65 Lighthouses Left to See......

(First published Tuesday, October 30, 2012)

Manchester, New Hampshire was the starting point, bleary-eyed and foggy-headed from a cross-country flight, catching a bus from Logan and waiting, fingers crossed against last-minute snafus in travel plans. Have you ever traveled with an airline employee flying standby? The excitement and uncertainty will make you appreciate the 30 cubic feet of space allotted to you by your plane ticket, even if you still wish you could “fly for free”. Plan A has everything going to plan, Plan B is if/then if/then if/then and finally Plan D – everything has gone to hell, I’m stuck five time zones away, pick up the car and go on vacation by yourself! You’re checking your cell for updates as your co-traveler zigzags across the country (Phoenix to Minneapolis to Charlotte to Manchester) while you wonder how far the rental car is from the bus’ last stop.

This leaf-peeping road trip was charmed: all went as planned. The first night’s hotel has a front lawn populated by miniature Adirondacks in all colors of the pastel rainbow, and a crowded breakfast room filled with noisy, talkative tourists from all parts of the country. As I listen in amazement at the variety of regional accents, I notice the couple next to me, who stand out from the crowd both because they’re so quiet and they look like models for an Air France advertisement. When I initiate conversation with them, they graciously speak French very clearly and slowly, and ask me for driving directions to Boston. My travel buddy Greg, aka “Pepsipal,” shares what information he remembers about driving in Boston – I translate (perhaps superfluously) but they are  very appreciative of my efforts - there is much discussion amongst – and we part in different directions; the French to follow the Freedom Trail, and us to begin lighthouse spotting along the coast of Maine, along highway 1.

Unfortunately, absorbed in the sights crossing the Piscataqua River, we miss the turnoff to the first lighthouse, Whaleback Light, outside Kittery. Pepsipal curses and asks me if I want to double back. Although part of me wants a proper start with the very first lighthouse, there are approximately 65 working lighthouses waiting for me in Maine alone, so I make a mental note to catch this one next time. A lighthouse nerd like me needs a moment here to share a few points of information, so bear with me. Lighthouses are distinct as fingerprints to me, and here are some categories into which I mentally file them. Is the lighthouse on the mainland, or inaccessible on a rock island? How tall is it, what material is it made of? What is its distinguishing feature (white light, red light, constant light, flashing light?) Are there adjoining buildings, do people live in them, can you go up in the lighthouse? Tall white tower, red/white striped or “sparkplug” shape? Does it have a Fresnel lens – if so, what order?

We cross the York River, and turn on 1A to drive down Long Sands Beach, on York Street/Long Beach Avenue, at a snail’s pace in the traffic. The sun is warm, the light sparkles on the ocean and everything at this moment personifies my visualization of summering in New England. I want to rent one of the cottages, spend a summer falling asleep to the sound of waves, eating lobster chowder for dinner and walking on the beach. We are in “The Yorks,” comprised of the neighborhoods of Old York, York Harbor, York Beach and Cape Neddick. Cape Neddick is at the northeast end of Long Sands Beach, and on a tiny, rocky island off the tip of Cape Neddick is Nubble Light, also known as Cape Neddick Lighthouse. Nubble Light is on an island! A tiny cable car allows travel from the mainland to the island, but it’s only for the use of the lighthouse keeper. You have to “visit” the lighthouse, keeper’s house and outbuildings from afar, on Sohier Park, where we stand gazing

We walk past Fox’s but there’s a long, long line. I’m now craving ice cream – wild Maine blueberry ice cream, so we drive along Nubble Road, uphill and almost pass Brown’s Ice Cream. It’s closed, so we take Broadway back to 1A. Maybe it was Beach Street where we parked, seeing people wading in the ocean, and walked to the beach. Greg walked up the beach while I waded out as far as I could. I’d never waded in the Atlantic and this first, short experience was memorable. The sand was as soft as talcum; the water was cool but felt warm. Refreshing. I waded out as far as I could without soaking my rolled up jeans.

Continuing up 1, called Post Road, Main St, Old Post Road, York Street and Portland Road; and admiring the houses alongside, near the ocean, we arrived in Wells, Maine to pay a souvenir call on the  Lighthouse Depot at 2178 Post Road, a gold mine for lighthouse enthusiasts. I was very curious as to what Greg would purchase here, since he only has about 157 lighthouse artifacts and souvenirs in his home. I, on the other hand, have a head stuffed full of lighthouse facts and wanted a lighthouse reference book so I could clear off that shelf in my long-term memory. Although I found one, it was the size of a telephone book and I didn’t want to carry it. (Very sadly, Lighthouse Depot has since closed its doors).

