It had all started as a harmless schoolboy prank, as the saying goes. Speaking as the Alien of the group, I came to this trip from an already strange and surreal sequence of experiences: I'd been invited over from England to talk about my work in New England, and had cheekily suggested that it'd be fun to investigate some of the lighthouses of the east coast, if anyone was interested. The emails had started to arrive from strangers into my London home thick and fast, with suggestions of suitably interesting locations. So there were others too, I had thought.

My fascination with lighthouses as symbols of strength, fragility and isolation, has been fuelled by images from all around the world. I've had two paintings hanging in my bedroom for years, one by Donald Hamilton Fraser, a British artist, of Cape Wrath (at the northern tip of Scotland), shown above. The other is by the famous American Edward Hopper, the beautiful "Lighthouse at Two Lights", with its stunning light and feeling of space. I wanted to see it for real, with my own eyes, and maybe get greedy and see some more. Just maybe.
 
 

I've travelled to the US frequently over the past 20 years, probably seen more of it that many Americans, but never visited this part before. I'd done my talk in Washington DC the week before, a slideshow of my location photography, then had journeyed to upstate New York to visit some very special friends over Memorial Day weekend. I'd done some touristy things, even visited Niagara Falls, and was tired from travelling. Nevertheless, I remained optimistic about the adventure ahead with three American photographers, all incidentally aliens to me.

I needn't have worried, they turned out to be a fine bunch of happy snappers, etched now in my memory as "The Maine Gang". They had it all planned, knew where they were going, knew the territory, and even humoured me when I got enthusiastic about stuff that plainly didn't interest them....   being locals, they had an encyclopaedic knowledge of bizarre stuff, like the tide times, and the location of seemingly Dunkin' Donut store in the land.

We reached the first stop, Nubble Light at Cape Queddick (those lovely names are temptation enough) at just the right time: We'd had a long drive to get there, and the light was fading fast. No sooner was the car stopped, than four photographers with an unfeasable amount of camera equipment disgorged from the innocent vehicle. Thousands of dollars worth of exotic optics, with their operators, spilled out across the rocks as we took up our positions, yelling at each other in delight across the sound of the raging surf.
 

As the light diminished, we shot some interesting pictures, then moved on to the grisly business of finding a place to stay the night.
"Four guys, four rooms, we don't wish to buy the hotel, merely sleep in it, and definitely not at that price." And so began my dubious task as the Silvertongued One, the Limey accent that can talk its way through almost any door: I'd been elected to do the dirty work, so in I was sent to secure the rooms.

Many years before, I'd shot a book on the Canadian National Parks, travelling for six months from coast to coast, right through Nova Scotia, Cape Breton, and even across Newfoundland. The Maine coast reminded me of the Canadian coast, until I realised that it was the continuation of where I'd been before: All those pine trees, all that large scale, this is the very stuff of landscape photography, dealing with all that light in such a vast land.... heaven!

Our journey north brought us many fine sights, much jolly camaraderie, as we discussed photography and many other diverse things. The lighthouse at Two Lights was a little disappointing, as not only did we have murky light to deal with, but the beautifully proportioned house in Hopper's painting had been radically altered and so lost its charm to history. The occasion was saved however by the charming lighthouse keeper's wife, Kathy Coombe, who recognised this enthusiastic alien's curiosity, and took us up the tower.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

An unforeseen pleasure awaited, a weary half-spiral staircase, another for my ever-expanding collection of staircase pictures. I kept the others waiting (thanks for your patience, guys) while I shot lengthy exposures inside with a 47mm ultrawide on my trusty little Mamiya 7 rangefinder camera (highly recommended for travelling light).

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Many strange incidents, much laughter, the largest revolving globe in the world, even a moose crossing the road failed to halt our trek north. I will remember forever visiting the American Holy Grail, none other than the godly LL Bean store, from which I've ordered outdoor clothing across the Atlantic for years: How fascinating to see its vastness for real, so real that we equipped ourselves with a walky-talky apiece before entering, for fear of losing each other forever…. Actually I suspect that my new pals thought they might lose me there, and enchanting though the idea might have been, good ole' traditional American hospitality forbade that little fantasy…. On we drove, ever onward, with so much ahead, and so little room in the car to contain our enthusiasm.
 
 
 
 
 

This beautiful tranquil scene (? Prospect Harbor ?) was only broken by the horn sounding from the car, alerting us to the increasing impatience of our trusty chauffeur.. he'd obviously got his shots while we were still considering it from all angles. I'm glad I shot this panorama, it makes a great print on my wall at home, over 3000 miles away form where I found it.
 
 
 
 
 
 

Then there was Pemaquid: Lobsters, tiny harbors, and stunning wooden-clad buildings. This area retains a romance, a lovely light with interesting subjects for photography, I was enchanted by it all. We stayed in a glorious old hotel right near to the coast, and I even shot one more doorway for my ever-expanding collection:
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The glorious little lighthouse was perched on the fantastic rocks just at the end of the road. We stayed for ages, admired it from all angles, and while every photographer in North America must have shot this beast, it was still a delight to see, an enigma to shoot. I filtered it to hell, cos I'm like that……
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Then there was West Quoddy, right up almost at the Canadian border. We arrived in the dusky fading light, fog rolling in, and weren't deterred from trying at least one or two pics. I selected Tungsten-balanced film for this moody view, showing its loneliness against the sea:

Bruce and I took a few risks with our medium format beasts in the chilly night air, covering lenses from the fog, and shivering in the damp. Trying to get a perfect pic including the magic sector lines of light, the old cliché that lighthouses conjure in our minds, and yes, I got one, and so did he! Luck or judgement, draw your own conclusions…….
 
 

At the easternmost point of the United States, West Quoddy light sure occupies a hazardous spot at the edge of the cliff. We ventured even further east, among the slimy seaweeds below the tide line, in order to gain a view away from the land:
 

…and when we'd regained the clifftop after much tiptoe action, I decided to break all the rules about avoiding converging vertical lines in a picture, and went ahead and shot this:

And eventually we reached Portland Head. Oh dear, I'm sure every shooter in North America must know this icon, this overshot symbol of man's handiwork against nature's impending storms. I had only recently become aware of its existence, and couldn't believe its perfection. You can shoot this from any angle and it'll look great, so I rattled off about a dozen rolls here as the light got better and better. I think I could shoot this location every year for the rest of my life and never get bored. The constant interplay of light, land and sea, with the cycles of movement created by tourists and seagulls, a never-ending series of fascinating subjects swirling around our glorious light: If it was a female human, I'd offer to have its love children.

So many beautiful scenes, I can't recommend the Maine coast enough to any would-be location photographer. It has everything you could want in terms of dramatic light and scenery, no matter which format you prefer. My new-found friends made me feel so welcome, despite my constant barrage of Limey insults, that I feel I have no alternative but to threaten my imminent return: Like Arnie in the movies, my American friends, I'LL BE BACK….