Caboteers Part Two: Is Bar Harbor Is Not Bar Harbor

Mount Desert Island from the CAT ferry

 2 September 2024

The events in this post took place on August 17, 2024.

"Waffles!"

Martin has been churning them out from the machine. "They have chocolate!" I hunt around for yogurt or eggs instead.

We don't want to linger over breakfast. We have to get to Bar Harbor in time for the ferry, which leaves at 3:00. The powers that be at Bay Ferries Limited want us there earlier than that. We can check in at 11:00 if we want to, but what would we do for four hours? Last night, we decided that we'd skip the early check-in but get there well before the drive-in cutoff.

It's a 3-hour drive to Bar Harbor. Jeff and Lonnie, followed by Heddy and Ginger, are ready to go. Martin, Glen, and I are lagging behind, and by the time we leave the hotel, the others are long gone.

I've suggested that we get gas at Moose Crossing on Route 3 in Trenton. It's easy to spot and close to Bar Harbor. When Jack and I travel to Mount Desert Island, I always fill up here, mostly because of the name. 

What I hadn't counted on is the traffic. There's a long line of cars heading away from the island on Route 3. "We'd better leave early," Glen says. He's referring to our return trip on August 31, which seems years away right now. We fill up and have to wait for a gap in traffic to make the left turn back onto Route 3.

As we approach the Trenton Bridge that takes us onto Mount Desert Island, traffic slows to a crawl. Heddy texts from ahead that there's a stalled car on the bridge. By the time we get there, traffic is moving again. Jeff and Lonnie, and Heddy and Ginger, are already at the terminal. It's past 11:30 but they're still letting us check in early. We take a spot next to the others in the parking lot.

Heddy is checking in. The clerk is asking a series of rapid-fire questions about what we might be carrying with us. "Explosives?'

"No."

"Fruits or vegetables?"

"No."

"Hair spray?"

"Hair spray?" Heddy has hair spray with her.

"Bear spray," says the clerk.

"Oh. No."

There's a tedious customs form to fill out, plus a little slip of paper on which I write my name and Glen's license plate number. There's a folder for all of this, to which our tickets are added. Plus we're carrying our passports. I keep checking my pockets. Passport? Phone? Wallet? Tickets?

Now what? We can't drive out again, so if we want to go into town we'll have to walk. Google Maps says it's a 34-minute walk to the town pier, downhill. We'd have to give ourselves at least two hours to make the round trip on foot if we want to hunt around for lunch down there. There's not enough time.

I walk down the lot towards the water, to a chain-link fence behind which the CAT ferry is docked.

Next to where we're parked is a hotel with grounds that lead to the water. I suggest we walk up and over. From the street (Eden Street, Route 3), we can see our parked cars (that's Janice on the rack to the right).

The ferry terminal is bordered by a metal fence along the sidewalk. It's the sort of fence that spiders like. I pause to look between the rails. They're loaded with spiders!

My little Canon PowerShot is horrible for macro photography. My Nikon DSLR with the macro lens is packed away in the car, deep in the back, in my Bar Harbor suitcase. My iPhone 12 will have to do, once I get the hang of how far away I have to be to keep the spiders in focus. Most of them are resting in their silk retreats, so at least they're not being blown around by the wind as I take pictures. I delete far more than I keep.

When I'm here in the spring, these spiders are juveniles, with color patterns that make identification difficult. Now they're all grown up, and I'll have a chance to go back to the spring photos and maybe figure out what I was seeing. 

Araneus diadematus

(no doubt about this one)

Zygiella atrica

(a new adult find for me, and now I know I saw them when they were kids)

Zygiella atrica

Phiddipus princeps

(a new jumping spider for me)

We make our way down to the hotel's waterfront. Behind a walkway we can see Bar Island.

There's a duck that can't be bothered to move, even as we get close.

The town and the islands look so different from over here, north of everything. Bar Island is on the left, and Bald Porcupine is on the right.

The hotel is prepping for a wedding. They're setting out row after row of white chairs on the lawn, facing the water.

We walk back to the parking lot slowly, and I take some more spider pictures. Not long after that, it's time to drive into the maw of the ferry. We're guided down and around and in and around, so that we're facing the back again, first on, first off. 

We climb a narrow set of stairs that takes us to a door that leads to a cavernous cabin. It reminds me of some old movie I saw that has a scene inside a blimp. Heddy looks around.

There are two places to order food, a gift shop, and three seating areas spanning the length of the boat. We find a table somewhere in the middle and order lunch. It'll be an hour before the boat starts to move. 

I'm being weird about food. I've packed ten protein bars and ten energy bars. I want to make sure I get enough protein on this trip. I don't trust the tour hosts to understand that vegetarians need protein. The offerings on the boat are slim in that department. I have to pay through the nose for a cheese board, but Glen offers to share it. I also get a mushroom wrap that appears to have greens in it. Last night, in Portland, I had to ask for extra tofu in my pho. I'm trying to be quiet about this. Nobody likes food drama.

After we eat, some of us head to the small side deck. I want to watch us leave Bar Harbor. I take some photos from the less-than-transparent windows.

This is the sand bar, with Bald Porcupine Island behind it. My usual view is from between the two, from the Shore Path or the town pier.

The ferry starts to move. From our vantage point, Bar Harbor looks compressed, as if the sand bar were right up against the yachts that dock in the harbor. I point out the things we're seeing.

