Points Down East: Popham, Rockland and Bar Harbor

Our downtown Portland encore took us back through the docks and the steep streets. But the coast beckoned us. As weekend travelers began their hauls back to Boston and points south, we moved north by northeast. The colors were vibrant.

U.S. 1 continued our tour of small coastal towns, with the road spanning many rivers and estuaries. Not all crossings were by car. We stopped at the Androscoggin Swinging Bridge, a cabled footbridge that overlooked its namesake river and the converted mill sites downstream. Built for mill works to reach their Topsham Heights Unable to head left because of traffic swarming down the coast, we went back through Brunswick, past numerous churches and the stately buildings of Bowdoin College.

At Bath, we barreled toward the coast, first through neighborhoods the across marshy plains broken up by forest and narrow roads.

Miles of bumpy road brought us to Popham Beach State Park, a stretch of coast far different than those we had seen thus far. The board at the guard shack said low tide came at 12:37 p.m. Our clock said 12:03 p.m. We would get the full low tide treatment offered by this beach at the mouths of the Kennebec and Morse rivers.

Atop the islands at Popham Beach State Park

Much of Popham Beach is privately owned, but a state-owned beach offered the best of the Maine coast. In the parking lot, horse trailers outnumbered passenger vehicles. Everywhere, riders suited up their steeds for romps on the sandbars and newly exposed beaches. The early overcast sky pulled back and the day warmed considerably as we walked across the packed sand. No sooner did we leave the lot and its trees than I removed my shoes and socks.

Seguin Island

The beach, which would be covered with water at low tide, extended out to a series of impressive sea mounts that were actually small islands once the tide returned. Little saltwater streams among the sand fluttered off into the ocean. Mounds of seaweed clumped at the edges of the islands.

We climbed the rocky island to watch the tide crash against the rocks. Even at its lowest, the waters possessed a fury. Between the light house on one of the islands and the sail boats cutting through the bay, the Maine statehood quartered was reenacted before our eyes.

People lounged along the rocks, including some folks with a pair of inquisitive golden retrievers. We found our own spot, relaxing as rough waves pummeled the rock cliffs 30 feet below our roost. As we descended, a pack of horse riders broke across the beach while a set of kayakers bobbed in the surf 30 feet out.

Riders at low tide, Popham Beach

We had less luck at land's end. We sought a parking spot at the end of the road but none came. Even at Fort Popham, nothing opened up. We looked for Percy’s store. Only a few businesses fit the profile, so we had to admit defeat. Maine businesses close when they feel ready, even if they miss out on T-shirt sales to people with cats named like their stores.

Winding back to Bath, we crossed more rivers, inlets and bays (oh my). I take full blame for skipping Red’s Eats in Wicasset. Seeing the line and lack of parking, I pressed on across the Sheepscot River. It seemed occupied by all the New Englanders grabbing a last meal on a vacation weekend. Look at the distances on the map, I feared a late arrival in Bar Harbor. Nancy took the wheel as we grew near to Penobscot Bay.

We recovered in Rockland, which had the first traces of deep blue bay beyond its main drag. With a quick glance at the menu and comforting interior of the Lobsterman’s Restaurant, we found our spot. It was a small restaurant, with room for 50 people at most and a small bar that gave the restaurant a comfortable feel. We shared a plate of oysters, delicious potatoes, fried clams and a magnificent lobster roll. We clicked off the towns. Camden, Belfast and Camden Hills State Park, one of those places ripe for a second Maine visit.

Before Bucksport, U.S. 1 twisted along a river and in an instant, the twin support towers of the Penobscot Narrows Bridge soared above us. Architecture was king in all these small Maine towns, with well-maintained downtown blocks and centuries-old homes. But the bridge, which had replaced a decaying span less than a decade ago, was the most unique piece.

You'll be seeing more of this bridge.

After several long, empty stretches notable only for the ocean and mountain views, we came to Ellsworth and our day’s final southern turn. Crossing the Union River, the first traces of sunset cast shadows on its historic commercial district.

Red ivy crawled up the facade of its Catholic church. You cannot understate these picturesque towns, their blocks and buildings largely unchanged since the early 20th century. Unlike the Midwest and Southeast, there was no sense of decay in most.

Ivy-covered Catholic Church, Ellsworth

However, I do rust John Steinbeck’s warnings about Mainers. I won’t single out any, but differences in these sparsely populated places run deeper than accents. Most Stephen King character stepped closer to reality than I ever anticipated.

The road widened and Maine Route 3 split for Mount Desert Island and its shuttered national park. Despite later insistence from other people, I had no interest in trying to sneak inside.

Sunset as we reached Mount Desert Island

Driving down Route 3, we spotted some deer just before we officially crossed onto Mount Desert Island, just as the sunset hues peaked.

Just outside the core of Bar Harbor, we pulled into the Edenbrook Motel, a motor lodge with several buildings set higher up the hill behind the office. A wooden porch ran the motel’s entire length, with two metal chairs before each room.

Many fine hours spent on the Edenbrook porch

With night firmly in control, we headed to Bar Harbor, narrowly missing a pair of unlit cyclists intent on totally blending in with the darkness on the narrow route. We walked the main blocks that were light on pedestrians thanks to a Patriots game.

After our late lunch and walking out of our second restaurant in as many days (we couldn’t even get water here), we decided cheese, wine and snacks would sustain us.

Fortunately, House Wine had a selection worthy of most big cities. We settled on Gruet Rose and some Spanish delights along with a few cheese selections.

Bank sign on Bar Harbor Main Street

The windjammer Margaret Todd bobbed gently in the harbor, even as the daytime glare of a nearby hotel threatened to swallow the august ship in light pollution.
Wine, cheese and whoopee pie could hold us over till breakfast. We alternated between the room and the quiet porch that ran the whole length of the hotel, enjoying our break from the long, twisted road up the coast.