Low Maine

Leaving the vicinity of Concord, NH, and heading along a non-interstate path, we were able to breach the southern tip of Maine around 10:30 AM. Earlier, I awoke early and just after dawn, to the rhythmic pecking of a woodpecker. If you haven't heard a woodpecker, it is like an echoing, poignant, dull throb.  "Poink, Poink, Poink, Poink, Poink, Poink, Poink!"  Seven in a row, and then surprising silence for just enough time to reconsider the defeathering, and then another few batches of Poinks and I wished the hard nosed bird was dead.

Wrap up of the campsite was a bit slow, but possessing the flattering combination of no required destination and no required timeline, how could it matter?  At 10:30 AM, sitting on a Visitor Center bench at the southernmost point of Maine, I saw visions of grandeur and made the call that we'd be camping in Acadia, watching the Peresids meteor shower, on the shores of the Atlantic, in a magical national park, as the last embers of our fire died out this night.

Unfortunately, it doesn't always work out the way you think.  We were a bit late getting to Acadia, arriving around 4 PM, and apparently the first-come, first-served camping spots are usually filled around 9 AM.  This is the first time I wanted to camp in a National Park and have been rejected...Oh, NPS You're so good, I can't be mad at you; I forgive you.

Tomorrow morning, 9AM, I'll be in line for a camping slot.  Tomorrow night, and probably the night after that I will be lying on my back, looking straight up, and if the sky is clear, and if the moon is shy, I could see meterorites.  And I'll probably do something during the day too worth writing about.

RT
(why no pictures?  Because I either can't find or worse forgot to bring my camera to computer transfer line.  I'm taking pictures, though only a handull so far.  I'll look again for the connector, but I may have to insert the photos later.)