Sunday, June 3rd
Bar Harbor
It was a glorious day with stunning blue skies filled with sporadic, puffy white clouds and was one of the most beautiful days I’ve seen since arriving in Maine. I decided I would explore Mount Desert Island, and there was no better day to do it. The temperature was cool yet comfortable which allowed me to wear my favorite black and blue flannel. Whenever I wear that checkered long-sleeved button up, I’m always happy and positive. It’s my one article of clothing that makes me feel confident, attractive, and when coupled with a trendy hat, gives the public the impression of a sophisticated millennial and not of one who just crawled out of a van at 8 o’clock in the morning.
So, with positivity and enthusiasm on my side, I planned to drive into Bar Harbor, and then I would take my three-quarter ton Ford up Cadillac Mountain to see why it is so revered.
That morning I quickly got a few chores done, hastily ate a bowl of raisin bran cereal, entered the bridge of my snow-white vessel, started her up, and left my campsite headed towards Bar Harbor. The village rests on the eastern edge of Mount Desert Island and is about 20-miles from my campsite. The drive toward Mount Desert along Route 3 (Maine 3) is very picturesque, with Parkman, Sargent, and Cadillac mountains well within view as I headed south. Along the roadway, there are many small businesses and restaurants selling anything from firewood and camping gear to lobster dinners and lobster rolls, a notorious hotdog-shaped oddity stuffed with lobster, lettuce, mayonnaise, and seasoned with celery salt and lemon juice. It’s a Maine thing, and the tourists appear to love it because their patronage is what keeps this desecration of lobster on the menu. I’ve had one of these infamous creations, and I’m not a fan. The only way to eat lobster is when 10-minutes prior to tasting its sweet flesh, it was swimming around in a pool with its other lobster buddies unaware of its impending doom.
After about a 30-minute drive from inland Maine and along Mount Desert’s northern shoreline, I reached the village of Bar Harbor, a place that I regard as the Walt Disney of the North. I parked my van and made my way down West St. towards the waterfront. As I headed toward the waterway, I passed dozens of restaurants and businesses all of which looked very intriguing. There’s the La Bella Vita, an elegant, upscale Italian restaurant perched on the shore facing the harbor, and from what my wallet tells me, it’s one that I cannot afford. And also, there’s Stewman’s Lobster Pound, a restaurant serving a wide array of seafood and land-based delicacies. Stewman’s also has a raw bar serving oysters, crab, and shrimp. I’ve honestly never heard of raw shrimp or crab (unless it’s ceviche), but if they’re serving it, I’m eating it!
I arrived at the waterfront at the end of a long dock. There I stood and absorbed the beauty of what lies before me, a quiet harbor containing many small vessels with a backdrop of islands, mountains, and a blue sky. And surprisingly, it was quiet. All that I could hear were the sounds of the waves, the docks clanging together, and the occasional sound of a ship’s foghorn (although it wasn’t foggy). It was very peaceful given the horde of tourist behind me. After losing myself in the moment, I left the port behind and headed into downtown Bar Harbor.
As I made my way into the thickness of the village, I came to realize it wasn’t overwhelmingly touristy. I try my best to avoid cliché, tourist-ridden places, but Bar Harbor didn’t seem to have too much of that, but don’t get me wrong it’s still a tourist’ deception beckoning anyone who comes traveling through and promising them the chance to see a whale or asserting that they have the best lobster roll on the island. I did pass a few gift shops selling everything with “Bar Harbor” stamped on it, but I also saw many more captivating restaurants and businesses such as the Thirsty Whale, a tavern serving American and New England seafood dishes along with your favorite brew.
Another business—well, actually, it’s a museum—that caught my attention was the Abbe Museum. It’s a museum that’s dedicated to the history and culture of the last native inhabitants of Mount Desert Island—the Wabanaki. This is a place I plan to visit once I return to Bar Harbor, but this visit was merely a scouting mission to see what’s here and to remember what to look for when I return. After spending about two hours in downtown Bar Harbor—strolling down Maine St. and through the many parks the town has to offer—I headed back to the van with Cadillac on my mind.
Cadillac Mountain
According to the National Park Service, Cadillac Mountain is the tallest mountain on the United States eastern seaboard with a height of 1530ft. It’s composed mostly of granite rock, but the granite wasn’t always as prominent on the mountain as it is today. The granite that lies atop Cadillac and throughout Mount Desert Island was initially covered by older rock and sediments. Over the course of tens of thousands of years, glacier ice eroded the overlying rock and revealed the granite that is seen today.
