for a place to stay and thought we would call Triple A in the morning.
This whole shovel episode led us to feeling grateful for the goodness of people in this world, in this country.  We stopped at a convenience store to inquire about a hotel.  A kind man in there, a customer, led us to the Fairfield Circle Inn that he said was clean and safe.  We wondered about the “safe” part.  Turned out, it was a lovely place to rest and regroup.  When Robin shared the shovel story with the clerk at the desk, he came out, dressed in his khakis and sport shirt, and tried to ease it out.  He suggested an auto shop down the street for morning, where they could put it up on the lift.  This eased our minds.  As we pulled across the parking lot, a small car pulled up along side us.  The young man opened his window and said, “Do you know you are dragging a shovel underneath your car?”  We explained the saga.  He was dropping his wife off to work the night shift at the front desk, he said, and he offered to help.  What he did was slide under the car on his back with little light and carefully maneuver the shovel out of its resting place beneath the muffler, he said.  What a kind young man, a Good Samaritan really, and he refused the money Robin offered him.  He also refused the shovel!!



On Monday we were off again, heading for Cape Cod.  We had a little side trip to Hammonassett Beach State Park.  Oh, my, how wonderful to dip my toes into Long Island Sound for the first time along this pristine beach.  The day was sunny and breezy, the water was clear and an azure blue, and we mostly had the world to ourselves.  I left the cobwebs right there on that beach—our first taste of the natural world and the freedom to relax!



In search of Newport, we happened upon the Country Inn in Warren, RI.  Lunch was a wonderful treat—the very best prepared clams I’ve had in years, not just the strips but the whole bellies!  We gave up our hunt for Newport and went on to Cape Cod, and here we are.  Last night we had a light dinner at Captain Parker’s Pub.  I had clam chowder—very good—and we shared a huge bowl of mashed butternut squash.  Robin enjoyed clam stew and stuffed quahogs, which turned out to be like a deviled crab, only clams.  In a few minutes, we’re heading toward Provincetown and Cape Cod National Seashore to see what we can find.