Beach Access Controversy | Who Owns the Beach?
In a community where it’s not uncommon for families’ connections to the area to go back four or five generations, Harris is an outsider. Tall, with a rim of closely cropped graying hair and remnants of a Southern accent that betray his roots, Harris and his wife, Sharon Eon, a Mainer who summered here as a child, have called Goose Rocks their year-round home since 1992. Although not on the ocean, their house, a rebuilt four-bedroom place, sits on one of the area’s many back-lot roads, giving the couple about a three-minute walk to the water. With his 9-year-old golden retriever, Kaysea, Harris, who works from home in software sales, takes advantage of his proximity to the sea almost daily.One steamy July day, not long after he’d moved to Goose Rocks, Harris was wrapping up the morning when his teenage stepson burst into the house and related how he and his girlfriend had been asked to move off the beach. The complaint, he said, had come from a woman on the beach behind a home owned by Barbara Rencurrel. Even though Rencurrel had a history of carefully guarding the sands between her home and the water, Harris was incensed. “Not on my watch,” he told his son, and he grabbed his towel and Frisbee.
“In New England there’s this idea that private property is sacred and it’s yours to do with you as you wish,” he told me. “I don’t disagree with that in its purest form, but when it becomes part of a larger entity, like a waterfall or a beach, you’re talking about something unique. This is an important thing to everyone. It should be available for all the public.”
But beach law can be a confounding thing. And as Ned Coll discovered, in New England, a region steeped deeply in the values around private property, it’s a particularly divisive issue. Even in the 1970s, as other states, such as Oregon, Hawaii, Texas, and Florida, opened up their coastlines to the public, New England budged very little.
Maine is especially conservative. Maine and Massachusetts are two of only four coastal states in the country that permit ownership down to the low-tide mark. They also share something else: a 1647 Colonial ordinance, crafted when the two were still joined together, which restricts use within the intertidal zone to three specific activities: “fishing, fowling, and navigation.” Even in the wake of a tourist boom that’s enveloped beach communities over the last half-century, Maine has strayed little from a strict interpretation of that wording. The effect of the law is a curious one, allowing strangers to, for example, carry fishing poles and shotguns onto private property, but not towels or sunscreen.
Harris was only vaguely familiar with Maine beach law as he marched to the sand on that July day. Motivated by a lifetime spent living in oceanside communities where public access is more accommodating, he stood directly in front of the Rencurrel home, playing a game of catch with himself, throwing his Frisbee into the wind so that it came sailing back to him.
Within minutes, he says, Rencurrel’s daughter, Leslie Josselyn-Rose, came down to the beach and asked him to move. The conversation was courteous, but the back-and-forth lasted a good 10 minutes before Harris finally headed home. (Josselyn-Rose says that the person who confronted Harris’s stepson was neither she nor her mother.) Over the next dozen years, more confrontations followed, all of them between Harris and Rencurrel. He’d come down on his lunch break and sit on a beach chair. Sometimes the two would exchange words; other times, when Harris was in the water, Rencurrel would leave him a highlighted copy of Maine beach law.
“Most people were very gracious when I asked them to leave,” says Rencurrel, a widow and former Kennebunkport selectman, whose family has owned property in Goose Rocks since the 1940s. “But Mic was the only one who caused any problems.”
Things finally came to a head on a late August afternoon in 2005 after Rencurrel called the police. When the two officers arrived, Harris, who was sitting with friends, stood up and calmly defended his position, telling the officers that he believed the beach should be open to the public. He phoned his wife. “There’s a chance I might be arrested,” he told her. Within minutes she was at her husband’s side with 15 friends for support.
It was hardly a protest, and Harris eventually went home, but it proved to be a touchstone for the community. For the town, the incident forced officials to re-evaluate their position on the beach; they finally concluded that a century of public use had granted it a prescriptive easement over all of it. For the oceanfront owners, the clash between Rencurrel and Harris, and the town’s subsequent unwillingness to defend Rencurrel’s property rights, galvanized them into action. They held regular meetings, elected a leadership committee, and hired Sidney “Pete” Thaxter, an experienced attorney out of Portland who has spent more than two decades arguing for and representing property owners in beach-law cases. After rounds of talks and stalled mediation sessions with the town, the property owners filed their lawsuit against Kennebunkport in late October 2009.