April 30, 2014 - Tree Food

Did you know that there are things that eat trees?  Not the fruit of trees, but the trees themselves.  Woodpeckers do.  Well, sort of.  They're actually after the ants and other bugs who are eating the tree, but they destroy it nonetheless.  Giraffes and koala bears and goats eat trees, too.  Aside from animals and insects, there are fungi that eat trees.  This birch is covered with "tree ears" so much that they almost look like wings.  Any second now, I expect it will fly away.  Trees always seem so stately and solid to me, but in reality they're in constant change.  If there's one thing I've noticed from spending so much time outdoors, it's that everything is always eating everything.  Nothing seems to stop eating, including us.  It doesn't seem fair to me that trees can be eaten since they can't move to get away from their predators.  Yet they don't complain.  There's a lesson in there for me somewhere.  Perhaps I live in a forest of Buddhist trees.

April 29, 2014 - Here Be Dragons

I'm going to have to rethink my opinion of the pitch pine forest.  This is the second dragon I've seen in a few days, which indicates to me that the forest is simply peppered with them.  If you look back to a few days ago, you'll see the picture of the other dragon I posted.  I usually only see a few dragons in a whole season and I thought that was lucky, but I think I'm in for quite an interesting summer.  I used the zoom feature on my camera, so I wasn't quite as close to him as it appears.  However, my camera is not very good, so I wasn't as far from him as I ought to have been.  I know he saw me but I stood completely still, so he may have mistook me for a fairy.  In fact, I'm sure of it because if he had believed for even a moment that I was human, we would have had to play a game of riddles.  Dragons love riddles and they're quite good at them, usually eating the poor unsuspecting person who can't guess their riddle.  Of course, if we all lived as long as dragons did, we'd be good at riddles ourselves.  As it stands, I'm not half bad at them, so if worse came to worse, I might have been able to hold my own.  If not, I may have been able to beguile him with a photo of himself.  Dragons are so conceited.

April 28, 2014 - The Walls Have Ears

Shhhh!  The walls have ears, I have been told.  And where there are no walls, there are trees, and they have ears, too.  Everywhere the ancient pitch pine forest is alive, waiting and listening.  My feet crackle on leaves and old pine needles, no matter how gingerly I might attempt to walk.  The old trees creak and groan high up in the air when the wind blows, and the wind is always blowing.  Little animals chatter and run back and forth on the ground or in the trees.  When the weather is warmer, the constant hum of insects will be intense, and the birds who eat them will sing from one end of the forest to another.  And into that forest I walk, but my sound is foreign.  They have all been warned that I am coming.  The ears always hear me and they relay the information to every living creature.  Then each will decide if he will come out and visit with me or if today is a day to avoid human contact.  One does not surprise the forest.  It is the other way around, always.

April 27, 2014 - Oddities

Quite some time ago, a farmer decided to leave this old hay mower in the woods.  Even though the woods has begun to slowly grow around it, one can clearly see that it doesn't belong here.  I wonder why he did it.  Did he get a fancy new one?  Did he move to the city?  Did he intend to give it to someone but something happened to him before he could?  I don't know.  A part of me says I should be offended that something was offhandedly left here that clearly doesn't belong, but when I asked the woods, it didn't seem to mind.  And I got a sneaking suspicion that the woods might have felt the same way about me as it did the mower.

April 26, 2014 - Determined

A long time ago in a very harsh land, there lived a forest of many trees.  In this forest, new trees grew quickly and died just as quickly due to the relentless storms and difficult weather conditions.  Those trees that grew to a stately height and girth were always admired and envied by the young saplings, for they knew their odds of becoming a Tree That Stands were unfavorable.  So it was that the little trees competed fiercely with one another, vying for a spot near one of the large trees.  Into this competitive arena came an eager little sapling who grew among a large group of newcomers.  Day in and day out, the young trees would push one another, endlessly competing for sun and water and earth, and this was the only life our eager little sapling knew.

One night a terrible storm came upon the forest.  With howling winds and fierce hands, it ripped and tore at all the little trees until every single one of them were pulled from where they grew and thrown flat upon the ground.  The next day they all moaned sorrowfully at their plight as, one by one, they sadly perished.  All but one, that is.  Our little sapling refused to accept her fate.  She lay flat upon the ground and yelled, "I refuse to die!"  So loud and ferocious was her voice that even the great trees in the forest turned an ear to listen in surprise.  One huge, old, twisted, and gnarled tree looked down where she lay, and he smiled a secret smile.  "Then don't," he said, and all of the other trees stared in amazement because it was the first time they had ever heard the venerable old tree speak.

