Before we get into Stonington, I want to read you something from the script I wrote for Camden and never followed. The shot list included: close-up of lobster traps or fishermen working on their boats capturing the grid of coastal life. Slow zoom on one of Camden’s historic lighthouses at sunset. A tracking shot of a narrow street with charming colonial homes leading toward the harbor.
I got none of that. I did get a time lapse of the harbor and some photos of shop signs, which I stand behind, but still.
The interview suggestions were: lobster fisherman, owner of a schooner tour company, art gallery owner, longtime resident or historian, local cafe or restaurant owner. Frank had been nudging me for months. That sounds like a great person to talk to. And I’d say yeah yeah yeah and keep walking.
Stonington, it turned out, was where I finally started to feel the gap between what I’d planned and what I was actually doing close a little.
The Coffee Shop on Main Street
I arrived before my room was ready and found a small coffee shop right off the main street that looked like it used to be a general store and still felt like it. Wooden floors, old bones, good coffee. On the walls were photographs and text panels from what appeared to be an archival project documenting the local fishermen — their lives, their histories, their connection to this particular piece of coastline.
I took a couple of quick phone screenshots of the text. Didn’t get photos of the images themselves, which I’ll regret for a while. But going back through those screenshots later, I realized what I’d stumbled into was exactly the kind of project I keep talking about wanting to do. A collection of local stories, archived and displayed where the community could find them. It doesn’t have to be video. It just has to be done with care.
I went to the website when I got back to the room. I’ll put the link below.
The Heritage Room
The room was ready when I got out of the coffee shop, and what it had waiting for me was one of the best views I’ve encountered on this entire trip. The Heritage Room at the inn sits right over the harbor. Picture window over a working pier. A sitting area, a gas fireplace, and if you leave the curtains open, the harbor is the last thing you see before you fall asleep.
I set up time lapses from the window immediately and before I’d even unpacked properly. I also shot a bracket sequence with the intention of putting a collage together. It was not a hardship to be in this room.
The inn does contactless check-in — code texted to your phone — but the manager was there when I arrived. She asked how long I was staying. One night, I said. Before I left, she told me, she had a place I needed to see. Was I a hiker? I said I could be.
Pine Hill Preserve
She sent me to Pine Hill Preserve, which she described as a hike where you’d look down onto the bridge connecting Stonington to Deer Isle. I found the trailhead, read the sign that said the hike would require use of hands and feet, noticed a second sign about hunting season and the recommendation to wear blaze orange, and wondered briefly what they were hunting up there before deciding not to think about it too hard.
The climb was steeper than I’d been led to believe. I said some things into the camera that I’ll edit around. I made it to the top, looked down at the bridge, and determined that the manager’s description of “looking down onto the bridge” was generously aspirational. The view was gorgeous. The bridge was visible. That’s accurate.
The way down was considerably easier. A woman I passed coming up asked if I was one of those vloggers. Yes ma’am, purple scarf and everything.
The Pier at Sunset
I was down on the working pier as the light went sideways. Another photographer was already there, working on her composition, she said, more than anything else. We talked briefly about the light, which was doing what Maine light does at the end of an October day.
I had time lapses running from the window above. There’s a reasonable chance I ended up in my own footage, a small figure on the pier. I haven’t checked yet.
The lobster boats were tied up for the evening. I’d talked to a guy earlier who was fueling up and heading out — orange overalls, yellow traps, launching around four in the morning the way they do. I jotted down the names of a few of the operations I could see. If I come back to Maine next year with the intention of going out on one of those boats, I want to have done some advance work.
I went in for dinner. The harbor caught the last light through the picture window. I watched it happen from the fireplace chair.
Life is good. It’s better when I’m traveling.
