“We’ve seen the trifecta,” the captain of the lighthouse cruise said as the ferry circumnavigated Georgetown Island. We had already seen the seven beacons set along the coast, helping ships like ours refrain from ruin. But the captain’s coveted three included the five camouflaged seals lazing upon the rock outcropping, the pair of juvenile bald eagles not yet capped with white, and the osprey springing from its nest, commencing the hunt. Continue reading
I considered arching my back and approaching the low bridge as if it were a limbo pole. But the tide was too high. Instead, I laid the paddle upon the board and crouched down low. The momentum was enough to sail me beneath the overpass and the tourists it held. They stood there admiring Kennebunkport’s crowded harbor, where even restaurant patios encroached upon the already narrow waterway. Continue reading
Chip was what would happen if the comic Steven Wright had ever decided to turn it down a few notches and to pilot an oyster boat.
While the dull and droll boat captain of Damariscotta Maine River Cruises was a curious creature, every person on the tour cared mostly about another organism: the oysters. Continue reading
When my eldest daughter was three, I had asked her if she wanted to surf. The idea excited both of us. After all, she enjoyed flicks like Lilo and Stitch, where a destructive, koala-like extraterrestrial takes well to the waves. For me, surfing is my sport of choice.
Some people said that three was too young, but I was just eager to get her on a board.
Few people today give much thought to the War of 1812. But when Josh Miranda was growing up in Portland, Maine, he obsessed over it and one battle in particular. The skirmish had taken place off the shores of the city and had claimed the lives of two ship captains, Britain’s William Burrows and America’s Samuel Blyth. Miranda would often take breaks from his paper route and sit atop the raised box tombs of Blyth and Burrows, who were buried side by side in his city. Continue reading