This year, Monhegan will be celebrating its quadricentennial. Other European explorers made note of the island, but Captain John Smith’s visit in 1614, 400 years ago, marked the beginning of long-term settlement there. Of course, Native Americans knew about Monhegan long before 1614. The name is a variant on the local Native American word for island.

Monhegan is 12 miles out to sea, and its area is only about a square mile. Despite its distance and size, the island has drawn artists, fishermen, explorers and tourists for decades.

A ferry service runs to the island several times every day out of Port Clyde, on the St. George peninsula.

I rode out to the island on July 15 not entirely sure I would be able to get back. When I asked whether the ferry might be cancelled because of the thunderstorms forecast for that afternoon, the woman behind the counter laughed and told me there was no chance.

I spent the crossing white-knuckled and queasy, while the boat rose and dropped over swell after swell, and tipped alarmingly sideways with each turn. The man next to me never looked up from his newspaper. At last, we drew in for a drizzling day on the island. Although I was a little worried that the makeshift waterproof case I had made for my camera out of Ziploc bags would not hold up, I felt like I was getting the chance to photograph Monhegan’s everyday beauty, the beauty that people waiting for the sun to come out don’t get the chance to see.

On a rainy day, salt infuses the air, the dirt and gravel roads, the rusting trucks that pick up luggage at the dock. Cars are not allowed on the island, so the only transport you are likely to see are trucks from the Inns and Monhegan Trucking, a slightly oversized name for an operation that, as far as I could tell, had only one very distinctive truck.

The roads were almost empty as I walked toward the village center. Most people seemed to be watching the weather from the front porch of the Island Inn, which offers a view of the ocean and the uninhabited Manana Island that helps form the harbor.

A few groups of tourists, shielding their cameras with raincoats and umbrellas, clattered past me. Some locals and summer residents, identified by their quick pace and friendly calls to each other, were out as well, but once I left the historic church behind me I saw no one.

Water dripped through the trees, and I kept my camera under my coat.

Of course, every few feet something new appeared that I had to photograph.

A view of the water through the trees. A house that had been standing on that spot, turning a shoulder against the ocean wind, for at least 100 years. A shed painted to look like the TARDIS from Doctor Who. Two paths diverging in a green wood.

And, down one, the Monhegan Brewing Company, where I tried several samples of their excellent local brews. After that, the walk up another hill to the Monhegan Historical & Cultural Museum very pleasant, even with droplets slipping off the hood of my coat and onto my nose.

The Monhegan Museum is located in the old lighthouse, and also includes a small gallery of rotating local art.

Monhegan has inspired many artists, including Jamie Wyeth and Rockwell Kent. The artist’s colony there is still active. Just walking along the main roads I passed five different galleries and studios, and there are many more.

The art at the museum ranged from solid realistic portraits of working docks, to romantic views of the sea, to impressionistic and more abstract interpretations of the island.

The current exhibition will run all year as part of the quadricentennial celebrations, and showcases famous and forgotten artists who found inspiration on Monhegan.

The museum charts the history of the island from the Native American fishermen to present-day lobstering. With the rain sheeting down outside, I walked slowly through these exhibits.

I took in the rows of buoys, the black and white photographs, the rusted lobstering tools. A harpoon hung on one wall, the relic of a brief whaling fad.

When the rain let up, it was almost time for the ferry back. I hiked down to the dock. Beside me, a gull sang. In the distance, waves roared against the rocks and whispered away, an oscillating beat.

When I reached the public landing, a woman was standing on the lawn behind her house, barefoot, staring out across the water at Manana. Manana is almost treeless, with steep slopes. She pointed toward the crest of the hill.

“There’s a goat, can you see it?”

Framed by the perfectly even light of a gray day, something tall and dark raised its head toward us. It was far away, too small for my lens to capture and yet clear, so that I could make out the spaces between each of its four legs. With the fog rolling in, the diffused light, the smell and taste of ocean rain in the air, the sight of a distant goat on uninhabited Manana became something unreal, something romantic. Monhegan is, after all, that kind of a place. I hope I managed to capture a hint of it in these photographs.

For more information on the quadricentennial, click here.