March 28, 1968
Page 8219
Character of the State of Maine and Its People
HON. EDMUNDS. MUSKIE OF MAINE IN THE SENATE OF THE UNITED STATES Thursday, March 28, 1968
Mr. MUSKIE. Mr. President, two articles in the winter 1968 edition of the Maine Digest magazine, taken together, provide an unusual insight into the character of the State of Maine and its people.
The first, "Cruising Lobster Pot Alley in a Canoe," illustrates the beauty of Maine's coastline and the thrill of exploring it by canoe.
The second, "Maine Sesquicentennial – 1970," illustrates the innovative spirit with which many State of Mainers look forward to the future.
I ask unanimous consent that these two articles appear in the RECORD.
There being no objection, the articles were ordered to be printed in the RECORD, as follows:
CRUISING LOBSTER POT ALLEY IN A CANOE
(By Gardiner and Lina Means)
"You otta get a bigger bo't", was all the astonished lobsterman could say when he met our canoe, coming in around the string of islands that run out from Port Clyde, and seeming to emerge from the broad Atlantic. But he was voicing the consensus of the many other fishermen from whom we had bought lobsters for our lunch on the rocks, or at whose houses we had called to fill our water jugs.
Only once in our fifteen years of canoe cruising along the Maine coast from Casco Bay to Cutler Harbor has anyone accepted our means of transportation as unremarkable. That was when one of a group of men on a pier on Beal Island near Jonesport said to his doubting companions, "Well, the Indians usta. Why shouldn't these folks?"
In point of fact, handled by experienced paddlers with due respect for the changeable Maine seas, a fifteen foot Old Town canoe is an ideal craft for poking in among the myriad of islands that give the Maine coast its unique character. And no more attractive area invites exploration by the canoeist, for each island has a distinct personality which you can come to know intimately as you skirt under the shelter of the shore, beach on a tiny bit of sand or inviting pebbles, enjoy the sight and sound of crashing waves as you ride just outside the line where they hump to break, or as you hunt for a site to pitch the pup tent among the firs or in the grass above the beach or on a bit of peat which the sheep have not cut into waffle-like blocks.
The sailboat skipper who passes knows only the general outlines and the principal harbors; the canoeist knows the details – where the Indians got their flint on Flint Island, where the rock resembles petrified gray mud, where you can slide out on a shelf of red granite. Every island has a lea side with quiet water and even the tiniest bit of rock or land jutting from the sea may provide a welcome shelter from the wind and let you rest before pushing on to a more secure destination. Virtually every island offers a camp site for the night. In addition, the bright-colored lobster buoys which ring most of the islands and follow the coast, just far enough off shore to be safe and near enough to be interesting, mark an ideal route to travel. We call it "lobster pot alley"
Of course, Maine islands can present problems, too, like the acres of mussel flats that surround Sheep Island which we chose for our night's destination as we paddled into the sunset and which nearly ruined man and boat by the time we got through to the grassy shore, or the bare, ledgy island fully inhabited by birds where we found ourselves stormbound and faced the choice of a prolonged stay with unpleasant company or a fierce, precarious paddle before the wind to the nearest haven. Sometimes a good landing spot at arrival tide turns out very difficult when we come to depart. But almost without exception the islands as we have known them are each and every one a special delight.
And how better to enjoy Maine's spectacular weather? Is it a fog? You poke around in the canoe close to shore, or follow the line of faithful lobster buoys. Is it a storm? You put up your pup tent, tuck your gear under the overturned canoe, and sit it out. We sat out Hurricane Carol on Friendship Island, tent and canoe snug in a patch of woods on a lea slope. Is it a real, sparkling Maine day? In the canoe you are right there amid the dancing, gleaming tips of water, almost a part of the gay brilliance yourself. Or is there a full moon? Slip silently through the water as you travel down Somes Sound.
It's a fine way to enjoy the wild life, too. You are really close and intimate with your porpoise escort, and you can play wonderful games with the seals off North Haven who suddenly discover your presence, flop down in startled agitation, and then, overcome by their insatiable curiosity, pop up to peer at you again.
