First Sunrise

Acadia National Park, Maine

Greetings!

On Sunday I left Marlowe and Co. and took Highway 1 north along Coastal Maine. Highly recommend the routing.

That night I had my first opportunity to stealth camp in Bar Harbor, Maine. More on that in another newsletter. For now, let’s jump ahead to Monday morning, which came rather earlier than usual.

One of the fames of Acadia National Park is that within its borders, at the top of Cadillac Mountain, is the first sunrise in the contiguous United States*.

At 0315 I woke, broke down my sleeping rig, and drove to the closed road at Cadillac Mountain. In a few weeks the gates will open, but for now, one must park outside the gates and hike 4.7 miles to the top.

From the car I could see that the mountain was obscured by clouds. With optimism fueled by the sunk-cost of already being here, I rationalized that perhaps the clouds would clear. It was a 1.5 hour hike. One cannot predict the sky cover in 1.5 hours. Anyway, should the clouds not clear, it does not matter if one can _see_ the sunrise, right? One is at the top of the mountain, the sun rises. Being there is enough… right?

Standing at the top of the mountain in cold, wet wind, completely IFR, my answer was a decisive, “Sort of”.

I’m smiling but it was blowy and my hands burned with cold. For reasons I no longer remember I was too stubborn/stupid to stop and add the additional puff layers I’d humped up the hill.

Back at the car, with 9.3 miles on my legs before 0800, I tucked in to SpaceShip Honda and slept on the side of the road.

Considering my options after waking I saw that Tuesday was forecast mostly cloudy and Wednesday mostly not cloudy. But I had planned to leave Tuesday evening. Ought I to bother? I fell into a bit of philosophical fumbling. How “ought” one choose when there is no particular goal? Does it matter if one can _see_ the sunrise? Who cares anyway? It would be uncomfortable to try again. It might not work. Then again…

I put the question away and hiked another 7.7 miles, scrambling up and over beautiful pink Cadillac Granite. Informational signs explain that the mountain was once a magma chamber deep under a volcano.

The composition of the granite is quartz, hornblende, and feldspar.

After 17 miles I thought, oh what the heck. Why not try again tomorrow? I searched out a proper Bar Harbor meal

and set my alarm.

Tuesday morning, standing alongside the road in the dark, I looked up to see the cloud deck was indeed higher; the mountain was no longer _in_ the clouds. And there were a few faint stars occasionally visible. The FOMO was strong within me. Up I went.

And, yes. It was nicer. Windier, five-ish degrees colder, but the harbor was visible. At the allotted time a faint pink highlight brushed the clouds.

As I hiked down from the peak I fumbled again with how to proceed. Ought I to try one more time? The forecast was for only 2% cloud cover Wednesday morning. But I had a 7.5+ hour drive to the Catskill Mountains with a timeline to keep. It would be a long day.

Back at the car I napped again. After recharging I searched out and devoured more marine invertebrates, then explored more of the park.

The skies had cleared to about 30% cloud cover. The setting was beautiful, the sun warmed me through my jacket. If I’d had to decide in rain and wind, I probably would have skipped town. But the lovely views and sunshine won me over. What the heck? There would be enough coffee to get me to the Catskills. So I lolled about in Bar Harbor, watched the sunset from the village pier, and set my alarm for 0300 to ensure I made it in time.

Wednesday night-morning the sky was completely changed. No clouds. Darker and ten degrees colder. The first thing that caught me as I opened the car door was the cold, the second thing was the Milky Way. Desert Island has a “dark sky ordnance” encouraging residents and businesses to minimize night time lighting. The starfield was breathtaking. There were so many stars that it took a moment to find the Big Dipper. I pointed my nose halfway between Scorpius and Sagittarius and trudged up hill one last time.

Did I mention it was dark and very cold? I’ll write later about the fear I experienced hiking unknown ground in the 4AM darkness and how I used a particular mindfulness/meditation practice to work with the fear (spoiler: it was Mettā). But over the hour and a half the stars faded, and when I reached the top there was just time to set up the heavy-but-handy Manfrotto BeFree tripod and capture this timelapse. You are very welcome.

A friend texted to say it seemed to him I am living my best life. Dear Tim, yes. It seems to me one of the better ones available.

With friendliness and delight,

:shannon

*During the winter months Cadillac Mountain is the first sunrise. In summer it shifts north to Mars Hill, also in Maine.