I originally wanted to hike my way up Cadillac, but once I discovered there was a road that led the way to the top, I willingly decided to drive up. I knew there would be other mountains to climb. The route to the Cadillac Summit is a 3.5-mile narrow, winding road that leads directly to the top of the granite behemoth; so, I would be there in minutes. The ascent was unbelievable. While driving up Cadillac Mountain Rd., I tried my best to keep my eyes on the serpentine-like roadway, but as my van climbed Cadillac, the landscape surrounding the mountain began to be revealed, and I found it progressively irresistible to ignore the sights.
I could see far inland. I could see the many blue ponds, lakes, and bays that line coastal Maine, and of course, the colossal Atlantic Ocean. As I neared the summit of Cadillac, I could see for tens of miles all around me. As I tightly gripped the steering wheel, knowing that one glance too long could possibly send me off the roadway and down the side of the mountain in a heaping pile of twisted metal and dismemberment, I looked north towards Ellsworth—where my campsite is—and all that was shown was vast timberland with small white blots of what must be the many homes and businesses of Trenton, a neighboring town of Ellsworth.
As I drove up the mountain, there were many turn-offs along the roadway. I wanted to stop the van to look at the beauty before me, but every diversion along the road was filled with other vehicles empty of their passengers who were staring at the panorama of Mount Desert Island. I selfishly thought: Come on people! Free up some space! My van needs a rest and my eyes need to feed off the scenery, too! Stop being such greedy, roadside gluttons!
Luckily, I happened to find a turn-off on the opposite side of the roadway, which would put my driver-side door toward the allure of Western Mount Desert. I pulled over, stopped the van, swung open the door and gaped in amazement at the scene before me. At the foot of the mountain lies Eagle Lake, and beyond that, Sargent Mountain. As I was looking out of my door, I was absolutely ecstatic. I felt as if the stress from the past 12-months of my life lead me to this moment and was being released from my soul. All the stress and anxiety that came with the decision to convert, live, and travel in a van coupled with the formidable, risky decision to return to school full-time at the age of 27 has earned me this reward. This serene, tranquil vantage point along the side of a roadway overlooking Penitmic and Sargent Mountains was my gift. I was in a state of pure bliss. I was in love with the scene and I didn’t want to leave. It felt like home. I sat there for about 30-minutes gratefully basking in the beauty of life.
After absorbing the scenic, orgone energy from the vitalizing vista, I started the engine of the “white whale” and continued my ascent. Shortly after leaving the roadside hiatus, I arrived at the Cadillac Summit. I docked my ship in the parking lot and jumped out of the van without any clue of which direction I would go because every viewpoint on the mountain was sure to guarantee spectacular sights. I wandered toward the summit trail that faces east. I began walking on the path, and while traversing the man-made walkway, I noticed how barren the summit is. It’s composed mostly of granite with a few trees and shrubs in between the protruding rock. Once I reached the top, I beheld an amazing view displaying the Atlantic Ocean, the Cranberry Isles, Winter Harbor, and just below Cadillac, the village of Bar Harbor. I could see far out across the blue ocean, and I could spot many small ships in the harbor along with many small islands.
I then went to the opposite side of the mountain. The side that faced westward and began hiking up a trail that lies just behind the national park gift shop. The trail was very wide and was covered in stone; it may even periodically be used for motor vehicles. The path was also surrounded by dense tree growth which interested me far more than the barren granite summit. After traveling a quarter mile, I became confused. I didn’t know exactly where I was going or why. I was just moving! So, I stopped. I was just so eager and excited to hit the trail that I didn’t really make a conscious decision about what I was going to do for the remainder of my day. So, I went back to the gift shop where a map displayed all the trails that surrounded Cadillac Mountain.
The trail I was headed down was 4-miles in length and ended at a campground at the bottom of the mountain. I’m all about hiking, but I wasn’t ready to commit to that trek. I was perplexed. Should I hike? Should I take more photos of the beauty that surrounded me? I then remembered what Molly from the Fogtown Brewery told me: Cadillac Mountain was known for sunrises and is the very first spot in the United States that receives sunlight at the start of a new day! I then knew exactely what I was going to do.
It was roughly 3:00 P.M. in the afternoon. I decided I should go back to my campsite so I could get a few necessary chores done before coming back to Cadillac to watch the sunrise. I also had to catch some “zzzz” because I had to wake up at 2:00 A.M. so I would have enough time to return and find the perfect spot on the mountain to take photos of the magnificent orb emerging from the horizon. The sun rises early in Maine and so must I. With the plans of my next adventure established, I returned to the Quintessence (my van) and made my way back to camp.