Our rules for safe and happy island cruising are simple and uniformly effective. First and foremost, don't take chances. If the sea is too rough or the sky too threatening, stay ashore.
Secondly, never cross more than a mile of open water, that is, never get more than a half a mile from land. We have often been tempted to violate this rule – to scoot across a mile and a half of calm sea – but we have learned our lesson too often to disregard it. We remember the flat calm in which we started to paddle around a small island below Stonington. Suddenly we saw a dark line in the water ahead of us, and within minutes the waves were whipping after us as we turned and scooted for camp. So we never let ourselves be lured into disregarding this rule.
There are few places we have not visited because of it, however, for almost nowhere are island stepping stones more than a mile apart. On the stepping stone principle, we have been able to come along the coast to Rockland, to explore Penobscot Bay, down to North Haven and Vinalhaven, over to and around Deer Isle and down to Isle au Haut, across Blue Hill Bay and down to Swans Island, across Frenchman's Bay and on beyond Schoodic, from the eastern side of Petit Manan to Jonesport, from Roque on up to Machias Bay.
A car on the shore gives us flexibility. Sometimes we put in at a central place, such as Friendship, and spend days paddling west and back, then east and back, going ashore at our launching point. At other times, we paddle up or down the coast, go ashore and hitch our way back to the car. In either case, the car enables us to sample the best parts of the coast without having to go out around each of the long peninsulas which run out into the Atlantic, though we have gone around some when the weather has been favorable.
Our third rule of the sea is "follow lobster pot alley". This is a guide rather than a strict rule, but it serves as a safety factor as well as a useful and pleasant route. For wherever a lobster boat can go to pull a pot, a canoe is safe from hidden and unknown rocks or eddies.
The fourth element which makes for ease and comfort is the mosquito-proof pup tent which we first thought of as a protection against rain, but soon learned to appreciate as our shield against the mosquito and to make our home from dusk through dawn.
For the canoeist who does relish portages – longer than the length of Maine's low-tide beaches – ocean canoeing under Maine conditions offers an ideal activity. Most of the time you can choose how hard you want to work – whether to stay ashore or go out when the breeze is strong, how far to travel in a day. The only compulsion comes from the water supply. Food can almost always be supplemented by fishing for harbor pollock, digging clams, gathering mussels, or intercepting a lobsterman pulling his pots. We carry water for a normal three days, stretchable without much difficulty to four. We could easily add another can if this amount should seem insufficient.
Only a few times have we had to work harder than we wanted to or found ourselves in a precarious situation. On the way to Isle au Haut, and again on the way to Swans, the wind freshened against us, and we were glad the distance was not greater. A tide rip at the mouth of the Medomak River created the kind of water which canoes like to stay out of – we bore down on Starboard Island with a heavy following wind and sea, hoping desperately – and rightly – that the cove we were heading for would turn out to have a landing beach.
Only one place on the coast has really defeated us – Petit Manan Point, with its guardian rock, Old Bull. On a hazy day, we had worked our way across Gouldsboro Bay and were following the lobster pots along the west shore of the Point with the intention of rounding it through the inside passage. Suddenly the fog came down, thick and white, and at the same moment we realized that the lobster pots had stopped. Pausing to get our bearings, we heard the roar of Old Bull – much too near. "This is no place for a canoe in the fog", we exclaimed and retreated until we found a lobster buoy and could start back along the shore.
But where were we to land? The chart showed no harbor, the sea was running and we could hear it pounding the shore, though we could not see it through the fog even from lobster pot alley. We noted a slight indentation on the chart and remembered seeing a wee cove as we had come out, so we felt our way back to it. As we approached through the fog we made out a tiny bit of gravel among the wave swept rocks – just enough for a quick landing in a canoe. Almost by the time we had carried our gear above the tide and had lifted the canoe onto the shoreward rocks, the tide had risen to obliterate our landing beach. Two days later we made our way overland through the fog, hitched a ride back to our car retrieved the canoe, and drove away, acknowledging Old Bull's ability to guard his point.