And so she didn't die.  She stayed right there, that little tree did, and she kept right on growing.  "If I cannot grow upward, I'll grow outward!"  Then she did as she said she would, and her arms reached out and then up and up and up, until each arm was its own tree.  This bewildered all the great trees of the forest, except for the huge, old, twisted, and gnarled tree.  He just smiled and laughed and said, "I could not have done better myself!"

April 25, 2014 - Path Marker

Two huge rocks mark a path in The Brunswick Commons, a woodland area granted to the people by vote of the Pejepscot Proprietors in 1719.  The entire area is a rare pitch pine forest, delicate in nature and stunning in beauty.  But these particular rocks and those like it caught my eye.  How nice, I thought, and how understated.  No need for elaborate signs, check-in points, caretakers who charge money.  There's nothing like that here.  Just huge rocks marking paths.  It occurred to me that these rocks are a much better statement than fences and gates.  Much better at the end of a long driveway, I think, than a mailbox and a potted plant.  They last longer, too.

April 24, 2014 - Dragons

The dragon is a mythical creature, or so they say.  Myself, I believe in them, having seen several in my lifetime.  I see them because I look for them, and I look for them because I see them.  Often there is just a bit of a tail sticking up from the ground here and there, a gleam of scales high in a tree.  Dragons sleep a lot, at least compared to us, so when I find them they are usually asleep.  And it's a good thing for that.  This fine and noble specimen is no exception, although as you can see, he is sleeping with his eyes open.  That's a common dragon trick designed to frighten you half to death, if not all the way.  It often works, and that's why you don't hear many accounts of having stumbled upon a live dragon.  There's a certain way it must be done, and I just happen to know that way.  I am officially documenting this for my return to civilization, when surely I will be heralded as a great explorer.  Or something.

April 23, 2014 - It's A Living

The lobster men are gearing up for the season.  Every year, it's the same thing, and it goes off like clockwork.  More boats are appearing in the harbors, and they're being loaded with traps.  Soon lobster buoys will pepper the coves and bay.  Everywhere you look, people will be busy making a living.  The lobster men will all play their roles as perfect lobster men, the customers will all play their roles as perfect customers, and even the lobsters will cooperate by being perfect lobsters.  Everyone will play their part perfectly, having recited it for most, if not all, of their lives.  No one else will seek to be anything other than what they assume they are.  It's a strange thing, this business of "making a living."  It goes on like a perfectly choreographed dance.  But I wonder . . . if the music stopped suddenly and the masks all fell off, how would each player "make" their life?  Would they make a mad dash for their fallen mask?  Would they find a new mask?  Or would they simply live with the sudden realization that a mask was never necessary?

April 22, 2014 - Signs

It's entirely possible that these stones could have fallen into the exact formation you see them in.  It's entirely possible that each stone would have found another with which it fit so perfectly.  It's also possible that they would balance so perfectly through the windy and stormy weather of the coast without ever toppling over.  Certainly, it's plausible that a formation like this could be found right around an old telephone pole, the only "human" thing around for miles and miles.  And surely, surely, the fact that I noticed them today when I didn't see them yesterday--despite having walked the same trail--is purely a coincidence.  Surely.  Possibly so.  Or . . . is it as I suspected all along?  And are they finally trying to contact me?  Or are they just mocking me?  I'm not sure, but one thing I do know:  it's time to stop playing games and pretending.  I've got to go out there and make contact.  I will keep you informed of my progress.  Those fairies . . .

April 21, 2014 - Thresholds

An entryway built by the fairies, a threshold.  It divides one "room" from another.  When two people marry, it is customary for the groom to carry the bride over the threshold.  Together they go from one life to another.  Once they cross over, everything changes.  Just a few inches and everything is different.  But how can that be?  Surely I can see through this doorway.  I don't see anything different on one side than I do on the other.  And yet . . . why would it be here if there were no difference between the two "sides"?  Exactly.  But that's how fairy magic works.  Think of all the stone dolmens dotting Europe, some more than 7,000 years old.  The explanation we're given is that they're burial chambers that have eroded away, leaving a stone skeleton that looks very much like a threshold.  Too bad the archeologists haven't studied the fairies.  If they had, they'd know that these thresholds are portals.  Just a few inches and everything is different.  Even so, I'll bet none of them step across that threshold.  I'm working on getting the courage up myself.

