The mystic side of Maine is found in fairies, desert sands, and an unexpected boat tour
Take a surprising journey with National Geographic Photographer Michael George to the lesser-known corners of Casco Bay.
On my way to Mackworth Island, a soft mist settles on the causeway, obscuring my destination from view. This mysterious veil makes sense for an island with a whimsical reputation. Slowly, the trees and coastline appear, and I greet the park ranger at the entry booth. We talk through the highlights: “If you turn right, you’ll reach the fairy houses.” Mackworth has a 1.25-mile perimeter walking trail, and in one small part of the forest, you’ll find dozens of small art projects utilizing the natural resources from the park. Children and families combine twigs, leaves, pieces of shells, and stones to make small homes for the woodland fairies who may or may not visit the island. There’s also a pet cemetery, and I tell the ranger I’ve heard a rumor it’s the one that inspired famous Mainer Stephen King’s novel Pet Sematary. The ranger is cryptic in his response, and sends me on my way.
I pass runners, dog walkers, and families on the path. A few children are working on a new fairy house, and its main construction material is pine cones. On one of the trees, a smiley face has been crafted with lichen. There are small hints of creativity everywhere you turn. Maine, known for its kind people and fresh seafood, has a small-town spirit that comes alive in quirky and unexpected corners. Mackworth is only my first stop exploring this side of Maine through the veil. Finishing the loop, I pass the ranger station once more. He flags me down with a shout, waving his phone in the air. A diligent researcher, he shares that Stephen King’s inspiration came from a pet cemetery located two hours north and near Bangor. I appreciate him taking the time to report the facts, but I hold onto the myth of the fairies.
Moving from urban legends to local folktales, I head three miles west of Freeport to the Desert of Maine. This geological anomaly dates back to the last ice age. As glaciers retreated, they left behind a deposit of sand-like glacial silt. Unfortunately for William Tuttle, who bought the land in 1797, this is where he decided to start a farm. Overgrazing can destroy land, but this example is a bit extreme: As he let the sheep enjoy themselves, they slowly unearthed not just a few hills of poor soil, but literal sand dunes. Since 1925, the site has operated as a tourist destination, undergoing a massive revitalization in the past few years. The new design falls somewhere between a classic TV game show and a nostalgic roadside attraction. Throughout the 20 acres of rolling sand, families can embark on a scavenger hunt, ride an electric train-themed trolly, or glamp along the river in a variety of structures, including A-frames, full cabins, and picture-worthy tents.
On this day, Maine is experiencing an early summer heatwave, so my experience of the desert feels extra authentic. Sun beating from above and reflecting off the sand below, I am convinced I’ve landed somewhere deep in the Southwest. That is, until I spot Barb and Laurie, two locals sporting visors and sunglasses and making their way through an adventure mini-golf course. “This place has been around since I was little, but it’s really changed. The new owners—you can tell they care.” The 18-hole course is remarkable, with water features and sculptures that tell the story of the desert’s history. A coy sheep sculpture sports a cheeky sign around its neck that says, “This desert is our fault.” As I watch Barb hit a leopard-print ball across hole 13, I thank the sheep for unearthing this hidden gem.
Mainers are proud to share their history, and some might even sell you a piece of it. Nick and Amanda Kent are the owners of Maine Wicked Goods, an antique shop that can only be described as delightful, cozy chaos. There’s so much to see from floor to ceiling that I need to walk through the store five times before my eyes allow me to process it. Their newest addition, six-week-old Finneas, is unfortunately not for sale. He runs through the space like a bull (puppy) in a china shop (antique store). My grandma owned an antique store for decades, so I feel at home amid the delightful assortment of treasures waiting to be found. I ask Amanda how they decide what to keep for themselves versus what to sell. She alludes to what things may look like at home: “I tell my friends, it’s not hoarding―it’s inventory.” With the Kents’ welcoming personalities, the enthusiasm of Finneas playing with a water bottle, and approximately 9,000 items I have yet to discover, I regret I can’t spend my entire week searching for the perfect wicked good.
Though I can spend my afternoon having some wicked fun. Old Orchard Beach can’t escape comparison to my favorite place back home: Coney Island. This seaside resort town has many attractions, including Palace Playland, a beachfront amusement park with rollercoasters, a Ferris wheel, and arcade games aplenty. The pier is unlike any I’ve seen before—a full strip of shops and restaurants suspended above the ocean. There are many places I go to escape crowds, but a lively beach feels like a party. There are sunbathers and families playfully dodging the waves. Older couples reading in beach chairs, and friends playing paddle ball. Orchard Beach is the first place I’ve been in Maine that can only be described as “a vibe.” The sandy beach spans seven miles, and as I squeeze the sand with my toes, I look out into the water, curious how I might go a little deeper.
The answer is not one I could have ever guessed: hitch a ride on a mailboat. The Casco Bay Mail Run is a unique way to travel between the Casco Bay islands, including Little and Great Diamond, Long, Cliff, and Chebeague. While I could easily mistake this as a scenic cruise, I am onboard a working vessel. Only now this boat is delivering people’s packages, letters, bills, and me. The full tour can last upwards of three hours, but I am only taking a short journey to Great Diamond Island for dinner and drinks at Crown Jewel. This tropical-styled bistro with a neon flamingo on the wall is a vibrant surprise. Their menu is small, and walking by the open-window kitchen I see why. Each dish is a mini artwork using locally sourced ingredients. I indulge in the mussels and fluke crudo, followed by a cocktail called "famous on the weekend." It’s only Tuesday, but after being hand-delivered to an unbridged island for a lavish meal, I’m feeling like an "it boy."
All illusions of grandeur must come to an end, and I call a water taxi to bring me back to reality. If you don’t want to stick with the ferry schedule, the water taxis are like the Uber of the sea, and will quickly bring you to wherever you need to go. The sun is setting, and I am eager to catch the last light at a lesser-known lighthouse. Spring Point Ledge is very close to downtown Portland, and is known as a “sparkplug” lighthouse, a cast iron lighthouse built upon a rock formation offshore. Getting out to this lighthouse is an adventure in itself. It sits at the end of a 950-foot rock breakwater, many of which have large gaps that require jumps to make the crossing. When I arrive, the wind whips across the bay, making the golden-hour scene even more dramatic. I can’t say exactly what it is, but lighthouses always fuel my imagination. It might be the countless poetic stories from literature, or the romantic idea of a lonely figure living by the sea. Whatever it is, this last evening on the bay has a touch of magic. I’m not sure who I have to thank: the people of Maine, or maybe it’s the fairies.
