Sears Island…My Island By: Darcy West

Going Camping  My eyes immediately popped open and I sprung from my bed like a Jack in the Box! I was ready for our annual camping trip to Sears Island…my island.

My sister and I blasted out the screen door dropping tent stakes as we scurried to the jeep. We crawled in and were ready to go! We couldn’t wait to travel to “our island”. This was a place where we were allowed to let our imaginations run wild for the weekend.

As the jeep bounced on the rocky beach, the thoughts of picking rasberries, bathing in the ice cold brooks, and digging for clams to roast over my own campfire was overwhelming! My first task would be to pitch my own tent. When you are eleven years old, having your own everything was crucial and part of the excitement!

One of the most memorable events was walking AROUND the island. We were always intrigued by the small, dark caves, mini waterfalls, and the treasures we would find washed upon the shore. At one time this included an old beat-up orange plastic sled filled with fish nets, buoys, an old pair of sandals, and a soggy stuffed bear.

Crackle, Snap, Pop! Often times, these and our parents voices muffled by the thin walls of our tents were the sounds that lulled me into a deep sleep. One evening, my cousin Tracey and I even built our own rustic tent out of the driftwood that had accumulated on the beach over time. Although our feet stuck out the door of that oddball teepee we created, we still fell asleep quickly.

It was my restless grandfather who first introduced me to the sand dollar. He would say,”Come on sweet girl, let’s look for sand dollars on the beach!” I had no idea what he was talking about and as I searched, I was really looking for U.S. American dollar bills in the sand. When he picked it up and showed me my first sand dollar, I was disappointed to find out I wouldn’t be rich on that beach but was hooked on these crazy sea creatures. I still look for them even today.

Slimy, gooey, icky seaweed seemed like nothing to me when I was eleven. One of the heated competitions between my cousins and I involved who could find the “big daddy” crab! Unfortunately, the larger crabs were in the deep waters of Penobscot Bay, not under the small clumps of seaweed we would spend hours raking.

Adventure is what we craved on our camping trips to Sears Island. Back in the day, there was no road that connected the island to the mainland, but only a natural roadway that was only revealed at low tide. You were trapped on the island at high tide. But at times, part of the adventure involved wading across as the tide was coming in. Not only did we battle the crossing currents, but the full size crabs found our toes extremely tasty. Dodging those crab claws, beating the rapid tide, and tolerating the cold Penobscot waters made us feel big, like heros when we finally reached the mainland!

This natural and “picture perfect” island was one of the highlights of my childhood. As I visit the past in my mind, it makes me smile to know that I had the unique opportunity to become “friends” with Sears Island…my island.