Next door, at 2152 Post Road (aka Hwy 1 which greatly annoys Greg - "Why does the road keep changing its name?") Harding Rare Books is located, housed in a 14-room building resembling a red barn/airplane hangar. An employee told me the building had been added on, as needed, without any real concern for exterior beauty or interior planning. It's an amazing, delightful maze where I could have roamed endless. Need I say it was full of books? Even more impressive than the inventory was the employees’ extensive knowledge of the over 100,000 used, out-of-print and rare books in all categories, and by their abilities to give directions. Half-hourly search and rescue missions are carried out; there are survival supplies in every room (water and hardtack, yaar!!) From their website, the inventory has particular strength in Americana, maritime, New England town histories, genealogy, art and antiques as well as a wide selection of prints and maps from the 16th century through the 19th. I found classic cookbooks as well as vegan titles and one of the Duguid/Alford travel cookbooks I've lusted after. Once again, I didn't want to carry it around with me on vacation so I passed.

After Wells, there was Portland Head Light, the much photographed lighthouse maintained by the city of Portland. The site was established in 1855, the lighthouse built in 1875, automated in 1934, discontinued in 1942, and relighted in 2002 as a private service. Its original optic was 6^th order Fresnel glass (Freh-NELL) currently its 250mm. The tower is 25 feet, the characteristic a flashing white light every 4 seconds. The parking is free at Fort Williams, Cape Elizabeth, you hike in and of course I had to see the fort first (kind of reminded me of Sutter’s Fort in California without the scary mummified figures lurking in the darkened rooms). Around the lighthouse, there is a stroll/view, a sidewalk of sorts with a wall, you look out over the ocean/vista and there are rocks, tide pools and far far out in the distance a cruise ship, like a big duck turd. What’s wrong with this picture? You can immerse yourself in the atmosphere amongst the 18^th/19^th century stage props, baking bread, mending fishnets, running back and forth in the invigorating sea air, then there is that big lump out there like an excessive jolt of reality, kind of makes you believe in alien abductions, I digress…the gift shop is so small you have to go outside to change your mind. Maine lupine flower seeds were irresistible, Greg bought a lighthouse flashlight. 

Standing next to the lighthouse tower, which has been around since 1855, you feel dwarfed by its size and history. It’s absolutely huge – I looked it up and down, trying to mentally calculate how many bushels it could hold were it a silo. The tower is very bright white, shiny and thick-looking, as if hundreds of layers of white enamel paint had been applied since 1855. In a folding chair, on the very hardy grass, sits an artist selling prints of (guess what???) a lighthouse with a rowboat docked near it. You can have your name painted on the boat. Yes, Greg bought a lighthouse print...which puts his lighthouse total at 160. You can’t go inside Portland Head Light, nor could you go inside Portland Breakwater Light, which is just off the coast of South Portland at Bug Light Park, where we next stopped. This little sparkplug, built to resemble a fourth-century Greek monument, has six Corinthian columns built into the sides and a 250-mm optic that flashes white every four seconds. (I told you they’re as distinct as fingerprints!) Right about then was when we encountered what I call the Bermuda triangle of Maine. Route 207, 77 and 1 caught Greg in their spider web once again, even though this may be the tenth time he was here – the Portland Triangle snares him every time. This is my first time in Maine, so I’m the navigator who finally got us turned around and back on 207 until we found 95 and escaped. Pemaquid was next, the lighthouse on the “Maine quarter.” We happened to show up when the lighthouse preservation society was there, and were able to climb up inside the lighthouse. Being up inside a lighthouse is amazing! You’re not really up that high, but the view seems different – which it is because you’re in a cupola with a 360 degree view. It was sunny, the ocean was dark blue, the trees were dark green – everything was beautiful and sparkly. It sounds so corny, as I read this, but I had that Disneyland feeling you get when you do something amazing for the first time – I’m up in the lighthouse! I can’t believe this! Look all around – oh no, I’m not looking forward to climbing back down that steep spiral…oh well.

On the last leg of the road trip to Bar Harbor and a drive through Acadia (Bass Harbor Head Light, fourth-order Fresnel, red light every four seconds, owned by the Coast Guard, not open to the public) we arrived in Ellsworth via Route 1 aka Route 3 aka Bucksport Road, which annoyed Greg. “Why does the road have three different names?” he grumbled. We crossed the waterway below Leonard Lake and I tried taking pictures of the river, the bridge and the leaves as we waited at the light. An instant after I took the picture, the two men standing on the bridge looking at the river turned and waved to me. Greg wanted me to go over and introduce myself. I wanted more bridge, water and fall foliage color; instead there were my two new friends.  We were looking for a gas station when we spotted a “genuine” LLBean outlet on High Street near Washington, where I bought three pairs of men's wool socks for about $20. These socks were so soft, warm, cozy and comfy that I put a pair on, as we drove to Acadia.