Some years later we found ourselves camped on the east side of Petit Manan on a fair, clear, gentle day. "Let's go back out around the Point", we said. "This is the day to see Old Bull and not just hear him roar". So we paddled down the length of the point, to where we could clearly see Old Bull with his waves breaking. Then we looked out. There, quite unpredictably, was a patch of fog. When we were less than a quarter of a mile from Old Bull, he disappeared into his fog blanket. "Done it again", we acknowledged ruefully. "Guess he doesn't want any canoes going around his point". So back we paddled. In a few minutes – we looked back to see – the fog gone and Old Bull grinning his "I told you so" at us.
Though Old Bull kept us from going around Petit Manan, the surf on the rocks at Schoodic did not. After we had sat out a storm near Winter Harbor, the day broke clear and golden, with a gentle breeze barely rippling the surface of the sea. Just the day to paddle around the point. Just the day, too, for visitors to the Acadia National Park to come down on the great red Schoodic rocks to watch the seas, raised by the Storm, roll in and break with towering spray. What was the visitors' evident astonishment to look out over the curling, roaring white water and to see a small gray canoe serenely paddled along, quite unaffected by the great, mountainous seas. They looked every bit at horrified as the lobsterman who told us to get a bigger boat.
Canoe cruising on salt water is indeed an unappreciated vacation possibility. In all our voyaging we have never met another travel canoe. It is not an activity we would recommend to the greenhorn whose only paddling has been on quiet streams or ponds. But for experienced and competent canoeists, there is no better way to enjoy to the full the unmatched beauty of Maine's islanded coast.
MAINE SESQUICENTENNIAL, 1970: A PROPOSAL
(By Gene Peterson)
Like a stately grand dame the State of Maine carries her years gracefully. She now approaches her 150th birthday and in 1970 Maine will celebrate her sesquicentennial. If this wonderful area has any wrinkles – they show only in her green mountain valleys. If she sheds any tears over her aging – they appear only as deep blue lakes. If she has any worries – they are evidenced only as snow on her white capped winter mountains. Like vintage wine, this beautiful state of ours grows more rare with each passing year. Then too, her stalwart sons and daughters have risen over the past century and a half to become an even hardier breed than their early blood stock.
From a long and glorious past Maine looks confidently to the next hundred and fifty years with a determination that it will eclipse the prodigious deeds that have gone before.
Hardly noticed in the closing days of a bitterly divided 103rd Legislature was the appointment by Governor Kenneth Curtis of Senator Walter Birt as Chairman of the Maine Sesquicentennial Committee.
The Committee to be selected to assist the chairman will be charged with the monumental task of preparing a state wide celebration in observance of the separation of Maine from Massachusetts.
This committee will have set before it one of the most challenging opportunities ever presented to a citizens panel. They will have the chore of creating a celebration and a theme that can initiate one of the most fruitful and satisfying events this proud state has ever experienced. Many and varied activities should be planned to properly present the mode of living and cultural creativeness that belongs to Maine. They should revolve around a central theme.
Let us meet this challenge with high resolve – and original concepts. Resolve, to make the Sesquicentennial like none other before it, original, in the scope and theme of display.
I would respectfully submit this unique theme to the committee that Senator Birt will head. It will truly make the Maine motto "Dirigo" vibrant and meaningful.
Petition the governments of Sweden, Denmark, Norway and Iceland to join with us to sponsor a Twentieth Century Viking Voyage to America. It has been conclusively established that Viking voyagers did sail up and down the East Coast of America as far south as Cape Cod. Recreate the voyage with three of the Viking Longboats manned with nationals of the four Scandinavian countries – colorfully garbed in their Viking bearskin robes with the riveted horn helmets.
What theme shall we then choose that is fitting and worthy to represent the State of Maine? How shall we show our state to its best advantage. What showcase will attract the most attention and not be a meaningless montage of cheap commercialism? Perhaps most important of all, what can we do that will retain its impact for years to come?
