The Precipice

Acadia National Park is full of hiking and biking trails...

Given that we were there at one of the busiest weeks of the year, it was the one place we could go to get away from the crowds.

And regardless to which coast, mountaintop or lake we hiked or biked, the views were spectacular.  

Many of the trails traversed over bald rock faces carved out by glaciers so the paths were marked with these piles of rocks called cairns...

After our lobster lunch with Linda, Jim's back wasn't feeling too well so he left Jack and I to hike one of the most difficult hikes on the island, The Precipice.  Now you'd think with a name like "The Precipice", I would have had a clue.

It was listed in my guide book as "strenuous".  But we had completed a number of strenuous hikes in the past few days so I didn't give it a second thought. Plus, the guide book mentioned the aid of iron bars to hold onto to help you over the rough spots so I said "Let's Go!"  Jack loves to rock climb and this climb was touted to be "all rock".

Now keep in mind, there was this warning sign at the beginning of the Precipice trail...

Why I didn't choose to fully read it, I will never know.

I thought I read it, but let me tell you folks, my "experience in climbing near exposed cliffs and heights" is zero.

And I'm not as good with heights as I was a few years ago.

Plus, I know I didn't read the last sentence:  "Persons have received serious injuries and others have died on this mountain side!"

The climb started off with Jack and I heading up the trail at a fairly steep rate, climbing over large boulders, and underneath rock crevices.  Stupid me, I had brought my camera bag and it was getting in the way as I scrambled around on all fours.

After the boulders, the iron railings started to appear on narrow ledges and the trail began to tighten up and get smaller. This small bridge is actually over a 30ft drop.  This is what I thought the book had meant by "The Precipice" so  I began to believe that the entire trail would be just like this.

No problem.  I got this.

Well folks, as we rounded the bend, the trail got less trail-like...

This is also where my rock hugging began.  

Notice there was only one iron bar here so, believe me, I was staying as close to that rock on the left as I could.  Just a minor shift in my approach though...so far so good.

Then we rounded the next bend and were rewarded with this view...

Plus a sheer drop off of over 100ft. which made my stomach drop out from under me and my heart start racing at about 800 beats per minute.  

Jack:   "Mom, are you OK?"  

Me:  "I'm fine Jack (in very high-pitched voice trying to sound in control).  Mommy just needs to take this really slowly."

Jack: "Maybe I should take the camera and put it in the backpack?  I don't think you're going to be able to take any pictures from here on..."

Truer words have never been spoken. From there, the trail started to go straight up.

I started to become hyper-aware of where each of my hand and footholds were.  

After we ascended that patch above, the climb got purely vertical.  To slip or let go of one of those rungs, meant we were plunging back to Jimmy in the parking lot by direct-route.  

Jack:  "You know Mom.  The mind cuts deeper than the sword.  Once I read that in my Game of Thrones book, I wasn't afraid of heights anymore.  So think of that Mom.  The mind cuts deeper than the sword."

Me:  "What?  Do you think I'm afraid or something?  I'm good.  I'm good."

No answer.  

Jack:  "Watch out here Mom.  This space will be tougher for you because you're short.  Step here first.  Don't go the way I came."

I kept taking small breaks while spread-eagled flat against the rock, not daring to look down, trying to remember my "center" and taking "deep, calming breaths".  That only got my heart rate down to 500 bpm but it kept me from completely flipping out.  

I couldn't let myself freak out.  The only choice was to go up because the only other way off was to have a rescue helicopter fly in and get me.  No thanks to that.  

So, another deep breath and up I went.  Until I was rewarded with another ledge to walk around...

Photo courtesy of ink & snow No way was I taking this picture.

Then, we were climbing straight up on a cliff face on those iron rungs...and every so often, I had to stave off panic when there was a stretch where one was missing or broken.

Jack (very calmly):  "Mom.  There's no rung here.  But look, there's a handhold over here on the left and a foothold right here.  You got it?"

"Yes."  I squeaked.

And so we went like that.  Jack telling me my next best move and me following his lead.  

When we finally made it to the summit, my bottom lip started to quiver, my legs turned to water and my eyes started to tear up in relief. I had lived!!!

I ran over to the rock at the top and kissed it.  

Honestly, that climb was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life other than give birth to Jack.

