Paddling Home in the Dark

As I paddle home in the dark, phosphorescence streaks my bow wake, blending with the reflections of stars so it feels like I’m hovering someplace between water and sky. I feel my way along by the solid catch of paddle blades and the dim, familiar shapes of ledges. Out at the anchorage by Hells Half Acre, maybe a mile away, a dozen or so mast-top lights mark the sailboats beneath them, but otherwise, all is dark. It feels good to know my way; I’ve been making this commute often enough.


It has been a long day of guiding. In the morning, Jake and I took a group of nineteen to Green Island, returning to the ramp at Old Quarry where hordes of visitors massed toward the water’s edge as if to flee some natural disaster on shore. The tandems from our morning trip were immediately put back into service. Nearby, a couple of rented canoes rafted-up together, their occupants sitting on the gunwales, ignoring Bill’s warnings to be careful.

Jake and I each had groups waiting for us, and it took some herding to figure out who went with whom... after which we determined we didn’t have enough boats- every single boat was out. Then Nate returned from his three-day trip and we grabbed his kayaks. After figuring who went in what cockpit, we adjusted footpegs and as I did a pre-trip briefing, noticed one of the canoes, now swamped, the occupants swimming for shore. Jake and I looked at each other and shrugged; what did they expect?



My group- nine people, including some kids- wanted to go to that quarry on Green Island, so back to Green I went, where for the second time that day, I stacked kayaks on the beach to make room for more as other groups arrived. On the way back, we stopped by Hells Half Acre, and back at Old Quarry, found the shore covered in a maze of returned boats, waiting to be cleaned.

But I had a sunset trip- a couple and their two kids. Sure, they’d been sea kayaking, the father told me, nodding toward the kids- “but not since they were born.” Getting to Hells Half Acre before dark seemed a long shot, but he seemed driven to get to the island. I could understand. We probably should have turned back, arriving just after sunset- just enough time for a quick photo before turning around. Fortunately, the wind helped push us back.


A hectic day, to be sure, following on the heels of several such days. The day before I’d spent the morning instructing a group in the pond, before taking them out for the afternoon, co-guiding with Jessica. It had poured down rain all day, but near the end of our trip, the rain cleared and we stood atop Little Sheep Island, gazing out at a rainbow over the islands. “It’s moment’s like these,” Jessica said, “that make me look around and think I’ve got the best job in the world.”

Different rainbow, different place & year... but otherwise the same

Paddling home in the dark, I round Indian Point to see the trio of winking red lights atop the windmills on Vinalhaven. At the house on the point, light spills from the windows onto the shallows and ledges. Inside, a television flickers. I could use a day or two off from paddling, even if it means sitting at my desk at my other job. I feel pleasantly worn-out and my brain a bit fried, but it feels good to focus on a clean stroke, and to think, as much as possible, of nothing.

Are We There Yet?

A few snapshots:


“How far is the island with the swimming quarry?”

I’ve heard this many times already, probably from just about everyone in the group- ten teen-agers and their two college-age counselors. It’s hot, yes, but these kids have an inordinate desire to go swimming. It even seems to outweigh their patience with learning the finer points of a good forward stroke... the very thing that will propel them to the island with the swimming quarry. It’s starting to sound like the “are we there yet?” chorus we plagued my parents with from the back of the station wagon. And like my Dad after hundreds of miles of hot interstate, I’m getting a little snippy.

“What swimming quarry? You believed me? I made that up.”



We’re on the second of three days together. Days- not nights; I leave the group (organized by Apogee Adventures) on an island to camp, returning in the morning to take them paddling. This is my second trip with Apogee and, despite their preoccupation with swimming holes, I’ve had fun paddling with them. Their real focus though, is on community service, which translates to cleaning-up islands. By the end of both trips, we will have picked-up over four nautical miles of shoreline on six islands. That’s a lot of Chlorox bottles. Later, MITA volunteers in skiffs would pick-up our many stashed garbage bags.

For me, the island clean-ups are a good excuse to walk some shoreline- something I don’t do nearly enough. For the kids, it’s an opportunity to discover rocks to jump from into the ocean, which they do again and again. But it’s not the fabled island with the swimming quarry. When we finally get to Green Island, the dip in fresh water feels like a reward; the kids have all earned it.

Meanwhile, Rebecca has an island to paint. She’s been commissioned to do a painting from someone’s family island- a place they’ve spent summers for years. So we’ve been paddling out to this island to see it at different tides and different times of the day. It would have been a nice assignment on any island, but it doesn’t take Rebecca long to see why the place feels so special to the family: the erratic boulders, spruce-topped cliffs and intimate coves. We feel fortunate to be invited to spend time there since we’d paddled past many times, but never landed. One day we stop there for lunch, admiring a new perspective of the archipelago. Rebecca stays to work on drawings while I paddle-on to Old Quarry to guide a trip.


A couple of hours later, I take the group past the island and pause to wait for lobster boats to pass in the channel ahead. A woman waves to us from the island. “My wife,” I tell the group, but they think I'm joking. When I further explain why she's there- that, at that moment anyway, her job is to hang out on an island and draw, while mine is to paddle around with them, it sounds even more implausible.

These are some of the things I get from guiding: a walk on a shore I’m usually too busy to walk on, and a look at our surroundings through the eyes of a visitor. And that island with the swimming quarry? It’s only about a mile from where we’ve lived for eight years, but I never took a swim there until a group of teenagers dragged me along.