The maze of winter has not been very challenging this season (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

With the month of March upon us, it doesn’t take much coaxing to start dreaming of yellows and greens, with thoughts of blossoms and warmer air filling in the gaps of our minds left drab by a winter season neither all that white nor memorable.

Try as it might, winter has simply not been able to gain its customary grip on the Maine coast this year. Scant snowfall totals and thin skims of ice are pretty much all we have to show from a season normally noted for its frosty personality in these parts.

It seems like each time a blast of Arctic air dares move in over our coastal terra firma, its bitter attributes are forced into a full retreat by warmer drafts well before they can subdue land and sea with volleys of crystal and rime.

But just because the calendar says spring is on the way, Mainers know all too well that winter won’t be shown the door without tossing its bag of tricks into the wind a time or two more.

Of course, wouldn’t you know that just as meek and mild February is giving way to March, things would suddenly turn interesting? With forecasters warning of a snowstorm for much of northern New England, any thoughts of the enduring mud season going green will be forced into momentary hibernation.

As for the idea of snow making an appearance, well, quite frankly, I had just about given up on the possibility due to the mild winter and its infamous rain/snow lines. I remain conflicted at this late stage as to whether I even desire snow, despite my affection for all things winter.

A close-up view of Arctic sea smoke moving across icy waters as the sun gives it color (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Looking back, it has been more than a month since the last act of winter offered up a delightful memory along Midcoast Maine.

As I recall the details, it was during late January when my family and I took note of weather reports that cited a frosty foray was about to dip down from Canada, bearing a promise to send temperatures plummeting into the single digits.

With such bitter cold opportunities in short supply at the time, we decided to get out and about before sunrise in hopes of enjoying the elusive sight of Arctic sea smoke.

The conditions were favorable for the alluring vapor to appear, but experience reveals that even when it seems the air is cold enough and sufficient humidity is present, sea smoke does not always show itself.

Still, such an iffy proposition did not deter us.

This particular Sunday morning in January was indeed as frigid as forecasted but apparently the brew of icy ingredients in the air was lacking a dash of something, for there were no traces of sea smoke to be found in Rockland Harbor not far from our home.

Sea smoke rises into the air before sunrise around Ducktrap River not far from Lincolnville Beach (Photo by Bob Trapani Jr.)

Driving northward on Route One, the same could be said for the snug harbors of Rockport and Camden. At this point the thought crossed our minds that winter’s touch – cold as it was, just might not be able to coax the Arctic vapor into taking to the liquid dance floor of the sea.

As we departed Camden, I remember peering eastward where it was obvious from the energized glow on the horizon that the sun was just minutes from rising out of the sea.  All the while the morning sky was becoming awash in a stunning dress of pink, which enticed me to pull over along the desolate sands at Lincolnville Beach to admire the pastel firmament.

That’s when we noticed there was something more in the distance to the north – sea smoke! The stealth vapor was keeping a low profile as it hovered over the thin waters of nearby Ducktrap River and seemed to possess no desire to venture further out into the bay.

The fact that nearly all of Penobscot Bay, including the sheltered waters around Gilkey’s Harbor on Islesboro (an island located three miles to the east of Lincolnville Beach,) was vapor-free mattered little to us. For any sighting of sea smoke, regardless of how far and wide it writhers, is always fascinating to witness.

Hoarfrost imprisoned all the trees and vegetation along water's edge in Belfast Harbor (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

This experience, as neat as it was, would pale in comparison to what awaited us another thirty minutes up the road in Belfast Harbor.

Not far out of the City of Belfast we could see evidence of thicker sea smoke lurking in the distance over Belfast Bay, so we veered off Route One and drove down into town for a closer look. What we discovered – to our surprise, was a harbor draped in an amazing crystal world. Along the waterfront, all of the trees and vegetation were imprisoned by thick coatings of hoarfrost, making for a stunning scene.

Lured by the sparkling views, I parked our vehicle and decided to explore the immediate surroundings. Just after stepping outside of our vehicle, I was caught off guard by the intensity of the cold air. Without warning the temperature had dropped from around seven degrees out on Route One to minus two degrees along water’s edge at Belfast Harbor. The abrupt nine degree swing did not factor in the wind chill, which was even less hospitable to any exposed skin.

Shaking off the bitter encounter with the cold air, I was astonished at the state of frozenness around me. But all was not still. I could also sense a mysterious dynamic at work in the air at the same time, and despite the presence of a rising sun in the eastern sky, unseen drafts were causing the waterfront to grow eerily darker by the moment.

Before long a gray murkiness crept in upon the shoulders of a sly breeze and cloaked the harbor in a mist powerful enough to douse all semblance of light the sun could hurl forth. In recollection, what amazed me most wasn’t the manifestation of sea smoke, but how rapid and extensive it developed.

A wall of vapor rises over Belfast Bay in late January (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

In rolling fashion, the sea smoke enveloped the harbor within a few minutes, piling vapor high above the water and as thick as pea soup. With visibility banished to reaches beyond Belfast Bay, there was little to see, which prompted my family and me to leave this low lying nook of Penobscot Bay and head for the elevated ground north of Belfast.

Breaking free from the visual chains of the sea smoke as we crossed the Passagassawakeag River (pas-uh-gas-uh-WAH-keg) by bridge, it became evident from our perch high above the harbor that the breath of winter we had just encountered was also tumbling about unrestrained in Belfast Bay.

The wall of vapor was so extensive along this indentation, and in a state of constant plunging, that it presented the appearance of an icy brew being stirred inside a boiling caldron. Its restless and writhing motion further exuded a sense of burning by the rays of the sun, which danced in concert with the condensation to create magnificent color and drama. 

