OP
OP
Horsehead
Slow Pokin' the Southeast
Monday morning and my alarm went off at 7am. I had given myself until about noon or so before I needed to hit the road again and make it to my brother-in-law’s place in Vermont. So I wanted to get up early and spend what time I could seeing at least a small portion of Deer Isle.
I walked up to the main building for a cup of coffee. The owner, Dennis, constructed it several years ago using historical methods and materials. You can find videos of him on YouTube splitting gigantic granite boulders by hand, using just hammers and wedges, to construct the foundation blocks. They had pictures of the process posted and it was truly impressive to see how much a little man power and antiquated know-how can accomplish.
Perhaps one of the most impressive feats of off-grid engineering is their shower. It’s a simple outdoor structure. Nothing much impressive about that… Until you discover their method for heating water. Sure, your eye is at first drawn to the propane stove and pot inside the shower. But then you notice the hose bibs on the wall, and you remember there is no running water on the property. So why are there fixtures in this shower? The answer lies on the other side of the wall, under a tarp. Here, Dennis has a hot compost pile with a large coil of poly-pipe wrapped up in the center of it. Yep. You read that right. Hot water for your shower sourced from compost. I suppose the propane is just there as back up for the winter months, or when there are more folks staying at the hostel than the compost pile can accommodate.
As I continued to wander around the property, I saw a sign that said “Trail to Coast”. So set off to see where that would lead me. I later told Dennis about Mt. Mitchell, NC. It’s the highest peak east of the Mississippi and because of the altitude, the climate is entirely unique to anything else you’ll experience in the South. But the funny thing is, the ecology of Mt. Mitchell isn’t exactly southern… In short, walking through the woods of coastal Maine, I felt like I had travelled a thousand miles south to a much more familiar place. And that’s because there are so many similarities. If you’ve been in both places, I think you’ll know what I mean.
Hiking through the nature preserve that sits adjacent to the hostel, you are struck by the meeting of two, no, three worlds. The coast of Maine at this latitude is very bio-diverse. The stands of conifers and blanketed forest floor of moss and needles gives hints of the boreal forests to the north, while the stands of oaks, maples, and beeches reminds the traveler he is not far from the more familiar eastern deciduous forests.
Then, as the trail winds to the left, you get your first glimpse of the bay, the granite beach, and the turquoise water, almost iridescent as the incoming tide softly laps against the stones. I hiked a little further and sat down on a bench of pink-grey granite, the soles of my boots precariously close to the gentle waves. A low ceiling of clouds blocked the sun. I sat for a long while and just took in the scenery. I watched as the gulls, terns, and a solitary osprey cruised above the water in search of their next meal.
Alas, I had a schedule to keep and I wanted to head down to the harbor at Stonington before leaving the Isle. So I packed my things, cleaned my room, and said goodbye to my hosts and the other travelers staying at the hostel. In a few minutes I was at at the harbor, watching the lobster boats load up with supplies for the day’s work ahead. I assume the barrels contained bait to reset their traps after the bounty of the previous soak was removed. I often feel like I could enjoy a life as a ship-hand upon the waters, be they on the coast of North Carolina or anywhere else I’ve had the opportunity to sit and watch the boats. But that’s probably just naiveté. That’s a hard, unglamorous life. Not quite what they make it out to be on the reality shows. Perhaps best to just watch from afar…
Stonington is a neat little town, and one that reaches back to the history of Deer Isle. The night before I had read about the island’s history. According to Wikipedia, "In the 19th century, the granite industry flourished on Deer Isle where its quarries supplied granite for structures such as the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, the Smithsonian Institution, the US Naval Academy, the Manhattan Bridge and at President John F. Kennedy's tomb at Arlington National Cemetery."
I never would have imagined that such a relatively small place would have such a nationwide influence as a source of granite in the prior century.
But after talking with Dennis, he made it make sense for me. I had never considered the fact that in the earliest days, there were no rail lines or roads by which to transport the massive slabs. So it made sense to quarry the stone by the sea where it could be efficiently loaded onto ships and taken to wherever it was needed. “But,” I asked, “how did such a small island provide so much granite for the buildings its listed as being part of?” “Well,” Dennis relied, “they cut the entire mountain top off of one of the Islands, and now it’s just a little hill…”
He went on to tell me the story of the end of the granite quarry there. In an attempt at conservation of energy, the stone was delivered to the ships via a small gauge rail line with a nothing more than a large cart and hand brake. The granite was loaded on the cart and coasted down the hill to the waiting ship. Men unloaded the cart, and mules hauled the cart back up the hill to receive its next load. You’ve probably already guess what eventually led to the end of that particular system. One day, the hand brake failed, sending several tons of granite straight through the hull of the ship waiting at the dock below. They ship sank, and the quarry closed.
As I headed off the island, I had to stop for one more photograph. Yesterday I had crossed the Penobscot Narrows Bridge and marveled at the engineering of the unusual structure. But there’s another bridge that you must cross to get onto Deer Isle. And that one has an equally interesting story, which one of the other travelers at the hostel related to me. Apparently it was constructed using methods and materials that were largely untested in that time (1939), and the builders used the opportunity as a sort of learning experience before going on to build a much larger bridge using the same design methods. I’m no engineer, but anything that can stand the test of time with minimal repairs since it opened for use 82 years ago is pretty cool in my book.
