September 08, 2026

To celebrate Labor Day, we traveled nearly as far East as you can go in the USA, all the way to the coast of Maine: Isle au Haut in Acadia National Park.

Our day began early, with a 3 AM alarm clock. In the darkness, we showered, forced down some banana & peanut butter bread, and obsessed over our last packing items.

Before long, our comrades and trip planner extroardinaires, referred to by the pseudonyms Mam and Sike here for anonymity (Smike for short), arrived. The journey was long, but the company was good, and time flew until we arrived in Stonington, Maine to catch our 11 AM ferry. As a second breakfast, I enjoyed a perfectly cromulent cinnamon bun and a decidedly weird 'chai latte' from 44 North Coffee, a coffee shop with very cute decor, but a markedly absent espresso machine. My beverage wasn't bad, but I can't say I wasn't disappointed not to get a nice foamy milk drink before spending 48+ hours on an island without running water or electricity.

We arrived early, but not so early so as to waste time, so I was soon back at the ferry dock. Meanwhile, our comrades plotted the ramifications of their lone missing bag, which apparently contained nearly all of our dry goods, seriously complicating our dinner plans for the night and our dreams of a blueberry pancake breakfast. While there was enough time for a not-quite-chai-tea-latte, there was not enough time to drive all the way back to Littleton to reclaim the bag, so we pivoted with some ramen and snacks.

We boarded the ferry, and kept our eyes peeled for whales (alas, no joy) as we journeyed past the town of Isle au Haut to our final destination: Duck Island Harbor Campground.

The ferry ride didn't take long, so we still had half a day of daylight left to burn. We celebrated arriving at our destination in once piece (minus some dry goods that we could cope without anyway) with a cold beer and some salami cheese wraps. We hydrated ourselves with some water... and hit the first snag of the trip.

The campground's non-potable water pump, a cast iron behemoth that must be at least 100 years old, was non-functional. Rats. We brought a few liters of water, but nowhere near enough for 3 days and 2 nights. There was a trickle of a stream nearby, but it would take ages to refill and filter water from it. Our hopes of boiling luxurious quantities of ramen noodles were dashed.

We tried hunting down the ranger, who we had seen on our way to the water pump, but they were nowhere to be found. We tried calling the ranger office, but nobody picked up. Sure, we had water filters and a few liters of water, but after drinking a couple of liters right after lunch, we started to worry: would we have to start rationing our water? The town has a store, but none of us could agree on what time it closed -- one of us remembered 2 PM, another heard 5 PM. A heated discussion ensued, the island's greatest (or surely among the several hundred greatest) minds bent towards the incredibly challenging task of keeping 4 relatively healthy 30-somethings alive for 48 hours of vacation camping.

Eventually, we started walking to town. Just 4.5 miles of hiking trails, after all, and we had all afternoon.

I won't lie: it wasn't the most pleasant hike. Sure, the surroundings were gorgeous. Sure, the day was a perfect partly sunny blend of balmy sunny bits checkerboarded with cooling breezy shady stretches. Sure, we had great company, enough water for the day, water filters to refill from streams, and plenty of food and snacks to keep ourselves going. But we were also running on 5 hours of sleep, had our hopes dashed just as we started to get comfortable, and I didn't get any foamed milk. As they say, trying times.

So it was lovely to arrive at town around 2:30 to discover the general store open until 6 and a pop-up panini food truck open til 3. We feasted on our bounty of paninis, chips, beer, and ice cream treats that look suspiciously like candy bars. We loaded up on some spare water, and acquired some additional food items (and another pack of beer) to fill the gaps left by our missing dry goods bag. We even finally found a ranger at the town station who promised to bring some containers of (potable, even!) water to the pump so campers wouldn't have to hunt for sketchy streams. And the ranger even promised to fix the pump (he later did, and proved to us with video evidence that it is indeed incredibly tedious to remedy).

Our hope was restored. From that point on, everything seemed so much better and easier. The sun seemed brighter. Our conversations grew sillier, and more full of Tom Bombadil references. The trails seemed better maintained (OK, not that one -- they really need to trim back the blueberry bushes on the North end of the town trail).

After stopping several times in an attempt to lure my compatriots to a watery grave, I gave up and decided to just swim with them instead. The water was far from warm, but the late afternoon sun turned up the heat enough to make it worth the dip.

