There is a place in my consciousness separate from the rest of reality; it’s an island in my mind. And it is a real island. Visually, they are pure miracles, the way they just pop up and sit on the surface, sometimes levitating above it on a shimmering mirage. It seems islands have an aura we are unable to turn our backs on. Despite the inconveniences and logistical difficulties involved with island living, it is quite apparent that they are more than worth the trouble. There is no question, their natural beauty and the romantic existence they offer add immeasurably to the unique character of the Maine coast, its bays and rivers.On the Damariscotta, its islands are like punctuation marks. They are the common reference points on every passage from beginning to end. There are ten islands of any size within the river proper, four with houses occupied during the summer months, plus quite a number of rocky nubbles supporting grass and perhaps a few trees. I know that most, if not all, are regularly visited by picnickers and occasional campers, who possibly have a favorite spot, as we do, where the anchorage is good, the swimming excellent and where there just happens to be a wide and very thick slab of rock stashed in the bushes to be used as a griddle over the fire.
Perhaps best known of the Damariscotta River islands is Damariscove, our largest and outermost island. It has the longest and most colorful history, including ghosts, going back to the first known European encampment in 1614. The island’s resources were abundant enough to support farm settlements, and the fishing was excellent. A very important factor in its being chosen for a foothold in this “new” world was its distance from the mainland, which was of some comfort against the threat of attack by the notalways- friendly natives.
Today, Damariscove has very much the atmosphere of a preserve with marked hiking trails, instructive signs and even a tiny museum. On approaching the island, there is a sense of power in its bold aspect and the inescapable feeling that dramatic events have taken place on this rocky outpost. My most intimate and exhilarating experience out there was on a summer excursion with a group from the National Marine Fisheries Service, who were monitoring an experiment using old tires as artificial “burrows” for lobsters. We dove off the east side of the island in about ninety feet of water. The tires were indeed fulfilling their new role in life, as there were a number of lobsters in them What I best remember was the jumbled, rocky slope of the island bounding down, down to the bottom of pure sand. It was surprisingly bright, and the visibility must have been 50 or 60 feet. There were lavender horse mussels, starfish, sea urchins, anemones, algae of all descriptions and an old bottle encrusted with gigantic barnacles. What most impressed me, though, were the truly huge ripples on the sandy bottom. They were perhaps two feet high. That was powerful evidence of the force of the pounding North Atlantic, its waves roiling that island’s flanks and stirring the sand at that depth to build it into such magnificent windrows.
For such a large island, it has only one narrow, protected harbor at the extreme southern tip, which, from a small boat, can seem to be at the edge of the world. The old Coast Guard lifesaving station there, dating back to 1897 (pictured), has been newly restored to a state of respectability, though it no longer functions in its former capacity. Looking out to sea through the haze toward Monhegan and beyond, there is nothing but the Atlantic. Somewhere in the remote distance and the remote past, is the old world where our ancestors voyaged out from to find this place. That was four hundred years ago. There is a feeling about Damariscove, its ghosts, its name, the centuries it has witnessed, standing emblematic sentry at the mouth of this river I live on.
Excerpt from Twelve Miles from the Rest of the World, A Portrait of the Damariscotta River by Barnaby Porter and Al Trescot. Barnaby Porter’s colorful descriptions of life and times on the Damariscotta are punctuated by the magnificent photography of his friend Al Trescot. The book can be purchased from Rocky Hill Publishing (207- 563-5539 and Maine Coast Book Shop (207-563-3207 or mcbooks@ midcoast.com).
