Hankering for Spring: Back Cove Loop

If you're from New England, you're sick of hearing it, so I won't say it.

Or maybe I will:  I really want spring to get here.

We've had some hints.  Like today, it's almost 60 degrees here, making it hard to figure out what to wear for a lunchtime run.  Shirtsleeves?  What are those?

But winter has been reluctant to let go. And that's been a real pain for coastal hiking.  There's not enough snow to snowshoe, but too much to hike.  Trails have been packed down to ice, making a walk in the woods difficult.  There are a lot of trails out there waiting for me, I'm just not enthused about venturing on them until that ice clears a bit more.

Winter lingers in the salt marsh.

So last weekend when the dog gave me her expectant look and sad little whimper, I packed her into the Mighty Kia and headed down to Portland, to enjoy one to the great urban trails that distinguishes the city.  For years I've been driving past happy joggers and strollers as I whiz down 295, and I decided it was time to circumnavigate Back Cove.

The trail is wide and great for walking or biking.

The Cove itself is a huge mudflat, and you all know what I think of mudflats.  Super cool.  There wasn't much to see this time of year, but plenty of ducks and gulls were foraging in the Cove, so it's clear life is there even if I'm too cold to get in there myself.

Dory got a little loopy in her happiness.

Until she saw this sign.  No Dogs?  Bummer.

Fine, we'll just walk.

Looking left . . . 

Looking right.

The path is an easy, flat 3 1/2 mile loop; hard packed and wide enough for several people to pass. The city is a joy to see from the path, with Munjoy Hill rising up and catching the afternoon sun.  I did a little gawking at the houses on Baxter Ave, fantasizing about which I would choose if I were blessed to be rich.  Luckily you don't have to be rich to enjoy this part of the city; there's plenty of parking near the Hannaford on Forest Ave.  Even Dory had a good time!

It was crowded with people having a great day.

Enjoying the sun and blue sky.

York, Snowshoeing, and Oysters in Portland

We're coming to what we hope is the end of a hard winter.  The snow is still deep, and every few days we are blessed with a little more.  And it's still cold.  But there are hopeful signs all around us in Maine.  The sun is getting stronger, and doesn't set until well after 5:00.  And Sunday it got above freezing for the first time in forever.  Next week we'll see Daylight Savings begin, and then it will really feel like we've turned a corner.

Until then, we've been fighting cabin fever.  Damon had a big snowshoe race last weekend, so I tagged along and we made it into a little escape.  We stayed in York overnight, just so I could sit by the fire at the Ship Cellar Pub and have a few glasses of wine.  (It was great, but I forgot my camera and my cell phone wasn't up to taking photos in the dim light.)  On Sunday we tried to tackle the Fisherman's Walk along York Harbor.  In summer, it looks something like this:

But last weekend it looked more like this:

Note, this is the same location as the photo above -- you can see the stone wall.  Except the snow is about 5 feet deep in there.  Hopeless, even with snowshoes.

So no snowshoeing for us in York.  Luckily, we'd been thinking of checking out the East Coast Greenway, and picked up the trail in Scarborough.  It was warm, and the sun was out.  A path was nicely packed down, so it was pretty easy going.  Boredom set in pretty quickly, though, since the path is straight and level.  Like most Americans, I know what to do when bored -- eat.  So we packed back into the car, stripped off our wet snow gear, and headed to Portland.  Damon was craving some oysters, and with the sun shining it seemed like a great time to hit the waterfront.

First stop, DeMillo's.  I admit that I've never been there before.  DeMillo's always seems so touristy to me; plus the main point they make in their radio ads is "parking is free while you eat" -- which doesn't seem a very good reason to eat there.  But heck, why not check it out, if for no other reason than we got to take a look at the ice scraping up against the boats at the docks.

Our thirsts quenched, it was time to hit one of our faves:  J's Oyster.  J's is a classic hometown dive.  Don't go for the ambiance.  The yellowed ceiling tiles, crappy carpet, and dated paneling hold very little appeal.  The spirit of the place is in the people, the food, and the location.  You know it's going to be good when a guy in Grundens comes out the door just as you get there.  Inside, the seats are always filled, so it was a pleasant surprise to find a table right away.  The crowd is hometown, and in a city full of foodies, there is a happy dearth of hipsters.  Not a lot of skinny jeans and lumberjack beards; no one asking for the latest microbrew.  Just regular folks looking for the best old-school food on the waterfront.  Some of them look like they've been sitting on their bar stools for years; and probably that's not far from the truth -- the regulars are always out in force at J's.

We have a saying in Maine:  "Cold as a clam-diggers crack."  Apparently it's colder than that.

What do you have at J's Oyster?  Oysters, of course.  Damon started with a half-dozen on the half-shell, while I had the sampler.  Both came with a side of cocktail sauce and horseradish, and they went down too quickly.  Fortunately, sandwiches weren't far behind.  A classic lobster roll (you know I can't resist) and haddock for Damon.  All of it washed down with a coldie as we peered out at the ice covering Portland Harbor.

Classic oyster plate.

The sampler.

The best way to eat an oyster!

I love this graffiti:  "I love J's Oyster Bar."  "Who doesn't?"  "Oysters?!"

The giant pile of oysters, on ice, in the middle of the bar.

