A Photographer’s Revelation: Two Evenings at Maine’s Lookout Point

Maine’s coast is like magnetic north for my comfort compass. It lured me hundreds of miles for my fourth visit in June of 2019. I do not know exactly why the pull on me is so strong. My wife’s fondness is largely focused on the local crustaceans. The coast is certainly beautiful, but so are our great Carolina beaches in their different, but special, way. If pressed I would have to say that I am awed by this paradox: coastal Maine is changeless but ever-changing. Ruggedly solid, the onslaught of nature takes eons to affect the slightest physical change; breathtakingly scenic, the slightest change in light will alter its mood. It is invincible when angry white waves pound the dark rock, demure as fog softens the crags, radiant when bathed in a fiery sunrise or sunset, sublime when softened by the glow of twilight and stunning when an unfiltered sun carves out the contrasts in its bountiful rock with differing hues of color.

With my renewed pursuit of photography (after only a 35+ year hiatus), I anxiously anticipated a week-long stay and photo trek beginning where the mainland near Brunswick spreads its spindly fingers into Casco Bay, then, after a drive up US 1, with Mt. Desert Island as a base for days, continuing the trip northeast to Eastport. Mt. Desert is home to the largest portion of Acadia National Park and idyllic towns such as Bar Harbor and Southwest Harbor. And it had been the farthest up the coast we had visited. Accounts of the coast past that destination spurred my interest as tourism drops off and the area harkens back to a slower time. Sounded great to me. Just do an internet search for Photos and the name of any part of coastal Maine to see what lay in wait along the entire route. I made it as far as the finger peninsulas around Harpswell.

First evening at the Point

Lookout Point in Harpswell, Maine is a small nub poking a short distance into the bay at road’s end.  Just as I planned, a short walk down the hill from our B&B took me to what looked like an amazing Hollywood backlot, with elaborately designed props and matte paintings. Just like the many photos of the area by photographers such as Benjamin Williamson; just like the Google maps views. I was ready. I felt like the stills photographer on set. No wonder it is so popular with area photographers. I met Paul VanDerWerf, one of the most prolific of them. As we were talking, he exclaimed: “Look at that light!” We both turned to face westward, set up and hurried to receive the fleeting gift of color that Nature gave us that evening. I mentally checked Lookout Point off my list as I walked back up the hill.

First morning

Before making it to breakfast, a sudden, powerful medical event changed all plans in a flash.  It was serious enough to force us to “upgrade” from a Bed and Breakfast to a Bed and full meal plan—an area hospital. Each person we interacted with in those two and a half days was great. Everyone knew we were from out of state and did what they could to put us both at ease and take care of me. It only reaffirmed an opinion that I had formed in the past: Maine’s citizens are as strong and genuine as its sturdy coast. My amazing wife Ann and I spent our 49th anniversary at the hospital. I had the low sodium meat loaf for dinner. She had a salad.  Was supposed to be a romantic dinner at a cozy restaurant in Bar Harbor. Oh, the fragility of plans.  

Second evening at the Point 

Thanks to the caring and generous owners of the B&B, we were offered the fourth night we tied up the room, treated it as our second, and asked to only pay for two as we had planned. After spending a couple of hours arranging to cancel the rest of the trip and drive back to Boston to fly home—we were beat and far from NC—we managed to get my more than deserving wife her first of only two lobster rolls.  Far below the planned delicacy intake for our trip.  As the sun scurried toward bedtime, I faced the realities of the abandoned trip. I was supposed to be in Bar Harbor, either setting up on the edge of the harbor for twilight or heading south and west to catch a Mt. Desert sunset. Or maybe venturing out at night to shoot the Milky Way. After all, it was only a few nights past a new moon.  Moreover, there were other great spots on the finger peninsulas that I was to explore. I had already done Lookout Point. It had a check mark, for Pete’s sake.

That was a bummer, right? Could have been. Fortunately, I had reread one of my favorite photography books just before starting the trip. How could a book on tonal control, depth of field, HDR, focus stacking, composition, post processing, blah, blah have brought some solace to my situation? Now I do have a little OCD (family members would question the adjective “little”) and plan the crud out of everything. Laying out trips in detail and constantly studying and applying technical aspects of photography is natural for me. A photographer needs to be able to use his or her tools. The book I reread for the trip, however, is different. It took this set of events, however, for me to internalize and begin to apply a small bit of its wisdom, both to photography and to life.

The Tao of Photography, Seeing Beyond Seeing was written by Philippe L. Gross and S. I. Shapiro and published by Ten Speed Press. The authors based the book on Chuang-tzu--ancient writings on Taoism--their own experiences and those of prominent photographers.  As I considered my plight and started to feel sorry for myself, I immediately recognized the amount of focus on “I.” A broader, more encompassing view was in order. A powerful sense of gratitude was present as hospital doctors had told me of my luck, but I needed to work on my obsessive nature. Acceptance was first in order. Nothing could change what already happened, and we consciously decided to go home early. Detaching from my rigid plans and hopes of a stunning collection of photos, without dwelling on or agonizing over, was next. In context of both, Lookout Point was waiting, and so close, and indifferent as to whether I came back or not. But it was there to offer its splendid self if I did. So, I could be receptive to the opportunity I had, with spontaneity and thankful acceptance, or not. I could continue to try to force an outcome or follow a course of least effort. Small steps for some, I know, but for me full strides.

Now I am not saying that planning a multi-day, multi-location trip, or even a single photo is folly.  That I will continue to do.  Setting up in anticipation is prudent, visualization is powerful.  In the past for me, however, being able to move on and embrace my lot would have been tough.  

So, for the second time I walked down the hill toward the Point, markedly slower than before, with Ann by my side. As I walked, I realized that when I took the last photo of the first evening, I seemed to be in a zone. My camera was set to aperture priority, but I was on auto. The photo essentially presented and took itself. Maybe that was the first small step? When I arrived on set the second evening, everything glowed. It was as if a Director had said: “The first night we did blues and pinks. Let’s see, how about tonight we do red, orange and yellow? Cue the lights!” And Nature torched the horizon and set the land and sea on fire.