A Morning Hike

Awake at 6 a.m., I don’t crawl out of bed till 7:00.  We sit on the front porch sipping our coffee relishing the sea the sun the flowers.  Just being here. I check the boat schedule to see when the first boatload of day-trippers will arrive, and tell Michael we need to get going if we want to take a solitary walk to Lobster Cove.  My thought is there and back—a quick thirty to forty-five minutes.  I forget who I am married to.

Lobster Cove

The day is glorious.  The sky a pristine blue.  We meet only one hiker on our way–a woman with a folding chair on her back heading to Lobster Cove. My turtle-type pace hasn’t improved—probably never will—and she passes us by.  When we arrive there is only one other person in sight—an artist setting up her French easel in the middle of the jagged promontory.

We stumble across the ruined and rusted remains of the D.T. Sheridan, a seagoing diesel tug that ran aground on the rocky outcropping of Lobster Cove in 1948. We walk on, heading for Christmas Cove my favorite cove of the two, and sit and rest and stare, soaking up just being here.

 

 

 An Alternate Route Home

Michael takes the trail map from his pocket and tells me we should continue around the point till we get to the other side of the island and then cut across the interior and head back home.  The trail is marked difficult in places on the proposed route, which I am too happy to point out, and Michael is too happy to ignore.

“We did it fifteen years ago,” he says.

Well yes, we did it fifteen years ago, I think.

So we proceed.  When we finally seem to be at the trails end with our only options down into the ocean or over the rocks and into the ocean Michael admits defeat and suggests we head inland, up a slope through low lying brush.  We once again make contact with the/a trail (there are seventeen miles of trails here on Monhegan) and wind back up where we started—Lobster Cove. Two and a half hours later we sit on the front porch rockers–recuperating.

The afternoon brings rain and books and naps.  At 6 p.m. we head to the Fish House and purchase two lobster dinners-to-go. When tallied up, we pay the unbelievable grand total of $36.  Bringing home our bounty, we gather wine, utensils, plates and lobster claw crackers.  We enjoy our messy feast on the side porch sheltered from the cool evening breeze blowing in from the sea.

The lobsters, fresh from the ocean, are sweet and tender and I am able to break the claws with my hands—no tools needed.  Michael clears the plates and returns with a giant oatmeal cookie for me which he purchased while I napped.

Just sitting here is a very good thing.