| The Lodge at Camden Hills |
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(Photos have been substituted for those of the original article) "Discovering the Real Camden" Without the hubbub of summer, the little midcoast town is as sweet as you can find for a midwinter getaway. By Elizabeth Peavey 
There is something otherworldly about heading to a coastal Maine summer hot spot in the dead of winter for a weekend getaway. Traffic moves briskly along Route 1 without backup. Parking spaces are ample at Moody's Diner. The gloaming view out your windshield -- the bare trees, the stark farmhouses, the rolling snow-scape -- is an Andrew Wyeth setting. Seasonal businesses are buttoned up. Motel driveways are blocked off with logs propped up by cinder blocks or sawhorses. Tops of Adirondack chairs peek above snowdrifts. The repeated "No Vacancy" signs should, in truth, read: "So Vacant."
It's comforting, then, to arrive in Camden on a snowy winter's eve. Despite the fact this small midcoast town bloats and swells with summer residents and visitors, in winter it takes on -- or back -- a life of its own. Camden is all small-town Maine in the off season. Rather than transforming into a ghost town, as some seaside resorts do, it almost seems to boost up for the few quiet months that allow it to return to an ordinary community. It's the way one feels, perhaps, after hosting a big party: "It was great to see you. Wasn't that fun? Now go home. It's time for us to put on our sweats and relax." With a wet snowfall splatting on your windshield, Route 1 bends into town and becomes Elm Street, the main drag, and, a few blocks later, High Street. The town center is all snaky streets, curving in from this direction and that and converging at a tangled nexus, one that requires much fortitude and patience to enter and exit in summer. Now, however, foot and auto traffic move freely. There are handfuls of empty spaces along the street, which is enough to make you want to pull into one and park, just because you can. Lights shine from shops, in their remaining minutes of business for the day. Ye olde streetlamps glow. The sidewalks are peopled by a few locals hunched into the snow and wind. No one is strolling or window shopping tonight; these pedestrians have purpose -- a P.T.A. meeing, a library lecture, a dinner out -- they all have someplace to be. As do you. 
Without lodging reservations, arrival on such a night might be mildly unnerving. But you know comfortable accommodations await you at the Lodge at Camden Hills, a modernish cottage compound sprawling over a high bluff just a mile north of town. Lanterns dot the circular drive that wends around the cottages, and the office throws off a warm yellow light. Even if you've never been here before, there's a feeling of coming home.
And that is one of the primary goals of the inn, according to John Burgess, an outgoing, well-groomed, confident businessman who owns the lodge, along with his wife, Linda, and father, Jack, who first owned the place solo. He explains he caters to a certain ilk of guest, one who prefers comfort and privacy over B&B-style pampering. For example, check-in time is between 2 and 6 P.M. If you can't make it by six, your room key and directions to your suite are left taped to the office door. Plus, despite the fairly steep off-season price tag for lodging -- ranging from $100 for a room to $200 for a suite -- no breakfast is served. But after years of experience in the hotel industry (he formerly worked for Marriott), Burgess understands there are people who, when on retreat, do not want to be talked to or share a meal with strangers. They want a place to unwind. He's clearly hit on a winning formula. The inn, which remains open year-round, is frequently booked solid, very often with repeat visitors. Burgess says the bulk of his winter customers are from Maine, some from Massachusetts and New Hampshire. His guests are mostly professional couples -- in their midtwenties to midfifties -- who, with their rushed lives, have to schedule in downtime. He gestures to a man and woman getting into their car in the drive and explains that they have reservations at a good restaurant the following night, that they'll probably spend most of the day doing nothing. Then, on Sunday, they'll get up and go home. They just need a place to get away from it all. The inn provides such a haven. The cottages, suites, and guest rooms, although connected in clusters, feel private. Some have a two-person Jacuzzi in the bedroom, and guests are provided with terry cloth robes, a votive candle, a package of herbal bath salts, scented soaps, and lots of fluffy towels. There's also a wood-burning fireplace laid with some dried birch that needs only a match to get going. The only thing lacking is someone to run your bath for you. A soak in the Jacuzzi doesn't sound bad, but first there's the issue of dinner. The beauty is, there's none of the urgency one feels in summer. If this were, say, July, most of the area's popular eateries would be filled by now, and lacking reservations, you'd be gearing up to take your place in a long line. But at 7:30 on a midwinter's Friday night, you can pretty much dine whenever you want, with the only wait being the time it takes for the hostess to show you to your table. (A word of warning, however; those wishing for a meal at one of the finer local dining establishments would do well to call ahead. Primo in Rockland, for example, can sell out even in the dead of winter). But right up Route 1 in Lincolnville Beach, four or five miles away, there are plenty of seats at the Whale's Tooth Pub. It's housed in a historic brick building (with a modern addition attached), and the first thing that impresses is the giant fireplace and its stack of four-foot logs piled by the hearth. In the addition, wide windows provide water views, which might be appealing on a dusky summer evening, but yield nothing on this night. Best to hold out (if there is a wait at all) for a cozy table by the fire or haul up a seat at the snug bar, where you can sample the locally brewed Andrew's Pale Ale and order up the fish and chips -- a massive slab of haddock and hand-cut potatoes, wrapped in newspaper. The fare is hearty, and the service couldn't be friendlier. Before long, you're involved in conversation with the bartender and waitress and anyone else who happens by. On Fridays, a pianist plays and works the room, taking requests between sets. If you suggest "The Girl From Impanema," you'll want to make sure you turn and give him your attention when he plays your song. He'll give you a knowing nod and smile, and perhaps even reintroduce it as a reprise in a later song. It's all so homey, you might feel like you should take your own dishes to the ktichen before you go. Reemerging into the dark night, with a fresh round of snow coming down, you are struck by the utter stillness of the salty air. Across the way, the Lobster Pound Restaurant -- a popular stop for bus tours in summer -- is zipped up tight. All other surrounding businesses are equally mute. Stroll across the parking lot to the edge of the Lincolnville Beach. Breathe deeply of the tangy breeze off the water and try to tell yourself you don't own this chunk of the Maine coast. 
