EASTPORT, Maine

It's raining in Eastport today so I'm writing to the metronomic tune of the fog horn blast. It's soothing and reassuring to know there's a beacon of guidance for fishermen yet to return from harvesting their traps. Life moves with the rhythm of the tides, the winds and the rains out here. And fortunately for us we moved in mostly sun this week.

Yesterday we set our schedule to the tides. All the bays and peninsula's in this area are fed by the Bay of Fundy making 28 foot drops and rises a twice daily experience. In the morning we hiked the trails of Shackford Head State Park, just outside of town. It's a 90-acre peninsula so fairly easy to hike all the trails in a morning. We hit the cove at low tide so had plenty of time to explore the cliffs and caves. The silence was sliced only by the appearance of two bald eagles. One flew to it's nest and the other to a high branch on the shore. It was an awesome experience to watch them soar the length of the cove, multiple times, with barely a flap of their wings.

The afternoon trek was geared toward high tide. We drove over to Reversing Falls Park which is off an obscure country road with only one handmade sign that doesn't appear until you near the gravel tracks leading to the end of the peninsula. When we arrived about an hour before high tide the water converged from three separate estuaries creating a rapids and a whirlpool the size of a city block. The water crashed haphazardly along the banks and as the tide rises one foot every ten minutes we regularly relocated to higher ground. As the tide began to recede a silence prevailed and the water took on a full stillness. We found it so magical we sat for 2 1/2 hours watching the water change shape. About two hours in we were treated to our second set of bald eagles enjoying a mid-afternoon glide. And then, amazingly, a seal bobbed it's head up and swept upstream with the outgoing tide. (Seals are a regular sight here in August but May is very early to see one.)

Much of our day-planning is centered not on the tides, but on the opening hours of the area restaurants. The fish place on Sea Street (with no apparent name and located at the end of an unmarked dirt road beneath Water Street) is our favorite. There are picnic tables outside but no indoor dining. Today we got take-out and drove to the breakwater and lunched in the car with the locals. Rosie's Hot Dogs sits at the entrance to the breakwater dock and is a tiny outbuilding that serves up dozens of hot dogs at lunch hour. The Chowder House doesn't open until Friday so we won't be able to try that local favorite. Fortunately our little apartment at the Todd House, circa 1775, has a kitchenette so we've had most of our dinners in. And we're too early in the season for the Breakfast part of the B&B (which is fine with me as I have an aversion to B&B breakfast chatter) so we've breakfasted in. Sunrise comes early here as we're in the Easternmost city in the U.S. I've been getting up at 4am, watching the spectacular sunrises, then tucking back into bed.

Not our favorite restaurant but our favorite experience was the Rose Garden Cafe. We wandered in on our first morning and found scraps of paper with menu items on a music stand but not a sole in sight. After a crescendo of "Hellos" Linda appeared to assure us lunch was available. The Rose Garden is a creation in progress in an old Lumber Mill. Linda and Al envision installing artist studio lofts around the perimeter of the upper level. In the meantime, Linda rides her bicycle around the artspace/gallery/restaurant and presides over the only weekend entertainment in town. On the Saturday night we turned up the band played for babies to nonagenarian's. The musicians are, well, not quite contemporary. As we listened Benedicta commented (a little too loudly), "I feel like I'm in a time warp." The retiree at the next table turned to his wife and said (a little too loudly), "She said it's like a time warp but around here it's every Saturday night."

Tomorrow is our last day in Eastport so we'll be stopping in for lobster rolls on Sea Street. Then we'll seek out another trail to traverse that will undoubtedly end at the water's edge. Meanwhile I'm going to watch the tide roll out of Passamaquoddy Bay and hope to glimpse our little fox running through the yard on his usual 7pm schedule, as the foghorn continues it's mournful cries.

ST. ANDREWS, New Brunswick, Canada

From our home base for the week at the Todd House in Eastport we spend hours staring across the Passamaquoddy Bay at the islands of New Brunswick. If the water was remotely warm we might be tempted to swim across, especially at low tide. Several people told us St. Andrews was a lovely day-trip so we made another trip to Canada on another blissfully sunny day.

On the way up the St. Croix River we stopped at an important monument that is deceptively nondescript - Saint Croix Island. It is a tiny island where the French first settled in 1604 with intentions to colonize North America. It turned out to be a poor choice as the winter ice proved isolating and half the men died during their first year. Once the spring warmth melted the ice, they got back in their boats and resettled in Port Royal, Nova Scotia. You can't actually visit the island due to it's fragility so the U.S. and Canada have dueling monuments on opposite shores. We visited both and preferred the U.S. version only because the narrative signposts are accompanied by life-size statues and the walk is through woodlands rather than pastoral. Both had pristinely clean outhouses - yes, we sampled both. (See photos of Saint Croix Island - one taken from Maine and the other taken from N.B.)

St. Andrews is on a peninsula and in addition to the charming coastal village there are various pebbly beaches as well as numerous historic cannons strategically placed. While wandering one cannon site we noticed what looked like a giant rat stranded at sea on a rock formation. It must have wandered over at low tide and was frantically searching for the way back to dry land. I'm still not sure what it was but I imagine it has safely scampered off the rock by now.

Above town a Fairmont Hotel sits loftily awaiting the well-heeled golfing crowd. Seeing only three cars in the parking lot we decided it was safe to wander in and sample the verandah. I've had many a daydream about whiling away an afternoon at the Fairmont at Lake Louise so I hoped this might give a flavor. Um, not even close. We asked our server, who had just arrived for the season, if she'd been to the Fairmont at Lake Louise. She raved about the beauty there for about five minutes and then we all became subdued as we realized how distantly underwhelmed we were with our setting at the Fairmont St. Andrews. Nevertheless, it is a pleasant town reminding me of Provincetown on a much smaller scale.

