From boats to island trance
I’m back. I hibernated from the blog over the last few months to soak up every drop of our short Maine summer. The season moves so quickly and one must make a deliberate effort to enjoy each day before the weather cools, the sun wanes, and the tourists pack up and leave town.
Bring Out Another Thousand
This summer allowed for a great deal of island hopping due to the acquisition of the Mighty Quinn, a dated 20’ center console boat to power our family along the rocky Maine coast. We explored a handful of the Casco Bay calendar islands including neighboring Long, far-flung Jewel, and aptly named Sand, a smidgen of uninhabited beach between Chebeague and Cliff Islands.
More to come on Mighty Quinn and our adventures around the bay. For now she rests, preparing for an engine overhaul and a long winter slumber. And so, currently boatless, I’m on the hunt for other forms of local entertainment. I haven’t had to wait long.
Late Night Trance at Battery Steele
Last night, just as I was about to head to bed, I heard some odd sounds emanating from the Battery. I popped open the windows, which face north towards the old World War II fort close to our home. Sure enough, something funky was going down at the Battery, and ever-curious I had to check it out.
At first, I thought maybe tonight could be the start of the Sacred and Profane festival, but it was early October and the Hunter’s Moon was still a couple weeks away. So, I jumped on my bike, strapped on a headlamp, and cycled into the pitch black island night. A light fog shrouded the air and I was glad that I brought my brightly colored anorak to fend off the damp.
As I approached the Battery the music grew louder, and my interest only stronger. Turning off by Florida Ave and heading towards the bunker, I felt nervous teenager jitters. It was past my 35-year-old bedtime of 9:45pm and I didn’t know what I was walking into. But I moved forward, knowing that Peaks takes care of its own.
Soon I was in the heart of the derelict building surrounded by 30 or so revelers at what appeared to be an impromptu dance party. A DJ was spinning tracks in the corner. Red lights illuminated the space in an odd, slightly unnerving glow. People of all ages – though with much cooler haircuts than me – were dancing.
I recognized a few familiar faces, dancing in rhythm, swinging from an old tire, and generally having fun. Fun, something particularly lacking these days during the long 19-month long pandemic. After an appropriate amount of awkward gawking, I let go of my reserve and joined the group, swaying from side to side. As I said, this island holds its mysteries tight, but every once in a while you stumble upon one. Tonight, deep in an abandoned WWII bunker at the edge of the world on Peaks Island, I came face-to-vaccinated-face with its charm.