Exile on Snow Street Part Five: Walk

Witch Hole Pond, Acadia National Park

8 October 2024

The events in this post took place on August 28, 2024.

Standing in the Party House driveway, I ask Heddy, Ginger, Jeff, and Lonnie, "What would you guys like to do?" 

"Everything," Heddy says.

It's Wednesday morning. We've had breakfast at Cafe This Way. Some folks are going to ride their bikes on the carriage roads. Jeff, Heddy, Ginger, Jill, and I are going to walk them instead.

There's something to be said for both. I've been on my bike more than on foot in there, so this is a welcome change. We pile into Jill's car and drive up to the Eagle Lake entrance. The parking lot is already full. No surprise; it's late morning. We find a spot on the road.

Jeff wants to take it easy today becuase we'll be hiking tomorrow. I figure we can walk up to Paradise Hill. "There's a view up there, but I don't remember it."

Next to the parking lot is a pond. In the spring, it was loaded with frogs going "gunk!" Today it's quiet.

Before we to towards Witch Hole Pond, I show them the view of Cadillac Mountain from the northern end of Eagle Lake.

We pass a beaver lodge on the Witch Hole Pond carriage road.

Farther along is a stand of dead trees that I'm guessing were drowned by a beaver dam.

We run into Elaine and her crew as they're coming down the Witch Hole Pond road. "We just ran into Andy!" she says. He's a Free Wheeler I haven't met. "He came off the cruise ship and they're on a bike ride."

Jeff points me to a tree drilled by pileated woodpeckers.

There are several ponds. 

We turn onto the Paradise Hill carriage road.

There's Andy's cruise ship, anchored behind Sheep Porcupine Island, out of sight from the shores of Bar Harbor.

We're doing a loop. When we get to the ponds again, the light has changed.

I have no sense of distance on foot. When we get back to where we started, those who have been using their fitness trackers announce that we've gone about six miles. Oops.

There's a pattern now. We contact each other by group text. When we're doing something on foot, I get a message to "meet us at the chairs." As I walk down Snow Street towards Wayman Lane, I'll see them sitting in a little picnic area next to the hospital parking lot. There are a few Adirondack chairs. Someone will be in one of them. I'll pull my camera out as I approach. The person will see that I've arrived and stand up before I can snap the shutter. Every time. 

If we're driving, I'll walk over to Party House. It takes almost as long to reach the house from the driveway as it does to leave Exile House and walk down Wayman Lane. 

It has been decided that tonight we're going over to the Quiet Side to Abel's Lobster Pound. Frank is kind enough to send me a screen shot of the menu to make sure there's something I can eat. "Can't go wrong with salad and cornbread," I text back. "I'll tag along."

The lobster pound is on the northeastern side of Somes Sound. I remember passing this place on my bike. There's a giant sign by the road. The driveway is a long descent into what looks like not a restaurant. There are lobster boats and a boat lift at the edge of a large parking lot. Around the bend is what looks like a large house. It's the restaurant. Between the house and the driveway are picnic tables that dot the slope to the shore.

When I was here in 1982, I wasn't yet vegetarian. We visited a lobster pound then, where they kept the animals alive, stashed in holding tanks on a floating dock, under our feet. "It takes eight years for a lobster to reach a pound," our guide said, and he meant weight, not cage. Eight years. I'm not a vegetarian for moral reasons. I simply don't like the taste of meat. But this, back then, was enough for me to decide that I couldn't eat an animal that took so long to grow up. I've never eaten lobster meat.

It's not stopping the rest of our group. Some want the "lazy lobster," which is half the shell, lengthwise, with the meat removed then put back in. The rest are going for the whole beast. Some get one pound lobsters. Others get two-pounders. 

When the server arrives with the traditional plastic bibs, everyone wants a picture. I step away. There's only so much middle-age tourist shenanigans I'm willing to participate in. Plastic bibs are past that line. 

We're facing west. The sun is setting. I always carry my camera.

We've all been off the leash with food these past two weeks. The lobster dinner is followed by dessert.

Back at Party House, we hang out in the, well, not living room. Den, I guess? There are too many rooms in this house. This one seems to have a bar. There are lots of squishy chairs and a sofa.

There's also a small table. Someone has found a deck of Uno cards. I haven't played this game since the summer after college graduation. Heddy, Ginger, Jeff, Jill, and I sit around the table and figure out the rules. Then we play. It gets goofy and vicious at the same time. One by one, players "win" by getting rid of all their cards. It gets down to two people, and then Jeff is left, bewildered. 

I count 50 steps between the back door of Party House and the end of the driveway. It's less than a hundred more to Exile House, where I notice a new Ziggy has set up a web near the floodlight by the side door.