Going for Roque

The Bar Harbor Inn

Well, we’ve made it to Bar Harbor at last. Located on the northeastern side of Mt. Desert, the name of this little town is probably the first that comes to mind for any non-Mainer as the quintessential sailing and tourist destination in this northern state. We’re happy to spend a day ashore as two of those tourists, but the first order of business is to get to the grocery store.

We load up with backpacks and grocery totes, and make the mile-long trek to the store with an additional detour around town. It feels good to stretch our legs after so many days on the boat. Not so good is the feeling once we are weighted down with a ridiculous amount of food, booze and ice, and on our way back. My shoulders are very unhappy. Maybe next year we should bring a collapsible cart with us for these occasions – or cut down on the gin (no way!).

The town is pleasant and clearly designed with the enjoyment of tourists in mind. There is a beautiful little park overlooking the harbor, and a main thoroughfare ripe with souvenir shops, restaurants and ice cream emporiums. I find the whole place a bit too “Disneyfied” for my taste, particularly after our experience in the much more “real” town of Rockland. I’d also prefer the party atmosphere of Provincetown, since there’s no pretense that your experience there is anything like real life. Even so, Bar Harbor is a nice place to spend a day and have a good meal (and an ice cream cone).

The Margaret Todd
(a Bar Harbor institution)

Our larders now wonderfully full, we head out early in the morning for Roque Island. It’s a fifty-mile trip up the coast, and it will take us all day to get there, but a fellow sailor we met in Rockland told us it was a must-see. Rick has never been north of Bar Harbor, at least along the Maine coastline, and he’s anxious to get up to the “wild country”.

Bald Porcupine Island

Even the sights along the coast coming out of Bar Harbor already make the trip worth it. The two Porcupine islands are stunning, as is the view of the lighthouses on Egg Rock. The wind is mighty cold though; I’m completely bundled up in blankets and I’m even wearing earmuffs for this trip.

Egg Rock

There are virtually no people up here. The cottages, large and small, that were so prevalent on the coast up to Bar Harbor are virtually non-existent now. We have no cell phone service, and the internet access which had been spotty on our way up here has now completely vanished.

We reach Roque Island late in the day and pull in to the large crescent shaped harbor. Take a look at the video we took:

http://youtu.be/8cAvONpBago

The shoreline is not the familiar rocky edge, but instead a broad, white sand beach. The circular appearance of the harbor seems too perfect to be natural – we speculate that the island, as well as the harbor are the remnants of a prehistoric volcano, but who knows?

 

Aerial view of Roque Island
(pirated from the internet)

My only regret is that we did not go ashore during our short visit to this unusual spot. Sunset was approaching and it was windy and cold – we were comfortably ensconced on the cabin top with cocktails, and I thought maybe we could take the dinghy in in the morning. Unfortunately, when we awake the next day it is foggy, and already a late hour. We really need to shove off to keep our schedule and get back south. Sadly, I’ve broken my newly minted resolution of seizing the moment, or in our case, the scene. We’ll have to plan for a longer visit next year.

The return trip south is much less enjoyable. Foggy and windless, we have to motor almost the entire sixty miles (about ten hours) down to Swan’s Island. Even with the fog, we are able to see harbor porpoises, a dolphin, and even a puffin. Neither of us had ever actually seen one.

What we don’t see are seals. Not one seal the entire trip. This is very unusual – seal sightings are normally a dime a dozen up here, not exactly ho-hum, but not particularly noteworthy either. Where are they all?

The fog lifts for the last hour of our voyage and we motor into a little anchorage near Swan’s Island where we figure out where all of the seals have gone. They’re all right here, sunning themselves on two of the low, smooth rocks in this little harbor. We count almost fifty of them, lazing around, enjoying their own version of the cocktail hour. A few of them are swimming in the water nearby, jumping into the air and making some impressive dives. They are probably catching fish, but my fanciful interpretation is that they are entertaining their lounging friends with their acrobatics.