July

On Monday I had a full-day class to teach. A full day is perfect: there's plenty of time to work on various skills, plus we can actually paddle somewhere without feeling rushed. Of course, nothing is ever so simple. As it turned-out, three of the students were there for a 3-hour session. We've got some kinks in our scheduling to work-out. One of them is that people come-in to the office- people with little or no experience- and instead of signing-up for a half or full-day class with a specific curriculum, they opt for how much money they want to spend. It's far cheaper by the hour to spend a full day, and you get much more out of it. Anyway, the students were all good sports. We started-out working on skills in the cove, then moved to the pond to practice wet exits and rescues- certainly a good place for anyone to start.

Then, since it was windy, we paddled over to Hatch Cove and found some placid water to refine strokes. Peter, who is already an ACA - certified instructor, came along to help-out. He'll be joining the instructor line-up at Old Quarry. Given the windiness "outside," Hatch Cove was amazingly calm. It's satisfying to follow a hunch and find the right conditions. We followed the granite contours of shore at high tide, working on boat handling skills, but also just enjoying the place.

Teaching has been going well. Captain Bill says we've been getting more requests for instruction than ever before. I've been enjoying it, and I think our students have as well. Beginners are often surprised at how much they can do on their first day paddling: edging, bracing, wet exits and rescues- skills that took me a long time to try when I first started. Everyone learns differently, and most people don't know what there is to know, but the concepts that define skills as "beginner" or "advanced" are pretty sketchy. People start creating habits as soon as they get in the boat. Some habits are better than others. If you can turn your boat by edging and learn a brace your first day out, why not? We can teach rolling to people who have never paddled before. (Not that they'll learn it right away). Advanced skill? I don't know- just a good skill.

While we were contour paddling in Hatch Cove, a different scene unfolded near Camp Island. My account is a little different than the newspaper's, but I'm grateful that they gave me credit for my small part of the drama. A schooner ran aground on a ledge after its rudder was fouled by fishing gear. Bill, who'd heard the distress call on the radio, arrived in the Nigh Duck as the passengers were evacuated to Camp Island. Bill brought a couple crew members back to Old Quarry to pick-up timbers to shore-up the hull as the tide went out. I was just returning from teaching, still in Hydroskins and a semi-dry top, so I was a natural appointee to go into the water. I paddled out to the Nigh Duck and we hoisted my kayak aboard. Off we went.

I spent about a half-hour in the water, placing timbers beneath the hull. After one of their crew members put on a tank and a wetsuit,  I pushed him down so he could get the buoyant timber wedged further beneath the hull. Then I swam back to the Nigh Duck. The water was 62 degrees- warmer than usual, but by then I was a bit chilled. Bill pulled me back aboard and gave me a lift back to Stonington, where I had under an hour to ready the gallery for the evening artist's talk.

That's how summer goes. We keep busier than we would like, but it keeps things interesting. Most of my paddling is for work, but it's still paddling. And teaching is a great way to hone personal skills. When a tandem capsized on a guided trip a couple weeks ago, Nate and I had the paddlers back in their boat in no time- the result of repeated practice.

Ironbound and the Porcupines

July third, Bar Harbor. We unload our boats and Nate drives around for awhile to find a parking space while Peter and I get into our drysuits, readying the kayaks. Amid a tour group in tandems and a group of wetsuited stand-up paddleboard students, we launch a little after high tide and soon follow the shores of Bar and Sheep Porcupine Islands. It’s a perfect day: warm with poofy clouds rising in the distance. I’m accustomed to being denied such perfect conditions, and it feels strange, like I’m playing hooky. July third and I'm not working; Rebecca is in the gallery. Nate and I had work-related plans that got us here, but now we have a whole day off in Frenchman Bay. I feel grateful with every stroke I take.

Nate and I have been concerned that the bulk of our fair weather paddling is becoming work, rather than play. Today will be dedicated solely to play. And it turns out to be even more play than we might have guessed. There's just enough swell coming-in to create plenty of opportunities among the rocks, but not so much as to be particularly intimidating. We meander along the shore, letting the surf buoy us over ledges, riding into wave-amplifying slots, and generally looking for trouble.

The Keyhole, a large slot on Burnt Porcupine, is relatively calm. We're able to ride in on a small wave and land on the smooth cobbles at the end.

We all have memories of each feature in much bigger conditions. In my mind's eye I have superimposed images of huge surf that kept us from even getting near the rocks. This is just about perfect, and we have it all to ourselves. Clusters of tandems in tour groups amble past, far-off shore, but we see no other individual paddlers. As usual, a few tour boats pass by, passengers crowded at the rails, and as always, I feel pretty lucky to be the guy in the little boat getting the close-up view of the shoreline.

As we move further out, the swell gradually increases. It’s a nice progression. We warm-up with easier challenges and slowly up the ante. I occasionally need to explain rock gardening to someone; it’s easy for me to forget how bafflingly odd it may sound to people who think sea kayaking is all about getting to a destination. It usually starts-out on flat water as a way to challenge your boat handling skills: see if you can squeeze through those rocks and make that quick turn at the end. Then add a little swell. Then let the swell create opportunities that weren’t there in flat water. Your maneuvers become timed with the in and out motion of the sea sliding in between and over the rocks... and you begin sliding in between and over the rocks.

But that’s just the physical challenge of the paddle. There is still a destination involved. We were there within moments of launching, and we’re there the rest of the day. Cliffs rise above us, stretching along the shoreline, and below them are playgrounds of hidden coves, rocky chasms and pillars of dark rock (Ellsworth schist?). I keep having these moments- it’s hard to explain, but these instant revelations that go something like this: wow, oh man, awesome, wow. I know... deep.

This goes on all day. On to Long Porcupine Key and then Ironbound Island where we paddle into dark sea caves below the tall cliffs and finally, grudgingly, we make the call to head back.

It’s tough to stay away from the rocks as we paddle back to Bar Harbor. It feels so strange then, to pull-up at the town landing, an amphitheater-like beach, and emerge dripping wet from the sea, hauling our boats up onto the green grass of a park. The town is bustling, buzzing, and it feels strange and good to peel-off our wet gear amid all of these clean, curious bystanders who point their cameras our way like we’re rare sea creatures emerging from the deep.