Messing about in boats

Mom and daughter, just in off the water.

There's more to say and show about the Old Stone Bridge, but it's the turn of the Medomak today.

The photo of Rachel and me is blurry, a hand-held selves-portrait, taken at the close of day. We had just been out in the red canoe.  Midcoast Maine is plenteous in opportunities to mess about in boats.

Waldoboro lies at the Medomak's head of tide. A series of waterfalls bisects the town and transforms the river from a small, swift, woodsy freshwater stream into a broad, brackish estuary. Putting in here, at the town landing, sets one up for boating among great blue heron, cormorants, and the occasional exploratory seal.  Putting in at the top of the falls, perhaps in the town picnic park, sets one off upstream, under the low route 1 bridge. A few strokes of the paddles brings your craft past the back door of Smeltzers' funeral and cremation business, housed in a log cabin. Then behind a hairdresser's, then past Waldoboro's work-out center. Now, the trees close in overhead and the hum of Route 1 traffic fades. If it's late in the day you may be treated to the attentions of a sturgeon, leaping out of the water (always in the direction you are NOT looking) and slapping the surface. By the time you turn your head at the loud Thwack, the fish has sunk out of sight. I don't know if they play this way with fishermen. I still have the large feathers we picked off the water after we disturbed a wild turkey perched on an overhanging bough.  Although I've never canoed that far, I know that eventually the Medomak becomes too rocky for my tame version of messing around in boats.

There's a lot more that can be said about the Medomak, about its lower reaches that bring one to the Gulf of Maine and about its glory days of wooden ship-building and commerce. Tomorrow is another blog. Or maybe this afternoon!