And at that moment, I was so grateful to him for talking me off the ledge.  

I hugged him and realized that the tables had turned.  I wasn't worried about him once on that cliff.  And he wasn't worried about him either.

He was way more worried about me.  

I always thought his laid-back personality and calm demeanor would serve him well when the rest of the world was freaking out.  And this day proved it.

We started laughing in relief and goofing off.

Did you know another use for a cairn is as a burial marker?  

We think we should tack this picture onto the warning sign...

It's not my best shot but you can't expect me to look very good when I'm pretending to be dead.

Jack:  "Well Mom.  I think we should start down.  I'm worried about Dad." A little pause before he added,  "Boy, am I glad Dad didn't come on this one..."

Poor Jack.  I don't think he could have handled talking two parents off the cliff.

Me:  "Me too buddy.  Let's go.  I'm following you."

Luckily, there was a path down that went around the cliff.  There was NO WAY I would have ever climbed back down that rock face.

The view was beautiful.  

And we were in that "magic hour" that photographers love.  The time of day when the sun is beginning to set and the light is just right.

And, as happens when you've just survived a near-death experience, my senses were hyper-aware of the smell of the sea, the blue of the sky, the green of the trees...

And that beautifully awesome Red Hat.

I started falling behind again because I was taking photos and drinking in life.

"Come on, Mom.  Dad's waiting..."

So, I put the camera away.

"I'm coming."  

And with that, we walked off The Precipice.

Canadian Contraband and the Trenton Bridge Lobster Pound

The scene for the transfer of the Canadian contraband was here...

The Trenton Bridge Lobster Pound.

There are many lobster pound shacks along Rte 3 en route to Mount Desert Island.  You can't miss them, recognizable by the steaming pots and stovepipes that are lit first thing in the morning.

We chose Trenton Bridge for two reasons:  first, it got the best food reviews on Yelp and secondly, they cook their lobster in sea water for added flavor.

One of my blogging needle friends (BNFs), Linda Hubbard and her daughter Laura were meeting us there for lunch.

They had driven down from New Brunswick, Canada and were bringing with them some of that exhilarating, bottled Canadian elixir that I had been dreaming of for over a year.

Linda and I have been BNF's for a few years and had first met each other last April at the Crazy Adventure in Connecticut.   At that time, she made the mistake of giving me a bottle of the "good stuff" as a gift while we were at the retreat.

When I told her we were going to be in Maine, she volunteered to meet me (she and her daughter had planned a trip Old Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts) and to bring me a few extra bottles to feed my habit.

OK.  I kept calling the stuff "contraband" and "moonshine"  because it comes in these suspicious looking bottles...

But Linda wants you to know that she hasn't done anything wrong.  In fact, it's perfectly legal for her to carry these bottles across the border.

In fact, Linda is as pure as the 100% Canadian Maple syrup that she trucked over from Canada.  But I'm here to tell you, just because it is 0º Proof and has zero alcohol content doesn't mean that it isn't intoxicating.  I am happy to report that I'm back on the bottle!

It was wonderful to see each other again and to share our Lobster Pound experience with two such lobster-eating aficionados.   Evidently, the lobster in New Brunswick is even better than Trenton Bridge!  ;)

Linda and Laura had lobster rolls, Jack had New England clam chowder, and Jim and I had the Lobster (pronounced Lob-stah in Maine).  

I thought it was called a Lobster Pound because lobster is sold by the pound but that was wrong.  Maine calls them Lobster Pounds because historically, the shacks have had a holding tank or a tidal "pen" that contained the lobsters, keeping them fresh before they were sold live.

We hand-picked our lobster from a cooler.  I selected one that was 2 pounds but Jim got the Big Daddy.  

His was over 3 pounds and completely crushed my poor girl on the scale.  Men.

After weighing, they were placed in these knotted-net bags...

And carried outside...

To be placed in one of those boiling pots of salt water...

You can tell it was sea water because of all the salt residue that is coating the outside of the stoves...

I actually really liked the salty-crustiness of the stove and how the salt created textures on the brick and iron ovens.

These stoves have been used.

Our lobster bag was given a number so that Big Daddy was sure to land back in Jim's stomach and not inside some other lucky fellow...