April 20, 2014 - Transition Period

We're in a transition period here along the Atlantic.  The ice is all gone now.  The Canada geese have returned and so have many other birds.  The "peepers" (frogs) are singing complex symphonies.  The sun is shining.  But . . . there is no greenery.  Plant life is at a standstill with perhaps just a tiny hint of green here and there, but certainly nothing that could sustain the land.  The birds don't seem to mind, though.  The peepers don't worry; they keep singing.  The sun doesn't care.  All of the animals of the forest wait patiently with an inner knowing.  None of them are afraid.  None of them wonder what will happen because they all know what will happen.  They know that any time now the world will explode in unbelievably fantastic greenery and brilliant colors all around them.  Abundance will return with ferocity and all will be fed.  The world will come alive again with magnificent colors, scents, sounds, and wetness.  The animals have perfect faith that all will be well, and because they have perfect faith, all is well.  I look at my many fears and worries and I am reminded of the lesson the animals are trying to teach me.  Why do I always forget?

April 19, 2014 - An Old Barn

Someone built this old barn a long time ago.  It now stands just off the River Road (Route 128) in Woolwich, but I'm quite certain that the barn was built long before the road was since it's far too close to the road and no one would put a barn that close.  The wood is all hand hewn, and the fieldstone foundation is crumbling and falling into ruin.  I don't know how old this barn is, and no one uses it anyway.  It just sits there year after year on the road.  I often wonder about who built it, though.  Was it one person or a group of people?  Was there a barn-raising party and a celebration afterward?  How proud the new owner must have been to own such a large and fine barn.  He must have felt very secure knowing that his animals were safe in his well-built barn.  It's all gone now, though:  the owner, the builders, the animals.  Yet the barn sits on the side of the road, a silent sentinel of times gone by, of people who lived and died in Maine.  I know it will be there long after I'm gone, and this makes me happy.

April 18, 2014 - Fairy Bridges

The key to identifying a fairy bridge is to see where it starts and where it ends.  What does it connect?  What does it span?  If a traveler were to cross the bridge, what might his destination be?  If you cannot answer these questions, you are most likely dealing with a fairy bridge.  Fairy bridges begin nowhere and end nowhere.  They connect nothing, span nothing, and there is no destination for having traveled it.  The photo below is a prime example of a fairy bridge.  One could easily walk around on the left of it, so it does not span water as a necessity.  It begins nowhere and ends nowhere, and on top of it all, it is made of wood and stone without metal.  Fairies, as you know, do not care for metal at all.  Having said all of the above, the weary traveler crosses a fairy bridge at his own risk, and a considerable risk at that.  No one comes off a fairy bridge unchanged.  No one.  You may not be traveling over earthly things on a fairy bridge, but rest assured that if you cross one, you have voyaged nonetheless.

April 17, 2014 - A Prisoner

A long time ago a little tree wanted to grow right where a great rock was sitting.  She was very tiny, this little tree was, and very timid as well.  She approached the great rock very quietly, attempting to be as rock-like as she could (which is not easy for a little tree to do), and she asked him if she could take root right where he was sitting because, after all, it was such a nice spot.  The great rock did not answer her, and the little tree thought perhaps she ought to ask louder, and so she did.  Still there was no reply from the great rock.  And so she asked again and again and again, each time louder until she was shouting terribly (which is not easy for a little tree to do).  Yet the great rock said nothing and did not move.  Now the little tree became very sad, and when she was finished being very sad, she became angry.  So she hopped on top of the great rock and said, "I will grow right here on this very spot," and she said no more to the great rock at all.

And so she grew, and she grew and she grew and she grew.  The great rock was a very stubborn rock and he refused to move even a inch.  In fact, he decided to continue to ignore the little tree, but the little tree no longer cared and she grew and grew.  One day it seems, the little tree was no longer a little tree but had become a great tree, and she placed her roots down right over that rock in all directions, pinning it to its now eternal spot.  By the time the rock realized what had happened during his spell of stubbornness, the little tree had become a magnificent tree, and her head was so far into the clouds that she could no longer hear what was being said way down on the ground.  No matter what the rock said and no matter how loudly he said it, the tree did not hear.  And so there they stayed together, the tree and the rock, an unlikely couple of stubborn disposition on an enchanted island of Maine.

