PHOTOGRAPHER'S JOURNAL: The herring warehouses in Bass Harbor, where lobstermen store their bait, are a huddle of old sheds, shoulder to shoulder, sitting atop piers and leaning far out into the harbor. One may wind ones way in the open air among lobster traps out to the end of the wharf. Enter one of the passageways leading into the buildings, and be prepared to be assaulted by darkness and the stench of salted herring. It takes a few moments to adjust to the dim light in the long, narrow passage, and I walk slowly until I reach a junction where rooms and other dark passages diverge.
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