Saturday, January 31, 2009

Obstacles


I arrived at "the boathouse" on Thursday ready to paddle, with plenty of time for a trip around Sheep Island. Unfortunately, the driver of the snow plow, who does such a nice job otherwise, decided to leave a small mountain of snow and ice blocking the door. I thought that was one of those snow plowing guidlines: don't block the doorway. So I had to go home for a shovel and dig out enough to get my boat out and over the snowbank. I used up precious paddling energy digging and hurling ice blocks, while breaking my resolution to cut down on four-letter words.



But I got out onto the water and almost immediately forgot my frustration. I had to paddle quickly to get in the eight or so miles to get out and around Sheep and back, turning on my lights at sunset, and returning after dark.



Yesterday I had big plans, but somehow I felt guilty for neglecting inconsequential things on shore, and didn't get out until the wind was picking up. My intended route quickly shrunk. In the most open stretches, I found myself turning into the bigger waves, some of which broke over the cockpit, splashing me in the face. The water is in the mid 30's now, so let's just say it was a wet, invigorating ride. Actually, it felt good, but I reigned in my ambitions and turned east at Wreck Island, pausing at the beach for a cup of tea.



I probably should have gone out again today, but that darn work ethic (which seems to be fading fast) kicked in. I sat in the gallery and looked out at the water, occasionally sighing. What was I thinking?

Paddling obstacles:
having a work ethic (not to be confused with the need for money)
snowplow drivers
forgetting that good weather never lasts


Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Pool Session, Sunset


Last Saturday we did another pool session in Bar Harbor with Carpe Diem Sea Kayaking. That's Mel Rice coaching me. Another exhausting session.



On Tuesday, I took a sunset paddle around Crotch, Sand and John Islands. Air temperature was around twenty, not much wind at first, but it picked up on the west side of the islands.



It takes a little more effort to get out in the Winter than other times. You have to choose your days, waiting for warmer temps, the absence of too much wind, or a docile sea. It seldom all happens at once, and there's always some obstacle. I just make up my mind that I'm going to go, and I go. It would be nice to always have someone to paddle with, but few friends invest in winter gear, and waiting for all these variables to line up is like waiting for the planets to align.



The reward is great, though. And there are moments, paddling alone, when you quit thinking about things on land, and you give yourself over to the undulations of the waves. I found myself drifting beneath some house-sized boulders, taking photos, but also just spacing-out, feeling the waves beneath me, watching them hit the rocks. I was dilly-dallying, waiting for the sun to set, and when it finally did, I headed in grudgingly, savoring every moment on the water.


Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Fresh Tracks


On Saturday in Bar Harbor, the water temperature was 83 degrees. We were in the pool at the YMCA, getting some instruction from Mark Schoon and Mel Rice at Carpe Diem Sea Kayaking. Monday morning, after yet another heavy snowfall, it was a different story. The chunks of ice floating in the water assured us that it was on the cold side, but it appeared to be a gorgeous day for a paddle. I met Brighid at Old Quarry and we headed out.



On Sunday night, while twenty inches of snow fell inland, our snow turned to rain for awhile, so we only had- I don't know, a foot or so. Maybe a little more. The toughest part of getting out was shoveling out the car, since my kayak was still on the roof rack from Saturday. And shoveling was tougher because I was still in pain from Saturday- those sculling braces (again and again) take some muscles I don't think I've used before.


We had all afternoon, bright sun and calm water. The air, in the mid-twenties, had that crispy, pure taste to it that makes you savor the luxury of breathing. Our surroundings brought that luxury into an even sharper focus: fresh snow on the spruce, granite boulders draped in pure white, and a clear, algae-free sea, uncorrupted by the detritus of warm weather humans.



We were kept company by eagles, zillions of ducks and a few startled seals.



We paddled out around Saddleback Island, past Phoebe, Enchanted and No Man's and on to Gooseberry, where we had a break and some lunch. We could have kept going if the sun weren't low in the sky.


We headed back in, arriving in Webb Cove at high tide, amid acres of ice, as the sky turned dark.







Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Ice


Now that I'm on Facebook, I've become quite vain, and paddling excursions have turned into little more than opportunities to get that perfect shot of my handsome mug, preferably that would also show a few things about me other than my negligent winter grooming. I've been working on the "hold the camera at arm's length and smile" shot. Try to get a little of the kayak in, some of the water or landscape behind you. Smile. Yesterday was beautiful and cold: 20 degrees, hardly any wind. I took a short, solitary paddle out around Little Camp and Green Islands. Yep, that shadow is mine.



Today I met Bill Baker over at Old Quarry Ocean Adventures and we headed out of Webb Cove. The wind and waves were picking up out of the southeast, so it seemed like a good idea to circumnavigate Whitmore Neck, the island (at high tide) we usually think of as Oceanville. We hoped to get around and back through Hatch Cove, which seemed like something we could do with the unusually high tide during the perigee full moon.




Once we got past Sheep Island and around the corner into Southeast Harbor, the conditions calmed down. Despite the cloudy weather, at 30 degrees, we were comfortable. We passed a few chunks of ice here and there and paddling was fine. Then we found where all the ice was coming from.


At first, the pack ice seemed impossible to get through, but we didn't want to backtrack, so we persevered. We could paddle atop the ice and get a fissure started as the kayaks rode up onto the ice and cracked it. Then, by paddling and pushing with our hands, we either progressed atop the ice or through the resulting chasms. It was tough going. Eskimos and Greenlanders must have to do this stuff all the time, probably pursued by polar bears, but the technique was new to us.



We passed through stretches of open water, only to encounter more stretches of shifting pack ice. I got my mug shot.


Finally, we ran out of water. Ahead lay a chaotic jumble of ice chunks. We portaged over an island, dragging and carrying our boats through the woods, crossing a sandbar, and making our way out to the road. Bill went for his truck and we did a motorized portage the rest of the way.