Heading "In"

Yesterday wasn't a promising day for a paddle: fog, rain, potential for thunderstorms and more fog. But I had the day off, and finally decided I'd head somewhere. So at high tide, I followed Hatch Cove into the calm, protected waters of the Inner Harbor. I've attempted this circumnavigation of Oceanville a couple of times before, but have been thwarted by lack of time, lack of water, and ice.


This time I had all day. Sure, I'd go around Oceanville, but why not also head up into Holt Mill Pond? The pond separates Stonington from Deer Isle, and getting into it requires a high enough tide as you paddle beneath the Route 15 bridge. I've often driven over the bridge and wondered what it would be like to check it out. I passed a few houses discretely built up in the woods, but farther in, the shoreline was purchased by the town and is managed by Island Heritage Trust. I followed it to the end, where several creeks meander across salt marshes to the edge of the forest. Following them requires some tight turns, and some backwards paddling to get out. A couple of deer watched me try to find my way.



I exited the pond and headed past Warren Point, into Southeast Harbor. I didn't have any big plans, but curiosity got the better of me, pulling me onward toward all these areas I'd never paddled. I aimed north, toward an area called "Deep Hole", a popular "hurricane hole" for sailboats. I paddled against a mild current through the thorofare, checking-out all the houses, many of them large and fairly close together. Despite feeling a bit hemmed-in by civilization, I didn't see one person here- not at any of the houses or the boats kept moored in the channel. I found myself thinking "this will be different in the summer," only to remember that it is more or less summer.


Same with Deep Hole and Long Cove, although I did see some cars on the road. I'd always admired this area from the road; about time I saw it from the watery perspective. I ate my sandwich on a small island, and rode the increasing current back out, along the shoreline of the Tennis Preserve (another IHT-managed preserve which I'd previously seen from the trail).


I was getting a bit tired by then, and headed home, focusing on a good, clean stroke to make those last miles go past. They added-up- 17 miles, by my calculations. Not bad for a lot of puttering around on the "inside".

The Antidote for Civilization

I've been making that transition from wintery spring paddling to what passes for summer around here. Water temps are still high 40's, low 50's, so I'm still wearing the drysuit. We've had the usual mix of fog and rain with cool temps, as well as the occasional crisp, perfect day. Like today. And here I am in the gallery. That's the real transition: not working as much, with a lot of marginal paddling weather, to working all the time on gorgeous days.


We had a few good days in the end of May, like the day at Blue Hill Falls with Nate, as well as a few of our usual excursions around the archipelago. This week I met Ernst and Max and we took a trip out around some favorite spots. I'd brought my camping gear, so after they headed back to Old Quarry, I set up camp on Steves Island and spent the night there.


Maybe it felt a little odd at first. With several hours of daylight left, I set up the tent within site of my home, two miles away. At first I felt a familiar restlessness- the caffeinated anxiety I feel much of the time at home and work (for me, there's little difference between home and work). What do I do now? But there wasn't much to do. First I picked up all the garbage I could find- part of my "Island Adopter" role for MITA. Mostly fishing-related trash, of course (and I include beer cans and styrofoam cups in that category).



Then I sat and read and wrote until the sun went down. I had dinner in there somwhere as well, which didn't take much time. Occasionally, I got up and walked the perimeter of the island, which takes five minutes if you don't get distracted. I watched the sun set, and heard, over by Russ Island, a cannon shot from a schooner, followed by another. I sat on the rocks, reading until Stonington's lights winked in the darkness. Then I read by headlamp, finally crawling into the tent when I began nodding-off. Uneventful, yes, but I never would have slowed-down so much at home. I would have always been looking for that next thing that needed to get done. In the morning, I paddled back and opened the gallery on time.


Last night I considered camping again, but instead opted for a couple hours of flat-out, not-stop paddling on calm water, covering as much distance as I could before returning at sunset. One night calmed my mind, another got my blood pumping. Both somehow make the day job a bit easier to handle.