Who knows what the breath of winter still has in store for the Maine coast (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

This memorable winter moment continues to stand out in my mind not just for its beauty and motion, but also because it has few other occasions to compete with its memory.

Will the snowstorm on February 29 / March 1 offer the Maine coast its own winter theatrics and grandeur? Time will tell, but for now, it appears prudent to be wary of the notion that winter may have no teeth left – for what the season has lacked in bite it may still have in breath!

By the way, did you know that locals in the Belfast area refer to the Passagassawakeag River as the “Passy,” or humorously, the “Passy gassy rum keg?”

Hoarfrost weighs heavy on a tree in Belfast Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Arctic sea smoke dances across the frozen waters of Searsport Harbor (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

The morning sun finally breaks from the wall of vapor on an otherwise frigid cold morning in late January 2012 (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Without blankets of snow on the ground the sky can often provide a vibrancy not found along a winter landscape (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

With the month of January about to take its leave of us, I looked back upon the weeks passed and contemplated a time period traditionally laden with snow and ice – a time when Arctic air holds the Maine coast within its tightest grip of the year.

However, if the evidence to date is destined to be a pattern rather than a noticeable blip on the resume׳ of winter 2011-12, then so much for tradition. For up until now, “Old Man Winter” has certainly lacked the power to usher in its sustaining realm of cold in the face of an adversarial jet stream.

Yes, some snow has adorned the coastal landscape in a pretty dress of white here and there, but its stark absence for most of the month has not only kept winter fun on the shelf, it has also doused the spirits of those enduring the season’s short days and lack of vibrancy.

Cumulonimbus clouds serve as a powerful backdrop for Curtis Island Lighthouse on winter day in January (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Even though snow can bring its share of hardships during a storm, each blanketing eventually soothes our souls with sparkling beauty as it graces pastures, pines and ledges in a breathtaking fashion.

So with trees stripped of their leaves and the ground offering up nothing more than unimaginative brown hues along every step of the way, I decided to raise my daily focus and search the firmament for those vivid moments to ease the disappointment spawned by our snow drought.

Indeed, even with its limited ability to ascend high in the wintertime sky and overall lack of intense warmth, the sun remains a trusty friend with a boundless penchant for all things bright, cheery and colorful.

Then there is the lighthouse – that charming sentinel at the edge of the sea with its own beaming light and vigilant personality, all of which never fails to inspire feelings of joy and contentment.

The burgeoning billows bridged the expanse of Penobscot Bay (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Together, these two sources of light collaborated on more than a few occasions during the month of January to help banish any “bummer” thoughts that lurked in the back of my mind over a winter without much of an icy glimmer to it.

One notable encounter where sun and sentinel assumed the grand stage of the outdoors in lock-step was admired just off Curtis Island in Camden.

Actually it was the riveting presence of cumulonimbus clouds draped across an afternoon sky that beckoned my wife Ann-Marie and me to find a suitable vantage point for absorbing the moment to its fullest that led us to stop at the Curtis Island Overlook.

The burgeoning billows reminded me of summertime thunderheads, so when they settled in behind the island light station, the scene suddenly transcended the seasons in a most profound manner.

As the clouds bridged the expanse of Penobscot Bay, the sun splashed its radiant light upon their countenance, which highlighted every puffy curvature in shades of white, blue and gray.

This winter sunset presents the illusion that a stretch of a distant island is a burning inferno (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Where a blanket of white was missing on the ground about me, the same could not be said in the sky high above me. All the while, Curtis Island Lighthouse stood amidst this dynamic scene like an exclamation point punctuating a moment of pure magnificence.

Yet when it comes to the sheer splendor of color, the energy of afternoon sunlight takes a bow to the sun’s greatest displays of tinted glows, which occur at sunrise and sunset – with sundown possibly being the finest act of them all.

During wintertime, the time of sunset seems even more beautifully mysterious than any other time of year. Maybe it’s the bitter cold air that forces us to seek warmth – even if it is mostly symbolic in nature, from the presence of a docile sun, or the fact that the whipping winds transform the sea into a dark, agitated vacuum, which serves only to accentuate the dashes of royal color in the sky above.

Whatever the reasons, there is something special about the regal beauty of a winter sunset – a scene that often occurs amidst the air of complete solitude.

The former fog bell at Marshall Point Lighthouse soaks up the warm glow of the sun (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

It was during such a quiet moment at Marshall Point Lighthouse in Port Clyde when Ann-Marie and I witnessed another stunning show by the sun as it prepared to bid adieu to one more January day.

During its afternoon descent the sun doused the landscape in hues of rich oranges, which warmed the soul if not the rest of me. As I looked about the grounds of the light station, I noticed how the former fog bell – a permanent exhibit at the site, seemed invigorated in appearance.

Intrigued, I took off my glove and touched its iron skin to see if the sun’s radiant glow was being absorbed in the form of heat. The answer to my silent query was, “not really.” Back on went the glove as my gaze shifted from the fog bell to the arena of the tides.

At this point the sun was low enough where I could hide from its brilliance in the shadow of Marshall Point Lighthouse. Above me, though I know it did not change from minutes prior, the ceiling created by a thick layer of clouds seemed to be closing in around me.

Maybe it was just the angle of the sun and the transitions of evening light in motion, but whatever it was; there was an air of mystery about the place.

The setting sun sets the lantern of Marshall Point Lighthouse aglow in stunning fashion (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Raising my camera to silhouette the lighthouse against the bright background, I was suddenly stopped in my tracks by an unexpected scene of lustrous proportions beginning to unfold before me. Dashes of yellows, reds, pinks and purples descended upon the lighthouse and the sea in rapid fashion while daylight behind me dimmed further in what seemed like an act of deference to the sun’s noble departure beyond the horizon.

