“What do you DO up there for an entire month??”

I get asked this question a lot when people find out that I go to Maine for an entire month. “But Doug, but Doug...what on earth do you do for a whole month?” A reasonable question. A month is a long time, and Maine isn’t exactly what you would call a beehive of activity, no thriving metropolis to be found anywhere once you cross the Piscataqua River. What follows is my attempt at an answer.

This morning I was out on the kayak, minding my own business, when suddenly my wife appeared off the port side momentarily startling me. As fate would have it, about the time she appeared on the scene, I hooked in to an impressive bass and began reeling it in...

One could say that I was showing off except for the fact that it was completely random happenstance, just one of many magical things that seem to occur up here. Once she was on her way, she took my good luck with her. I only caught two more the rest of the morning, both small and uneventful.

So, yes, I fish. A lot. Fishing allows me time to think and ponder, interrupted occasionally by fish. Most of the best fishing happens in the early morning, but every now and then I’ll catch something late afternoon. 

Ok, so that accounts for maybe four hours of my day, when it’s not raining, of course. In past years, at least twice, sometimes three times, I play a round of golf at Rockland Golf Club. Unfortunately this year due to the increasingly annoying COVID-19, golf was out because the course wouldn’t rent me clubs. That was a disappointment, but allowed me even more time for another of my major pastimes up here...reading.

These are the seven novels that I have had the time to read while I’ve been at Loon Call. All but two of these were already in the house library. They were all enjoyable reads except for Hunter S. Thompson who, I have discovered, I’ve outgrown since the days when he wowed me as an undergraduate. The Sunday Philosophy Club was an annoying little thing that disappointed, but everything else was amazingly good.

Then, there’s eating. There’s lots of eating. There’s the actual eating of the food, but there’s also the thinking about eating the food. There’s the plotting and scheming involved in the preparation of the food to be eaten. Then there’s the sitting around afterwards savoring the food that has been eaten, complete with lots of ooohing and aaahing and the rubbing of tummies. All of this takes up a surprising amount of time. But it’s something that cannot be rushed. Meals are central events of each day around which every other endeavor must subject itself. “Shall we go for a swim? Wait...what about lunch??”

Last night there was a rousing game of Monikers which featured an embarrassing attempt by me (during the charades portion of the proceedings) to illustrate necrophilia to a couple of my grown children. Needless to say, much hilarity ensued. 

On days when the weather isn’t good we are reduced to driving to the coast to have breakfast (again with the eating) in Camden, followed by shopping and visits to lighthouses and whatnot, all the while keeping a sharp eye peeled for any change in the weather which might result in a hasty retreat back to the lake for some bonus dock time.

That’s pretty much the itinerary...fishing, eating, reading, eating, shopping, sightseeing, and eating. It’s not for everybody. Some of you would get bored, I imagine. That’s why God created Myrtle Beach and New York City...for the rest of you.