Saturday, June 30, 2007

No Man's


Though I'm often paddling among familiar places, I keep finding islands I haven't been to yet. This morning I paddled off toward Spruce and decided to take the extra detour around No Man's Island. Because of the birds that nest on the island, it is off limits to humans until the end of August, so I only saw it from the water.


Only a couple of weeks ago I was amazed at how little recreational boat traffic, especially kayaks, I saw out there. That has changed, but at least the increased traffic creates more photo-ops.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Addiction

Rounding George's Head

Yesterday, in the gallery, I pointed the binoculars at a group of kayakers long enough to identify Todd, who was taking some visiting family around the nearby islands. He'd invited me, but I had to work, so I watched and waited for the end of the day.

Later, it was my turn. As I walked to our launch site, Todd drove past in his work van and asked me where I was going.

I shrugged. "Toward George's Head and take it from there."

I heard him sigh. He had a dinner, family, plans. I was on my own.


Powerboating Family Plays Lord of the Flies

For me, kayaking has been a bit like my on and off coffee addiction. At first, it feels great just to get out there. Every time I paddled it felt like a balm to the ups and downs of daily life. But then as I paddled more frequently, I discovered that if didn't get out I'd feel a sort-of withdrawl, and feel bad because I didn't get out. Lately, watching more and more kayaks arrive in town on car tops, and seeing the occasional paddlers in the harbor, I feel a rising anxiety if I haven't been out in a couple of days.


And social events? Forget about it. What happens when you're with a group of people eating or drinking or milling about? Someone asks about kayaking, or more likely I'll mention something about it, and I think "what am I doing here?"


The Joel Hole

Last night: George's Head, Wreck, Bare & back toward the sunset. People on several islands, mostly powerboaters building huge fires. Oh, and check this out- maximum speed: 14.7 miles per hour. I must be getting fast! I'd noticed the max speed going up to 7-somthing when the waves and wind and current were pushing me, but I didn't think this was possible.





Saturday, June 23, 2007

Scraggy

Rounding Scraggy Ledge

This morning, after working too much all week and jealously watching kayaks come and go from Hagen Dock, I finally got out with Todd. Just a quick morning paddle: Sand, Scraggy, back past the lighthouse on Mark Island, a quick break on the beach at Crotch and home. Jumped in the water and floated in my drysuit... the water is still chilly.

Mark Island


Sunday, June 17, 2007

Gooseberry


So many of these passages could easily begin with " I almost didn't go". I was tired this morning and had a lot of really important things I could have done instead, like clean the apartment. As I contemplated this, the phone rang. Richard was all set to go. So we headed out with modest ambitions and one eye on the towering thunderhead off to the west.


We took a break on Gooseberry, where I encountered the first other paddlers I've seen on the water since last September. I felt almost possessive- we've had the archipelago pretty much to ourselves (and a few fishermen) for about eight months. That drysuit is an excellent investment, when you think of the added months of paddling it gives you. And the water is still quite cold. Anyway, it's kind of nice to see some other paddlers out there; there are still very few, considering how good it is to be out there.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Russ


Saying I went to Russ Island is like saying I took a walk around the block. Russ is one of the larger islands, directly across the Thorofare. Maybe 3/4 of a mile to get to, 3 miles round trip when you circle the island. But that's what I did this evening. Of course I'd planned on going further, but by the time I got to the end of Russ, the wind had picked-up, and the waves were getting bigger. I was alone, and had doubts about my ability to self-rescue in constant bigger waves. I turned and surfed/paddled the length of the island.


In the lee, the water was amazingly calm. I decided to get out and take a walk. I don't spend much time walking around on the islands. My time is always limited, and it seems my priority is always to go as far as I can, to spend all my time on the water. It's good to get out and walk every once in awhile, and see the waves from the shore.



Back in town, it seemed pretty calm. I don't have that satisfyingly tired feeling in my muscles, but judging from the way the wind has picked up, I made the right call.





Sunday, June 10, 2007

A Tree Grows On Doliver


It's been a month since my last longer (half-day, instead of 2-3 hours) paddle. The last time, I went around Kimball Island with Todd (Where is Todd these days?) and I was ready for another. This morning I went to the East side of Isle au Haut, and went around York Island. It took a couple of hours to get to Doliver Island, where I took my first break. Dolliver is a Maine Island Trail (MITA) island with a small campsite that could accomodate 4 campers.