Monday, June 4th
I woke up at 2:00 A.M. as planned, and I didn’t want to move. I was sleeping so well that I thought I might skip the journey up the mountain and continue my slumber, but I managed to motivate myself to wake up and prepare for the trip to the top of Cadillac. I gathered my camera gear, headlamp, flashlight, and clothing. It was a cold morning. In Ellsworth, the temperature was in the 40s, and I felt it while I was asleep in the van. With it being that cold at my camp, it would be colder on the mountain. I took out some winter gear, a beanie, and gloves. I also wore layers. I put on a flannel with a hoodie over top. I thought it would suffice. So, with my camera and myself prepped for the sunrise, I jumped in the driver’s seat and raced to the summit.
While traveling to Mount Desert from Ellsworth, I could see the night sky and the many stars spread throughout the cosmos, but when I arrived atop Cadillac around 3:00 A.M., the conditions were terrible. It was very windy, cold, and there was a thick fog rolling across the mountain. I parked the van along the eastern side of the parking lot. I gathered my gear and a few granola bars in case I became hungry. I strapped on my headlamp, switched it on, exited “big bertha” and made my way to the summit trail. It was the same desolate path I explored yesterday. I wanted to find the perfect place to capture the sunrise.
As a novice photographer, I thought it best scout the area to find a place with an alluring foreground. As I traveled across the foggy granite summit, I became lost. I was spatially disoriented. There was no way I could find a captivating setting in these conditions. Even with my headlamp, I could only see a few feet ahead of me through the dense fog, and the wind only made the trek across the mountain more difficult. So, I used my phone’s compass to find my way back west to the parking lot. Through the fog and intense wind gusts, I found my van and got inside to escape the elements and waited for the approaching sun.
While I waited, I saw the headlights of a vehicle approaching through the fog. It was another adventurer chasing the Cadillac Sunrise. As I continued waiting, another car arrived and then another. Soon, the parking lot that I had alone vacated was filled with roughly a dozen vehicles. Clearly, the Cadillac Sunrise was a sight to be seen.
As the sky began to lighten, I left the van and followed the path where I had previously lost my way, looking for the perfect spot. I quickly found a great position facing east. With my fingers becoming stiff and my body shaking from the cold wind, I sat and prepared my camera for what was to come, but there was one problem. The fog that blanketed the area was not receding, in fact, it was becoming thicker. With the sun quickly approaching, it was beginning to appear that I would not be capturing the sunrise—only a white, thick disappointing mass of suspended water. I sat for a few minutes with high hopes, but once 5:00 A.M. struck, I gave up.
I walked back to my vehicle disappointed. I decided I would remain atop Cadillac so I could get some much-needed rest. I got back in the van, drank a cup of peppermint tea, got in bed, and entered the realm of unconsciousness. I slept until the late hours of the morning. I woke to the sound of rainfall and the remembrance failure. I would be back to Cadillac for its sunrise.
Wednesday, June, 13th
I woke up at 3:15 A.M. in the Acadia Visitor Center parking lot. I slept here near the base of Cadillac so I could reach the summit quickly. As I peeked through my curtains and to my surprise, I could see the sky was already beginning to lighten. On the bright side, the sky was clear, as opposed to my previous experience involving dense fog. Once I gained my bearings, I quickly jumped out of bed and into the cockpit, started the engine, and hauled ass up the mountain. Although I was anxious to see the sky so bright, I knew I would have enough time to catch the sunrise. I’ve come to realize dawn begins earlier in Maine than in Pennsylvania, a place where I’ve lived half of my life. This is because Maine is much farther north than the Keystone State; so, dawn begins sooner and is much more gradual.
When I reached the top, I entered the parking lot to find many vehicles already parked, and there were several people combing the summit with blankets and cameras, searching for the best viewpoint. I parked my van, collected my camera equipment, and proceeded to the eastern side of the mountain to join them. I found a location and mounted my camera on the tripod. This being my first ever amateur sunrise shoot. I set my camera to shutter priority mode with the shutter speed anywhere between ½ to 1/8 of a second. I also used an ND2 filter. I hope it was a wise choice, but even if it wasn’t, it didn’t matter. The shots that I captured look amazing to me.
When the sun finally rose, it was magnificent. I now know why the Cadillac Sunrise is so popular. It’s a sight to be seen, and it’s one that not even these pictures can describe. You have to experience it for yourself.
After witnessing the sunrise, I’ve come to realize just how trivial I and all my troubles really are. It has reawakened my appreciation for the gift that is life. This experience has shown me the beauty that is filled in the simple act of merely living. The Cadillac Sunrise has granted me a spiritual awakening—an arousing that I can only compare to meditation. The sunrise, along with many alluring essences of the natural world, is nature’s remedy for a chaotic and stressful reality. Natural phenomenon such as the sunrise transforms a tempestuous, rapid river of thoughts and calms them into a placid, carefree stream of bliss. I’m grateful for this experience. This event was a harbinger for what was to come—a miracle.