No matter how many times you've seen slices of Penobscot Bay from the roads around Camden, nothing equals arriving in darkness and waking to the sun-dazzled scene from the window of your high perch the following day. There, spread out in the distance, through the branches of bare trees and past the new snow, the Atlantic glistens with such a winter white-light intensity it makes your eyes sting. (Or is it just the aftereffects of that wonderful Andrew's ale from the night before?).
Yes, going back to bed is an option, as is putting on a pot of coffee, taking a match to that fire, and curling up with a book, but the day beckons. The first stop is the Camden Bagel Cafe (located in the innocuous Brewster Building Complex in back of Main Street) for a strong cup of joe for the road. The piney, warm interior is in marked contrast to its drab facade, and the clerk, perhaps sensing adventure and no doubt recognizing you as an adverturer or at least someone from out of town, amiably inquires what the day's plans hold. And that's the problem -- there are any number of directions you can take. Cast your net just beyond Camden, and you have numerous neighboring towns to explore. Rockland is only a few minutes' drive south, and wouldn't it be nice to have the Farnsworth Art Museum and its Wyeth Center largely to yourself? You could then motor on to the Owls Head Transportation Museum, a large complex dedicated to all modes of bygone travel. Or, twenty minutes to the north, the little city of Belfast is also a rewarding destination, with its many stately old homes and Victorian brick downtown to admire. Most of its shops and restaurants remain open all year, as does Kelmscott Farm, which is home to more than twenty rare livestock breeds and is located on Route 52 in Lincolnville, a pleasant side trip on your way to or from routes north. Of course, it's still just after seven in the morning. You have the whole weekend ahead of you. There's no need to feel panicked by all the possibilities. That would defeat the purpose of the weekend. A quick trip over to Rockport via Camden's winding Bayview Street will give you an idea of how the "haves" have it hereabouts. Massive homes and cottages ramble along the water's edge, with views of Curtis Island and the outer harbor. Keep an eye out for joggers. Not everyone in town can afford a house along here, but virtually everyone takes advantage of the views, many on foot. In summer, Rockport teems with artists, musicians, photographers, art appreciators, and yachters. But despite the fact its two leading cultural attractions -- the Center for Maine Contemporary Art and the Maine Photographic Workshops -- maintain year-round schedules, things in winter are decidedly slow. On this morning, down at the Rockport Marine Park, the granite carving of Andre the Seal gazes out into a beautifully empty harbor. The triple lime kilns (the last vestige of the local lime trade) look like a curious combination of adobe cliff dwellings and an old-timey, Wild West jail. At an adjacent marine yard, large sailboats wait out the winter on boat stands, their deep hulls revealing their true enormity. The big houses ringing the harbor, no longer screened by summer foliage, show the classic lines their original builders gave them. Paradoxically, Rockport Harbor seems both grittier and more beautiful at this time of the year. Heading back to Camden, after stopping for a quick trot alongside a couple rambunctious yellow Labs at Merryspring Nature Park (a popular dog run for the locals, apparently) on the Camden-Rockport border, you're hungry for a real breakfast. Marriner's Restaurant has been a downtown Camden landmark since 1942, and its wee size means long waits in the summer. Now, however, you can saunter in and have your choice of seats (there's even an open table by the window). Slide into a booth for a good old-fashioned breakfast and peruse a copy of the Camden Herald or just read your place mat: ads for Bill Knowlton Well Drilling and J&H Marine, along with a map of "What to See in Camden, Maine." Thus fortified, you're ready to see what there is to see on this Saturday morning. Those interested in architecture and history might want to arm themselves with a walking or driving tour map from the chamber of commerce office on the town landing and take to the streets (there is also a self-guided audio tour available to rent), but an aimless ramble is equally appealing. While a few storefronts and restaurants have "See You In the Spring" signs posted in their windows, Camden is largely up and open for business. There's no shortage of shops in which to purchase anything from T-shirts to original artwork. One pleasant stop is ABCD Books, located on Bayview Street. Despite the fact it's just after ten and the shop has barely opened, there is already a handful of browsers wandering through its warren of rooms, examining shelf after shelf of used and out-of-print books. A large orange cat patrols the stacks and occasionally lets out an arbitrary yowl. Chairs and tables are available for spending some quality time with a favorite author. This is the kind of place one could while away an entire morning, but there's still more of town to see. Down around the corner at the municipal landing, the famed habor is still. In high summer, you'd have to jostle for a parking -- or even standing -- space, but now the lot is almost empty. The waterfall that flows out from under Main Street is fringed with