My Adventure
My Traveling Adventure
The wind hummed past my head, and I noticed off to my side that the sky was starting to clear and that the water surrounding me was becoming a brighter shade of blue. The features of my destination were quickly becoming more distinguishable with each second that passed. Only fifteen minutes before, the features coming into view had appeared as small white dots across the horizon. Looking at my small digital watch, I noticed that the time was 3:45 p.m., five minutes away from the island of Islesboro. The voyage across Penobscot Bay to Islesboro was one of excitement for me.
The excursion to Islesboro started in the coastal town of Lincolnville, Maine. Waiting in the parking lot of the Lobster Pound Restaurant, I frequently saw young children frolicking across the sandy Lincolnville Beach off of Route 1. The smell of freshly cooked seafood and salty sea air mixed together while I sat on one of the bucolic wooden benches along the shore. The Margaret Chase Smith, the Maine State Ferry Service's ship that ventured to Islesboro and back, quickly docked at the end of a long wooden pier strewn with barnacles. The ferry navigated back and forth between eight monstrous black rubber pads jutting out from the water until it finally halted. The rusty metal ramp lowered onto the deck of the ship as cars started their loud engines, intruding upon the tranquility of the scene. My grandfather and I cautiously walked onto the ship after all the outgoing cars had departed. We gave the attendant our tickets and then watched the cars behind us drive onto the ferry like young children following their grade school teacher.
After rushing up the water-coated staircase to the observation deck, I instinctively ran over to one of the large, four-foot windows in the observation room. My grandfather approached me and lifted up the heavy glass window. I loved feeling the cool sea breeze rush past me. As a child, I adored scavenger hunts, and the zenith of my
The wind hummed past my head, and I noticed off to my side that the sky was starting to clear and that the water surrounding me was becoming a brighter shade of blue. The features of my destination were quickly becoming more distinguishable with each second that passed. Only fifteen minutes before, the features coming into view had appeared as small white dots across the horizon. Looking at my small digital watch, I noticed that the time was 3:45 p.m., five minutes away from the island of Islesboro. The voyage across Penobscot Bay to Islesboro was one of excitement for me.
The excursion to Islesboro started in the coastal town of Lincolnville, Maine. Waiting in the parking lot of the Lobster Pound Restaurant, I frequently saw young children frolicking across the sandy Lincolnville Beach off of Route 1. The smell of freshly cooked seafood and salty sea air mixed together while I sat on one of the bucolic wooden benches along the shore. The Margaret Chase Smith, the Maine State Ferry Service's ship that ventured to Islesboro and back, quickly docked at the end of a long wooden pier strewn with barnacles. The ferry navigated back and forth between eight monstrous black rubber pads jutting out from the water until it finally halted. The rusty metal ramp lowered onto the deck of the ship as cars started their loud engines, intruding upon the tranquility of the scene. My grandfather and I cautiously walked onto the ship after all the outgoing cars had departed. We gave the attendant our tickets and then watched the cars behind us drive onto the ferry like young children following their grade school teacher.
After rushing up the water-coated staircase to the observation deck, I instinctively ran over to one of the large, four-foot windows in the observation room. My grandfather approached me and lifted up the heavy glass window. I loved feeling the cool sea breeze rush past me. As a child, I adored scavenger hunts, and the zenith of my