Hill Slugs in Bar Harbor 4: At the Edge of Town

Compass Harbor

6 September 2026

It was the morning of August 24, another gloomy-looking one. I went to the window, opened the sash, and pulled two of the small screen fasteners inwards.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked, somewhat alarmed.

"Taking out the screen," I said, as I turned it sideways and moved it into the room. I stashed it between the desk and the wall by the door. "I'll put it back before we leave."

The view, such as it was, was much better without the mesh in the way. (Whoops. Wrong day.)

Heddy, Ginger, and Jeff could only find a breakfast table outside. I walked over, stopping for foggy photos.

We used pool towels to dry the chairs. I wrapped another one around my shoulders as a shawl. Above us, a herring gull was not at all deterred by the decoy owl placed there to deter it.

Someone had built a cairn inside a cup.

On my way back to the room, I found a grass spider in one of the shrubbery sheet webs.

The forecast wasn't calling for actual rain, and it looked like it might clear up later. We decided to walk to the Compass Harbor Trail. Jack opted to stay in town. With plantar fasciatis in both feet, he wasn't into long walks. The Atlantic House people were off doing other things. We did plan to gather everyone at the top of the sand bar at 1:30.

We began our walk through town with jackets on. As we passed Choco Latte, we ran into Elaine, who was with some relatives. A few minutes later, we saw Frank, walking Chester.

As we continued south, up the slight hill to the trailhead, the air got drier and warmer. By the time we reached the path, my jacket was off.

While the Compass Harbor path is a short lollipop, there are multiple side trails that lead to the water. We explored almost every one. The fog was lifting in Frenchman Bay, revealing Bald Porcupine Island and the breakwater repair. This was the first time we'd been able to see the islands since we arrived two days ago. 

From another trail spoke, we saw kayakers on the shore.

A little farther ahead, we found a way down.

I was puttering about on the rocks when I received a Slack message from one of my lab colleagues. The exchange took a few minutes, during which I puttered some more.

On the far end of the shore was the part of the trail that had washed out years before. I'd been down on the other side of the gap. Now we were walking through it.

"It's the kitty!" We'd heard the horn as the boat approached the harbor. Heddy got the pictures because I'd been coming across the rift when they spotted the ferry.

I waited for it to reappear on the other side of Bald Porcupine Island.

The Slack conversation concluded with me sending a picture.

We climbed back up to the trail.

Up next was a set of stone steps leading to the remains of a farmhouse.

"This is the only affordable real estate on the island," I explained.

I had to stop for a sheet weaver.

We were feeling hot now as we walked back into town. I spotted an Araneus diadematus near a roadside rhododendron.

As for lunch, we decided we'd munch on whatever snacks we had in our hotel rooms. I'd brought a bag of protein bars with me, as I always do, so I was set.

I changed into shorts. The sun was out for real this time.

The five of us met in the hotel lobby and made our way towards West Street.

Hello, Maggie.

With everyone, including Frank and Elaine, assembled at the entrance on Bridge Street, we walked down to the sand bar.

According to the tide charts, low tide was at 1:30. The rule is that one has three hours from low tide until the sand bar goes under water again. This allows plenty of time to cross, follow the trail on Bar Island, and get back again.

In theory.

In practice, as a local who was standing at the edge of the lowest point explained to us, "The sand has gotten lower over the past month. It moves around." Now, he told us, "People only have an hour. The charts are wrong."

Some folks weren't waiting. I knew we would be able to cross if we waited a little longer.

1:35 p.m.

1:49 p.m.

I crossed over at 1:53 p.m., getting the soles of my hiking boots a little wet.

1:53 p.m.

The perspective from the sand bar is so different from what I see in town.

"That's Cadillac," I said, pointing to the long mountain on the right.

We started up the Bar Island Trail. From there, one can look back to the sand bar to keep tabs on the tide.

The trail starts off in the woods, then turns away from the water to a meadow that, in late spring, is full of blooming lupines. At the far end of the meadow, there's a branch of the trail that used to be marked as private property. It leads to the remains of a house. Frank started down that path, but I called him back. "We're going to the summit," I told him.

