Mack Point, Sears Island

At the Searsport town landing, we packed-up and launched, following the shore. The air had already warmed to the mid-30s, and with the sun shining, we felt plenty warm as we paddled through what felt like one backyard after another.

We headed toward Mack Point, where the shore is crowded with white steel storage tanks and a pair of piers jutting 800 feet into the bay. A tanker pointed out into the bay, leaving as we approached, and a tugboat headed back. It was good timing; I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near a ship like that as it embarked.

Mack Point is deceptively large. Giant warehouses and a massive crane line the shore, and behind them, scores of fifty-foot high tanks. It felt like we moved slowly, but, we realized, we were just very small.

As we approached the piers, my instinct was to paddle beneath  along the shore -- just like we do at home. Fortunately, Rebecca pointed out the sign stating that trespassers were considered a security breach. So we went around, past the tugboats, past all the guys in hardhats, past the ship fenders a dozen feet across lined with scarred spruce trunks. We followed the shore into Long Cove, passing Sea-Truks and cranes and the railyard with long lines of tank cars.

We paddled toward the head of the cove.  It was high tide, and chunks of ice floated here and there. And then, a creek. I turned-in, pushing through thickening ice. I made my way into the forest, and Rebecca followed. We made it a few hundred feet before the creek narrowed and came to an end- at least for us. At the end, water trickled over some rocks from a snowy ravine. It was quiet here -- a little traffic noise from Route One, probably only a hundred yards away. Amazing though, considering the industrial netherland not far off.

But not for long -- depending on how things play-out. We floated in Mack Point Forest, very close to the proposed site for the new liquid propane “super tank” that has been at the core of controversy here lately. A company called DCP Midstream has been trying to clear the way to build a 22.7 million gallon tank: 138 feet high, 202 feet across. It would be the largest such tank on the US east coast, and be visible far down Penobscot Bay... and of course from much of Searsport. If you drive through Searsport, you would see it right behind The Anglers restaurant (and Baits Motel), both of which will be dwarfed by the tank. Opposition to the tank is strong and fervent. It is in the news every day.

Of course, Mack Point has been an industrial hub for many years. Back in WWII, a pipeline ran from there all the way to Loring Air Force Base in northern Maine. Every year, about 160 ships bring liquid cargoes- mostly petroleum products- to the port, in addition to a few dozen dry cargo ships. This is nothing new. Liquid propane is. It’s tough to wade through the information put out there by the liquid propane proponents, who of course claim that they are very regulated and safe. And they like to point-out the taxes they will pay, and the twelve jobs they will create. The opposition has a “not in my backyard” slant. But why not? Would anybody really want this in their backyard? There are so many compelling reasons to not have this in your backyard, that I will include a few links to them. And as much as I might like to use my JetBoil stove, they seem to be filling those little propane canisters just fine somewhere else. 

But we just enjoyed what a nice place it was to be floating in our kayaks. We paddled on to Sears Island where we carried over the causeway and ate lunch. Sears Island is another place that could have been developed and industrialized, but thanks to the Friends of Sears Island, much of it is preserved. People were there walking their dogs. We paddled around it - some four or five miles, all wild, and paused at the old jetty, where the view is dominated by Mack Point.

And as we paddled back to the launch, the old part of the town came into view: the 1800s ship’s captains’ houses, the churches. Two very different worlds, side by side, both close enough to my backyard that I'd like to see them unchanged, and return some day to that creek and find it as peaceful as it was on this day.

For more info:
Thanks But No Tank
Bangor Daily News Editorial
Mack Point Watch
Penobscot Bay Blog
NY Times article
Waterlines - a kayaker's point of view

Another Saturday

Dan and his father Jack came over from New Hampshire and we met Saturday morning at Old Quarry. We’d planned this for a few weeks, knowing that the odds were good that the weather wouldn’t cooperate, but for the second Saturday in a row, it did.

At least the forecast looked good enough to make the trip a “go.” When it came time to launch, the east wind had picked up more than expected, driving small choppy waves across the mouth of Webb Cove. My clients didn’t seem very concerned. They had both been paddling off and on for years, but never in the winter with drysuits and the added risk of forty-degree water. They had driven 5 hours, spent the night at Boyce’s Motel and were gung-ho for a paddle. 

If I weren’t guiding this trip, I probably would have stayed in and watched the harbor from home, vacillating over whether I’d made the right choice. But like most days when you're on the fence, you get out there and it's great. So I listened to my clients and watched them as we headed across the first stretch of Thorofare. They looked comfortable and loose in their boats and they smiled when the waves increased. We pulled into the lee of Grog Island and chatted -- they’d asked for pointers so we worked some on technique and then headed across to the lee of Bold Island.

We used the islands like stepping stones, and each time we pulled out of the wind, it was an opportunity to assess how we were doing and what we wanted to do next. Each time Jack and Dan seemed eager to continue the more challenging way. When I’m guiding I often feel like I’m pushing my clients’ comfort levels, getting them to paddle further and try things they might not otherwise do. In this case, my clients didn’t need to be encouraged. In the Millet-Saddleback channel we plowed into fat, high-volume waves, and I was the one pointing us into calmer water in the lee of Saddleback.

