A Guide's Progress

You’re probably wondering about that story that began on this blog back in early May- when we began training to be Maine Sea Kayak Guides. It has been a longer story than I anticipated. We took the class, as well as the first aid classes, finally scheduling the exam in mid-July. We’d studied plenty- we thought- and left at five one morning to make the two and a half-hour drive to Augusta. It didn’t go as well as we’d hoped. We both did well on the hour and a half written test, but failed the oral exam. On the navigation section, Rebecca neglected to mention one word- magnetic, and wasn’t allowed to proceed further. I didn’t cover enough material on my pre-trip briefing.

We didn’t feel too bad about it- plenty of people fail the first time or two. It’s supposed to be tough. It should be tough. We scheduled a re-take and continued studying. We practiced the pre-trip briefing again and again, which could take over twenty minutes if they don’t cut you off. This time, we scheduled the exam for an afternoon. We felt ready.


Hypothetical scenarios make up much of the exam. You’re essentially role-playing with the examiners. We stare at the chart as they throw us into these situations where things go wrong, and they’re waiting to hear what they think is the right answer, and how we go about problem-solving. They interrupt us frequently, asking questions, often incredulously: you’d do what? It’s hard to tell if they’re just trying to make you doubt yourself and not stand your ground, or if there’s really some other thing you should be telling them.

As far as we can tell, the examiners may have never been in a sea kayak in their lives. They’re Marine Patrol and Inland Fish & Game people. So it seems they’re waiting to hear very particular things from us that qualify as correct answers. Theoretically, the candidate has plenty of paddling experience and can actually perform these rescues that we demonstrate with model boats, but there is no practical, on the water part of the exam, and it is possible to lie about your experience, talk the talk and sound convincing enough without ever having paddled a kayak.


We’ve paddled a good deal more than a lot of other candidates, and we had a difficult time. In the end though, we both passed. We have our licenses- even patches and decals that identify us as Maine Guides. For now, mine are magneted to the refrigerator door.



But maybe the real test came two days later when I had my first chance to guide a trip out of Old Quarry. A detailed description would sound pretty much like one of the scenarios from the exam: a group of nineteen clients in ten boats led by a co-guide and me, wind & waves, a client’s broken paddle... For a few moments, as the events seemed to unfold in slow motion, I could almost hear the scenario in my head, like a hypothetical exercise devised by a sadistic examiner... the tandem with the broken paddle lolling in the surf zone off the point. And I could hear my response. I clipped on and towed them away from shore, gave them my spare paddle, blew my whistle to round-up the others. This scene may have inspired half the group to re-think their desire to head out into the waves off the point, and the other guide took them back while I took four tandems out to Russ Island. As conditions grew worse, Old Quarry’s power boat, The Nigh Duck, arrived and took us back. As far as I could tell, the clients didn’t seem to think any of this was out of the ordinary, and had not only a good time, but an adventure. It’s certainly a new adventure for me.

More Evening Trips

We see a lot of kayaks atop cars lately, and a few out on the water, although not while we're paddling. The few times we've been out lately have been in the evening when we see a handful of people camped on islands, and some of the more popular anchorages crowded with sailboats, but it's otherwise fairly quiet. That photo above was on the southeast shore of McGlathery, a favorite destination for a quick evening paddle.


Those evening paddles are becoming even quicker though, as the days turn shorter. We may want to start getting up earlier for some morning paddles, but I'll miss the evening trips: the lack of fishing boats, the quiet, and returning home afterward with nothing to do but relax in a hot bath, washing away the salt water.


Lately, a few visitors to the gallery have revealed themselves as readers of this blog, which is cool, but also makes me feel like I ought to post some snapshots even when my adventures have been less than epic- just to keep the blog going.


In real life, I hardly know what to say to other paddlers, unless they're asking for route ideas or my favorite places to camp. And even then, I feel cautious until we've dropped the appropriate hints about paddling abilities and respect for potential hazards. I sometimes worry that readers of the blog might assume, because they read about it here, that they should try some of the same things without being adequately prepared. I've blogged about our lessons, training & practice, but I don't regularly mention it- or all the gear we carry to be safe. Probably anyone who bothers to read this blog understands this, but it still seems that people often think of skills and gear as optional- only for "serious" paddlers, rather than anyone who intends on staying near shore and not getting wet, but is inclined toward self-preservation.


Recently the Island Advantages ran a story about a local woman who went paddling with someone who was not prepared, and what they went through after she capsized on a lake in calm, warm conditions. Check it out here.

Not everyone is so lucky, as one of my posts from last December addresses.

The upcoming Fifth Annual Downeast Sea Kayak Symposium in Bar Harbor is a good opportunity to improve your paddling skills- whether you're advanced or a beginner. Maybe we'll see you there.

Around Isle au Haut, Saddleback Island

I had Monday off. High tide was sometime after four a.m., which made it a good morning to head out to Isle au Haut. Todd got a babysitter and the weather looked good. We launched at 6:20. Two hours later we were passing the Robinson Point Lighthouse (above). The "around Isle au Haut in a day" trip has become one of those things we need to do at least once every year. If we paddled as much as we really wanted, I think it would be more like once a month.


We're always keeping some of these excursions in mind, but for a 25- or so- mile day, it's a good idea to have a few recent longer paddles under the belt. I hadn't done an over 15-mile day since mid-June, but I'd paddled fairly consistently and felt in good shape, while Todd has managed to guide a few times a week. You reach a point where you just say if we don't go now, we never will. We probably weren't as prepared the first times we did this trip.


Isle au Haut is a big island, so it's easy for us to check-out something new every time we go around. This time we pulled into the Seal Trap, a long narrow inlet on the western shore surrounded by wild, ledgy outcrops and scraggy spruce forests.


We headed out to some ledges marked on the chart as "The Washers". That seemed a good name for a rocky formation where waves wrapped around and met each other in the middle. As low tide approached, we were able to ride a few waves as they funneled through the rocks. Then on to Western Ear Ledges, where we've played a couple times, but were a different animal this time, with some fairly large waves forming and meeting in the middle. As I watched Todd get tossed by the clapotis, I suddenly felt a bit timid and opted to watch from the edge. Sometimes you just don't feel it, and maybe it's an instinct to listen to. Later on, on the east side of the island, just after I'd removed my helmet and strapped it on the deck, I botched a surf landing among some rocks and ended up getting pummeled beneath my boat. Just a few scrapes to show for it- and some cracked gelcoat. I somehow must have instinctively ducked-in to protect my head. Lucky.


As we crossed Merchant's Row, we both remarked that we felt pretty good, considering. We felt the pull of town like gravity, increasing as we drew closer. Todd had to get back for the babysitter. If I'd gone closer, the gallery and a half-dozen important things would have vied for my attention. Forget that: I had my camping gear stashed in the boat. I saw a few people on Steves Island, and I preferred to be alone, so I turned-off and headed for Saddleback Island.


After I set-up the tent, I lay back on the warm granite ledge and snoozed for a bit. I did some reading, took a swim in the little cove with a sandy beach and dried-off in the sun. Then I took a walk around the island.


It's funny how often what I'm showing in the gallery seems to reflect upon what I'm experiencing outside the gallery. The forested interior of the island seemed to present me with one woodsy vignette after another, much like the ones hanging in the gallery now.



After dark, the Haystack Mountain School of Craft, a couple of miles away, lit-up like a small city. I awoke early, after more sleep than I'd had in awhile, with a lobster boat puttering not far away. I paddled home and got to work on time.

Here's a link to a kayak blogger who was attacked by a great white shark on Monday. I'll take a botched surf landing in the rocks any day.