Yet for the entire splendor cascading about me, I found my eyes affixed to the lantern of Marshall Point Lighthouse, which was glowing in a manner I had not seen before.

The brilliance occupying the top of the tower was as deep as it was sparkling – so much so that the beacon inside, which was shining bright itself, was no match to the golden luster of the star of stars.

Outlining the tower’s cupola was a thin red drape of color that, along with the dazzling affects stirred up inside the lantern, gave the lighthouse an unearthly appearance not easily forgotten.

Alas, as with all astonishing shows of light and color, the display’s intensity faded as quickly as it emerged, but not before it etched its memory in my mind and buoyed the spirits of one who – for a moment, forgot all about the fact that winter has yet to share its own sparkling glimmers in full array.

Marshall Point Lighthouse is doused in a sea of color during a January 2012 sunset (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The setting sun displays layers of whites, yellows and pinks as it bids a winter day adieu (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

The lobster boat "Sasha" rides out the storm at its mooring in Tenants Harbor (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

The calendar was moving towards mid-January and still winter had not blown great guns during a season it usually holds tight in a grip of frozen mire.

Missing was the shriek of the bitter northeast gale, and the fitful snows that ride fast and furious on its shoulders. Absent too were thick blankets of ice that banish the free-flowing waters of rivers and harbors from sight.

In the back of my snow-starved mind, I even questioned whether “Old Man Winter’s” frosty countenance might simply pass us by. Was it possible? The thought was unthinkable.

For though we can grow weary of winter’s long, hard stay by March, there is still a strange fondness for a season that imposes its will upon us in such an influential manner. A coastal Maine winter simply isn’t – well winter, without healthy doses of Arctic air, gales to spare and of course, snow. Some years, lots of the white stuff too!

But alas, winter lives!

Storm seas flex their muscle along the Maine coast during the January 12th northeaster (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

By no means did this force of the north knock in the doors during its most impressive showing to date on January 12, 2012, but “Old Man Winter,” and his pal “Jack Frost,” did deliver a solid punch over a period of four days that reminded many that Maine’s cold-blue season still has plenty of bite.

The above average temperatures squatting on winter’s turf up until now were finally sent packing by a northeast gale born of brisk air. The storm on the twelfth stirred the seas and filled the skies with dashes of white, dropping a total of two to five inches of snow along the coast before it moved out to sea.

Admittedly the snow totals were modest, but the fact that we actually received a measurable snowfall this winter season was reason enough to celebrate – at least for those who like snow or who earn their living when it piles up.

The icy grip of winter has finally taken hold. Shown is Marshall Point Light (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

On the heels of the gale came the next chilling encounter as Arctic air swept down from Canada. The icy grip of “Jack Frost” took a firm hold of the Maine coast on January 15 and 16, sending the mercury plummeting to near zero and wind chills even lower into the minus teens.

The results were starkly bone-chilling.

The blast of cold air became more daunting to cope with thanks to northwest winds that blew without feeling – or at least a comfortable feeling that is. The sting of these gusty drafts was unforgiving on any and all exposed skin, to the point where even the hardiest of resolves was tested in the face of this relentless force.

For those who go down to the sea, there simply was no place to hide. Air temperatures in the single digits and water temps around forty degrees teamed up to ensure that the mystery of Arctic sea smoke would burn cold for two days.

But what a show it was!

The restless vapor may be in a constant state of dissipation when it manifests itself on the water, yet for brief moments, its movements are as uncontainable as they are riveting. Doused in morning sunlight, the vapor becomes soaked in pinks, oranges and yellows, all of which lends a hand to the sea assuming an unearthly appearance – even fire-like.

Arctic sea smoke dances atop West Penobscot Bay at sunrise on January 15th (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Such a scene would inspire the imagination to further contemplate the fascinating choreography of this Arctic-borne vapor, if not for the bitterness that envelops the air. Instead, a front row seat by the sea is one that cannot be occupied for long without enduring ever-rising levels of discomfort. The same air that gives life to the sea smoke also wages a war of attrition on one’s ability and determination to ward off its effects.

Still, I for one would have it no other way.

Every ounce of discomfort is well worth the opportunity to admire winter’s dramatic beauty – and to ponder its bitter but regal personality. At least for a couple of months more, may the northeast gale blow strong and the fingers of ice encase both river and ledge – and of course, let it snow, let it snow!

So my frosty friend – better late than never!

All is quiet along Camden Harbor - to the point where one could almost "hear' the snow falling (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Storm seas break hard over the Rockland Breakwater during the height of the gale (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The "Spindrift" from Spruce Head rocks and rolls amidst the agitated seas (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

The "Mallary Sky" from Matinicus Island and a nearby skiff hold their ground inside Tenants Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Though fascinating, the frigid scene along West Penobscot Bay was anything but inviting on the morning of January 15th (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The Maine State Ferry heads into the "unknown" enroute to Vinalhaven Island (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Arctic sea smoke swirls around the Rockland Breakwater in almost mysterious fashion (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Arctic sea smoke soaked in color at sunrise (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

In fire-like fashion, the bay burned cold on the morning of January 15th (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Arctic sea smoke surrounds the "Misty Mae" in Port Clyde Harbor (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Ice forms on the hull of the "Sea Hag" at its waterline (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

The Gulf of Maine on the morning of January 15th (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Winter's harsh grip freezes the reach of the tide and turns everything stone cold (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

In paradox-like fashion, winter is the one season of the year where the harsher its conditions become the more spectacular beauty it renders.

