The Maine Coast: Acadia National Park

It’s been many months since I’ve managed to sit down and write a blog. All summer long it felt like there was a steel door between my creative brain and fingertips. On this hazy Tuesday, I am finally getting a few overdue words out. In May we took a wonderful trip up to Acadia National Park along the coast of Maine. Our original plan was to be in Germany and Austria, but we never managed to cobble the trip together. At the last minute we found out we needed international driver’s licenses for Austria, the first such occurrence in the 6-7 foreign countries we’ve driven in so far. If that was the only roadblock, I think we would have pulled it off. But my creative block has not only affected my writing, and I just couldn’t summon the motivation for this one. Also, for some bonkers reason the flights were running at $1600+, which was giving me palpitations. Palpitations do not play well with emotional blockages. So, with only a couple of weeks to go, we changed course for Acadia. I still have a soft spot in me for national parks – every one of them feels like a piece of something wild.

The home base for Acadia is Bar Harbor, a walkable town filled with restaurants and quaint single-story buildings. We booked a little Airbnb apartment on a quiet street that was about a 10-minute walk from downtown, far enough to hear the birds each morning, but close enough we didn’t need to Uber home after a few cosmos. The trek up north was too much for a one-day drive, so we paid a visit to my dad in New Hampshire and then stayed in Portland, Maine for the night. Other than getting soaking wet in a deluge in Portland and grumpily downing a few lobster rolls as rain dripped from my brow, it was a lackadaisical couple of days. I geared up for a week of drowning myself in hiking and seafood, and trying to crack the code on that steel door.  

Hiking shoes hit the dirt almost every morning, as people slowly rose from their homes and a handful of tourists entered the park. Visiting Acadia just before Memorial Day meant cooler air, but fewer competing hikers. The trails we chose ranged from rocky scrambles, to cliffside paths, to trails that required you to cross a sandy beach to reach the trailhead. Acadia was truly distinct. Some of our favorites included:

The ”Bubbles” (North & South): Some people choose, but it’s not a stretch to hike to both north and south “bubbles”. They’re named because from the ground they look like two bubble-shaped hilltops, almost like a rolling wave. Each one rewards you with a sweeping view from amongst the trees, not far from the water. The top of the south bubble was less popular, but more peaceful. The face of the mountain shields you from the wind a bit, and from a seat on a slanted rock you can see the vastness of the canyon just below. The sound of birds echoed and vibrated through it, and the trees moved in a wave of green shades. This was my moment of pause for the day, my beautiful minute to catch up. From the edge of a rock where the open wind swirls just beyond my feet, I can do nothing but be here.

Gorham Mountain Trail: There was something really special about hiking adjacent to the ocean. It loomed like a vast beast just beyond the cliffs that the trail carved over. Towards the end of the route, we stopped at an L-shaped part of the rock that functioned as a “rock chair”, supporting my back as I faced the sea. The color of the trees changes with each shift of sunlight, from deep forest green to pale yellow. The water moved from rich denim to tropical teal with the same dancing light, all while the wind swirled and a seagull begged for food, stretching open its jaw to gulp in a mass of air. The ocean moved slowly in a passive sheet. It felt safe, it’s vastness. It was familiar.  

Cadillac Mountain: Not a hike…or at least, not for us. If you’re brave (*cough* crazy) enough to be enthused by hiking for hours before sunrise in the bitter and piercing cold, then this one is for you. If you’re not that extra, then you’ll drive to the top like we did. The most beautiful time to visit is at sunrise, when a special entrance ticket is required (this ensures enough parking spaces – tickets drop 2 days before). By about 1-hour prior to sunrise, the summit becomes dotted with hundreds of early-risers wrapped in layers of wool blankets. I can’t emphasize enough that it’s truly frigid on the top of this mountain. Wear every layer of clothing that you packed, and then steal a blanket from your Airbnb, like we did. The view is quite serene when the sun eventually beams up over the horizon, and by then you can relax because you no longer have the necessary feeling in your toes to stand up.

Honorable mentions (including Great Head, where the water looked positively tropical, and several shorter lakeside walks):

The Acadia park road itself could entertain a person for a few hours. On the advice of a ranger, we spent some time the next day just driving through it and getting a feel for the land. We ventured towards the Northeast Harbor area after exhausting viewpoints on our park map and hopped on a boat tour. The main stop on the trip was Little Cranberry Island, a tiny community just off the coast of Maine with its own small school and a post-office that sells a collection of unusual stamps (not buying a set is one of my greatest travel regrets). Little paths snake through the trees behind an old church on the island, a peaceful calming spot with lobster traps lined up alongside the green brush and honeysuckle. They told us that most people who dare to live on the island year-round are owners of a “junk car” that they drive until it stops working, because getting it off the island for a repair or inspection would be too much work. Eventually the island will simply haul it away. In order to move here, you have to pre-pay a deposit towards that eventual tow-away.

Another critical place to visit while in Acadia is Bar Island. You can reach the island via a half-mile land bridge that reveals itself every day at high tide. The bridge is covered in pebbles, stretching so wide that you wouldn’t believe that it was recently under 12ft of water. It’s impossible to miss the warning signs about the tide clocks, but if you forget, you’ll be trapped on Bar Island for another 12 hours until the next time the path is revealed. A crossing is possible for just 1.5 hours on either side of low tide. When we reached the island, it was quieter than I expected. People tend to linger on the foot bridge and take photos of the water, and on the island path you can hear little besides the crunch of leaves. An area hidden away from the main path is home to a series of ruins from old stone homes, most of which have been overcome by island growth. There is no plaque, but Google says that it belonged to the Jack Perkins family who once lived there.

I didn’t think it was possible to be “lobstered-out” until our final night in Bar Harbor. I dreamt of lobster for weeks beforehand. But after several dinners and then my grand finale at the Travelin’ Lobster, I didn’t think I could look at another crustacean. The Travelin’ Lobster is about a 15-min drive from downtown, which means that the lobster is much cheaper and infinitely fresher. We sat on outdoor benches and ordered a feast from the to-go window that had a line winding through the parking lot: a whole steamed lobster, lobster bisque loaded with cream, corn on the cob, mussels, steamed clams, and a lemon-y lobster roll on the side. It was a glorious hot mess of a dinner. I couldn’t get the claw to snap, so it was a battle between me and a pair of red pinchers. I’d like to think that I won because I eventually got to eat that sweet claw meat, but the massive pieces of shell that ended up scattered across the table and in my hair made me feel otherwise. I don’t regret a single bite. It was the most delicious and un-graceful meal I’ve had in a long time. At least I didn’t get lobster shell in my beer.