Alas, it had to end eventually, and we headed back to the car and our regularly-scheduled winter.  The sun had weakened behind thin clouds and the chill was back in the air.  But it felt like the we'd moved beyond the endless winter that seemed to face us a few weeks ago.  Of course it'd snowed a few inches while we were away on our trip, but Bobby our neighbor had plowed our drive with his ATV.  And it's bitter cold now, but I just peeked at the 10-day forecast, and we were right:  winter is starting to lose its teeth.  There are a lot of thirty plus degree days in our future.  Things are looking up.  But if it doesn't get much better soon, maybe I'll just take the advice on the sign board at Ri Ra's:

Long Island (Maine, of course)

My pal Ken can make friends with anyone.  From the guy working out next to him at the gym to the owner of a major grocery store, Ken ends up winning over just about everyone.  That's how we ended up finding out about the fair down at the VFW on Long Island.

People:  10 bucks.  People with four legs:  4 bucks and change.

One of Casco Bay Line's distinctive yellow and white ferries.

Ken and Kathy emailed us to tell us they were coming to Maine, and were planning to take the Mail Boat out of Portland, to Long Island in Casco Bay.  Damon and I took that as an invitation, and the next morning we found ourselves on the ten o'clock ferry with a couple hundred other people -- day trippers like us; folks headed out for a week's vacation; and our new friend from Connecticut.  I'm sorry to say I never caught his name, but we talked about everything from Ken's new shoulder (and his moderately new knees) to the Yankees (which almost ended our blossoming friendship).  Our new friend grew up with a summer house out on Long Island, and had just bought a little place right next to the family place.  We chatted all the way out to the island and wished each other well as we disembarked; us looking to find lunch and some beach time; our friend to find his family's island car for a ride to his new cottage.  As we made our way up towards the general store (slowly, with three rather elderly dogs sniffing all the bushes and trees along the way), an island car pulled up next to us and our new friend told us to make sure to make it up to the VFW for lobster rolls at the fair -- just up the road.  We thanked him, said goodbye, looked at each other, and decided the VFW was our best bet for lunch.

The four of us strolled along with our slow dogs as golf carts and island cars (most of which wouldn't pass inspection on the mainland) slowly rolled past us -- all headed for the red-white-and-blue bunting of the VFW.  Ken and Damon dispatched us to pick up four lobster rolls as they held onto our pack -- who were irresistible to the crowds of island kids pouring out of the VFW with cotton candy, popcorn, and prizes from the games inside.  Not only were those lobster rolls pretty darn good, but for ten bucks (with chips to boot!) they were a pretty good deal.  If this was the way of life on Long Island, I knew I was going to like it.

Service with a smile.

A happy crowd at the VFW.

4

Kathy enjoying her $10 lobster roll

Our hunger satisfied, we headed across the island (slowly, ever so slowly) to Singing Sands beach.  This beach squeaks when you walk on it -- just drag your feet along as you go!  Squeak-squeak-squeak.  The dogs had a great swim while the humans had a great talk about seaweed, work, and life as we sat on an old driftwood log.  Sailboats fought their way against the tide, a group of kayakers enjoyed lunch on the sand, and a game of pick-up volleyball started.  It was lovely -- perfect -- and of course, had to come to an end. Eventually we had to catch a boat back to Portland, and with our poke-along dogs, we needed plenty of time to get back to the ferry.

Does it get any better?

Kitsch!

More kitsch!

This was a highly-functional island cah.  Most wouldn't pass inspection on the mainland.

Damon making the sand sing.

Dory wanted in on the action.

Even at our leisurely pace, we crossed the island in time to buy some sandwiches at the General Store (which are delicious) and pick up a six-pack of Bud (which you should not try to drink on their deck). Chastised by the owner, we put our Buds back in the bag, enjoyed our second lunch (those lobster rolls weren't exactly large), and headed out to the ferry.

Time to head home

Boarding the ferry.

Leaping from the wharf -- a rite of passage.

What can I say here?

Since our beers were already open, we decided to drink them along the way.  Normally, this would be socially unacceptable behavior, so we hid them in the only thing we had -- empty doggie poop bags.  Didn't we feel stupid when we realized everyone was looking at us funny -- not because we were drinking, but because we were trying to hide it -- in poop bags.  We soon figured out everyone had a beer in hand; the woman walking her dog; the guys sitting behind the community center; the gentleman driving his golf cart while smoking a big old cigar.  That's island life on Long Island in summer, it seems; laid back and friendly.  After all; summer's short.  Enjoy your damn beer in the open.

Public consumption.  Nice.

Life in the slow lane.  That's what it's all about.

Peaks to Portland

Last week I headed down to Portland to watch the finish of the Peaks to Portland swim.  I am in awe of people who swim in open water.  Many years ago, I completed a sprint triathlon, and learned that training in a pool is oh so different from swimming in the ocean.  Every 2 inch wavelet seemed like it was trying to drown me.  It wasn't a pretty sight.

So my respect for folks who swim competitively in the ocean is great.  The Peaks to Portland, a fundraiser for the Portland YMCA, is 2.4 miles long, from Peaks Island to East End Beach in Portland.  The water was in the high 50's/low 60's; making for a cold swim, even in a wet suit.  It was a great morning; worth an early morning drive to the big city.

Before the race started, an army of volunteers prepped the finish line.  There were water bottles to put out . . .

. . . and oranges to cut up . . . 

. . . and medals to prepare.

Then we waited . . . 

. . . and played with the dogs (it's a dog-friendly beach in the early morning) . . . 

. . . and scanned the horizon for signs of swimmers.

Then far, far on the horizon, we could see tiny specks that grew bigger and bigger.

Until finally the lead swimmer charged through the moored boats and into the finishing chute!

And the leaders' escort kayaks made their way to the boat ramp.

Eventually a huge pack of swimmers and kayaks streamed our way.

The kayaks poured up the boat ramp (I helped carry for awhile).

This must be a dream come true for LL Bean and other outfitters.  This is only a small fraction of the kayaks.

Congrats to the finishers!  Great job.