Winter’s icy grip can be gentle enough to coax moisture-laden clouds into yielding a treasure-trove of crystal flakes, yet powerful enough to arrest the fidgety reaches of the tide in a frozen state of brine.

But there is one frosty scene during winter – Arctic sea smoke, that requires just the right mixture of bone-chilling conditions before it manifests its wispy countenance upon the surface of the sea.

This vaporous curiosity often appears when temperatures plummet to single digits and wind chills make one think twice about venturing out to spend a moment’s time near water’s edge.

The morning sun adds a colorful vibrancy to the Arctic sea smoke dancing about West Penobscot Bay (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

On the morning of January 4, 2012, Arctic air from Canada dipped down over the Maine coast and reminded Mainers that our moderate winter may soon be but a memory. The sting of this cold air mass was both stark and encompassing, quickly transforming the rocky coastline into a frozen wasteland.

However, it was such bitter conditions that set the stage for the riveting sea smoke to appear at dawn, creating grand theatre with nary an audience to admire its delightful spectacle.

The meteorological explanation for Arctic sea smoke involves a number of factors that include air and water temperature, dew point and relative humidity, but the science behind this winter phenomenon matters little when the beauty of this dancing vapor appears in its entire splendor.

The sun makes it appear as if the clouds and the Arctic sea smoke are ablaze (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

From my vantage point at the Rockland Breakwater on this fourth day of the New Year, it was as if the sea smoke dare not take up residency inside the protected waters of the harbor, but chose instead to glide and pirouette on the shoulders of the wind along the open expanses of Penobscot Bay and beyond.

All the while a thick cloudbank seemed determined to delay the radiance of sunrise, perching itself directly atop the horizon, but its puffy presence could not rise to the heights of morning’s brilliance on this day.

As it is, the sun is no friend to Arctic sea smoke as it eventually heats-up the air and causes the vapor to dissipate. However, for a brief interval during its early morning ascension, the sun will soak the sea smoke with rich color ensuring the vapor’s final curtain call is as vivid as it is dramatic.

The bay "burns" cold as the Arctic sea smoke is set aglow by the morning sun (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Not only was that the case on this cold day, the moment was enhanced by the sun’s ability to splash its radiance upon the now by-standing cloudbank. The result of this dousing was nothing less than stunning.

All at once the scene appeared ablaze. It was as if the clouds and sea were burning as fiery colors dazzled the eyes both high and low.

With “flames” engulfing the firmament and Arctic sea smoke reaching up into the air over the glow of a “burning” sea, the winter phenomena took one final bow in epic style before carrying out its graceful exit.

As I watched the show unfold, I was amazed by the sequence of events and how a winter sea could “burn” frigid.

By this time, it wasn’t just the sea that seemed to “burn,” but my skin too as the sting caused by the extended exposure to the icy air on my face and hands finally subdued the moment and forced me into a hasty retreat to warmer confines.

Owls Head is surrounded by a fiery-looking sea on January 4, 2012 (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

"Rockland Gulf" is one of many vessels that call Rockland Harbor and its traditional working waterfront, home (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The heartbeat of Rockland Harbor’s working waterfront never stops. This traditional connection to the sea not only keeps pace with the rhythmic tides of time, it thrives in a world of seaborne activity that ensures its signature sense of place remains ever-vibrant.

From lobster boats and fishing trawlers to ferries and barges – windjammers, sailboats and Coast Guard cutters too, Rockland Harbor is happening theatre for all things maritime.

The assortments of briny sights, which glide effortlessly in concert to and fro, are as familiar as they are endearing to coastal Mainers. It is as if there is a certain comfort derived from this time-honored acquaintanceship – a ‘steady as she goes’ feeling of stability you might say that keeps Rockland Harbor’s heritage rock solid.

So when something changes in this daily dance of life upon the sea, one can’t help but notice.

A view of the 593-foot cruise ship "Regatta" as seen from shore on October 3, 2011 (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

It was just after dawn on October 3, 2011 when the impressive cruise ship Regatta of the Oceania Cruises Fleet slipped inside the Rockland Breakwater for a one-day visit. The 593-foot vessel, which can carry 684 passengers and a crew of 400, was a sight to behold for residents along the harbor.

Even if one had no knowledge of daily harbor life, it could easily be determined that the presence of the Regatta was anything but ordinary. This friendly ‘stranger’ from afar, whose sheer size was as riveting as its bright white streamlined appearance, was a stark contrast to the vessels along the working waterfront.

With a draft too deep to grace Rockland’s proud, sea-stained wharfs, the Regatta instead dropped anchor along the outer confines of the harbor with nary a sound. In fact, the cruise ship’s daylong stay was marked by a quiet, professional touch that seemed all too intent on not being an intrusion to the maritime bustle about it.

Throughout the day, motorized launches – appearing more like water bugs scurrying across the harbor, transported hundreds of cruise ship patrons to and from shore where they were treated to the finest culture, food and shopping the City of Rockland has to offer.

Cruise ship passengers sought to experience a slice of Midcoast Maine (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

But whereas the visitors desired to experience a slice of Midcoast Maine ashore in Rockland, I found myself wanting to see the Regatta, which was moored just beyond the detailed scrutiny of shore-bound residents.

For regardless of one’s feelings about cruise ship visitation to Rockland Harbor, it could not be denied that the Regatta’s presence was engrossing and inspired both fascination and curiosity for many who cast a gaze her way.

Such a rare scene inside the harbor naturally intrigued me and I quickly decided it was time to a closer look at this floating symbol of leisure travel before it departed for its next port of call.