And sure enough, when they came out of the pot, there was lobster team #25, red-y for our enjoyment. 

Delicious is just too gentle a word for how great they tasted!

Now like me, you may have wondered how those lobsters go into the pot looking mottled greenish-brown but come out flaming red?

It turns out that the lobster shell contains many pigments that give it its color, helping it to blend into its environment.  One of those is a red, carotenoid pigment called astaxanthin.  All the other pigments break down when heated except for the astaxanthin, which gives the cooked crustaceans their lobster red color.

I know.  And you thought this was just a needlework blog.

Well, this post does contain a needlework friend...and a very, very good one.  

If you would like to visit Linda, you can see her beautiful quilts and gardens on her blog here.

And Linda, it was great to see you and thanks SO much for the...

Sir-up,

Seer-up 

or (as we butcher the word down here in Baltimore)

Sayr-up.

And for my non-english speaking BNFs, that's the three different ways that we English-speakers pronounce the word, syrup.

Have a sweet day everyone!

P.S.  Your public service announcement for the day...

Tidepools on the Maine Coast

First of all, a big thank you for all of your wonderful thoughts and comments regarding my latest finish, Found on the Beach.  It feels great to finish a project and even greater when folks show up to the party to help celebrate.

I wish I could have answered you all personally but, right after I hit the "publish" button, Jim, Jack and I left on a one week road trip to Mount Desert Island and Acadia National Park in Maine.



We expected to be hiking and biking through gorgeous scenery but we hadn't even considered the one thing which delighted us the most.

Tidepools.

Our first ever.

Until now, our seaside discoveries have all occurred on sandy shores so we were overjoyed to discover the beauty of rocky tide pools.

Tide pooling became one of the highlights of our week in Maine and clambering over rocks to see what wonder was in the next one gave us one of the biggest thrills of the week.  It was treasure-hunting at its best.

The challenge was getting close enough to peer into these miniature aquatic ecosystems without being scraped by barnacles or slipping on seaweed and being swept into the sea.



When successful, we were rewarded with vignettes of all type of sea life in microcosm and close-at-hand...



Red algae, periwinkle snails, dog whelks, urchins, seaweed...each one was its own composition of color and design.

The tide pools exist in the intertidal layers...the area between low and high tide.  The first layer below the high tide mark is the barnacle layer.

Since I had already been researching barnacles a bit for my last project, I was over-the-moon excited about getting to observe them up close.

When the tide drops leaving the barnacle layer exposed, many of them close up shop and wait for the sea to return.  They can survive for a few days on water they conserve inside their homes.

Barnacles that are empty have most likely fallen prey to micro predators, eager for a meal.



In this tide pool, take note of that extra-large, open barnacle just underneath the blue mussel...

It was alive, opening its trap door and extending its feathery feet to feed.  I tried to catch the feet on camera but all you can really see is a bubble indicating movement.

Below the barnacle layer is the rockweed layer.

From far away it looks like a mass of greenish brown...

But as we climbed down to get a closer look, the varieties of life were more evident.

I liked to imagine all these plants standing straight up when the sea returns, held afloat by their air bladders.

The colors and textures just blew me away.  

I am still working to identify a lot of what we saw but below you see a few periwinkle snails, red algae and what I believe is coral weed?

Periwinkle snails are very common in the intertidal zone, feeding on algae.  

This guy, with his foot and mouth extended,  looks like he's crawling across a barnacle "flower" garden...

Such variety of life.

Blue mussels...

Green urchins...

Silver-spotted anemones...

And a colony of dogwinkles drilling holes in barnacles to feast on the little shrimp-like animal barricaded inside...

This rock crab is munching on a bit of irish moss...

Notice all the other invertebrates growing on his shell...like the ivory barnacles and the little tortoiseshell limpet on his right claw.  And isn't his blotchy, purple shell a feast of color?

And speaking of feast, this colony of blue mussels is quite the meal for birds and other shell-drilling predators...

Even the rocks were gorgeous with red striping caused by iron sulfate and other minerals.  

The geology of Mt. Desert Island is equally as interesting as the marine biology and I find myself coming home with more questions than answers and tons of pictures.

And this guy...

Wants to thank all of you for his Happy Birthday wishes.

It's good to be home.

Happy Monday everyone!