April 16, 2014 - Talking Water

I was walking over a bridge that spanned the Androscoggin River when I heard a voice calling to me.  I looked around but saw no one and was about to continue on my way when I heard it again.  Clearly, it was calling to me and even stranger, it knew my name.  "You cannot contain me," it said, "I am free."  But still I saw no one.  I paused and looked over the bridge.  The water is so swollen this time of year, and it came rushing over the dam, which was completely overwhelmed.  It swirled violently in eddies and pools, savagely ripping past the shore.  It is a dangerous time of year here, and the threat of flood looms on the horizon always.  "You cannot contain me; I am free."  Again I heard it, and again I saw no one.  The sun seemed to shrink away from the violent current, and no water bird dared to tread that water.  More and more, it poured over the the dam, creating a savage waterfall and spraying mist everywhere the eye could see.  As the mountains and hills release the water they have held all winter, the river swells in ecstasy and triumph.  It was an unnerving sight and I was worried about flooding, so I hurried home.  I pretended not to hear the words yet again, "You cannot contain me; I am free."

April 15, 2014 - Balancing Act

The little egg seems so out of place, balancing precariously on a grey day with the whole world flowing around it and the sea threatening to overtake it.  Every day of our lives is a balancing act, beginning and ending with the breath.  We breathe in, we breathe out.  We take in the world, we expel it.  I've always wondered if, when I was exhaling, something else was inhaling me.  That is, if I inhale the energy the Earth has to offer me, upon my exhale, does the Earth inhale me?  Is all of life just a push and pull, a give and take, an ebb and flow, the day and then the night?  It seems to me that it is and that knowing your opposite is the key to balance.  It seems to me that everything around me is telling me so, that everything stands in a perfect balance.  Everywhere I look, this principle demonstrates itself to me, the little egg who balances, for now, on this lonely island.

April 14, 2014 - Haunted Docks

Fog is pretty typical for the coast of Maine, and it's a good thing I like it so much.  It can get so thick that I can't see beyond a few feet, and it can go on for days or even weeks at a time.  It's no wonder then that ghosts seem to fancy the old docks here.  There is always a distant clanking, a sound of rusty chains, and the creak of old wood.  Many sailors have lost their lives on these ragged shores, and they come to the old docks looking for their ships.  Back and forth they roam, now appearing out of the mist, now fading back into it.  It's a fool who wanders too far down one of these docks on a day like this.  The rusty old chains seem to catch on the foot so suddenly, and all too often an unsuspecting visitor finds himself in permanent company with the ghosts of the docks.

April 13, 2014 - Grim Markers

"Wars--I have seen them come, and I have seen them go," says an old verse I read attributed to the Good Folk of the woods.  A visit to the Flying Point Cemetery in Freeport shows the grave of one Colonel George Rogers, who died in the year 1818 at the age of 84.  As you can see, he was a Revolutionary War hero, although this cemetery is not as well kept as the last one I showed, so there is no flag to mark his service.  It comes to us all in the end, this business of dying.  Here in an old graveyard in an old part of the country lies the remains of those who came before us.  But nobody seems to notice.  The war drums continue to beat until even the stones that mark the graves crumble into dust.

April 12, 2014 - The Looking Glass

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest one of all?"  What phrase might the Evil Queen have used had she chosen to peer into this looking glass instead?  As the snow melts, the water forms still pools in the depressions of the forest.  At the bottom of these temporary pools is a sheet of solid ice.  It is this sheet of ice with the water gently quivering above it that creates the Looking Glass of this magic forest, visible only at this time of year.  If the Evil Queen had peered within and seen the sheet of ice, might it not have reflected back to her the ice in her own heart?  And in seeing the ice and knowing its fragility, might she have been a bit kinder toward Snow White, not insisting that the Huntsman bring back her heart?  Would the Huntsman (who dwells in these very woods I watch over, mind you) have been more loyal to the Evil Queen, aware that she had peered into her own soul?  We cannot know since she chose to look into the Mirror of Man instead of the Mirror of Eternity.

April 11, 2014 - Passageways

Here and there, if you look closely, you will find passageways into the Earth.  Portals and doors, windows and tunnels, ways to go in, and ways to come out.  They are so easy to miss, so easy to pass by.  Yet once you train your eye, you will see them everywhere.  I have often wondered whether they were created to let the light in or to allow the darkness out.  I still have not made up my mind because each would be a worthwhile endeavor.  Perhaps it is both.  Ever since I found them, though, I have been able to see into both worlds.  It is a gift from the fairies, this ability to see.  This particular entrance to a fairy home is especially grand, and I am so pleased to have captured it in this picture.  Look closely and you may see it as well, but don't be surprised if afterward your vision seems to change somehow.  It is part of the magic.