We pass behind Bar Island. Burnt Porcupine Island looks so much closer to it than it does from the shore in town.

We pull away, going southeast to get out of the harbor and into Frenchman Bay.

There's the Margaret Todd!

We pass the eastern tip of Bar Island.

There's fog coming in.

That's Cadillac Mountain on the right. 

We pass to the north of Sheep Porcupine Island. I know the western tip by the dying trees.

We're leaving quite the wake.

There's the far side of Bald Porcupine Island with its sheer cliff face. From the shore, one doesn't see this side, but this side explains the island's name. It does look like a porcupine from here.

We're out of the harbor. The captain guns the engine. We're pushed back towards the doors by the wind.

Martin hams it up.

We're passing the breakwater between Bald Porcupine and Mount Desert Island. This little man-made strip somehow keeps the harbor waters calm.

I follow Heddy towards the edge of the stairs to take the picture she's taking of the wake from the side of the boat.

We relocate to the rear deck, which spans some of the length of the ferry and has benches along the wall.

The wake is mesmerizing. I've lost track of time, and for the first time since we began this trip, I feel relaxed.

Smoke from the ferry's engine mixes with the wake.

"That's Egg Rock Lighthouse," I tell Heddy. Maybe I'll finally get a clear picture of the place.

I'm having a moment of zen.

Before he retired, Martin was a professional photographer. He knows how to frame a shot. He sends me this, of his legs in the foreground as I take a picture through the balcony rails.

So I take a picture with my feet and David G's feet.

And Martin's too.

The sun is going behind the clouds, and it's getting chilly. I decide to go inside. As I walk forward, I notice that the gift shop clock is one hour ahead. We must be in Canada now. 

I find some of our folks gathered in the front seating area, tapping on their fitbits and watches, wondering why they're not synching with their phones.

"We're in Canada. Switch to WiFi," I suggest.

The ship sounds its horn four times. Are we near Yarmouth already?

Someone in the room spots a whale, and for several minutes, there are oohs and aahs as we see them spouting.

Glen and Martin have managed to get a tour of the boat. "The horn was a kid," Martin explains.

"How did you know there was a tour?" I ask.

"The lady in the gift shop told me!"

Glen says he tried to text us but he couldn't. 

"We're in Canada," I tell him. "Switch to WiFi."

I take a picture from the front window.

Soon there are seabirds following the boat. I can't get a good photo through the window. We're moving too fast and so are the birds. But I know they're black skimmers when I see them fly close to the water.

An announcement I can't clearly hear tells us that the concession stands will be closing in fifteen minutes. We must be getting close to shore. I'm hungry, so I head over and buy the last oat cake on the shelf. I've never had an oat cake.

This is a good oat cake! It tastes like a soft granola bar. One side is dipped in chocolate. I need more oat cakes in my life!

Now the view out the window is this:

Heddy sends me a photo of a bouy at the edge of the Yarmouth harbor.

As we filter towards our cars, we step outside to get to the stairs. I snap a few photos of Yarmouth through the fog.

Although we parked next to each other, we're shunted to separate customs lines. Ours is taking forever. When we finally pull up to the booth, we're asked the same questions as before, only this time cannabis is on the list. I have to ask if it's legal in Canada, and the officer launches into a proud description of Canada's marijuana legality, regulation, and taxation.

Jeff and Lonnie, Heddy and Ginger, and the three of us are staying at the Mermaid in Yarmouth. Some others are in our hotel and a few are elsewhere.

When I check in, since I'm the one who made the reservations, I'm presented with a slip of paper. We all have to pick our hot breakfast ahead of time so that it will be cooked to order. This seems weird, but whatever. We'll be pressed for time tomorrow, too, because we have to get all the way to Baddeck by mid-afternoon. 

The only available room for us is on the second floor. There are no elevators. We haul our bags and our bikes into the small room, rearranging the furniture so that the bikes will fit.

We all go out to dinner together, to what appears to be the one restaurant in town, a large, pub-like place that must feed all the tourists off the once-per-day ferry. From what we can see as we walk down to the water, there's not much else in Yarmouth. I was expecting a touristy sort of place. What I see is a working harbor that has no room or time for yappy, middle-aged Americans.

On our way back, we stop to admire a yard full of lilies. There's a spider back in there, Ginger points out. Looks like a cobweaver. It's too dark for my phone to handle.

Heddy sends me a photo of her bear spray for inclusion in the blog.

There's no time to blog, though. We have to get up early again.

Our room is much smaller than the one we stayed in last night. The beds are smaller too. I've got a bed to myself, but it's got my giant-ass suitcase on it.

Martin is in the other bed, deep into his phone. Glen climbs in next to him. They giggle.

"Get a room!" I tell them, and turn out the light.

I can't get comfortable. The pillows are too puffy. I'm on my back, I'm on my side, I'm on my back again. Maybe the guys are asleep. Sometimes I hear faint snoring. The air conditioner switches on. The air conditioner switches off. The air conditioner switches on. I get up to pee. Someone else gets up to pee.

My sleep has been like this for months now. My head is full of logistical what-ifs. When I convince myself to stop worrying about one thing, my brain goes ahead to another thing. Eventually I fall asleep, only to wake up again and go through another round of anxiety.

Tomorrow we drive onto Cape Breton to meet our guides in Baddeck. Straight through, it would take 6.5 hours. I know we'll take longer than that.

What if our guides aren't there?

Go.

To.

Sleep!