We ate lunch on Enchanted and had a rough ride back toward Spruce, but continued along the exposed shore. I looked at Dan and said “we should head for some calmer water,” and he agreed, but as we paddled toward McGlathery, they were drawn to Blasters Rock as if it were calling them personally (that boulder does have that effect).

We eventually did get to more sheltered water as we paddled back through the middle of the archipelago. One last break: Little Camp Island. It’s funny how I get into patterns. Like the previous Saturday, we’d taken a variation of the Inner Archipelago Arc, although they were very different trips. Like the previous trip, at the end I just wanted to share that view from the top of the small, grassy island: little more than a mile from home, yet it feels like a fresh discovery every time I take someone there.

I caught myself saying "this would be pretty nice in the summer," something I seem to think fairly often lately.

Saturday in the Archipelago (In February)

At Old Quarry, the road to the ramp lay covered in snow from last weekend’s blizzard. We got into our drysuits in the heated office and pulled our boats like toboggans through the woods. We then carried them down the slippery granite steps beside the ramp at low tide. Heavy clouds hung over the archipelago, but with the air temperature above freezing and not much wind, it looked like a good day. Nate and I gave a minimal pre-trip briefing and we headed out.

This guided trip was the result of Island Heritage Trust creating an event for the Maine Great Outdoors Weekend.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to guide the trip. I have no desire to encourage others to paddle in the winter. The risks are far greater than the rest of the year, and it’s probably better for paddlers to incrementally increase their risks as they increase their skills. Going on a guided trip allows paddlers to abruptly leave their comfort zone -- maybe not a good thing. But it allows them to take those risks with guidance, perhaps building skills and confidence to eventually do it on their own. 

So it seemed important to get paddlers with some experience. Four of us were licensed guides who had recently practiced rescues in the pool together, while another had taken Nate’s Paddler Development Week course in September. We’d hoped for a few more clients, but it was really no surprise that most people don’t want to go for a paddle in the winter, and it's maybe just as well.

Since this was an Island Heritage Trust trip, we thought we might visit some IHT islands, starting with Millet. We didn't have much of a plan, but we anticipated stronger afternoon north winds, along with some rain or snow. The wind picked-up as we ate our lunch in the lee of some rocks on Millet, and we decided to head west into the archipelago, hopscotching behind a few islands. We found a pleasant minor swell along Spruce and McGlathery, and played a little in the rocks.

 
It was a quiet day: no lobster boats, rafts of ducks squawking like horns of distant traffic... and us, just meandering along. We passed more IHT islands: Round and Wreck, but we kept moving. I think everyone figured-out that you get cold when you stop.  But by the time we made it to Little Camp Island, it was time for another break: hot tea, chocolate, PB&J- it all helps keep you going. Plus, it's not far to the top of the small island: a bargain view, just as it began to snow.

By then, we were on our way home, and the snow felt like a bonus; you go paddling in the winter, you ought to get some snow- right? And it makes us feel rugged to squint our eyes and paddle into the teeth of the storm.

Lunch on Sheep Island

With two or three feet of snow from the weekend blizzard still on the ground, the forecast called for temps well above freezing, but with increasing, gusty winds. I’d been sick for weeks, unable to get-out, and now that I felt mostly better, I watched the weather closely for a break. When I looked-out at the harbor in the morning and saw calm water, I figured this was it. It took forever to get our gear together, and by mid-morning when we launched, the winds were picking-up from the west. So- a perfect day to head over toward Whitmore Neck.

We drifted beneath the pier and made our way through the mooring field off Clam City. Most of the lobster boats had heeded the forecast and stayed-in. High tide wasn’t for a couple of hours, but it had already come-in higher than it often does, so we took advantage of it, poking into spots we usually don’t go.

I could feel the weeks of inaction in me, a residual sluggishness, so we took it easy, meandering here and there, content just to be on the water, marveling at the ice and snow. At Dow Ledge, we surprised a fox, who swam to shore.

Wildlife sightings such as that are a gift, and already, I thought, if we didn't even go further, I was glad we'd made it out. Seeing the snow-capped rocks and paddling among ice floes only added to the feeling and kept us moving along shore to see what would come next.

We headed-up Hatch Cove, but unsurprisingly, were stopped by ice just past the bridge.

We had no particular plans, so followed the east shore out, contemplating the mysteries of the Hatch Cove moai.

The mysteries were not revealed to us, so we kept-on, checking-out the small rustic cabins around Whitmore Neck, closed-up for the winter, slaloming between rocks and ice floes along the shore.

Out at Sheep Island, we found the wind we'd been avoiding near shore. 

We arrived at the beach at high tide, with barely room for us and our boats. But the rocks were out of the wind, warmed by the sun, and we had a nice lunch break. The wind slowed us some on our return, especially back in the Thorofare, but back in town you would have never known it.