Having made my last stop before leaving the island, it was time to put some miles behind me on my way to my brother-in-law’s place in Vermont. The mileage wouldn’t be so bad, but it was still going to be a long day in the saddle, enjoying the back roads of Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont.
As if I wasn’t stunned enough the previous day of the natural beauty that is New Hampshire, this sign as I left Maine made me chuckle enough to turn around and grab a shot of it. Thanks for the heads up NHDOT! Unfortunately I didn't see any moose on this trip. Thankfully I didn't have an close calls with any other animals either. The nearest I got to anything resembling a close call was when an black bear ran across the street a hundred yards or so in front of me somewhere in Vermont. I slowed down to see if any of his family or friends were with him, but nothing else came out of the woods, so I carried on.
That evening around dinner time I arrived at my BIL’s place. He is gutting and renovating an old hunting cabin for he and his wife and their soon to arrive firstborn to live in. He owns 37 acres of pristine wilderness and has been working around the clock to get the home livable. We cooked hamburgers and veg on a little outdoor gas grill, as there’s no power, no fuel, no nothing connected yet on the property.
As the sun was setting, I hung my hammock between two trees in his front yard. I joked earlier in the day with my wife that I found it mildly ironic that after spending the night in a real bed in a real room at the hostel, I was really looking forward to sleeping in my hammock once again. He opted to inflate an air mattress and set up his bed inside the house. It would be his first night sleeping at their new place.
We sat by the fire and talked until well into the night. Around 11pm we walked out into his field to look at the stars. We were both dumbstruck by the sight overhead. With no light pollution and no neighbors, the Milky Way was plainly visible, as were countless thousands of stars. We each exclaimed “Shooting star!” simultaneously at least 3 or 4 times, fortunate enough to have both seen them streak across the otherwise motionless sky. After a few minutes I pointed out a fast moving orb of light. Much too fast to be an airplane and moving at a constant arc across the sky. “It’s a star-link satellite,” he said. He, a tech guy, went on to tell me about how Elon Musk’s satellites are only a couple hundred miles up and might very well provide high speed internet to anyone, anywhere on the planet. I had never heard of them and he had never seen one with the naked eye. Before our necks began to cramp, we saw two more. I wish there was someway to have captured a photograph of that night sky, but that’s one which will have to reside in the memory banks alone…
Around midnight we said goodnight. I crawled into my hammock continued to gaze out at the night sky through a clearing in the canopy overhead until sleep overwhelmed me and I drifted away…
To Be Continued.
I walked up to the main building for a cup of coffee. The owner, Dennis, constructed it several years ago using historical methods and materials. You can find videos of him on YouTube splitting gigantic granite boulders by hand, using just hammers and wedges, to construct the foundation blocks. They had pictures of the process posted and it was truly impressive to see how much a little man power and antiquated know-how can accomplish.
Perhaps one of the most impressive feats of off-grid engineering is their shower. It’s a simple outdoor structure. Nothing much impressive about that… Until you discover their method for heating water. Sure, your eye is at first drawn to the propane stove and pot inside the shower. But then you notice the hose bibs on the wall, and you remember there is no running water on the property. So why are there fixtures in this shower? The answer lies on the other side of the wall, under a tarp. Here, Dennis has a hot compost pile with a large coil of poly-pipe wrapped up in the center of it. Yep. You read that right. Hot water for your shower sourced from compost. I suppose the propane is just there as back up for the winter months, or when there are more folks staying at the hostel than the compost pile can accommodate.
As I continued to wander around the property, I saw a sign that said “Trail to Coast”. So set off to see where that would lead me. I later told Dennis about Mt. Mitchell, NC. It’s the highest peak east of the Mississippi and because of the altitude, the climate is entirely unique to anything else you’ll experience in the South. But the funny thing is, the ecology of Mt. Mitchell isn’t exactly southern… In short, walking through the woods of coastal Maine, I felt like I had travelled a thousand miles south to a much more familiar place. And that’s because there are so many similarities. If you’ve been in both places, I think you’ll know what I mean.
Hiking through the nature preserve that sits adjacent to the hostel, you are struck by the meeting of two, no, three worlds. The coast of Maine at this latitude is very bio-diverse. The stands of conifers and blanketed forest floor of moss and needles gives hints of the boreal forests to the north, while the stands of oaks, maples, and beeches reminds the traveler he is not far from the more familiar eastern deciduous forests.
Then, as the trail winds to the left, you get your first glimpse of the bay, the granite beach, and the turquoise water, almost iridescent as the incoming tide softly laps against the stones. I hiked a little further and sat down on a bench of pink-grey granite, the soles of my boots precariously close to the gentle waves. A low ceiling of clouds blocked the sun. I sat for a long while and just took in the scenery. I watched as the gulls, terns, and a solitary osprey cruised above the water in search of their next meal.
