Friday 19 June 2026--Today's planned activity is the science center and aquarium just outside town, but I don't really feel like it...don't want to get in the car, either. Instead, I walk out the Van Horne Trail again, taking the right-hand fork, which follows the old rail track. A causeway crosses the mouth of Katys Cove. I have in mind to turn up on the other side toward the old rural cemetery, but the trail dead-ends at the far side of the cove. I'm sure I went past this point in 2012. Did the owners of the newer upscale homes on Quoddy Shores Drive cut off access? More likely, I guess, it was low tide when I was here before, and I walked along below the high tide line.

I retrace my steps to my room, and hang around there a while. I do enjoy the property. I'm pleased enough to have walked about three miles every day.

Dinner this evening is at the Salt Bight, followed by the usual pints. Unfortunately, the brewery's projection TV has suffered a major malfunction. I was not alone in looking forward to tonight's match between Scotland and Morocco, at Gillette Stadium outside Boston. Traveling Scotland fans, dubbed the Tartan Army, took over the town this past week, charming normally staid and insular New Englanders with their raucous joie de vivre, marching to bagpipes through the streets in kilt and sporran, topping the head of every statue they could find with traffic cones. Tales of the city's bars being drunk dry are no doubt exaggerated, but the extra stocks laid in of Tennent's lager were in fact rapidly depleted. It might be just as well that we missed the game; an early gaffe by the Scots led to an easy goal for Morocco, and that stood up for a 1-0 final. But the Tartan Army taught that, as much as everyone wants to win, having fun and making friends is far more important. I could only wish that my fellow Red Sox fans would take the lesson.