Without a boat, the only other place to draw nearer to the Regatta at her position in the harbor was to make the long trek out the Rockland Breakwater.

A view of "Regatta" as seen from the Rockland Breakwater (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

So after work my three children and I did just that. We timed the moment to ensure we were able to not only view the cruise ship closer than we could from shore, but also to see it pass the Rockland Breakwater Lighthouse when the vessel set sail around 6:00 pm.

Arriving at the south end of the breakwater about forty-five minutes before the Regatta welcomed its last shore visiting passengers back aboard, the kids and I found a dry spot along the previous tide-doused breakwater to have a seat where we could watch this unique drama unfold in the minutes ahead.

The kids were talking with each other about this and that, but all the while I looked about the harbor, admiring the various scenes and wondering what the cruise ship passengers might be thinking as they prepared to bid our great harbor adieu.

With time to spare before the ship’s departure, I decided to enjoy what ebb tide was fast revealing in the water beneath my dangling feet as I sat on the edge of a sun-warmed granite rock.

Seaweed along the breakwater dances to the rhythm of the ebb tide (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

As I observed some seaweed dance with the rhythm of the sea, seemingly reaching upwards time and again with a buoyant thrust to bask in the warm rays of a setting sun, I was reminded that life’s joys are often found in the little things all around us.

Despite dusk’s downward pull on the sun, the star’s hearty orange presence was still powerful enough to splash about a liberal dose of light to illuminate the darker world just below the surface of the water. And though the light found itself ripple-bent upon entry, it cut through the murkiness just enough to reveal delightful secrets hiding below.

This enjoyable distraction was suddenly interrupted by energized waves of water jumping up below me, spraying my legs and feet. Though I subconsciously heard a lobster boat’s engine hum by as I sat on the breakwater, its passing did not register in my mind – that was until its rolling wake coaxed me from my seat with a sense of urgency.

The sun douses Rockland Harbor with its soft light before setting on October 3, 2011 (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Shaking the droplets of salt water from my sneakers, I looked around and noticed a Pilot boat was now standing off the stern of the Regatta. This sight told me it wouldn’t be long before the Regatta would engage its engines and head for the open waters of Penobscot Bay.

At this point, the light of day was growing thin in the sky as the sun slipped behind the western horizon. Its evening departure seemed to signify that the cruise ship patron’s time in Rockland had concluded as well, for the Regatta pointed its bow toward the bay and started pushing whitewater.

The ship’s engines were so quiet the only sound I could hear was music being played throughout the vessel as it plied past Rockland Breakwater Lighthouse en route to Bar Harbor.

This was just the scene I had planned to see – and what a contrast it proved to be.

The Regatta and the lighthouse were like two ships passing in the night. As the luxurious vessel glided by the vintage guardian of the sea, I couldn’t help but marvel at the stunning moment such a crossroads created.

The "Regatta" heads towards Owls Head and the open waters of West Penobscot Bay (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Not long after the Regatta departed Rockland Harbor, I watched it round the perch of Owls Head Lighthouse whose steady beam was shining bright and growing more robust by the second.

It was time to go, but as we walked back the breakwater, I took one last glance seaward before the Regatta was obscured by the majestic bluff of Owls Head. It was then the beacon at Rockland Breakwater flashed across the bay as if on cue – bidding a fond farewell to our visitors from afar.

In the wake of this experience, I shared some photos of the Regatta passing Rockland Breakwater Light with my friend, Chris Mills. Being a former lighthouse keeper, Chris couldn’t help but wonder what the passengers aboard the cruise ship might have been thinking when they passed the sentinel.

The "Regatta" passes Rockland Breakwater Light on the evening of October 3, 2011 (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

“The scene conveyed such an historic and timeless feel,” said Chris Mills. “It is fascinating to think about the decades of ship traffic that has passed Rockland Breakwater Lighthouse – from wooden schooners to today’s hi-tech cruise ships. I wonder if the folks aboard the Regatta stopped to think for a moment that even with today’s reliance on radar and GPS, the light and horn at the end of Rockland Breakwater still symbolizes the very foundation of safety at sea – with the welcome and warning of its flash and blast.”

That’s a good question but I can assure you the vessels of Rockland Harbor’s working waterfront still value the Rockland Breakwater Lighthouse. To many, this venerable beacon of the sea is a friend – and a tribute to our seaborne heritage.

May its light always shine to guide and welcome locals and visitors alike!

Hurricane Irene hammered much of the Eastern Seaboard... (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

A little over a week has passed since Hurricane Irene swept up the Eastern Seaboard, wreaking havoc from the Outer Banks of North Carolina to Vermont. But this passage of time has done little to dull the storm’s devastating toll exacted on many communities, which still weighs heavy on the lives of countless people – and will for quite some time.

By now everyone has seen a plethora of video and images showing the widespread damage along Irene’s path – a massive hurricane that stretched nearly 300 miles out from its center.

Its far-reaching impacts included wind, surge and tornadoes, but the most frightening impact was the copious amounts of rain that the storm dropped, which ultimately caused terrible flooding, and subsequent destruction, in many regions.

...but thankfully, Midcoast Maine was spared of Irene's fury and did not need a "Plan B" (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Like everyone else at the time who was in the crosshairs of Irene, residents along Midcoast Maine remained vigilant, watching for days leading up to the hurricane’s landfall near Cape Lookout in North Carolina, to see if the storm would push north as projected.

As it turned out, Irene did indeed set her sights on nearly the entire Atlantic coast, taking an unprecedented track that would eventually impact 14 states and approximately 55 million people before pushing into Canada.

Though the hurricane would transition to a tropical storm by the time it reached Maine, no one was letting their guard down. Some weather forecasters continued to warn that Irene’s impact – though weakening, could still be worse than any northeaster ever experienced along the Maine coast.

