In the World of Giants

Mainers are justifiably proud of their coastline. What beauty there is in the up-close, secret coves and craggy granite points. The sea, ever-changing in her mood and character, ebbs and flows on the shore, painting its wonderous seascapes. It is infinite, ranging from tiny tidal pools to raging and swirling waves on craggy Schoodic Point. But all of this foamy and cresting turbulence stands back in awe to the Acadian Peninsula. Here, the giants seemingly tread, squishing mountains up between their toes, stepping with heels to make depressions and scrapping their fingers through the still-forming land to create chasms, cliffs and channels.

If this image were any more craggy, it could be a detailed look at the face of The Old Man of the Mountains, the former presence in the White Mountains. But this is fantastical enough as it is. No need for more.

And today, Brio played at the fringe of this wizened presence. She laughed in the waves, danced in the raindrops and ducked into the legendary harbors: Southwest, Northeast and Bar.

But where does this landmass really come from? Is it of some netherworld, raised over time to its current aerial life? Well, yes. After all, the rocks are ancient and were buried deep underground. They were an amorphous mass and they were exhumed with millennia of erosion.

But their incredible structure with its cracks and crevices reflects the stresses and torture of being on the margin of an accreting continent, pushed together as the predecessor Atlantic Ocean shrank and then split and torn apart as the new Atlantic Ocean grew.

An impressionist painter, though, seeks interpretation and stark emphasis. So it is with glaciation. The glacial painter gouged and polished and shaped the previous landscape. Even glaciers have a sense of humor and this one perhaps giggled with delight as Somes Sound was over-deepened, deeper than current sea level. Or smoothed the tops of Cadillac Mountain with glacial striations to make school children and elderly alike marvel the ability of soft ice to make lines in the rocks. Or dammed up ponds and lakes, some with no drainage systems to support their origins or hydrology.

All of this is what we witness in our roles today as brief players on this stage. We left Matinicus this morning with a threatening sky to our east. We traveled to the east, towards the rising sun and towards Southwest Harbor to get several items fixed.

The hour's run was made more challenging by dodging the many lobster pots, scattered like confetti in front of us. A lobsterman from Jonesport once told us that if Brio attacks these fields of confetti at 20+ knots of speed, a pot buoy will be blown apart by those mean propellers. Maybe. But why risk that outcome or, worse, any entanglement. So, Brio skied a giant slalom course through the confetti.

We were not alone. Besides the lobstermen tending their buoys, there were seals popping up and porpoises rising and diving ahead of us and to our side. All was glorious as the wipers wiped away heaven's tears from our windshield.

To our port, we passed Isle au Haut, Swans, up the Western Passage and then the Cranberries to starboard. Into Southwest Harbor we went, where we queued up for fuel and sought a mechanic's touch while waiting. All was timed perfectly, the mechanic came to the town dock and drained our troublesome port fuel filter of water and coached us in starting the generator. Then we fueled up and pumped out.

Off to Northeast Harbor for shaving and a prized jar of mayonnaise at a local store. Casting off once again, we motored around the southern end of the craggy Peninsula, up the eastern Frenchman Bay, past Bar Harbor and on to Sorrento. One can almost imagine Italian arias, a Verdi or Puccini touch! Here's the view of Sorrento as we came into its harbor.

And, to our south, we see that incredible giants' playground of the Acadian Peninsula.

In case you think sailors have no sense of humor, next to us is a pretty little sloop. On her stern is the name of Peter Pan's nemesis, Hook.

Cheers and buon appetito,

Brio