We left the off-the-grid cabin at 3:30a that morning. This was after we made coffee, took a quick pee outside, brushed our teeth and trekked through the woods. We used flashlights to navigate the slick path over knotted roots, across the oddly-spaced plank-bridge that rested over a series of logs, and wove through the trees. Within five minutes we reached the gravel patch where our car was parked. The drive was dark, but within thirty minutes the sky shifted from dark blue to orange and pink hues, which reflected on the calm inky surface of the ocean.
The line of cars at the Acadia Park toll booth was short. One by one, we followed the winding road upward until we reached the parking lot. It was packed with vehicles, some with their headlights still on. Bunches of people herded across the blacktop to find their spot on the cliff. We were all gathered here to be the first ones on the Eastern seaboard to see the sunrise in the continental U.S. The view is spectacular, they say. All of the guide books call it a must-see, even the one published in the 80's that we picked up at a yard sale on our drive up. The ticket was $6. The real test was the wake-up time and arriving around 4a.
The clouds swooshed by swiftly. Marc and I cuddled under a blanket with our hoods up. It was hard to see anything, but fuzzy silhouettes of people huddled together across the rocks. They were covered in blankets, wearing hats, beneath towels, holding each other. We waited and waited. Some were quiet. Others bonded with nearby gazers. "I wonder if we will even be able to see the sun," someone said. We all hoped for a miracle; that the cloud would disappear.
The fog was so thick. The wind incredibly strong. The condensation in the air was visible as it blew by. It shook the short shrubs and growing trees that sprouted in the space in between. The shhhh of the wind whipped past my ears. The blanket was soaked with precipitation. My teeth chattered. My body shook. I felt like my head was on ice. I tried so hard to dress right, but still I was severely unequipped for these conditions. I wish I had the foresight to pack gloves, a scarf and a hat— for my summer trip to Maine. Mental note— Get better adventure gear. This coming from the non-camper who willingly said yes to surviving for a week in an 'off-the-grid' cabin complete with an outhouse and a solar shower that dangled off a flimsy rope on a tree.
There were short pockets of clarity. In one moment, I saw the shape of the ocean with the jagged, dark cliffs jutting out 1,500 feet below. The only other discernible detail was the brightening horizon shifting color from orange to yellow to pink. And then we saw it. The blip of orange gleaming light began to pierce through the atmosphere. Daybreak penetrated the density and flickered as it rose. It was neon.
People rejoiced and said "I wasn't even sure if we were going to see it!" They shrugged off the blankets and tried to capture the moment with their iPhones. The wind never let up, the cloud remained just as heavy, but the sun offered renewal. It commanded our attention.
Figures were cast in silhouette, showered by the orange glow, wrapped in its warm hug. All we could see was the bright light climbing higher and higher. I took a moment, on top of the rock, to notice the human beings around me. Some of them travelled from states across the country, while others came from different corners of the world. Collectively, we joined together on the top of Cadillac Mountain to witness the life force that sustains us. We chose to participate in a ceremony so ancient it doesn't need to be taught nor does it have a name. We communed with one of the few everlastings cycle we can truly rely on.
It wasn't before long the hoards decided to head back to their cars. The wind wasn't letting up. The sun wasn't strong enough yet to dissipate the cloud either. Droplets covered the surface of my over-sized glasses. I was freezing cold, but I stood there steadfast and present. I reveled in the quiet triumphs of our world. The ones we are usually too busy to honor.
While I was wrapped in a wet blanket, Marc ran across the rocks to take pictures from various vantage points. We were two of the few left waiting for the fog to clear to see the view all the books write about.
"Ready to get out of here?" Marc asked climbing toward me.
"Yup. You hungry?" I replied.
"Let's go get breakfast."
We continued up the rocks to the parking lot, which was about empty. My hands gripped at the heavy blanket. I saw my crown of frizz in the side view mirror. No wonder my head is freezing. I was soaking wet. Inside the car, Marc cranked up the heat.
"I can't believe the cloud didn't clear up. It would've been nice to see the view," I said from the passenger side seat.
"I'm glad it didn't. I love the sunrise we saw. Imagine how often people experience what we just did," Marc said. "We will never forget it."
He was absolutely right.
It was 6a.m when we made it into Bar Harbor to indulge in blueberry pancakes at a local diner. We parked with no problem and didn't even need to feed the meter. None of the tourist shops were close to being open. The Main Street was a ghost town. We returned to the cabin in the woods, around 8a.m, with sleepy eyes and full bellies. We climbed the ladder into the loft, got back into bed and slept until noon.
Take a moment to hear and witness for yourself.
A wonderful memory I felt like I was there. Imagine the memory you would have had if you woke up to see the meteor shower many many years ago 😘
Another great story. Write on! - Joe O.