Alas, I had a schedule to keep and I wanted to head down to the harbor at Stonington before leaving the Isle. So I packed my things, cleaned my room, and said goodbye to my hosts and the other travelers staying at the hostel. In a few minutes I was at at the harbor, watching the lobster boats load up with supplies for the day’s work ahead. I assume the barrels contained bait to reset their traps after the bounty of the previous soak was removed. I often feel like I could enjoy a life as a ship-hand upon the waters, be they on the coast of North Carolina or anywhere else I’ve had the opportunity to sit and watch the boats. But that’s probably just naiveté. That’s a hard, unglamorous life. Not quite what they make it out to be on the reality shows. Perhaps best to just watch from afar…
Stonington is a neat little town, and one that reaches back to the history of Deer Isle. The night before I had read about the island’s history. According to Wikipedia, "In the 19th century, the granite industry flourished on Deer Isle where its quarries supplied granite for structures such as the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, the Smithsonian Institution, the US Naval Academy, the Manhattan Bridge and at President John F. Kennedy's tomb at Arlington National Cemetery."
I never would have imagined that such a relatively small place would have such a nationwide influence as a source of granite in the prior century.
But after talking with Dennis, he made it make sense for me. I had never considered the fact that in the earliest days, there were no rail lines or roads by which to transport the massive slabs. So it made sense to quarry the stone by the sea where it could be efficiently loaded onto ships and taken to wherever it was needed. “But,” I asked, “how did such a small island provide so much granite for the buildings its listed as being part of?” “Well,” Dennis relied, “they cut the entire mountain top off of one of the Islands, and now it’s just a little hill…”
He went on to tell me the story of the end of the granite quarry there. In an attempt at conservation of energy, the stone was delivered to the ships via a small gauge rail line with a nothing more than a large cart and hand brake. The granite was loaded on the cart and coasted down the hill to the waiting ship. Men unloaded the cart, and mules hauled the cart back up the hill to receive its next load. You’ve probably already guess what eventually led to the end of that particular system. One day, the hand brake failed, sending several tons of granite straight through the hull of the ship waiting at the dock below. They ship sank, and the quarry closed.
As I headed off the island, I had to stop for one more photograph. Yesterday I had crossed the Penobscot Narrows Bridge and marveled at the engineering of the unusual structure. But there’s another bridge that you must cross to get onto Deer Isle. And that one has an equally interesting story, which one of the other travelers at the hostel related to me. Apparently it was constructed using methods and materials that were largely untested in that time (1939), and the builders used the opportunity as a sort of learning experience before going on to build a much larger bridge using the same design methods. I’m no engineer, but anything that can stand the test of time with minimal repairs since it opened for use 82 years ago is pretty cool in my book.
Having made my last stop before leaving the island, it was time to put some miles behind me on my way to my brother-in-law’s place in Vermont. The mileage wouldn’t be so bad, but it was still going to be a long day in the saddle, enjoying the back roads of Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont.
As if I wasn’t stunned enough the previous day of the natural beauty that is New Hampshire, this sign as I left Maine made me chuckle enough to turn around and grab a shot of it. Thanks for the heads up NHDOT! Unfortunately I didn't see any moose on this trip. Thankfully I didn't have an close calls with any other animals either. The nearest I got to anything resembling a close call was when an black bear ran across the street a hundred yards or so in front of me somewhere in Vermont. I slowed down to see if any of his family or friends were with him, but nothing else came out of the woods, so I carried on.
That evening around dinner time I arrived at my BIL’s place. He is gutting and renovating an old hunting cabin for he and his wife and their soon to arrive firstborn to live in. He owns 37 acres of pristine wilderness and has been working around the clock to get the home livable. We cooked hamburgers and veg on a little outdoor gas grill, as there’s no power, no fuel, no nothing connected yet on the property.
As the sun was setting, I hung my hammock between two trees in his front yard. I joked earlier in the day with my wife that I found it mildly ironic that after spending the night in a real bed in a real room at the hostel, I was really looking forward to sleeping in my hammock once again. He opted to inflate an air mattress and set up his bed inside the house. It would be his first night sleeping at their new place.
We sat by the fire and talked until well into the night. Around 11pm we walked out into his field to look at the stars. We were both dumbstruck by the sight overhead. With no light pollution and no neighbors, the Milky Way was plainly visible, as were countless thousands of stars. We each exclaimed “Shooting star!” simultaneously at least 3 or 4 times, fortunate enough to have both seen them streak across the otherwise motionless sky. After a few minutes I pointed out a fast moving orb of light. Much too fast to be an airplane and moving at a constant arc across the sky. “It’s a star-link satellite,” he said. He, a tech guy, went on to tell me about how Elon Musk’s satellites are only a couple hundred miles up and might very well provide high speed internet to anyone, anywhere on the planet. I had never heard of them and he had never seen one with the naked eye. Before our necks began to cramp, we saw two more. I wish there was someway to have captured a photograph of that night sky, but that’s one which will have to reside in the memory banks alone…
Around midnight we said goodnight. I crawled into my hammock continued to gaze out at the night sky through a clearing in the canopy overhead until sleep overwhelmed me and I drifted away…
To Be Continued.
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