The drive back to Eastport offered continued opportunities to pull over and sample the beauty of the St. Croix River. Simply serenely satisfying.

CUTLER, Maine

Thankfully Rocky and Ellen's granddaughter was cooing in the kitchen when we arrived for our 8:30 breakfast appointment. Babies have an amazing way of warming up an atmosphere. Rocky was especially chatty this morning but surprisingly dour about the vacationer's options in these parts. Fortunately I'd done my usual pre-trip homework and had noted a slice of info about a trail near Cutler. Rocky conferred that this one was breathtaking and thankfully informed us the trailhead was about three miles past Cutler with a sign that simply said, "Cutler Management." Otherwise, we might still be driving around in search of the Bold Coast Trail.

We parked and availed ourselves of the outhouse with a door that locked from the outside but not from the inside, allowing a good view of on-coming traffic. It's black fly season here in Maine so when we were swarmed with insects in the parking lot we decided to spray ourselves with Off before setting forth on an hour-long woodland hike over rocky terrain teeming with exposed tree roots before reaching our destination on the Bold Coast. The views from our first encounter with the sea were so spectacular we just sat on a rock ledge for about 45 minutes and watched the waves crash in as a lone lobsterman checked his traps. Next time we'll pack a lunch and wander farther along the cliffside trail. As we re-traversed the forest we came across the only other humans we encountered on our hike. "Do you want to turn back?" the man said to the woman before they heard us coming. We encouraged them to forge ahead and have a feeling the wife would have preferred we hadn't fortuitously crossed her path.

We decided to take a little detour to Lubec for lunch as the one restaurant in the darling fishing village of Cutler closed up last year. There were several cars parked at the Village Cafe so we ventured in. As we read the menu a heated discussion over the spelling of Fettucini ensued. When I read the consensus spelling decision on the specials board - Fettachine - I decided I must get involved. They were a bit perplexed that my spelling could actually be pronounced Fettachine but went with my suggestion anyway.

I ordered the scallops and was delighted with the melt-in-your-mouth flavor. Benedicta had the Haddock and would have been fine had she not insisted on having it baked. It came out bland and dry. It's a good thing we didn't come up here for the food. They don't seem to have much culinary skill other than boiling a lobster or throwing a breaded fish in the fryer. Fortunately, we were right down the road from Monica's. She has the perfect recipe for making up for any bad meal. Benedicta settled on the sea urchins (bringing our total two-day chocolate bill to $91 - "but some is for gifts, we promise") and started munching on them immediately.

As we continued on our way to Eastport a beautiful lake, fresh and blue with not a dot of architecture on the circumference appeared beside us. It had the cold, clear, deep look of a mountain lake and I couldn't resist stopping the car for another stroll. It's like that up here. There's water everywhere. And it's all serene and silent and inviting us to stay awhile. Right now we're in our second floor apartment transfixed on the views of Passamaquoddy Bay. More on that later ...

CAMPOBELLO ISLAND, New Brunswick, Canada

Our trip to Campobello Island began at the Riverside Inn in East Machias where we're staying on the upper floor of the Carriage House with a deck overlooking the river. After chilled conversation over blueberry pancakes, where we determined our hosts were still silently embroiled in the domestic spat we encountered upon arrival, we walked it off along the delightful rails to trails riverside path.

Just before the bridge to Canada's Campobello Island in Lubec, we took the four mile drive to the West Quoddy Lighthouse - Easternmost point in the U.S. On this pre-season, stunningly beautiful day we encountered only one man with a dog and one woman with her father during our hour walking the trail and gaping at the gorgeous water views. Right after crossing the bridge to Campobello Island we drove to the far end of the Island to take in the East Quoddy Lighthouse. It's only possible to walk over to the Lighthouse at low tide as the Bay of Fundy hosts huge tidal rises and can leave those with poor tide-timing stranded for up to eight hours. When we arrived the lighthouse was on a private island surrounded by cobalt blue water. We had no intent of returning until we met up with a regular who showed us photos of seals and whales lolling just off the shore where we were standing and assured us that low tide was coming in a couple hours. 

We passed the time at Herring Cove Beach where for the first half-hour we had the entire beach to ourselves. The glistening stones in oranges, browns and blues sparkled in the midday sun as the tide retreated. As we walked along the beach a couple from Denver who own a house on Campobello Island arrived for an afternoon stroll. We began to chat and within minutes Susan and Mida invited us to come see their house. It's a darling two-bedroom with a deck overlooking Friar's Bay. And it's for sale. Yikes!  It's just what we're looking for though we hadn't planned to buy in Canada. We excused ourselves in time to get back to East Quoddy during low tide. What a dramatic change! A fifteen foot drop in the water level allowed us to walk right over to the East Quoddy Lighthouse. 

That little adventure - and it's inherent brush with danger - ramped up our appetite so after stopping for a bit to traipse the grounds of Eleanor and Franklin Roosevelt's summer cottage, we made our way back to Lubec where we had spotted Uncle Kippy's restaurant. As we crossed the  U.S. Border, and correctly answered a plethora of random questions, the border agent asked if I had another form of identification, proving that my passport photo is so bad I'm hardly recognizable. This second rush of adrenaline within an hour fanned our hunger even more. Uncle Kippy's didn't quite hit the spot so we topped off the evening with a pecan praline from Monica's, a darling Peruvian woman who makes amazing chocolates in her kitchen and sells them in her living room. We're loving the down home charm here ... and hope that our hosts will have patched things up before we go down in the morning for another helping of blueberry pancakes.