When we go up to Southwest Harbor in June, it’s a tradition to wake up around 4AM and drive over to Cadillac Mountain to watch the sunrise. We wake the girls up in the dark, bundle them into socks, sweaters, long pants, and jackets, and then we throw blankets in the car as well. Occasionally we manage to make some coffee in the dark and we bring that too.
It’s the furthest point east in the US that you can watch the sunrise (or so I whisper to myself, when we’re up there, very nearly so, though an island of Maine is out further).
Watching it climb up so slow, shivering just a tiny bit no matter how many layers you have on, you remember the sun doesn’t come up in one instant dark-light switch, but slowly, with lots of color streaking through the sky before the lip of red appears.
But this year we came one month later, in July, and the parking lot at the top of the mountain was full! It was amazing. So, so many people up in the misty cold hours of the morning, to watch this special event that happens every single morning.
This year was also the first year Lux caught on to how awesome and exciting it was. From the moment we woke her up, she was thrilled to be a part of it. Her excitement spread to all three of them.
Grouchy, chilly, two-year-old Lux was a distant memory, albeit an equally sweet one.
Because of the National Park anniversary this year, Downeast Magazine put together an issue solely about Acadia National Park. One of the issue’s tips suggested visiting the Park Loop road at sunrise, an easy sidekick drive after watching the sunrise, but one that had never occurred to us.
So we tried it. There were one or two other cars on the road, the entry kiosks are closed–Drive Forward, they read–and the light was like a film set. Thunder Hole, a spot that is usually mobbed, felt as if it was open only for us in our pjs.