May I respectfully submit to whatever committee is finally chosen that we project a grand theme of international proportions. Let us look to the sea that has for so many years been as much a part of our heritage as the air we breathe. In so doing, let us reaffirm our heritage by inviting other seafaring peoples to join us in our celebration.
What more appropriate area to associate with in the celebration than the Scandinavian countries. Here too is the sea – food and drink – to all who live there. Here too are snow and mountains and hardy stock. Here too, are the lovers of the green trees, snow clad mountains, ice blue lakes and rugged individualism. The similarities are striking.
Allow your imagination to dwell on the possibilities of a transatlantic voyage with a caravan of three Viking Longboats, manned by twentieth century Vikings. These hardy Norsemen of today, plowing the waters of the North Atlantic in their Dragon prowed vessels would capture the attention of the whole world – not just the United States.
It does not take much imagination to picture in your minds eye the striking sight of these boats, their single sails bellied out in a stiff breeze, a bearded Viking at the tiller and the metal shields gleaming over the single banks of oars on each side of the hulls.
If Allen Villiers sailing the Mayflower on its voyage to New York could attract hundreds of thousands of viewers to line the banks of the East River to see his arrival, how many more could we in Maine attract with far more colorful pageantry? The attention paid to this modern sea epic would give us a showcase for the initial phase of the Sesquicentennial that could never be bought for mere money. We would find our sea saga gaining international attention from the time the first dowel was driven into the first longboat.
While this would be the moving factor in gaining world wide attention for our venture, here at home we would be putting the permanent touches to the project by building a true replica of a Viking Village circa 780 A.D.
Long after the glamour and excitement of the landing of the Viking Longboats had become a pleasant memory the installation on the Maine coastline of a Viking Village would be a tourist attraction of the proportions of Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia.
Built on the Maine coast with a sweeping sea vista this Viking Village would attract hundreds of thousands of casual visitors for generations to come. With its rough log construction and the simple homely quality of buildings that Americans connect with our period of growth and development, we would have here in Maine the very essence of the vanishing rural homestead.
After all, one sixth of America springs from a Scandinavian background. This fact and no more would make the Viking Village a valuable economic asset to the state. The American log cabin was born in Scandinavia.
Looking at the theme from a cultural aspect, we could expect to have international music festivals held here annually. With the inclusion of a Great Hall in the architectural splendor of Viking Village it should not be too difficult to sponsor many of the performing arts that are common to the United States and the rest of the world.
Many foreign dignitaries are hosted by the United States each year and frequently the Federal government sees fit to quarter them at Williamsburg, prior to, or following a visit to Washington. With an installation of the magnitude I vision, it is certainly not inconceivable that our Viking Village would be looked upon with favor as a scenic spot for these foreign guests to visit. Certainly our environmental factors, especially weather, would have to be favored over Virginia in the summer when the temperatures are brutal in Williamsburg, air conditioning notwithstanding.
The warmth of the Village with its birch bark and sod roofed houses and churches, farm buildings and boats, all bearing the stamp of originality would give the State of Maine a world renowned tourist attraction that can easily become ranked with St. Moritz and Tivoli.
Of course the impact of a Viking Voyage and Viking Village on all aspects of culture and economics are too immense to be covered here, but it is interesting to contemplate them. Strict zoning on the part of the state to maintain the purity of construction on peripheral surroundings would preserve the authenticity and value of the installation. For years to come we could invite motoring America to, "take a trip abroad without ever leaving the country."
The concept of this venture that I suggest to the men and women who will plan the Sesquicentennial Celebration for Maine in 1970 is unique. Its freshness, its charm and its primal appeal to an America becoming jaded with the pseudo-sophisticated tinsel that they are being constantly fed, will make the Viking Village a valuable and sought after spot for true family enjoyment. The construction of this beautiful set of buildings over an area of approximately one square mile will add much to the natural beauty of any site in which it is set. It will also attract to us the substantial and wholesome family type tourist that is so welcome in Maine.
The planners of the 150th Anniversary of Maine may have entirely different views and values, but I submit the "Viking Village" and "Viking Voyage to America" as a concept that should, at any cost, be sincerely considered.