We wrapped up our ramble along the coast with a stop by the water station, where the rangers had already put out water (it was nice to not have to double back for a refill, having depleted much of our stores on the sunny walk back from town). And as we rounded Duck Harbor, a passing storm ushered in some of the most perfect golden hour lighting I've ever seen.

A few raindrops tried to interrupt our photoshoot, but then dropped a double rainbow right at the end of the bay.

As the rainbow faded away, our ramen cooked, and we enjoyed a crispy brew on the beach just steps away from our campsite. Doesn't get much better than that.

The next day arrived with puffy pink cotton candy clouds, or so smike tell me, because I was still in my tent.

Meanwhile, Meg and I were hard at work observing the local echinoderm population.

Thankfully our packed breakfast supplies included enough breakfast that we didn't have to resort to escargot.

After wrapping up breakfast, we rambled our way onto some new trails, this time exploring the South end of the island. On the harbor side, the wind was strong and the beaches were mostly composed of massive person-sized granite and limestone chunks. But once we rounded the corner, we found ourselves in a paradise of sun-drenched silky-smooth stones. I couldn't resist taking a dip.

We gorged ourselves on an entire block of cheese (not a joke, it really went down easy), most of a box of Triscuits, and some perfectly baked oatmeal cookies (thanks Mam!). Our cheese break gave us the perfect opportunity to appreciate the local seal population, who seemed elusive at first, but eventually yielded to the power of our binoculars.

As we continued our journey past the island of Eastern Ear, my friends were kind enough not to abandon me as I explored the sub-island.

Or maybe they were just distracted by the local crustacean and echinoderm populations:

We foraged our way up the West coast, enjoying the scenic views, but possibly enjoying the surprisingly ripe local raspberries and blackberries even more.

Sadly, Mam's leg is still recovering from Meg's 2025 sabotage a tragic 2025 see-sawing injury, so Smike opted out of visiting Duck Harbor Mountain. I'm stupid, so I climbed it in my Bedrock Sandals. Turned out OK, but I wouldn't recommend it to most people. The trail involves a good amount of scrambling and climbing, which was quite fun, but probably awfully risky with exposed toes.

Despite my woefully inadequate footwear, we booked it across the island, reaching the campsite only a half hour or so after Smike. And then, we again feasted.

Soon after feasting, we courted danger once again with a very chilly dip in the ocean. No cramps were had, thus completely disproving the classic old wives' tale.

After our swim, we warmed up by the fire and enjoyed some hobo potatoes with curry ketchup. Sike finally completed his carving masterpiece, and consequently used said masterpiece of improvised chopsticks to eat potatoes.

In addition to making it impossible to warm up after our chilly swim, the partly cloudy conditions and stagnant air enabled some previously unseen residents of the island to rear their ugly heads: mosquitoes.

We did our best to evade the mosquitoes as we enjoyed a truly epic sunset. The author isn't sure it was worth it, considering the 20+ bites he is currently enduring on his ankles alone. But when the bites stop itching, it'll probably seem worth it in retrospect.

The sun set, and we enjoyed a couple more beverages at the fire before turning in. It's astonishing how much a day in the sun can drain you, even when you just walk around, eat cheese, pick blackberries, and swim.

The next morning, we saw no pink cotton candy clouds, but some of us were surprised to meet the local mouse population on the trails (thankfully not in the lean-to).

We had a relaxing morning of oatmeal, artisanal coffee fit for a queen, etymological discussion about buoys, and relaxation as we tried to guess if labor day counted as a summer or a fall holiday (turns out, it counts as summer). We took in our last precious moments of remote life on the island before returning to the daily grind of remote work from the mountains.

Soon enough, the ferry showed up. We took our final pictures of the island, boarded the top of the ferry for the optimal views, bundled up against the cool ocean winds, and headed home.

The drive home was long, and delivered fewer lobster rolls and ice cream cones than originally promised. But I can't blame the residents of Maine for not wanting to work on Labor Day. Fortunately, we did eventually find a lobster roll, and it did not disappoint:

All in all, we had a lovely trip. Everyone seems obsessed with employing me as a sea captain, sailing the friend group around the Maine Coast, so I think we'll return once we procure a seaworthy sailing vessel. And possibly a private island: I'm not sure Meg and Mam's sheep herd will fit on the sailboat (but maybe we'll just get a really big sailboat instead).