Bar Island Land Bridge, Incoming Tide
When I get back to the hotel after biking through Acadia National Park, I look out to the bay to check what the tide is doing. It's easy: look which way the boats are pointing. Right now they're facing the harbor. The tide is coming in.
We find lunch in town and then walk to the sand bar.
There's a periwinkle convention going on.
I could spend every day here. It's never the same sand bar twice. Right now it's just warm enough. The sky is clear. There's a slight breeze. And the incoming tide is closing in.
The cairn that had been placed on this buoy days ago is long gone. No surprise. The difference between low and high tide up here is twelve feet.
I'm going to walk out to that rock over there by the water.
Hey, I remember this rock from last year. It looked like a face with a seaweed beard.
Dude's had a shave.
I walk back toward the main part of the sand bar. I'm hoping to get all the way over to the island. As I get closer, though, I can see that won't be possible. The water has already begun to cut the island off. There are still people over there. They'd better hurry. Unless they want to wait ten hours, an emergency water taxi will set them back $150.
The first wave of people wade back through several inches of frigid water. I watch a man carry his pregnant partner. How heteronormative.
There are still a few folks on the other side. They come scurrying back, laughing as they wade through six inches of tide.
Until this winter, one of the Bar Harbor Cams was trained on the sand bar. From the distance of the camera I could see a clump of young trees (bottom left) that took me a while to figure out. I want to go stand under them but I can't.
Instead, I lie on my stomach, camera trained on a disappearing wedge a few feet away.
Every few seconds, a squirt of water comes out of the sand. Clams. They're too quick to catch on camera, but it's fun to watch. The music in my head, always there, goes silent. There are no more voices of people escaping the tide. There's just me, the lapping water, and the occasional clam-squirt.
I hear crunching behind me. It's Jack. "You're running out of sand bar," he says. I look around and stand up, training my cell phone camera on my feet.
The tide is cutting off more of the sand bar. Two more people have to wade across. Behind them, where people had scurried before, the bar is submerged.
Within minutes, even this is well under water.
Now the clouds are putting on a show. We're supposed to get rain in a few hours.
Back in town I grab the shot of Stewman's that I meant to get before. It's over-the-top touristy, but whatever.
This is a lobster on a very tall pole, because of course it is.
Jack says, "Look at the light on the island." Bald Porcupine is glowing.
Zoom a little, maybe?
We get back to the hotel room but I still haven't had enough of the afternoon glow. I zoom in as much as I can on Sheep Porcupine.
And Bald Porcupine again:
I want to take a quick walk on the Shore Path again. The tide hasn't come in enough to cover the land bridge. Beyond it is the Egg Rock lighthouse. I can't zoom in.
(There's not much I can do on my laptop either.
)
Whatever these are, they're blooming among the rocks:
The cherries still haven't blossomed.
The trees up here will grow anywhere they can.
Now it's time to go inside and start packing. We leave tomorrow morning.
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