ice. Ducks (including a pair of buffleheads) and gulls bob along the water's edge, gladly lunging for any handouts tossed their way. The great two-and three-masted schooners that sweeep in and out of the crowded harbor all summer now sit stolidly dockside, wrapped in white shrink-wrap, like oversized loaves of supermarket bread. It is a frozen tableau that is yours alone, and with a bright February sun you might be tempted to park yourself on one of the empty benches and savor this exclusivity, but there's more to explore indoors. And there might not be a finer place to find shelter than in the 1928 Camden Public Library, situated high on Harbor Hill overlooking the park. You might be at first overwhelmed by the sweeping view of the harbor from its great arching windows, but this is a library lover's library. The main room upstairs is blissfully quiet. The light is soft. The walls are lined with shelves of Maine books, and a long table offers the latest periodicals. Most of the seats are vacant, save for an elderly gentleman slowly thumbing through a newspaper in the rear, seemingly oblivious to the million-dollar eyeful at the other end of the room. Downstairs, in the recent underground addition, things are a bit more lively. Families select books from the children's section. Patrons visit with neighbors as they wait to be checked out. Computer keyboards click. There is a thrum, albeit a quiet one. You'll find this same kind of activity taking place all over town -- at the YMCA, at the banks, and at French & Brawn, an erstwhile corner store (it's been around since 1868) that has stayed the course of adapting to Camden's changing community. In the front, French & Brawn looks like an ordinary market, but out back, there's a fresh meat and fish counter and gourmet deli, where you can get thick sandwiches and an assortment of high-end delectables. Still, it remains a corner store, and a very sociable one, for the locals who are out marketing. At a strip mall on the southern edge of town, two moms are posted outside Reny's discount department store selling raffle tickets to benefit the high-school tennis team. Inside, shoppers are hunting down that prized Reny's bargain. What will it be today? Work boots? Canned sardines? Dish towels? An electric beard trimmer? All these finds and many others occupy the shopping carts. A daughter holds up a cardigan to an elderly woman and calls: "How 'bout this one, mom?" The Reny's outing may be one of the true defining activities of a Saturday morning in Maine, and Camden's verson of this unique experience is no exception. While the face of the town might change somewhat in winter, one thing remains constant: Camden's natural splendor. Stripped bare and snowcovered, the Camden Hills that loom over town are as stunning now as in the verdant summer. Those with the legs, pipes, and gear to tackle a climb up Mount Battie or Mount Megunticook are in store for a singular experience. At the summit, you have the wide dish of Penobscot Bay and its islands spread before you and the little toy towns below. If the wind is down and the sun is out, you might even feel a bit of midwinter warmth. (Just so you know: Snowfall amounts on the coast can vary widely from year to year and from section to section on trails. Snowshoes are often a necessity. A hike that looks passable on foot at the trailhead can quickly deposit you into thigh-or-waist-high snow. Best to consult someone familiar with the trails, such as the staff at Maine Sport Outfitters, a sprawling multileveled behemoth of a sporting goods store located just over the Rockport line on Route 1. There, you can rent snowshoes or crosscountry skis for $15 per day and get expert counsel on destinations.) If scaling a mountain in winter is a bit too rigorous for your taste, there are tamer outdoor pursuits. There are any number of cross-country and snowshoe trails, such as the one at the Tanglewood 4-H Camp and Learning Center in Lincolnville. (Maps are available at the trailhead; some of the routes take you along the Ducktrap River.) There are also sixty acres of cross-country trails at the Owls Head Transportation Museum, more trails in Camden Hills State Park, and miles of other public lands in the area. (Ask for information at the chamber of commerce office.) If you want to add a bit of velocity to your romp, you'll find short lift lines and unequaled vistas at the Camden Snow Bowl, the only ski center in the U.S. to boast views of the Atlantic from its summit. This town-run operation is also famed for its toboggan chute, where the National Toboggan Championships are held but a quick glance around tells you that this small ski area is a family affair. In the A-frame lodge, moms and dads and kids picnic at the long tables and clomp around in their big boots. There is no "scene" here, 
very little Spandex, and the only hot-dogs you're likely to encounter are the ones smothered in mustard from the snack bar.
Yet, no matter where your day has taken you, you'll be wise to pencil in an appointment with that Jacuzzi back in your suite. And you definitely might want to light that birch fire waiting for you. And, after you've had some post-adventuring time to relax, it's almost the dinner hour again, but what's the rush? It feels like you have the whole town to yourself, and to a certain degree, you do. And if that makes you feel transported to another world for even just a weekend, that's not such a bad thing, now, is it? |