June 20 to 24, Spruce Head, Maine
Haven’t written much because, frankly, the settings and days have been kind of dreamy and I didn’t think I would be doing anyone any favor by talking about how nice we had it at Lobster Buoy Campground in Spruce Head (or South Thomaston, depending on your map.)
A small, unpretentious campground that has been owned by the same family since the 40s. It used to be a junkyard until WWII made it worthwhile to haul the metal out for the war effort. After the war the current owner’s grandparents converted the now-cleared land to a campground. Many people we talked to come here year after year and at least one person I encountered, an elderly woman, has been coming here since it was started as a campground when “we used to just drive right down to the beach and set up camp in the sand.”
We were on the waterfront of a bay or large cove that contained a dozen small and large islands, close and distant, a couple with houses, most covered with towering evergreens, some just piles of boulders. The Atlantic was maybe five miles out, beyond the furthest chain of islands. The tides were ten feet so the islands at various times look like they are hovering above the water. Boulders everywhere, mats of kelp (?), and long strands of thick underwater grass flowing like hair in the rushing tides. Several large-scale commercial lobstering operations and a couple of waterfront lobster shacks along a 2 mile walk down the coast. A local surname is “Waterman” (my preferred lobster joint is Waterman’s Beach Lobster) but the fisher-folk don’t call themselves watermen. We lucked out with this place—reasonably-priced, benignly neglected, nice folks, and just a magical setting.
I almost forgot the nesting loon from our camp near Naples, ME on Long Lake.