April 10, 2014 - An Unveiling

I have been down this road a thousand times before at least, and never have I seen this before.  It clearly was not recently built but has been here for quite some time.  You can tell by the moss that has grown on it.  Yet it was shielded from my watchful eyes up until now, and this is how I know it has been enchanted.  This large fairy dwelling--a condominium of sorts--practically leapt out at me as I took my afternoon walk today.  You can see at least three floors visible, with many entrances and windows.  On the lower left there also appears to be a small entrance to a subterranean portion.  Of course, I snapped a photo as soon as I saw it, only pausing afterward to wonder why I should have seen this today and not before.  I can only hope that the fairies are beginning to trust me, although fairies are well known for their laziness, so it may be that they simply accidentally allowed the enchantment to elapse for a while.  In any event, I now have it captured in this photo, and since I saw it with my own eyes, they will not be able to enchant me anymore, at least not regarding this particular dwelling.  Clever fairies, I am getting closer.

April 9, 2014 - Food is Free

All year long the industrious little ant works, building his home and stashing away the food he finds.  And the bee.  The bee gathers the sweet nectar from the flowers.  She builds her home and stashes her honey.  And the birds.  They make their nests and find their worms and bugs to eat, and when the weather becomes too cold, they fly away to the warmth and continue on.  The bear eats heartily from the woods and streams, and then he sleeps for a very long time in his den.  The deer finds ample vegetation in the summer and fattens up, but even in the winter she finds bits here and there.  Everywhere you look, the world eats the world.  The creatures dance in perfect harmony, now eating, now being eaten.  Here in my front yard as the tide goes out, dinner always waits:  snails, clams, mussels, crabs, lobsters, etc.  The tide brings them in, and the tide brings them out.  Everywhere, there is food.

How odd, then, that humans believe they must toil endlessly for someone else who will give them paper, which they then exchange for meager amounts of food and sometimes nonfood, when all around them there is food.  The toiling should be in the gathering, yes.  It is a matter of changing one's perception.

April 8, 2014 - Island Footprints

Little islands dot the coast of Maine everywhere, some with only a tree or two on them and others with a hundred or more.  They're wild little islands without names, and no one lives on them.  You could row to them if you wanted to for a picnic, but no one really does.  They remain as wild as they were before the first European settlers came here.  The Good Folk of the wood tell me that long ago giants roamed this land, and their children used to play a game of hopping from one island to the next.  What a great ruckus it made, especially when they lost their balance!  If you look closely, you can still see their giant footprints, now long overgrown with moss.  But sometimes in the fog that we are almost perpetually surrounded by, I hear a boom-booming and a spash-splashing and peals of odd laughter.  I'm told by the locals that it's merely the sound of the waves crashing on the shore and the lobster boats going to and fro and the drifting echo of ship bells.  I haven't the heart to tell them the truth.

April 7, 2014 - A Fissure in Time

We're told that nothing lasts forever, but we don't want to believe it.  We want to believe that some things transcend time.  We want to believe that some things beat the odds, that some things will remain a constant.  We do this so we can have a reference point in our minds and our hearts.  While the confusing world rushes past us day by day, while situations and people change like the autumn leaves on a tree, while our image in the mirror quickly distorts with age, we hold on to our secret reference point.  We hold on to that "one" thing, even if we don't know what that one thing is, because if we don't hold on to it, we have to face that all of the created world is just an ever-flowing river of energy with no constants, no shores, no beginning, and no end.  And that frightens us more than anything else.

But nature never lies.  You can see that this solid rock has begun the process of not being a solid rock after all.  It cracks, erodes, and slowly becomes the soft plant life around it.  Who knew the moss could be so hard?  Nothing lasts forever, of that you can be sure.  Perhaps that in itself can be the "one" thing.

April 6, 2014 - Little Duck

I am always awed at how well the animals are suited to their environment, the more so because it reminds me of how we humans are so ill-suited to our own environment.  Even the humans who live in warmer climates are ill-suited to the environment, needing all manner of cooler clothing or shoes or contraptions or modifiers.  Then I chance upon this little duck sitting on the thin ice, which is melting more every day.  Her little feet push at the ice and she breaks little channels in it, after which she takes a rest and just enjoys the day, doing nothing.  All along I thought it was the sun doing the job of breaking the ice, and I find out he has a helper in this happy little duck.  I watched her for a long time, and she was not worried about me as many ducks are.  She happily paddled around without a care in the world.  After all, the sun has many things to do, and surely a little duck can help out.

