At the very end of Scarborough and Ferry Beaches, connecting the two, is a point of land known as Prouts Neck with one of the most beautiful walks in Maine along the cliffs of the sea. The fact that Winslow Homer lived and painted here, and walked this sometimes desolate path, may give my claim credibility. The winding, craggy path rounds the point, at times as a rocky beach, at other times as a tiny footpath at the top of a cliff no wider than my feet. The walk is about a mile in length, but to get to it, we park at either of the beaches, walk the entire length of the beach, and then climb the rocks at the small 1949 stone pump house to get to the footpath. Perhaps you can park at the Black Point Inn; we've never tried. I was introduced to this land when I was a little girl, taking rides with my father after we'd had breakfast out on one of his weekend visits with me. My father introduced me to lots of places along the sea -- Kennebunkport, Marginal Way in Perkins Cove. Having once owned an island in Casco Bay, Pumpkin Knob, my father loved the ocean and on so many rides, that's where we'd end up, and he'd share his stories, his dreams, his love of the rocky coast of Maine. Right on the point of Prouts Neck, there was a particular piece of land he always wanted to purchase. Now, a house sits on that spot and each time I look at it, I remember my father's dream.
Along the path are beautiful homes, boarded up in all seasons except summer. For me, going to the ocean is as much pleasure in the dead of winter as it is in summer and I'm usually sad thinking the owners are not getting the maximum benefits of owning such a piece of property. I think I might like winter at the beach even more than summer as I'm generally a more solitary traveler which is always pleasing to me.
The path is moderate in difficulty. There are seasons where it's quite muddy and wooden boards have been lain across particularly wet areas. There are times when spots are impassable. About mid-way around is a very tall rock just off the path. In summer, my boys used to climb the rock and sit perched precariously on the top as their lookout point, making me dizzy. Never would I dare climb up it.
On the walk, the wind blowing up off the ocean against your cheeks, you can look toward the horizon and appreciate the beautiful place in which we live. You can bring a picnic. You can draw, paint, journal, think or not think. The sun shines brilliantly off the waves in all seasons, and I take deep breaths of the fresh salt air, always grateful to be right there, right then.