No take-out for Irene (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

In the end, Irene tracked a bit more west than anticipated, and in the process, spared much of the Pine Tree State’s coastline of the storm’s fury.

Little in the way of rain fell, while Irene’s wind gusts were relegated to the 40-50 knot range, all of which was a great relief to those along the Midcoast.

As Irene began moving into the coastal waters of Maine on August 28, 2011, I drove around to nearby harbors to observe the stormy theatre that might be playing out on the seascape. What I found were conditions surprisingly “tame” for a storm of this magnitude (thanks in part to the storm’s more westward movement)…but along the way, I discovered one more thing that was wonderfully consistent throughout.

Evidence was everywhere that the Maine maritime community took Irene’s tropical storm warnings seriously. Many a lobster boat and sailing vessel were pulled from the water in advance of the storm’s arrival.

Such prudent preparations created quite an interesting sight along Maine’s harbors at this time of year as boats, floats and other associated appendages were found suddenly taking up residence on dry land, packed in bunches wherever room would permit.

Mariners remained vigilant and made fast the lines of tradition along the Maine coast (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

This in-season scene was as rare as it was telling. I recall admiring a number of these sights – not only for their uniqueness, but for the preparedness that many deployed to protect Maine’s diverse connection to the sea.

Mainers are a hardy bunch whose mettle was not tested this time around by a storm like Irene, but as we all know, the fall season is fast approaching, and on its heels will be the dreaded northeaster.

Our time to “batten down the hatches” – an annual winter ritual by the sea, will no doubt come, but for now, our thoughts and prayers go out to all those people whose lives were adversely impacted by Hurricane Irene from North Carolina to Vermont.

God speed to all impacted communities embarking on the road to recovery. May fair winds and following seas come your way once again on the tide of better days ahead.

Snapshots of Midcoast Maine as Tropical Storm Irene passed over the region…

Agitated...West Penobscot Bay (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Reflecting on what was before the threat of Irene...Rockport Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

"Traditions" hold their ground in the face of the storm (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Pile on and prepare to ride out the storm...Camden Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Storm or no storm, feeding time calls...Rockland Breakwater (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Bow to the wind...sailing vessel "Appledore" in Camden Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Some chose to stay, while others got out while they could...Rockland Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Find a seat anywhere you can, for time is short...Rockport Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Rolling with the tide...Rockland Harbor (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Hunkered down behind a great wall...Rockland Breakwater (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Fasten the lines and batten down the hatches...Camden Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Mind yourself until the blow passes...Rockport Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Taken aback by the wind (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Friends in low places...Rockland Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Buttoned-up tight...Spruce Head (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Irene could not snatch away what she could not reach...Owls Head Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

No place to hide...Spruce Head (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The "Rockland Gulf" and "Jacob Pike" stare down the face of adversity...Rockland Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Come ashore storm-weary travelers...Rockland Harbor (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Irresistible force meets immovable object...Curtis Island Light, Camden Harbor (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

These colors don't run (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Blue, white and green...the colors of a sea demanding respect, even two days after Irene passed by...Wood Island (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

After Irene, scenes of apparent serenity still possessed an element of uncertainty thanks to lingering storm swell...Wood Island (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

After Irene, blue skies did not stop an angry storm swell from pushing places it normally has not the power to reach...Marshall Point Light (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Uprooted and abandoned by the seas it once called home (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

After every storm shines forth hope eternal...Rockland Harbor the morning after Irene (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Thankfully, Maine's maritime heritage still stands tall and proud in the wake of Irene (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The 132-foot, three-masted "Victory Chimes," built in 1900, is the largest passenger schooner in the United States (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Summer by the sea yields a host of unforgettable scenes, but few are more captivating than the sight of dignified windjammers under full sail.

Pursuing the irresistible lure of the winds, these vessels ply Maine’s open waters with a blend of presence, power and grace unrivaled by any other craft or ship. For when a windjammer takes center stage on the seascape, an aura of magnificence is always its following sea.

Often times I’ve observed one of these ships far off in the distance with their white sails dotting the horizon in distinctive fashion. Such scenes never fail to provide me with a welcome context to an otherwise vast monotony of blue – all the while giving flight to my imagination long after the windjammer has slipped the grasp of the present moment into the ambit of memory.

What mystery islands did the crew and passengers visit or in what charming ports did the ship drop anchor? Were whales, seals or puffins spotted? How many breathtaking sunsets were admired and what type of adventurous stories might everyone tell?

The granduer of the "Nathaniel Bowditch" begins to come into view (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

These are just a few of the questions that race through my mind as I ponder a passing windjammer; regardless of whether their woven sails are capturing the draft of a galloping wind or a whispering breeze.

But if a lone windjammer can punctuate a memory with an exclamation point of seaborne delight, how much more might an entire fleet do so?

Thankfully I do not have to leave the answer to this question adrift on the ebb tide, for on a few occasions each year, the Maine Windjammer Association brings together their historic fleet of thirteen ships for widely popular parades of sail in the harbors of Boothbay, Camden and Rockland.  

These majestic vessels, some dating back to the late-1800s, range in size from 46 to 132 feet in length and embody the very essence of the great traditional tall ship from bow to stern regardless of size.

One of these crowd-pleasing parades of sail took place on July 15, 2011 as the fleet gathered outside Rockland Harbor to sail back and forth past the Rockland Breakwater Lighthouse.

Whether atop the lighthouse or on the Rockland Breakwater, spectators enjoyed a close-up view of the windjammers passing by (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

My family and I were among hundreds of other spectators that packed the south end of the stone breakwater for the best front row seat to this grand show anyone could have. As the parade unfolded, I marveled at the depth of splendor each windjammer exuded.

