Lobstering is to Maine as Spring-breaking is to Mexico. On a recent journey, I traveled up and down a few hundred miles of coast in search of "Lost Lobster Pots". If a rogue propeller snags the line connecting a pot to a buoy - it can be set free. Almost like a message in a bottle, each pot washes onto shore to tell a story. Some pots are mangled and multi-colored while others appear young and fresh from the factory.
Trying to find a backwoods road.
Ripples of sand on the soft beach leads us, barefoot, to two pots twisted together.
The wind blows with strength across the exposed beach. Each shell is blown to a standing position and protects a triangular shaped sand design.
Freda the Fixer-upper.
Blue skies, white contrails of passenger planes and a mix of rope and pots.
Splashing foam precedes and every wave that rolls onto the beach.
Yellows and greens with a pine tree-filled island in the background. The beauty of Maine.
With a pocket of cash and a bucket of bait, you could be on the water by noon.
A torn-up pot landed on this beach some time ago. I love the textured pattern in the sand.
Other BWP Adventures: