Isle au Haut

The $38 roundtrip ferry ticket made me think twice about joining my mother on Isle au Haut. Within $200 of paying off my credit card, I found myself tempted by the most absurd expenses.  I pictured myself on the phone with a debt collector: “oh, but have you ever been out that way? the boat ride alone is worth it…”.  I remained indecisive until about 10:30pm the night before, when I succumbed to my mom’s insistence.

I had not been out that way in eight years myself, and only once to Isle au Haut.  A family friend co-owned some sheep, now deceased, on a neighboring island.  Throughout my adolescence, we would sail out to round up and shear the ladies.  I would invite friends who were dazzled by sleeping in the barn next to bags of wool, and the herding, tackling, and shearing of the wild sheep.

The next morning, we departed Stonington in the fog, not uncommon, but a shame to a girl who loves looking back at the piers and houses on the hillside.  Stonington is the San Francisco of Hancock County.  Half the town is composed of bearded men whose trucks fill the lots of the harbor, whose families have been working the water for generations.  The other half is a more bohemian crowd, they too now bearded and working with their hands, painting houses and shoveling dirt, but they speak of sleeping in caves in Greece and the back alleys of Cambridge.

We met a guy on the ferry who was commuting to construction work on Isle au Haut.  He told me that if you live on Isle au Haut for a year and establish residency, the town will sell you 2 or 3 acres for $5000.  I digested this, mostly wondering how I would fare on an island.  I would either have 30 friends or be incredibly lonely.

We were met at the dock by a park ranger, who was driving my mother and her friend to their cabin.  My mom’s friend asked if we could stop at Black Dinah Chocolatier’s.  It takes little to convince me to eat chocolate at 8am, or for that matter, eat all the calories i need for the day.  It became apparent that Black Dinah’s does not only serves chocolate and pastry deliciousness.  It acts as a gathering place on an island whose residents’ survival depends on building community. From listening the three lady island residents there, I sensed the sisterhood you develop in a place where there are only so many people who can serve as your confidantes, with whom you can plan parties, from whom you can “borrow” an egg.

Once at the cabin, I felt antsy to go hiking, despite the rain and the certainty of more coming.  I headed down the Duck Harbor trail, through one of those magical Maine spruce-fir forests, moss as far as the eye can see, to the highly recommended Western Head area. My mother’s friend discouraged me from climbing duck harbor mt in the rain, since the view would be fogged in and the terrain wet and slippery.

On the Western Head trail and the Cliff trail, the rain persistent, I snaked across beaches, through buoy graveyards, and under lichen groves where it hung from the trees like Spanish moss.  I thought of my mother’s pollyanna mindset: “well, thank goodness, I will have a hot shower and warm bed tonight, and a whoopie pie waiting for me at the Eggemoggin Reach General Store”.

 It kept raining, and raining harder.  My cordoroys were sticking to my legs, and my boots only weighed me down with their heft.  I only had a paper map, and it was a joke after I pulled it out of my pocket the sixth time, the trifold sides sticking to each other and ripping apart.  I had overly ambitious–perhaps the best way to describe my style in general–plans of hiking the Goat trail to Barred Harbor and looping back to the Duck Brook trail to catch the 4:30 ferry.

At the intersection of the Goat trail and the Western Head road, when I looked over my map now in indecipherable shreds, I could not determine which side trail I would take to a road if I followed that Goat trail plan.  I had visions of myself, already a wet puppy dog not allowed on furniture, running for the ferry.  No, no thank you.  Some things make a great story, but not a great life experience.  I wanted a drama-free exit from the island. I played it safe and headed back to the Duck Harbor trail to return to “town”.

I laughed to myself when I did not hear any of the sounds of civilization as I neared “town”.  I turned out to be early for the ferry, as well as wet, cold, and craving a woodstove or a car heater, anything that would keep me warm while waiting.  Having put on my wool sweater, I did my most desperate move of the day, as I decided to put my Smartwool socks on my hands like mittens.

Everyone thought I was a hysterical sight, in my yellow rain coat, the hood pulled all the way up, wool hat underneath, with the smartwool socks on my hands.  The park ranger saw me again and burst out laughing. “you have a slug on your hood, and it’s so cute, it is so you right now I don’t want to remove it.”  Eventually she did, eventually I boarded the ferry. 

I met three more lovely ladies, who, God love them, were trying to help me sort out my life, though we were limited by the 45 minute boat ride.  That is what happens when you look like a pathetic twentysomething woman: everyone is super friendly.  I had to tell the clerk at the Eggemoggin Reach store that i had been dreaming about about a whoopie pie all day while hiking on Isle au Haut.

The next day, at a friend’s baby shower, I was reminded of the sisterhood I already have on the mainland.  I already live in a place where i can run across the street and “borrow” an egg, have friends with whom I can make tomato sauce and laugh over tea and share the unspoken knowledge of our small universe.

I used to think nothing of running off to Vermont, or the south, or the west for several months.  I still do not have any major commitments, so theoretically I could head to Europe or spend the winter in Florida.  Yet how will I ever acquire any commitments if I continue to live in my tent and sleep in a different spot every night? I am becoming attached, I feel little roots cautiously growing in soil that I know very well, and even with all of the uncertainty, I do not want to be anywhere else.