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A couple evenings ago: practice out at the beach on Rock Island, then a quick jaunt around Crotch. Todd had a camera, so this time I show up on the other end of the lens. From a distance, we look about the same: yellow kayaks, rugged good looks, etc. Soon he'll be writing these blogs too.



This morning I'd planned on paddling with someone else, but when I called to check in at 5:45, I discovered I would be alone. I tried Todd's house (tossing pebbles up at the bedroom window) but he had work to do. So I went by myself. It's good to go out alone every now and then. It clears your head. Until those goofy bluegrass songs start creeping in.



I went around McGlathery, returning as others were heading out, before the air became too hot. I'm still wearing a drysuit, since the water is low to mid 50's, and I usually get wet. We just put in a huge order to NRS though. Actually not so huge, just costly. New semi-dry tops & sprayskirts, etc, etc. It never ends. Look- a buoy...

Circumnavigation of Two Bush

Last night: fog, lobster thieves roaming the shallows in a Whaler, rolling lessons and finally... Two Bush.


Despite its name, the island (two islands at high tide) is no longer vegetated with a bush or even two, neither of the plant-like variety nor of the presidential. There's a rustic flagpole with a tattered Old Glory and the scattered detritus from the Independence Day launch site of Stonington's fireworks. All this just a half-mile from town.

Near-Collisions with Ducks

Conventional kayak safety wisdom dictates that one should always paddle with a partner. As illustrated here, the advantage of paddling with someone else is that when you flip over, they'll be there to take pictures.


Todd was only under for a few seconds, but seemed a bit shocked by the cold when he came up, complaining of an "ice-cream" headache.

The real danger and adrenaline fix came about later though, when we encountered the duck. I paddled stealthily along the shore, not intending to flush out the duck, who ran across the water surface in a panic. Todd, twenty feet from the shore, found himself directly in the trajectory of the feathery beast, who at the last minute altered course, narrowly averting disaster.

Earlier, I'd noted that in the sea kayak videos, the waves are always huge, and that we might have difficulty coming up with such exciting footage. We do, however have ducks.



At the popular anchorage by Hell's Half Acre, we counted at least forty cruising boats anchored for the night. After paddling past here so often when no one is around, our encountering so many boats felt somewhat surreal. Even more surreal was the absence of people, who presumably were below deck.

Back in the Thorofare, we encountered a sunset that just kept getting better and kept us on the water until dark.

Scraggy Sparrow Crotch

This morning: out around Mark, Scraggy, Sparrow & back around Sand and Crotch Islands. No fog. Sun, plenty of lobster boats & jellyfish. Tasty.



Peter returns to DC for awhile; I'll miss paddling with him. More and more we encounter other paddlers, most of whom wear shorts and lightweight shirts, no sprayskirts. According to the weather buoy in Bar Harbor, the water temperature is just over 53 degrees.

It's a tough thing. I keep having conversations with people who know the water is cold and that they are inadequately prepared for being in the water. I recommend places to buy proper gear, and yet there's a lot of resistance . They say "I don't go very far from the shore," etc, etc. Yeah, all the cliches. Why is it so difficult to spend maybe $150 or so for the most basic cold water gear and quit making excuses? Why do I care?

Here's why.

Here's the NRS website so you can buy some gear.

More Fog

The fog was thicker this morning than yesterday's, so we followed the shore to Webb Cove and Buckmaster Ledges. Given the choice, I'll probably always go out among the islands, rather than paddling along the shore. I like the wildness out there. It does something to me that paddling past lobster co-ops and people's homes doesn't do. But the fog makes everything a bit wilder and more mysterious. You see only what is close. The ledges stand out against a grey backdrop. Everything visible stands out more, and everything else disappears.



Maybe that's part of what I like about being in a wild place: that focus and quiet. I found myself fascinated with every bit of shoreline. I admired different things than I do in the wild: the way a house blended into the forest, or the lines of a sailboat reflected in the water. I also liked losing sight of land, but the grumble of lobsterboats urged us back to shallow water.


Back near town, a family of raccoons caught our attention as they made some commotion. They paused to watch us pass.

Morning Fog

We met at the launch at six this morning for a before-work paddle in the fog. It's odd how foggy light at six a.m. is much the same as foggy light at mid-day. Maybe there's a little less light in the sky, but you'd hardly know it was first thing in the morning. We went past the schooner Grace Bailey, and headed out around Crotch and Sand Islands in very calm seas.



I like going past that bonsai tree on Sand; it seems to add to the dreamy quality the fog induces. We were back before eight, with plenty of time to get to work.

Enchanted, Rain

I hadn't paddled since Tuesday, and it felt like too long. The week had been crazy busy with with work, the town swamped with visitors, and when I looked out at the harbor and the islands, the sea hardly seemed like the place to get away from it all. This morning though, I met Peter and Barbara at the launch. "Looks like rain," Peter said.

I had an easy answer: "It will weed-out the riff-raff."



And it did. We saw no other kayakers as we went out to Enchanted Island, only the occasionaly sailboat or lobster boat involved in dubious Sunday morning activities.



After awhile, Peter became weary of my picture-taking and decided to hide on the other side of his boat.

Merchants

This morning, last night's storm clouds were long-gone when I met Peter at the launch. We headed south, here and there pausing to see how best to get around the lobster boats. At least two of the campsites on Steve's were occupied, as well as some on Harbor Island, which is to be expected for the holiday.


We went around Merchants Island, where we paused while Peter cooled-off with a couple of rolls, which he accomplished in a very relaxed manner with his Greenland paddle. I took a couple of photos, but the underside of his boat, while interesting, is not that photogenic.

The jellyfish are here in droves. In herds, or flocks, or whatever you call a bunch of jellyfish undulating together. We paddled through sections where you hesitate to put your paddle in the water, for fear of impaling a jellyfish. Beautiful creatures.


Though I watched fireworks from the water last year, I may just decide to stay off the water for the next couple days as the number of boats rises exponentially. We'll see.

Mark, Scraggy, Crotch

Yesterday I got up and thought about going out. Out on the harbor, lobsterboats busily went this way and that, with the occasional skiff slicing between their paths. I thought "I'll go tonight instead."

So in the evening, with big dramatic storm clouds looming pretty much everywhere, I headed west through the Thorofare, and went out around Mark and Scraggy islands. As I paddled, the clouds grew bigger and closer and darker, casting the sea and rocks in a grey, eerie pallor.



I disturbed wildlife left and right: jellyfish, eagles, seals, otter. I ended-up giving all the islands and ledges a very wide berth, paddling long, open stretches, finally heading in to Stonington in a light rain as lights came on in town. I didn't see another boat moving on the water the entire time.