Pilgrimage to Maine, Part Three: Eaten by Flies, Showered with Beans

Beech Mountain Trail, Acadia National Park, ME

27 May 2019

We have another foggy morning.

I know there's a cruise ship out there because it keeps emitting Mrs Othmar-like noises and also ferries.

I'm dragging Jack up the Beech Mountain Trail today. When I was here as a teenager on a two-week ecology program, we climbed to the fire tower only to find it shrouded in fog.

The Beech Mountain trail is supposed to be short — about a mile — and easy. According to the trail map, the path goes straight and then forms a loop. If we go left we'll have a steeper ascent and a more gradual descent. We figure that's the better choice.

We walk uphill for a bit and find a signpost where one trail seems to cross and the other goes straight. It doesn't match the map, so we keep going straight. We wind up on a cliff face.

We continue on the trail, going down a series of stone steps, and arrive back at the signpost. So we go straight across this time and find ourselves at another cliff.

It's a one-way trail. I check the map and realize that we picked the wrong trailhead. The one we want is next to the one we took. So that's an extra mile of hiking, but it's been easy. We'd been on the Canada Cliffs loop. We want the Beech Mountain trail.

We start up again, and this time the left-right choice is obvious. We go left.  I lead the way, looking for faded blue blazes on the rocks. This trail isn't as well-marked as the cliff trails were. Sometimes I have to spend a minute searching for the next blaze, or scramble up a rock face before I see the next one. Whenever I find the next blaze I stop and let Jack work his way up to me. He's constantly swatting away flies that are, for the most part, leaving me alone.

We're not at the top yet, but there's a good view from this rock outcrop. I take a few panoramas.

There's another steep scramble and the fire tower appears.

I take some pictures from under the tower.

I'm nervous about climbing it. The stairs are open but the tower itself is closed. Ever since I started losing my hearing I've also found myself intermittently acrophobic. This is why riding my bike up Cadillac Mountain presents a challenge: it's not the climb, it's the view from it that makes me dizzy. So I climb the stairs to the first platform and lean against a post while I take pictures.

That's the railing at the bottom, to prove that I was up there:

Only a little bit woozy, I climb back down, where Jack is waiting.

I lie on my stomach to play with the view. A few flies circle. One lands on my arm. I swat them all away.

We begin our descent. A hiker coming up warns us that the trail is wet.

Then I see it: the spot where, 37 years ago, we climbed off the trail and leaned against the rocks. I remember the world going sideways. I remember feeling dizzy.

I climb down. I want to recapture the experience.

How best to put the camera?

Nope, that's not it.

I rest it on my chest and press the shutter.

There we go.

Whoa. Geez. The world goes sideways. My head spins.

I sit up and take another picture.

I carefully stand up and scramble back to the trail.

We continue our descent.

In front of us is a group of three hikers also heading down. One woman trails, swatting at flies that swarm her. Behind me, Jack is doing the same thing.

We reach the trailhead.

We're both sweaty. Jack wants to go straight back to the hotel for a shower.

As we're driving Jack notices blood coming from behind his left ear. He raises his hair. There is an arc of blood and rash.  "It's on both sides," he says.  He pulls out his phone and does some research.

"Black flies," he says. He's in for several days of itching and welts.

When we get back to the hotel I notice two bites behind my right ear.

Using insect repellent never occurred to me, which is weird, because all through my graduate school years I didn't go into the field without dousing myself in DEET. Nowadays I only hike in the winter. With today's cold temperature, and with the short distance and ease of the hike, the thought of spraying ourselves never even crossed my mind. This is an indicator that my PhD has passed its expiration date.

Jack has bites all over his face and hands. He figures he has around two dozen. Fortunately I carry prescription-strength cortisone in case I run into a fragrance or latex (hotel soap or a flat tire).

Meanwhile, the fog has cleared up, revealing the behemoth that is the Adventure of the Seas, registered to the Bahamas. This thing is as long as a New York City block and over ten stories tall. It appears to have a water slide on the top deck.

We get a late lunch in town, during which I exchange texts with Chris from Acadia Coffee Company. He invites us over whenever we finish eating.

If one were to look online for Acadia Coffee Company, one would find that they are located at 121 Cottage Street, Bar Harbor, Maine. One would be told by Google Maps that they are open from 11:00 to 1:00, which Chris has assured me is pure fiction. One would walk along Cottage Street, counting up the numbers, and arrive at a vacant storefront. One would go looking for another entrance. One would not find it. One would tentatively try the door and hear, "Hello! Come on in!"

We walk into an empty store.

From the back, Chris calls to us again. We walk down a few stairs into a lower level. In an alcove, lit by a few overhead bulbs, is Chris and his three kids. They're weighing out five pounds of roasted beans to fill a bag. The kids are trying their best not to make a mess of it.

This is a tiny operation, we learn. I'm one of a handful of subscribers, which is why he recognized both of our names in the first place.

Chris isn't roasting today. He's here to fill a few orders.

His roaster is new, connected to a laptop for temperature monitoring, and connected to his phone by bluetooth, because of course it is.

All of the beans he buys are organic and fair trade.

Chris' narrative is interrupted by the sound of a pound of newly-roasted beans spilling onto the floor in a widespread wave. The middle child's scoop has missed the bag by a country mile. Chris doesn't get angry. "It happens," he says, and doles out the brooms. He weighs what's left in the bowl and finishes the packing while the kids do their best to contain the spread, making it worse in the process.

I have to ask about the coffee family tree. He shows me the branches where my favorites lie and explains that this tree isn't quite accurate because a lot of growers are cultivating hybrids.

When I first tasted Acadia Coffee Company's beans in 2017 it's because I brought a bag home. It was the best coffee I'd ever tasted, slightly better even than Homestead's. Since then I've been a subscriber to Acadia and Homestead. I pretty much don't drink anything else at home unless someone brings me a bespoke bag from somewhere else. Acadia's beans aren't the cheapest in the world, but they're worth it. The subscription price includes shipping, which helps a little.

We walk back towards the center of town, buying chocolates from a tiny shop along the way. The servers and merchants here are more friendly than I'm used to. They have to be. They only have a few months to make a year's worth of money.

From the top of the hill we can see the harbor. The cruise ship, moored in the bay, looms. I take a picture when we get to the bottom of the hill.

Near the hotel entrance is a small parking lot. At one end is a ramp for a floating dock. It matches the one that went into the water late last week; both were in at this time last year.

We've been hearing from locals that spring is late up here this year. It's been cold and rainy most of the time. Cherry blossoms are just starting. There are a few tulips out. Our car has a dusting of pollen on it. Only last week did Bar Island begin to show color. The nights have been cold. I'm glad I decided at the last minute to pack my winter coat. I've been using it.