I've done this trail in sneakers. I've seen people come up it carrying drinks in open cups. But the last bit is rocky. Jim and Regina begged off here and went to poke around the old house instead.

Over the years, trees have grown in to hide the view from the top. I used to be able to see the breakwater clearly. 

One has to walk down to the right a little to find an opening.

I found a bit of the breakwater between branches.

We turned around and took the path to the old house. Jeff decided to go straight back instead.

I think the windows look like mouths.

I made the affordable real estate joke again because it's probably true. Or not. This was waterfront property after all.

The seemingly outdoor fireplace was perplexing.

There's a trail behind the house that I knew about. I led them through the foundation. "There's a downed tree we'll have to straddle," I told them.

Might as well take a picture of my feet while I'm here.

Rickety pointed out a bronze-colored beetle on the ground. I forgot to send it to iNaturalist until just now. It's probably a "bronze ground beetle," which, sure.

The side trail merged with the main one in the woods. By the time we reached the sand bar, the tide was far enough out that I could visit my low-tide rocks.

Here is Hipster Rock, who I should rename "Cousin It" at this point.

A family was settled near Mustache Rock's nose, but I managed a picture. I eplained to the mother how the rock looked like a face to me. I pointed out the eyes and nose. I'm not sure she saw what I see. Her loss.

Frank suggested we go to the Thrive Juice Bar on Rodick Street. It was just past 3:00 and the place had closed for the day. He suggested Acadia Perk on Firefly Lane instead. I'd never been inside. Some folks had coffee; I went for the blueberry lemonade instead. It was okay; the coffee, apparently, was not, perhaps because it was so late in the day.

Heddy and I walked back to the hotel by way of Albert Meadow. Fog was rolling in over the top of Bald Porcupine Island.

Back in the hotel room, I had work to do. I needed to create a carriage road route for tomorrow and change the wheels on Janice to the gravel ones I'd brought along. The latter went more smoothly than I'd anticipated, much to my relief. I created two routes, one a few miles longer than the other. We'd be riding from the hotel. I didn't want to do anything too hilly beause the plan was to climb Cadillac on Wednesday.

When I took my hiking boots off, I noticed that the soles were beginning to separate from the boots. I called Jeff in to take a look. He figured they had at least one more hike in them. 

While I was rushing around, Heddy sent me a picture of more fog over the Porcupines.

Seeing this, I knew that I needed a few moments of stillness. I went outside to the edge of the Shore Path to clear my head and watch the fog.

I suggested Project Social Kitchen to Jack for dinner. It was my fault that we weren't able to get into any of his favorite restaurants. I'd been unaware how far in advance he'd made reservations for us on our previous trips. Now we were planning on the fly, and we were shut out. I felt bad about this, but also not in control of anything. Jack was unhappy that we'd have to make do with lesser choices. I was content to go with the flow. Project Social is one he likes, and the others were game.

I grabbed SunsetCam (the Canon PowerShot) on the way out the door. 

My legs felt tired as the five of us walked up to the restaurant. We were seated in their beer garden. I didn't know what that meant until the five of us got there and were seated out back rather than in the main restaurant. We were confused at first that we had to place our orders and pay at a window. Was this a result of the orange fascist's fucked-up immigration bullshit? Were they that short on help? Turns out, no. This was the beer garden, and in the beer garden, you order as you would in an English pub.

The food was just as good though. We were finished in time to walk down to the pier for sunset.

Hello, Maggie.

I walked down to the floating dock. 

The Margaret Todd was coming in from her evening sail.

Jack was seated on his usual bench, the one that faces east, on the opposite side of the pier. I wandered up.

The water reflected the sunset and the color was changing by the minute.

We continued our blueberry ice cream test, this time up at CJ's Big Dipper. Ginger declared it the best so far. I didn't try it. It had chunks of frozen berries in it; I don't like the way that feels on my teeth. Nails on a chalkboard.

Before turning in, I gathered up my dirty clothes to drop off at the front desk. For $20, I was willing to come home with a cleaner suitcase. Then I created road bike routes for Wednesday and Thursday, and uploaded the day's photos.