The After Dark Dispatch June

News from the dark places between the Pines for June 2026

Reverend Redbeard

7/1/20263 min read

Hey there, Hikers,

Forgive me—I’m a day late and a dollar short, as they say. June vanished in a blink, and before I knew it I was staring down the end of the month with this dispatch still unwritten. There are reasons for that, and we’ll get into them, so bear with me.

As you all know, June is Pride Month. The rainbow crosswalks once again stirred up controversy among the usual suspects, but as far as anyone’s reported, no one died, so all’s well that ends well. We were feeling extra spicy this year and rolled out a limited‑run Wrath Month tee. If you missed your chance, don’t fret—next year will be here before you know it. Or, if you experience non‑linear time, it’s already here. Either way, Pride was particularly festive in our neck of the woods. Most towns celebrated early, which made the slide into midsummer feel a little uncanny.

Speaking of summer, we’re in the thick of a full‑blown heatwave, and conditions outdoors are getting dicey. If you’re heading into the park, take it seriously. Mornings start cool, but by the time you’re halfway up a trail, the temperature can spike hard. Dress in layers and bring water—a lot of water. How much is “a lot”? As much as you can carry. It may surprise some folks to learn that there isn’t exactly a faucet waiting at the summit.

Luckily for me, I’ve found a new way to beat the heat—and a new view. If you follow us on social media, you already know: I’ve taken a job at the Bar Harbor Historical Society. They’re housed in a gorgeous Gilded Age mansion right on the waterfront. Best part? The place is reportedly haunted by at least two spirits. Needless to say, it’s a pretty sweet gig.

June also brought other successes and new opportunities. Since retiring from my previous full‑time job and investing more of my time and energy into Acadia After Dark, we’ve been able to pour more into this project—and it’s paying off. So many new hikers have found us out here in the fog that we finally crossed a milestone: 500 subscribers on YouTube. We’ve also seen a surge of listeners on audio platforms and recently unlocked monetization. This is huge—it means we can keep growing the show and improving everything we do.

The drawback? You’ll probably start hearing more ads during episodes. But if you’d prefer to skip those and stay fully immersed, we’ve got you covered. Becoming a Lantern Holder over on Patreon gets you early access to ad‑free episodes plus digital extras.

Speaking of extras, I just posted the first entry of the Lantern Logbook. This series is essentially my field notes from exploring the darker corners of the park. It gives subscribers a peek behind the curtain—how we research the show, what we encounter, and sometimes a deeper dive into stories we’ve covered. If that sounds enticing, consider finding us in the woods and lighting your lantern tonight.

Looking ahead to July, it’ll likely pass faster than a hummingbird hopped up on Moxie. I’ve got some great guests lined up for the Fogcast—paranormal fans should be excited. First up is a two‑parter with Boo Fighters Paranormal, a group of investigators based in southern Maine. We’ll also be welcoming back friend of the show Nomar Slevik, who’s been busy promoting his latest book.

On the website front, you may have noticed a small change. We’ve moved the guest spotlight and recent episodes onto our newly redesigned Shows page to make navigation easier.

That about does it for June’s news. Before I go, here’s a little maritime lore you might enjoy: July is an important month for weather omens. St. Swithin’s Day—July 15—is said to be pivotal. If it rains that day, you can expect forty more days of rain. And on July 25, keep an eye on the sky. Tall white towers of cumulus clouds are said to foretell a harsh, snowy winter.

Alright folks, that’s my cue. See you on the trails. Keep those lanterns lit, and stay safe out there.

© 2024–2026 Acadia After Dark L.L.C. • All rights reserved. Born in the pines and fog of coastal Maine.