With crews acting in perfect unison – each knowing their role in this time-honored tradition, and great sails flexing with pride, the windjammers plied their way into the hearts and memories of those in attendance – leaving behind “wakes” of fun and admiration to cascade in the imaginations of all.  

The joy associated with this two-hour parade of sail was obvious, but just as evident was how the majestic presence of the windjammers evoked a sense of enduring heritage.

I believe the Maine Windjammer Association sums up best the magical experience of being aboard a windjammer when they say, “Time is unstructured and every day is a new adventure.”

The 2011 Windjammer Parade in Rockland Harbor was an action-packed event (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

My feelings exactly – and I simply observed the magnificence of the windjammers during a parade!

Did you know?

The Maine windjammer fleet hails from Rockland, Rockport and Camden

Do you know how Maine Windjammer Cruises originated?

“What started in 1936 with a bold idea and an idle schooner has grown into America’s largest concentration of traditional sailing vessels. At a time when ‘working sail’ had begun to diminish and trucks were being used to carry everything from one end of the country to the other, Captain Frank Swift saw the beauty in these old wooden ships and wanted to preserve them as examples of America’s maritime heritage. Confident that the lure of the sea and the graceful lines of a salty old schooner would appeal to ‘rusticators’ who sought to escape from the hustle and bustle of the cities, he offered his first vacation-cruise in 1936 aboard the schooner Mabel. He called his venture Maine Windjammer Cruises…” Source: The Lookout, newsletter of the Maine Windjammer Association, 2011 Season

To learn more about the Maine Windjammer Association, visit: www.sailmainecoast.com

(L to R) The "Mary Day," "Victory Chimes" and "Heritage" make an approach to Rockland Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The 1886 "Isaac H. Evans" was decked-out in splendor for the parade of sail (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Colorful flags and magnificent sails made for wonderful sights (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

The 95-foot "Heritage" evokes the bygone days of the 19th century coasting shcooners (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

The "Mary Day" parades past the Rockland Breakwater Lighthouse (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The distinctive looking "Angelique," built in 1980, is 95-feet in length and hails from Camden (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The "American Eagle, built in 1930, circles inside Rockland Harbor (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

The "Nathaniel Bowditch" runs along the outside of Rockland Breakwater (Photo by Nina-Marie Trapani)

(L to R) The "Victory Chimes" and the "Heritage" led the parade of sail into Rockland Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Old Glory graces the sails of the "Stephen Taber" (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Captain Brenda Thomas of the "Isaac H. Evans" and her fellow "pirates" delight the crowd with their fun portrayals (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

"American Eagle" approaches Rockland Breakwater with grace (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

(L to R) "Angelique," "Victory Chimes" and the "Heritage" make for a striking scene on the water (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

A close-up view of the "American Eagle's" elegant sails (Photo by Katrina Trapani)

The "Stephen Taber" (left), built in 1871, is the oldest documented sailing vessel in continuous service in America (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The windjammers created a majestic scene in Rockland Harbor (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Hundreds of spectators lined the Rockland Breakwater from end to end during the windjammer parade (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

As the poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote in his poem 'The Lighthouse,' "Sail on!" it says, "sail on, ye stately ships! And with your floating bridge the ocean span..." (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Sunrise and a blanket of clouds waged a turf war over Rockland Harbor on the morning of July 24, 2011 (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

With the weather forecast calling for clear skies overnight, the family and I decided to rise and shine early on July 24th and take in a sunrise over Rockland Harbor.

Waking up at 4:15 am on Sunday morning, I looked out the window of our home and noticed a surprise – an envelope of formidable gray was reigning high above. Well, so much for the promise of a cloudless sky.

This type of scene would have normally caused me to embrace the enticing thought of going back to bed, but there were “cracks in the armor” of the cloud cover, which inspired a glimmer of hope that venturing out to water’s edge was still a worthwhile pursuit.

Driving in to Rockland we observed a long stretch of muted pink stretching across the eastern sky – a sight that finally banished the last of our doubts as to whether dawn had the potential to soak the sky and bay in a sea of color.

Rockland Breakwater Lighthouse flashed its familiar salutation every five seconds out over a colorful seascape (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Rubbing the last of the sleep from my eyes, I stayed the course and we arrived at the southwest side of Rockland Harbor about a half-hour ahead of morning’s big show.

The initial approach of sunrise was ushered in with generous amounts of pink splashed about the seascape as an armada of sailboats sat quietly at their moorings. Minutes later, this beautiful scene was doused – and nearly vanquished altogether from the sky, by a blanket of dark clouds passing overhead.

Despite the momentary change to the mood of the sky, the brilliance of sunrise was not to be denied.

A swathe of color flared-up once again on the horizon – this time more spectacular in nature than dawn’s first act as oranges and yellows now melded their delightful tones upon the reemerged pink firmament.

The pastel colors of sunrise contrasted nicely with the passing dark clouds (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The passing clouds still loomed ominously over the harbor at this point and appeared to be dropping rain just beyond Owls Head, but rather than their gloomy countenance ruining this artistic moment, the contrasts of dark blue and bright pastels complimented each other in a conflicted, yet tranquil manner.

The only showstopper for the family and me was a relentless legion of mosquitoes lurking in the still air, which eventually forced us back to our vehicle to watch the waning moments of morning radiance take one last bow.

By the time we surrendered our harbor positions to the dawns standing army, we had managed to take in the very best the sunrise had to offer, and besides, I was ready for a good cup of coffee.

