Northern Maine - Day 6

Maynards in Maine, in Rockwood, lived completely up to the advertising: a hunting/fishing camp run by the same family since 1919; funky cabins, not updated for many a decade, but comfortable; a main lodge with camp furniture, bare light bulbs, and animal trophies on the walls; three meals including an old-fashioned packed lunch in an Igloo. Ham and cheese on white bread hasn't tasted that good since childhood. Of course we were eating the sandwiches on top of Mt. Kineo.

Not quite on the top. The summit is wooded and getting a view required climbing the fire tower, which one of us did - only partway. Well, the wind was blowing pretty hard, and legs have been known to turn to jelly, and the tower could have collapsed. Right?

Mt. Kineo rises more than 700 feet directly out of Moosehead Lake. The man piloting the golf-course shuttle over to the island said there's also a deep hole in the lake right below it. So about a thousand feet of pure vertical rock, made of a rare flint called hornstone, making a rare sight that has drawn tourists for centuries. Native Americans used the rock for arrow heads, rusticators used the mountain for recreation (one of the country's biggest hotels used to be at the foot), Thoreau thought it one of the most beautiful places he had visited, and modern rusticators play golf and sit on their big porches in its shadow.

Just below the summit there's a ledge made for lunching, with an open view of the lake. No wonder Thoreau was so entranced.

We ended the afternoon with a walk around Greenville, and a stop in a lively bar where we had decaf coffee, not quite depressed enough (at leaving the next day) to start drinking at 4:00, even on a Friday. Others had no such inhibitions.

Dinner made up for that brief denial of pleasure. Four courses at Maynards satisfies the hungriest of abstainers. My prime rib was 2 inches thick and covered all of a large plate that the garlic mashed potatoes (with gravy!) didn't. Visions of salads danced in our future.