NATURE NOTES FROM ACADIA

SCHOODIC PENINSULA - A PART OF ACADIA NATIONAL PARK

Schoodic Peninsula points its long granite finger southward into the Gulf of Maine just west of 68° longitude. To the westward, and separated from it by the waters of Frenchman Bay, lies Mount Desert Island, "l'isle des Monts deserts" as Champlain called it; to the northeastward the Maine coast continues tattered and torn to and beyond the easternmost point of land in the United States. That portion of Schoodic which reaches farthest into the sea is a part of Acadia, the national park whose limits at present are confined largely within the chain of low round-topped granite mountains which constiute the outstanding features of the already-mentioned island to the westward. Little Schoodic Mountain, the highest land on the peninsula, lies entirely within the boundaries of the national park, its pine-and spruce-covered slopes rising 437 feet above that great expanse of southward-reaching sea which is Schoodic's chief claim for distinction.

Ribboned by slate-colored dikes, the pink frost-riven granite rocks, long since scoured by the passing of wide-spread glaciers, remain unmantled along a narrow continuous fringe of shore, a wasteland where the pounding waves and ever-moving tides are checked. Mewing gulls patrol the rocky sea-beaches where tangled mats of brown seaweeds, bleached remains of shell-fishes, crabs, and sea urchins, and a heterogeneous litter lies stranded marking the houndaries of the highest tides.

Beyond is an unbroken stretch of virgin realm which nothing bounds but the mythical line of the horizon -a flowing empire ruled by the wind and haunted by fogs.

"The wind of the land is a hindered thing,
But the ocean wind is free."

It is a region of heavy ocean swells and combing breakers, of tossing buoys and little fishing smacks which rise and fall on the heaving waters, of waves breaking white over scattered ledges, and of shadowy forms of sea birds which wing their way low over this turbulent domain.

In summer the long-winged fish-hawks hover screaming over their high-perched bulky nests close to the sea; swallow-like terns fly to and fro in small troops over the waves; little black and white "sea pigeons," with their bright coral-colored feet trailing behind, leave their nests in the crannies of high cliffs to seek food in the fertile ocean; ravens haunt the mountains and rocky shores; and a host of other birds find a summer home in this region of sea and isle and tattered coast.

Winter's icy seal completely transforms Schoodic's rock-littered strand. Glazed and re-glazed by wave and tide and frigid winds the coastal region becomes a heavily ice-armored desolation. Frozen are the coves and over them there broods a majestic stillness, a

"Silence more musical than any song."

Almost overpowering at times is this solemn peace of winter - not the deathlike quiet of the grave but the hushed and mysterious stillness which reigns over the dawn and the sunset, over the blooming of flowers, the growing of trees, the coloring of October's leaf, and the bejeweling of the spiders web in early morning. Nature's grandest doings appear to be wreathed in such a silence.

But if we were to go to the summit of Schoodic Mountain and look about at the panorama of far-flung coast and boundless sea we could not help but be impressed by how infinitesimal is winter's power over the ocean. Beyond the stillness of the ice-locked coves the wild chatter of the old squaws and the scream of the gulls comes from a domain which defies the fetters of the coldest winters. Here the funereal "shag" wings its way from ledge to sea and to ledge again, and many sea-fowl come and go, singly and in flocks of all sizes. Scoter, "whistler," bufflehead, "shelldrake," murre, "ice-bird," eider, grebe and loon - all these and others brave the sweep of frigid winds to garner a never-failing harvest from the fruitful sea.

"How is he like the seabirds that by night
Sleep on the dull dark ocean, and by day
Float on the sunny billows, and they see
Where'er they go the self-same images,
The sun's white glory far within the deep,
And the blue vale of water 'twixt the waves,
Ever the same, yet ever chang'd"

Faber: Sir Launcelot

--Arthur Stupka