As for the loss of sleep hours earlier, I made up for that too with a relaxing Sunday afternoon nap, so all is well that ends well!

Sailboats sit quietly in a sea of pink at dawn (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Sunrise begins to kick it up a notch on July 24, 2011 (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The long view of drama in the sky (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The sun's grand entrance is concealed behind a swathe of blue on the horizon (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

A fogbank, colored by the setting sun, hangs over West Penobscot Bay (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

As my family and I were out and about doing some errands on the evening of July 2, 2011, we noticed that the late afternoon sky was setting up nicely for a possible sunset delight over Rockland Harbor.

High, wispy clouds stretched out across the blue firmament, displaying a delicate texture that seemed perfect for hosting splashes of deep, evening color upon their faces. Given the hopeful scene, we decided to ride over to Rockland Breakwater and wait for sundown’s show.

All the while, an ominous fogbank was holding court on West Penobscot Bay, obscuring the islands to the east and hovering over Owls Head to the southeast.

The fog’s puffy, gray countenance was creating an air of uncertainty in the sky, but its appetite for devouring clear visibility seemed momentarily satisfied as it stood-off the harbor.

The wispy fingers of the fog threaten to blot out the sun (Photo by Nina Trapani)

We didn’t get more than a quarter-mile out the breakwater before the towering wall of vapor lurched forward once again from the south, rolling steadily in over the last vestiges of sparkling water.

The ever-advancing fog showed no restraint for gobbling up clear skies and was seemingly on the offensive in seeking a showdown with the sun to see who would rule during the moment of twilight.

Such action, unfolding right before our eyes, suddenly took center stage. Would the sun be able to dip below the horizon before the menacing fogbank could obscure its splendor from reigning in the sky?

The race was on!

In truce-like fashion, just before the fog blotted out the entire sky, it stopped its relentless advance, as if to kindly permit the great luminary a chance to bid the day adieu in proper fashion.

The fog ended up stealing the show at sunset (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

With a misty curtain of vapor draped around it, the sun took its final bow, but in the end, the day-star was suddenly not the focus. Laden heavy with moisture, the fogbank first absorbed the sun’s radiance and served as an unlikely canvas for color to reflect and dance upon its somber face.

The fog’s gray countenance seemed to smile in a playful manner as the atmosphere basked in a moment of royal grandeur.

Though this gorgeous scene was fleeting, we walked back to our vehicle marveling at how the fog, which is not normally known for its cheery disposition, ended up stealing the show at sundown. Who would have thought!

A halo of orange marks the outer reaches of the fog (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

The water took on the mysterious mood of the fog (Photo by Dominic Trapani)

Contrasts on the western horizon (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Edge of the vapor canvas (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

A sunset surprise (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Rockland Breakwater Light sent out its guiding beam in the fog once the sun set (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

The 2011 Rockland Lobster Boat Races once again proved to be an action-packed event (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Green landscapes and rising temperatures may be sure signs of summer, but along the Maine coast, there is one more indication that the season with the most fun in the sun has arrived – lobster boat races.

With their powerful boats in tip-top shape, lobstermen look forward to participating in these races up and down the coast and prepare for the adrenaline-filled opportunities with a serious focus that is exceeded only by their pride in the traditional occupation of lobstering.

On June 19, 2011 an armada of lobster boats poured into Rockland Harbor for Rockland’s annual lobster boat races. Some came as racing participants while others as spectators, but regardless of their intentions, the lobstermen, along with their families and friends, shared a common goal – to bask for the day in the realm of speed.

Cutter "Thunder Bay" served as the Coast Guard's patrol command for lobster boat races (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Observing the scene along the Rockland Breakwater prior to the races, it was evident that there was plenty of logistical planning that went into establishing the race course and that safety was a paramount goal of all involved.

In addition, the sparkling appearance of the lobster boats and the way their engines hummed without missing a beat paid tribute to the detailed preparation of the participants, which varied in personality as much as the classes of boats assembled.

From elusive skiffs 16-feet and under to intimidating diesel-powered work boats 40-feet in length and over – some able to reach speeds in the 50-plus knot range, there was no shortage of competition and intrigue for this uniquely popular event.

As I sat atop the Rockland Breakwater with my family observing the races, I realized that one did not have to be a lobsterman, or even know the names of the boats, to find this spectacle immensely entertaining.

Each heat of the races usually started out neck and neck before a winner would pull away (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Yes, we could read the names of many of the boats as they sped by parallel to the breakwater toward Jameson Point, but the real thrill was derived from the heightened moments of quick-burst action and the sound of cheers skipping across the water as these mighty boats competed.

On their way past our vantage point, first there was the impressive sight of whitewater being pushed to a froth as the bows of lobster boats cut through the brine – only to be followed by wakes deep and wide that sent mist flying in the air, and the wonderment of spectators, with it.

I knew there were winners and losers in each heat of the lobster boat races, but in the end, I couldn’t help but think that everyone – from the spectators on rafted boats and the Rockland Breakwater to the participants themselves, was a winner.

For when the last boats cut their racing engines and their wakes disappeared behind them, it was evident that a proud Maine tradition had once again shone brightly in Rockland Harbor.

The race winners were now able to carry the mantle of champion while the others dreamed of a future rematch, but come that Monday morning, all of the lobstermen shared one more common goal –it was time to get back to hauling traps.

Maine tradition is good!

Pulling away (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Capturing the action from above (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Side by side having fun watching the races (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Catch me if you can (Photo by Bob Trapani, Jr.)

Hang on - the race waits for no one! (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Competing with pride on the line (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)

Pure fun made winners out of all those who didn't cross the finish line first (Photo by Ann-Marie Trapani)