Following the storm, Danny came by the next morning to chat for a while. He said he knew some folks originally from California that he thought we should meet. He was sure we would hit it off grand, and so he made arrangements for us to meet them.
Bob and Marsha Brown, originally from Monterey, California, had taken a 15-month road trip pulling their 27-foot cabin cruiser boat behind them. It served as their living quarters both on the road, and when they could put in at any given port. They followed the good weather on their journey, and when their trek neared its end they found themselves in Jonesport. Cruising around in their boat, they saw a parcel of property for sale. They inquired, they looked at the property, they bought it that day. It changed their life, of course, and they have never looked back since. It took them nearly two years to get everything moved from one coast to the other, but now they are working on a boat house, and eventually will build a new house and garage, and will be content—no, perfectly happy—if they never have to leave their newfound piece of Heaven.
They said they especially love it in the winter, when the town is completely free of tourists and the day temp rarely gets above freezing. We hope to keep in touch with these great folks.
We headed from their house to a stopover at a neighboring campground that had a dump and fill station. On the day we were there, it was run by a young boy full of life and a love of baseball. His energy let him run from our truck back into the house to ask his grandpa our questions (he was still new to the business). We asked him about life in the snow, and he told us about riding the bus to school in the white, and what kids did for fun. Which included ice skating, snowball fights, and "snowboarding, if you could find a hill." Brant asked him if he could go out and find a moose, and he said he probably could.
"My grandma shot a buck moose from her bathroom window right there one time," he said proudly.
We envisioned the bathroom in the house, a hunting rifle propped up against the toilet, just in case.
The Browns had tipped us off as to which dock to buy lobster from, and the secret of the Picking Shacks, where you can get fresh picked crab for only $9/pound. So we headed out to Beal Island, threading through the narrow residential streets and out to the docks. We walked right down to the water, where a lobster boat happened to arrive at the same time. They passed over their crustaceous cargo in floating blue and white crates, and the lobster master weighed them out and paid the trappers. They spoke in the code of the fisherman, thick with the accent of downeast Maine.
Our lobsters turned out to be fans.
We ordered up two pound and a quarter lobster, and he picked two out of the bunch and asked for $10. We didn't have anything to put them in, which I guess we were supposed to have brought, so he emptied his own lunch bag to put our lobster in, finding an extra treat from his wife in the process. We asked where there was a picking shack, and the other men gathered on the dock told us about Diana Kelley, who had just set up a new shop and was just around the corner. We got quick directions and headed her way.
Diana was a gem. Her little shop in the back of her house was all white paint and stainless steel. Her tools were a simple butter knife, a plastic cutting board, and a slew of little 1/2 pound plastic containers, adorned with plain white stickers with her name, address and phone number on it. At our knock, she bid us come right in, and she showed us how the picking is done, filling us in on her story and a bit of history. The fishermen's wives had been picking crab for years to bring in a bit of extra money. Always they had just done it from their house, in their own little kitchen, until the government wanted a piece of the action, too, and made it law that you had to have a regulated picking shack to take up the trade. Diana herself had been doing it forever...she drove a school bus during the winter and worked cleaning for the education system when school was out during the summer, and then in the afternoons she picked crab. And she was good at it, and fast. Just the day before she had sold 32 pounds to a local restaurant! We were happy for good timing, because it meant we could purchase some of her wares. We left with a pound of picked crab, just hours out of the ocean.
Per her instructions, on the way back to camp we picked up a head of fresh lettuce and some hot dog buns. Browned on the skillet, lined with lettuce and stuffed with the fresh crab and a dab of mayonaise, we indulged in the Maine cuisine of crab rolls. (Of course, we figure that must have been all a part of Diana's plan, because after that lunch, we were hooked. We went back the next day and bought another two pounds of crab for the road!)
Danny was right, too. We did stay another night at his camp. The weather was beautiful, the view was unbeatable, and Brant was determined to see if the waterway just steps away could become a world-famous kiteboarding spot. After much speculation and inspection, we launched the kite with low tide over crags of seaweed-covered rocks. It fell from the sky when the lulls created by the seawall puffed in and laughed at us. We messed around with the process for what seemed like a long time, but eventually Brant got the kite flying steadily and headed out into the Atlantic. The spot would never become famous, for it gave new meaning to the term "gusty." But it was cool to know that it was almost guaranteed this was the first time Jonesport had ever seen kiteboarding in her waters.
The launch site, right in front of camp at low tide.
We headed out of Jonesport that afternoon, traveling down the coast this time. We looped into the southern part of Acadia National Park, on Mt. Desert Island. Apparently this is one of the most heavily visited national parks in the country, and we were in prime visitor season. All the lobster pounds lining the highway were packed, the campgrounds were all full, and even the local Wal Mart had a "No Overnight Parking" sign. (But upon inquiry, we found out this sign was just to keep the neighbor's happy. Wal Mart would stick to their RV-friendly-policies, and we took them up on it.)
The next day we made it into Portland, our first big city in a long time. We did the tasks that needed doing, like laundry and kinko's and Mexican food. We found out about what looks to be a killer rollerblade spot, which we are going to check out today. Also, there's rumor that there just might be a sport-friendly beach, where kite-buggies already populate, and Ultimate Frisbee is a regular occurence. Stand by for the report....
