8 Maine Seaside Resorts Lost After Historic Storms

I arrived in Maine ready for tide pools and taffy, only to find entire seaside classics wiped clean by tempests with bad manners. You can almost hear the ghosts of boardwalk games and breakfast grills when the wind moves through the pilings.

I am telling you these stories because memory is a life raft, and because the coastline keeps rewriting itself with every nor’easter. Stay with me as we chase the footprints of eight beloved resorts that the ocean spirited away.

1. Ocean Crest Inn, Old Orchard Beach

I step onto the broad sweep of Old Orchard Beach and picture the Ocean Crest Inn glimmering like a postcard from 1962. It once perched close enough to the tide that porch conversations paused for waves. In the historic storms that barreled through the Gulf of Maine, surge and sand migration undercut the pilings until they surrendered.

I listen for clinks of breakfast plates that no longer ring, and I swear the air still smells faintly of warm blueberry muffins. This was where families measured kids against the height chart on opening day. My advice is to stroll the beach at sunrise and let the pale pink horizon stand in for the old neon sign.

Carry a small notebook and sketch the outlines of what used to be. You will notice how the beach keeps inventing new shapes every season. Respect the dunes by staying on marked paths and you help the shore rebound.

I end at the fishing pier and send a silent thank you to the former innkeepers. Their hospitality survives in the way the light hits the water. Maine always finds a way to keep the welcome mat out, even when the house is gone.

2. Sea Lantern Lodge, Kennebunkport

I wander Dock Square with a lobster roll’s worth of nostalgia, thinking of the Sea Lantern Lodge that once watched over Kennebunkport’s gentle harbor. It stood bright as a lighthouse for road trippers who wanted salt air without the fuss. Then a pair of winter storms stacked up like bad jokes and pushed the river higher than anyone remembered.

The sills soaked, the lawn slumped, and that was the end of front-porch chess at sundown. I still recommend a quiet loop walk along the tidal edges where egrets stalk minnows. Bring patience and a camera with a good dynamic range; the reflections here are drama queens.

Pop into a local shop and ask about photographs of the old lodge. People smile as if they can still hear luggage wheels on the clapboards. Community memory is the best museum in town.

If you crave an anchor for your visit, time it with a low tide and read the ripples like lines in a diary. The current writes fast when storms rearrange the banks. Kennebunkport stays charming because it bends without snapping, the way a good boat yields to a swell.

3. Blue Gull Retreat, Ogunquit

I take the Marginal Way footpath and imagine the Blue Gull Retreat tucked into a curl of cove where waves purr against granite. It used to serve chowder so thick the spoon stood at attention. Then came the historic blowouts that tore shingles like confetti and shoved the shoreline landward.

The retreat folded quietly, leaving behind a view that refuses to retire. I advise pausing at every bench to let the sea reorganize your thoughts. Travelers think they need an itinerary, but along this stretch the ocean schedules you.

Watch the light shift across Perkins Cove and you will understand why artists keep running out of canvas. Pack a wind layer even in July because Maine likes surprises. If the fog drifts in, celebrate it as free cinema.

I whisper thanks to the Blue Gull for teaching me that hospitality is a way of looking. When owners offered directions, they were really offering belonging. That sense lingers like salt on your lips long after the gulls have stopped gossiping.

4. Pine Surf Cottages, York Beach

I think about Pine Surf Cottages each time I hear kids squeal at Short Sands. They were simple cedar boxes with screen doors that snapped like applause. A sequence of heavy-weather winters stacked seaweed in the drive and finally convinced the owners to bow out.

York still brims with summer magic even without those cottages. Try a morning tidepool session when the rocks glisten like polished coins. You will meet crabs with more personality than most apps.

Walk up to the overlook near Nubble Light and practice the art of standing still. The beacon is a patient teacher and a fine backdrop for remembering. Guests once traded novels on those cottage steps; now the horizon turns the pages.

Pack shoes that do not mind getting wet because puddles here have ambitions. A thermos of hot cocoa turns any breeze into a friendly nudge. Maine knows how to make comfort out of weather, and York writes that lesson clearly.

5. Harbor Belle House, Boothbay Harbor

I arrive in Boothbay Harbor and the docks sound like polite percussion. The Harbor Belle House once kept watch over schooners and clammers, a grand shingle-style with porches like parade floats. When cyclic storms chewed at the bulkhead, the foundation tired and the owner chose memory over reconstruction.

Do the harbor loop by foot and collect small vignettes of boats sliding past spruce-tipped islands. You do not need a ticket to feel rich here. Just let your shoulders match the pace of the tide.

For a dash of detective work, visit local historical displays and ask about the Belle’s summer dances. You will get stories about penny candy and long sunsets. This town has a smile tucked into every corner.

End your wander with a plate of sugary whoopie pie to fuel your nostalgia. Sit where gulls negotiate over snacks and try naming the skiffs. The Harbor Belle may be gone but its spirit still whispers through halyards and hulls.

6. Spruce Point Shore Cabins, Penobscot Bay

I roll into Penobscot Bay and the air tastes like pine needles kissed by salt. Spruce Point Shore Cabins once dotted a slope where loons called at unreasonable hours. The big storms of recent years reworked the bluff and the cabins took their final bow.

Kayakers still glide past in the calm of early morning like commas in a long poem. If you rent a boat, hug the shoreline and mind the wind. The bay rewards steady paddlers with seal sightings and shy porpoises.

Bring binoculars and channel your inner naturalist. You will learn more from ten quiet minutes than from a stack of brochures. Watch for working boats hauling traps as a reminder that this coastline makes a living as well as memories.

I stand where the cabins once leaned and count the spruce shadows. The forest keeps telling the sea that patience wins. Maine nods and sends another gust to carry the verdict across the water.

7. Sandpiper Boardwalk Hotel, Saco Bay

I follow the arc of Saco Bay where beach grass combs the wind. The Sandpiper Boardwalk Hotel once stitched together sunburns and souvenirs with a short walk to the surf. A pair of historic tempests pushed the tide inland and the old pilings finally shrugged.

Now the beach feels wider and wilder, like an honest conversation. Walk the shoreline at low tide and practice shell diplomacy. Only take what is common and leave the rare ones to sparkle for the next wanderer.

Local birders will happily point out terns if you ask with a smile. Pack a lightweight field guide and become the hero of your own tide. Every wave is a tutorial in rhythm and release.

I tip an imaginary cap to the Sandpiper every time the sun tosses coins across the bay. The sparkle lands where the lobby used to stand. That is the kind of souvenir you can keep without weighing down your suitcase.

8. Quoddy Head Seacliff Inn, Lubec

I finish near the eastern edge of Maine where mornings clock in early. The Quoddy Head Seacliff Inn once gazed at the candy-striped lighthouse with enviable confidence. Gale after gale gnawed the cliff until caution won and the inn stepped back into history.

Walk the trails at Quoddy Head State Park and let the spruce perfume reset your day. You will find cobble beaches that sound like tiny applause when the water retreats. The path unfurls like a ribbon between sky and sea.

Look toward Canada and remember how borders blur when fog rolls in. Bring layers because the breeze here has graduate degrees in cool. A thermos in your pack turns a bench into a café with the best view on the continent.

I whisper a thank you to the lighthouse for keeping time after so much loss. The beam sweeps the water like a metronome for memory. Maine knows how to mark endings while lighting the way forward.