Creature Discomforts

distance, was the town of Bar Harbor. Did I have a motel room there? The Blackwoods Camp Ground lay in the opposite direction. Were we camping out? Could we rent a hotel room? The wallet held, among other things, a bank card with a MasterCard number and seventy-six dollars in cash. The deciduous trees here in the valley between Dorr Mountain and what the map identified as Huguenot Head held yellowish green leaves tinged with red. My ailing brain sputtered out the warning that autumn was still tourist season in Bar Harbor, which even off-season was an expensive resort.
    In desperation, I rummaged through the glove compartment. It yielded another map of Mount Desert Island, a guide to the carriage roads of Acadia National Park, and two sheets of the sort of heavy cream writing paper I associate with wedding invitations. On one sheet, however, was a note handwritten in charmingly baroque script. The other sheet, in the same script, was headed Directions to the Beamon Guest Cottage.
    The note read:
     
Dearest Holly and Pups,
What a treat for me that your work calls you to M.D.I.!I will be positively thrilled to see you and to have you and your beautiful dogs fill the lonely emptiness of the Beamon Guest Cottage, which, although perfectly private, is quite near the Big House. Consequently, I look forward with great eagerness to inflicting (!) my hospitality on you for as long as you care to stay.
All best wishes,
Gabrielle Beamon
     
    The directions instructed me to take Route 3 from Ellsworth, cross the causeway onto Mount Desert Island, go left on 3, and follow it through Bar Harbor, past the Jackson Laboratories, the Sieur de Monts Spring entrance to the Park, and quite a few other landmarks. After a considerable distance, I was to watch for a small arrow on the left pointing toward the Beamon Reservation. There, I was to turn. A hand-drawn map at the bottom of the page depicted various rights and lefts that would eventually take me to a three-way split in the dirt road. Directly ahead of me would be the parking lot for the Beamon Reservation. To the right would be a private road that, on the map, ended at an X labeled “Quint and Effie’s.” An X beyond the one for Quint and Effie’s was marked “Axelrod.” I, however, was to go left on another private road. The Beamon Guest Cottage would be the first house on my right: yellow with green shutters. The door would be open, the key on the kitchen table. The dogs and I were to make ourselves at home. I assumed that we already had. The car that wasn’t my Bentley contained no luggage.
    Soon after pulling out of the lot and turning right onto Route 3, I passed The Tarn and then came upon a Park Service truck and sedan parked on the sandy shoulder, together with civilian vehicles that probably belonged to hikers still on the trails. The guidebook map of the area had somehow failed to photocopy itself onto my memory. Still,! I had the sense to realize that the man who’d fallen to his death must have done so in this area, on the face of Dorr, beyond The Tam.
    Still fighting the irrational fear that a ranger would stop me to ask unanswerable questions about what I remembered, I drove by at the speed limit. Continuing, I scanned the roadside in search of the sign for the Beamon Reservation. On my first pass, I overshot the turn because, as I discovered after reversing direction, the arrow pointing toward the reservation was the approximate size of a toothpick. The hand-drawn map, however, proved accurate. Turning off Route 3, I followed twists and turns over dirt j roads until smack ahead of me was the entrance to a small, unpaved parking lot with a gigantic sign mounted on a rustic wooden frame. The sign read:
     
    WELCOME TO THE BEAMON RESERVATION!
     
Hours: Open daily from dawn to 5:00 P.M.
    No vehicles beyond the parking lot.
    No overnight parking.
    No strollers.
    No bicycles.
    No pets allowed.
    No camping.
    No campfires.
    No picnicking.
    No alcoholic beverages.
    No smoking of cigars, cigarettes, or pipes.
    No littering.
    Hunting prohibited. No firearms of any kind!
    No ball playing.
    No fishing or clamming.
    No gathering of mussels.
    No swimming.
    No berry picking.
    No boat launching.
    No radios, tape players, or CD players.
    Do not feed or approach the seals or other wildlife. Stay on marked trails. Respect private property!
    Groups desirous of visiting the Reservation must make arrangements in advance.
    Parents are responsible for assuring that children abide