I have been to the mountain top -- Downeast cont'd

Acadia National Park occupies much of Mount Desert Island. Woodrow Wilson designated a portion of  the park, the first national park east of the Mississippi, as a national monument in 1916, and the rest of it came into being three years later.

We picked up our park pass on Monday in Bar Harbor. The ranger who helped us explained that the wonderful buses don't go to the summit of Cadillac Mountain, and because the afternoon is supposed to be sunny with temps in the 60s, we have the perfect excuse to take the Mustang with us on our visit.

Waves crash on the rocks near Sandy beach.

We'd decided on several parts of the park we wanted to see, a tiny fraction of the available sights.Why didn't I plan for more time?

A shopkeeper told me Monday to enjoy my stay because I'd never be back. I might just have to prove him wrong.

We start at the visitor center, where we pick up a map and discuss a possible itinerary with one of the rangers. We intend to take the bus to a  place called Sandy Beach, then hike the Ocean Trail to Thunder Hole and Otter Cliffs. From there, we'll grab the bus again and go to Jordan Pond. The Jordan Pond House is supposed to be famous for its popovers, so we'll have lunch there and return to the visitor center. We'll end our day at the park with a top-down drive up Cadillac Mountain.

She agrees we have a good plan.

On the way to Sandy Beach our bus driver provides some commentary about aspects of the island and the park. The only part I remember is about I house I took a picture of  while walking the Shore Path in Bar Harbor. A man from Maine named Bruneau or Grunau or something like that fell in love with an English woman and asked her to be his wife back in the States. He hadn't a house, and she wouldn't say yes until he agreed to build her one. So he did, a magnificent edifice overlooking Frenchman's Bay. He sent for her on its completion, and she took passage on ... the Titanic.

I suspect that Sandy Beach is seriously crowded during the summer. Plenty of people have gathered this day, but the weather's not very conducive to swimming. Small waves representing the remnants of the surge from Hurricane Leslie break onto the beach, and kick up spouts of spray at the edges of the beach where the rocks begin. We shoot a bunch of pics trying to catch the perfect view, then stand back to just enjoy the scene.

A woman standing behind me tells her companion, "I could stay here and watch this all day." I know exactly what she means. That picture in my mind? I'm soaking in the reality.

These women capture the scenery without the need
for camera batteries.

Finally we tear ourselves away to start down the Ocean Trail. The trail is only two miles long, but we will spend the rest of the morning hiking it. The terrain isn't difficult, but a new view presents itself every few yards, and every view begs you to take a picture. Side trails beckon you to explore them, and when you do, more spectacular views appear. The camera fairly screams, "Use me!"

I'll shoot so many photos my battery will run low, and I'll be forced to conserve power by turning my camera off between shots and limiting the number of pics I try to take. I'll learn some day to make sure I charge the battery the night before going on an adventure.

But having the battery run low is a blessing because it forces me to stop and enjoy the sights before my eyes, to build memories. The whole reason for being here, after all.

Thunder Hole

Thunder Hole lives up to its name. Though the surge is ebbing, water still flows into the cleft in the rocks and then crashes upward in a huge spray, accompanied by a loud boom. The path leading down near the cleft is blocked. Apparently the surge created dangerous conditions, and park officials don't want visitors on the slick, concrete surface, though by the time we arrive, the path is pretty dry.

The trail ducks up into the forest for a short while, then cuts back toward the shoreline. We're on the trail at the same time as a group of birders and catch bits and pieces of their guide's observations. We finally wind up at Otter Cliffs, a hundred feet above the water and a great spot for a sweeping view of the bay and the Gulf of Maine.

We catch the bus and head for Jordan Pond. The Jordan Pond House is the only dining establishment in the park proper, and we check in at the desk to get on the list for a table. While we wait we look through a gift shop, then sit out on a terrace overlooking the pond.

The pond is bigger than some lakes we've been on and is supposed to be 100 feet deep. The result is a sapphire-colored water that stands out against the green of the trees. We're called for our table and are seated at a table with a view of the lake through the window.

The popovers live up to their reputation. Light and airy, served with butter and homemade strawberry jam. I don't eat much strawberry jam, but this is wonderful. I would eat more strawberry jam if it all tasted like this.

You're promised two popovers with your meal. The first is served before you receive your entree, the second when you've finished. You don't need an appetizer or a dessert -- but of course they'll be glad to serve you both.

John D. Rockefeller -- Junior, I think -- had a series of carriage roads built on the island, closed then and now to automobile traffic. A carriage house is sited at one of the entrances to the trails, but we don't have time to do more than take a picture of it and head back to the car.

The view from the top of Cadillac Mountain.

Back at the visitor center we drop the top on the Mustang and follow the signs toward Cadillac Mountain. The mountain is billed as the tallest mountain on the East Coast, but it's only a bit over 1,500 feet above sea level. That's plenty high enough, though, to open up yet another glorious vista that sucks the rest of the life out of my camera battery.

We walk the path that takes you on a more than 200 degree arc along the shore view up to the top of the peak and drink in the beauty. Then it's back down the winding road to the hotel.

That night we decide we want hamburgers. I know. But that's what we wanted. The Internet tells me the best place in Bar Harbor is the Side Street Cafe, aptly named. Like so many of the diners, this one is a converted house with lots of atmosphere. College students seem to like the place, and some couples are obviously on dates.

The burgers are very good, and we decide to try the one other item as ubiquitous as lobster -- wild Maine blueberries, which we had in pie. Yum.

We return to the hotel, our tummies full from the good food and our minds stuffed with images and memories beyond the mental images that drew us here.