My first impression, as I paddled around it, was that it seemed a very rough and unaccomodating place to stay. I found a small landing spot and got out. Most of the island is bare and rocky, green in places with thorny weeds and tiny flowers. The rocks are dark- not Deer Isle granite. One single spruce tree grew near the height of the island, and not far away I found a grassy spot where one might pitch a tent. I sat down and read the logbook, and unanimously, everyone who had stayed there liked it for its weatherbeaten cragginess. The longer I sat, the more I liked it. Despite its wildness though, the island is in constant view (and vice-versa) of a handful of summer homes on Isle au Haut and York Island, which perhaps takes a little away from the remote feeling.


I continued around York Island, which feels wild and wooly, even on a calm day. On the way back, I took a break on Bill's. The water looked so inviting, I took off my drysuit and tried the water in just my neoprene. I should have kept my boots on, because I couldn't progress past the painfully cold chill in my feet. Good to know though; I'll stick with the drysuit for awhile.



Saturday, June 9, 2007

Sirens of Stonington



I almost didn't get out. At the end of the day sometimes, it seems like a lot of effort to get ready and go. The previous two beautiful evenings, I'd lamented that I'd had to spend them in meetings. Now I had an evening free, but I was tired. That first wee dram of scotch was nice, and a second would be nicer. Spiderman III beckoned from the Opera House. The sirens, it seems, are here on land, and their song isn't always so pretty. I tore myself away and launched by six.


Amazingly, I had to wait in line to get to the ramp. A forklift drove off a ferry, and the ferry pulled away. A runabout was launched from a trailer. While I waited, I chatted with a local man, who fishes out of Sylvester Cove. He mentioned how difficult it can be to see kayaks, and wondered why we didn't all have bicycle flags mounted on tall fiberglass rods flying from our boats. I told him it might not be a bad idea, and that I'd seen kayaks do this, but it might be a problem when you flip over. (I didn't mention wind resistence or just the plain silliness of flying a tall flag from our sleek little boats). I told him I'd become much better at guessing what a lobster boat will do, though, and he seemed to accept this.


The water and air were calm and warmer (low 50's now). As I went around Sand Island, a couple of eagles watched me from a rock, and took off when I pointed my camera at them. They are huge birds. I went out past John and Farrell and paused near Sparrow Island. Since there were so many seals, I kept my distance.


I went on past West Halibut Ledges, on out to Scraggy Ledge and over to Ram Island. I watched the sun set over the Camden Hills as I paddled back toward George's Head, the lights of Stonington winking on as I approached. I turned on my headlamp and lights for the last couple of miles, arriving in town in the dark. Back at the gallery, Rebecca worked on her hatches.



Tuesday, June 5, 2007

Fog After Work



Just a little after-work paddle. It had been foggy all day, and I'd been watching for a break. The fog came and went and I decided to go out, maybe hug the shore if the fog remained. Well, it cleared enough to navigate in a vague sort of way, and I guess I didn't feel like hugging the shore.


The sea was pleasantly bumpy as I went around Sand and John Islands and crossed over to George's Head. I half expect to see people camping on Steve's and the other obvious camping islands, but it's still quiet out there. I headed around Wreck, and pulled up on the beach.

I kind of hate to admit this, but in my spare moments, I like to pop our kayaking dvds into the player and watch a bit of kayak... well, maybe "porn" is too strong a word, but I'm watching other people do it, rather than myself. And now, sadly, as I paddle solo with nothing but the thoughts in my head and the drips from my paddle to keep cadence, another song emerges in my mind... I couldn't tell you what it is, but it's on the soundtrack to that kayak video. It's some obscure indie band, probably friends of the filmmaker, and it kind of annoys me that it pops into my head as though it were a natural paddling soundtrack.


The only other folks I came across out there were the people on the schooner, Isaac Evans, as I paddled past their anchorage near Camp Island. The rest of the way in... well. I love the fog.



Friday, June 1, 2007

Gooseberry after Dark



I had hoped to go for a full moon paddle last night, but it was cloudy and it didn't work out. So I went out tonight. There was plenty of nice light until the sun went down (big surprise). I stopped on Steve's Island, which in midsummer is often crowded with campers. Tonight it was uninhabited. In fact, I didn't see anyone anywhere out there. Steve's is a pleasant little island, with several campsites. Despite it's being only a half-hour paddle from Stonington, camping there would feel like another world.




I thought I might wait for the moonrise from the beach on Wreck, but I had a while to wait. Instead, I chose to paddle around McGlathery and out around Gooseberry. Clouds on the horizon prevented any glimpse of the rising moon. It was dark by the time I stopped on the beach at McGlathery to turn on my running lights, and I paddled for another hour in the dark before I pulled into Stonington Harbor.


The brightest lights in town came from the gallery, where Rebecca was working on her new kayak. Tonight she tackled a difficult step: cutting holes into the deck for hatches. We should have a launching in a few weeks.