We
Earthlings learn to live – sooner or later - with a set of natural laws which
are as disheartening as they are implacable. Chief among them for
traditionalists such as I is the fact that almost everything we come to think
of as “ours” is subject to change. Whether we believe in the Chaos Theory or
not, much that we regard as long-lived really isn’t. When asked by friends and
associates why I nurture a special attachment for the New England in which I
grew up, and why I feel a compulsion to return as often as possible, my honest
answer arises from the belief that even though subject to the same change as
other pieces of geography, change seems to come much slower there; especially
in certain obstinate pockets of landscape and people where respect for old
traditions is clearly manifest and the tempo of life less hurried.
For more than half of my adult life,
the mid-coast of Maine has been a spiritual “touchstone” for me; a piece of
North America where my feet find a special grip and my mind is gentled by a
sense of “belonging”; a descendant of ship-builders, mariners and
island-dwellers on two sides of my family, genetics are partly to blame no
doubt. Starting from the Penobscot Bay end and moving south and west to the
Casco Bay region, I love such port towns as Searsport, Camden, Rockport,
Rockland and Round Pond, with my heart beating extra fast as I drive down the
Pemaquid peninsula from Damariscotta to our traditional home-away-from-home at
New Harbor. As we drive northward (Down East) though, from southern New England
in our usual approach to the region, we come first to Wiscasset – a historic
village of old sea captains’ homes and a picturesque harbor on the tidal
Sheepscot River first settled in 1663. (Wiscasset is an old Indian name meaning
“coming out from the harbor, but you don’t see where.”)
For almost all of those personal
years, our arrival in Wiscasset was made glorious by the well-anticipated sight
of the Luther Little and the Hesper at rest in the harbor, and as
much a part of the town as the Church with its tall spire, and the draw bridge
across the ever-flowing Sheepscot. Always, we would stop, pull into a parking
space, get out of our vehicle – kids, guests and all – and feast our eyes on
the regal image of those tall four-masted “ghost ships” from out of the past,
slowly, but gracefully settling into the mud of the old harbor near the
crumbling coal wharf.
Built and launched in Massachusetts
around 1918, and each capable of carrying huge loads of coal, timber and other
commodities along the east coast and to Europe and South America under
thousands of square feet of sail, the two wooden ships required only small crews,
and were economical to operate – even against newer steam-powered competitors.
By the 1930s though, only a small handful of the 4, 5 and 6-mast vessels were
still in service, mostly as tourist carriers, and the Luther Little and the Hesper
languished in retirement. A local
businessman and visionary named Frank Winter purchased and brought the
“sisters” to Wiscasset where he planned to combine them with a railroad line he
also bought, in order to establish a comprehensive lumber and coal
transportation network. Alas, Winter died before his dream could be realized,
and the ownerless coastal “queens” slipped into a slow decline, becoming
instead a revered part of the town’s shoreline, and nationally-recognized
icons.
Each year, we would notice changes
as the “ghostly” carcasses lost first one, then another tall mast, leaning more
and more to port or starboard, finally succumbing to storm damage and fires.
Then following a powerful storm in 1995, they were no more than heaps of
debris, and three years later, the town had them hauled off.
I still love the town of Wiscasset
for all of the reasons it has been a part of my Down East “home-coming” through
the years; but there is a sadness that touches my heart as we pass the spot
made almost sacred by those two stubborn “sisters” which seemed to support the
notion that not everything has to change.
A glance in the mirror proves though that that is only a notion.
The
four-masted coastal schooners Hesper
and Luther Little sink slowly into
the harbor mud at Wiscasset, Maine, finally falling prey to weather and time,
and taking with them a piece of maritime history. Photo by Al Cooper – Circa 1970
A
culinary trademark of coastal Maine is the much-loved “toasted lobster
roll”. Many establishments offer them,
but the very best is found at a tiny roadside café known as “Red’s Eats” in
Wiscasset, Maine, where the proprietors promise that every one contains all the
meat from at least a one-pound lobster.
Tell them Al Cooper sent you!
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