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 “Hey Mistah!"
The voice sailed across the bay and I turned my kayak to see if he was yelling to me. Sure enough, there was a boy, about 11 years old, with the distinctive haircut, yarmulke and dress clothes that identify a Hasidic Jew, standing precariously close to the edge of a dilapidated dock, straining to catch my attention. “Which way is the ocean?” It was the first of probably 100 questions my inquisitive new friend Aaron would ask me that day.
“What's up the river in the other direction?” “Are there any fish in here?” “Is this fresh water or salt water?” He peppered me with questions about the area and what kind of animals he might see. I did my best to answer his questions and asked a few of my own. Aaron is from New Jersey and had come to Maine with his parents and two younger siblings for a week at a bed & breakfast that billed itself as an “eco-lodge,” so he expected to find some critters.
Earlier that same day, I had watched families of mergansers (a kind of duck) and Canada geese who were so young they could barely fly. The usual ospreys and eagles circled over my head, scanning the water for fish near the surface. A seal had come close to my kayak, and we mutually checked each other out for what seemed like an eternity. But the highlight of my day was coming across a bald eagle that—along with one of his or her young—had killed a goose and was eating it on the shore. I drifted with the tide and ended up getting close enough for the picture at the top of this entry.
As I paddled my kayak around, never more than a mile or so from my home, I was trying to imagine what it would be like if I weren't so used to seeing so much of nature's beauty. What if I could see it all again for the first time? I was glad to share a glimpse of the embarrassing riches of my environment with an enthusiastic newcomer.
I told Aaron about some of what I'd seen in just that same day. I showed him a tree in the distance where eagles like to perch. In fact, we could just make out the shape of an eagle hunched on a prominent branch. “Holy macaroni,” he whispered breathlessly. I told him about the place where I'd launched my kayak, a short walk from his inn, where he could go for a good chance of seeing some of the things I told him about. Then I wished him a great vacation and paddled away.
As I loaded my gear into my car, Aaron came strolling down the gravel road. He'd wasted no time getting out to see the sights. While we chatted, I pointed out a seal that was drifting with the outgoing tide. Moments later, we spotted an eagle that swooped low over the river, then soared up to land on the very tree that I had pointed out to him earlier. As he gushed about all the animals we were seeing, something across the river caught his eye. I turned around to see a black bear running across a blueberry field.
Aaron was overcome with joy. In a few minutes, he'd seen the equivalent of a nature documentary worthy of Maine. I'll always remember sharing that experience with him, seeing my world through his eyes as if for the first time. More importantly, I’ll bet Aaron will also remember it—forever.
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Rich Bard is a wildlife biologist who began his career as a zookeeper. Having spent most of his adult life moving around the country working with various wild animals, he settled near the coast of Maine in 2004. Amid the striking beauty of this remote region, he passes the time with his family, hiking, snowshoeing, gardening and watching the tide ebb and flow.
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New Jersey has a little open space left, but certainly no scenes like this to captivate the young ones. He is certainly lucky to have had you as a guide - those are the memories that stay with a person for life.