April 5, 2014 - Strange Light

Water does something strange when light hits it.  Or perhaps the light does something strange when it encounters water.  Somehow the two begin a bizarre, hypnotic dance.  Back and forth, back and forth.  Wandering gypsies come to stare into the expanse of the ocean, only to be blinded by the strange light emanating from its depth.  It blinds the human eye.  It hurts; it pains.  Yet we cannot draw our gaze away.  "I love you, I love you," it whispers dangerously, "come closer."  The weary traveler must not succumb to the siren's song of the sun upon the waves.  Yet all too often, an unsuspecting pilgrim vanishes within.

April 4, 2014 - Silent Sentinels

A visit to the Old Harpswell Common Burying Ground always evokes a feeling of time bearing down on me.  Most of the graves are from the 1700s and 1800s, with some of the inhabitants having been born in the 1600s.  It's hard to imagine, but they were here, living their lives as I am today.  They had hopes and dreams, fears and loves.  There are graves of tiny babies and young people, some of who may have been saved with modern medicine.  Yet there are a fair amount of elderly inhabitants as well, so even in this harsh climate, those of strong constitution lived long lives.  Many of the old tombstones have an eerie story to tell at the bottom of them, with phrases such as, "Prepare to follow me."  Some talk about the vanity of the living, others about reward and punishment.  There are Revolutionary War heroes buried here with the flag standing in salute at their graves.  Everywhere there is a sense of silence and peace, without a care in the world.

April 3, 2014 - Ice Houses

We call this "the pond."  It is on the eastern side of Gun Point Peninsula here in Maine, part of Sebascodegan Island.  It is part salt water and part fresh water, with enough fresh water to allow it to freeze over quite thickly in winter.  Back in the 1800's, ice harvesting took place every winter in which great blocks of ice weighing up to 250 to 300 pounds were cut from the pond and stored in "ice houses."  These houses were often underground and packed well with sand and straw so that the innermost ice stayed frozen even into the summer.  This supplied much of Boston and New York with ice throughout the summer, back in the days before refrigeration.  We still call our fridge an "ice box" in my house.  Some habits never die, and for that I'm very glad.  No one cuts ice from the pond anymore.  It is now a giant ice skating rink over 2 miles long, but even that isn't done much anymore.  Sometimes at night I see the will-o'-the-wisp flying around out on the ice.  At least the fairies haven't forgotten the pond.

April 2, 2014 - Moss Grows Fat

Not only do trees grow right out from rock ledge here in Maine, but moss also grows fat on a rolling stone.  Well, maybe not rolling.  As you can see, this rock is completely alive.  It sports not only trees, but many clumps of moss growing all over it.  They are alive and well, even all the way through the winter.  How can this be?  Life never stops.  It can't stop.  You have to get cleverer to notice it in the winter, of course, but it's still there.  Now that Spring has come, it will become obvious, but don't forget that even on the darkest and coldest of days, everything around you is still alive.  Everything.  Even a rock.  You just have to adjust your eyes.  And speaking of adjusting your eyes, I think it's blatantly obvious that this rock covers another fairy den.  You'd have to be blind not to see that wide opening at the bottom.  The fairies in this part of the world are so bold.

April 1, 2014 - Sea Monsters

There are 57 active lighthouses in the State of Maine, and with good reason.  The rocky, craggy shoreline reaches outward, sometimes for miles, with many dangers just below the water.  Some lighthouses are closer to shore; others are located on craggy islands a mile or two away from shore where danger still lurks just beneath the waves.  Many a sailor owes his life to the old lighthouses.  Of course, the rocky shoreline is just one problem a seaman faces, and it's a lesser problem if you ask me.  The sea monsters are the real problem because, unlike a rocky underground island, they are free to move wherever they please.  This makes them exceedingly dangerous as they can appear, however briefly, wherever they choose.  They are skilled in the art of camouflage, and it is easy to pass one by without realizing you have done so.  The lighthouses are strategically placed in areas where the sea monsters are known to frequent.  This rare photo shows the back of one of the scaly beasts just before it submerged.  I was lucky to get it.