Points Down East: Over the Narrows Through Deer Isle

From the top deck - note Nancy walking to the bottom right

Four hundred forty-seven feet above the Penobscot River, an engineering marvel showcases the Maine coast. When building the Penobscot Narrows Bridge to replace the corroding Waldo-Hancock Bridge, Maine included the world’s highest bridge observation deck.

The three-story observatory offers otherwise unimaginable bird’s eye views of the river, Fort Knox (not that one) and an ill-placed power plant below, with mountains up to 70 miles away nudging above the cloudy horizon. The bridge cables of Sunday sunset were below me on a severe clear Monday morning. The bridge provided a moment of serenity. River currents churned below and contrails from departing planes streaking up from the horizon.

 Nancy and I awoke shortly after sunrise, our plan to view Penobscot Bay from the top of Cadillac Mountain dashed by the shutdown. Rather than get angry, we got moving.

Bar Harbor sunrise

Our sunrise on Mount Desert Island came courtesy of a highway turnoff north of Bar Harbor. The waters bobbed and we could see Bar Harbor’s boats swaying in the distance. A filling breakfast at a quiet diner in Bar Harbor got us ready for the drive back to Bucksport.

Contrails over Bucksport

At the entrance booth, I found out I was going to the top alone. Nancy explored the peaceful hillside displays below the bridge (the pictures prove it – that’s her walking off to the right). In a minute, the elevator opened onto the lowest deck, the windows just three feet from the door.

The day before, I stared up at those cables; now I stared down. Only a handful of people surveyed the river, bay and mountains from the three-level observatory. Despite my hopes, there were no sightings of the Soviet submarine Red October sunken into the Penobscot currents.

A big party arrived at the observatory as I descended alone. Nancy and I viewed a chunk of bridge prototype explaining the innovative cable system that will resist the rust and decay that doomed its predecessor. For years the two bridges sat next to each other, but the Waldo-Hancock Bridge had been dissembled earlier in 2013. Only its concrete moorings remained above the river.

The bridge was only part of the admission. It towers above Fort Knox, the massive stone fort built to guard the narrows from British incursions and later potential Confederate attacks. The fort never saw combat and was never completely finished. But the fort certainly looks formidable with riverfront batteries and rows of cannons under stone arches. Disputed border are an integral part of Maine history, and the official border with Canada remained a point of contention long after the issue was settled.

Fort Knox cannon

This Fort Knox had no gold bullion but treasures of its own. Having never seen combat, most of its barracks and operations rooms were intact.

On this October day, they were also decorated for a Halloween fundraiser, its biggest of the year. In some rooms, creatures dangled from the rafters and disembodied heads sat in cauldrons. None of it fit with a fort from the mid-19th century. But it all added a spooky element to the old stone battlements. We left Fort Knox as the a dozen or more cars queued up at the entry gate. It would be the last appreciable traffic we would see all day.

If much of Mount Desert Island remained closed to visitors, a sister island would more than take its place. Once more across the narrows bridge, we veered away from U.S. 1 and trekked down the Blue Hill Peninsula. The colors grew in vibrancy and the towns grew quainter as we drew closer to the craggy land’s southern terminus.

Careful not to retrace John Steinbeck’s steps – he got lost on the road to Deer Isle, as he memorably recounted in Travels with Charly – we wound through another gauntlet of tiny coastal towns, each with its own bay or harbor. From the Cottontail Hill overlook, we first spied the Deer Isle Bridge’s massive towers. Minutes later at its base, we saw the bridge’s infamous 6.5 percent grade, which makes it appear as if the deck simply ends at the first bridge tower. It doesn’t but on this day, bridge repairs shut down one lane.

Despite a short wait for the flagger’s approval, we didn’t have to cross the bridge with oncoming traffic mere feet away. The bridge spans the Eggemoggin Reach, the only tie between Little Deer Isle and the mainland. A narrow road over a tidal causeway led to Deer Isle proper.

Famous bridge dead ahead

Deer Isle definitely had a different feel than the other tourist towns lining the Maine coast. You had to work a little to get there, and the town’s population was out to work when we got there. Stonington was a lobster town, and the mostly empty harbor spoke to the primary occupation.

Plans to find a specific nature reserve fell flat until we found the Sand Beach reserve by accident, and scoured a little pine forest that led to a serene beach broken up by massive glacial rocks. Severe tides weathered the rocks further. As with Popham Beach, we arrived at low tides. Pine-covered Weir Island was not connected to the land, but a few swift paddle strokes in a canoe or kayak would have crossed the narrow waterway.

Nancy smiles as the tide returns to our little cove.

We scrambled over the mix of rounded and jagged rocks as the tide slowly reversed course. Stonington’s main drag (well, only drag) had the feel of closing shop for the winter. Gift shops marked down their wares, hoping to make what they could before the tourist supply dried up. Despite sunny skies and 60-plus degrees, the season was ending.

The trees are across the water, not atop the rocks next to me.

For lunch we stopped at the Fishermen’s Friend, which would close up the next day. Although they were out of many items like fries and onion rings, we knew they would do fine as long as the boats in the harbor kept them supplied with fresh ocean fare. Seafood pasta while Nancy went with a lobster pillow (puffed pastry with tons of fresh lobster) after a lack of sherry sauce prevented them from preparing the Lobster Newburg (originally known as Lobster Wenburg -- seriously, look it up. It’s an interesting story). From our perch in the restaurant, we watched the waters envelope the harbor rocks, pushing flocks of gulls to higher ground. We wandered a little bit before returning to the steep bridge.

As before, construction workers had closed one lane and reduced bridge passage to the control of a flagger. While we waited, water filled in the salt flats between the Little and Big Deer Isle. Sea gulls near the bridge entrance put on dinner theatre, plucking crabs from the waters and unceremoniously dropping them onto the rocks, then scooping out their salted, sinewy innards. Even the birds ate well along the Maine coast.

 Back in Bar Harbor, we had some zinfandel and chilled the Gruet Rose while at sunset, the clouds cast all hues of the spectrum erupted through the clouds. A brief rainstorm blanketed the island, never leaving a drop on our porchfront refuge.

Looking south toward Isle a Haut