Sullivan Falls

I don't think I'm running out of things to say about paddling; I'm just having some fun with these videos. They probably take about as much time to edit as it does to write a blog entry. And I think they might convey what happens at a place like Sullivan Falls better than I can do with words.

Having said that,  I'm new at this and I hope these videos will improve. The other day at Sullivan I managed to get there without charging the battery, which conked-out early in the game. And keeping the lens dry is next to impossible, so there were a few shots where the paddler appeared to have been edited-out by a big drop of water. Oh well, another challenge.

Wreck & Round Islands Cleanup

As volunteer steward for Island Heritage Trust’s Wreck and Round Islands, I wanted to do a spring shore cleanup, but these are big islands with about 2.5 nautical miles of shoreline: a lot of work for one person. So I decided to invite others along for the adventure. How do you get a crowd to volunteer to pick up garbage? How about a free guided kayak trip? Bill Baker, owner of Old Quarry Ocean Adventures liked the idea, and agreed to supply the boats and motorboat support, which we would need to transport the garbage. The Stonington Harbormaster gave us permission to collect washed-up fishing gear and leave anything useable at the Fish Pier.

We didn’t advertise much-- just a few posters and a couple of posts on Facebook. Island Heritage Trust and the Maine Island Trail Association also helped spread the word. With only two guides available-- Rebecca and me, we would be limited to 12 boats. Fourteen people arrived Saturday morning, so, including Nick, our guide-in-training, our flotilla came to 6 tandems and 5 singles. 

The morning weather was perfect: sunny and warm, with winds picking up in the afternoon. We made good time and arrived at Wreck Island for lunch. The powerboat arrived, dropping off three more helpers, along with a chainsaw. George, IHT’s Stewardship Coordinator, fired-up the chainsaw and immediately set to work, clearing the island’s overgrown trails.

I had to appreciate the diversity of the crowd. One couple from California had happened into the gallery a day or two earlier and decided to join us. Others had come from a little closer, including Wally, local enough to have a point of land bearing his family name. We had twenty-somethings and  an octogenarian, first-time paddlers and super experienced. While we ate, we spied a kayak making its way toward us. Barb squinted and said “looks like a Greenland stick.” It was our friend Geoff, who stopped by to help for awhile. 

We would have been happy to relax on the beach, but there was work to do. The main group split in two, each subgroup heading its own direction along the shore. Four of us did the same on Round Island. At first, we didn’t find much garbage, but on the west side where the two groups met, we came across large deposits of refuse. It was mostly fishing-related, everything from bleach and transmission fluid bottles to ropes and buoys, and of course plenty of plastic bottles. We cached most of the garbage high on the beach for the powerboat to collect. We made our way back to the kayaks and carried what garbage we could over to the beach on Wreck Island. 

The Wreck Island group had covered most of the shoreline and splintered into groups, some who bushwhacked over the island to get back to the beach. It had been a tough couple of hours and we were all hot and tired. We didn’t have much time for a break though. We were on a schedule, and the tide had crept-up to the boats. The wind had increased, giving us a push as we made our way back along Bare Island and across to Little Camp for a break before the last push. Everyone seemed weary and dreamy, but satisfied, both in accomplishing a nice little kayaking adventure, and in doing something good, taking care of the islands.

Isles of Shoals

The Isles of Shoals had been on my radar for awhile, but I wasn’t planning on paddling there on Tuesday morning as I meandered New Hampshire backroads toward the coast. But it was a perfect day: not much wind, warm air, clear skies, and as I pulled onto 1A and headed toward Rye, I was shocked at how close the islands looked. I parked at Rye Harbor, called Rebecca with my plan, and launched. 

I paddled past the breakwaters at the Rye Harbor entrance and took the inevitable pause to look out at the distant islands and think “sheesh, that’s far,” but I didn’t pause for long. The sea looked about as calm as it might ever get, and with about six miles between me and the islands, I figured I’d best get to it.

What most people know about Isles of Shoals probably concerns its history, mostly from the late 1800s: a notorious axe murder on Smuttynose Island, Celia Thaxter’s salon of artists coming and going on Appledore Island. For most sea kayakers though, it probably stands out more as a challenging crossing. And also because there just aren’t a lot of islands off this stretch of coast, which is all exposed to the infinite horizon of the open ocean and whatever conditions that may bring. I paddled and paddled, trying to avoid pausing to wonder how far I’d come and how far I had to go. The islands slowly grew closer, the features more distinct. An old WWII concrete radar tower identified Appledore, and the grand old hotel-- classic white with a red roof stood-out on Star Island. I aimed for the lighthouse on White Island.

I encountered few boats during my passage: a whale watch boat that launched shortly after I did, a few recreational fishing boats and a handful of lobster boats. Far to the south, the blades of wind generators turned in the haze. I occasionally found a range on the sparse buoys, and determined that the current carried me a bit to the south, so I adjusted as well as I could. Finally, I approached White Island. Neighboring Seavey Island is separated by a sandbar, home to a noisy tern colony. Three people walked carefully around, inspecting nests. I went around the lighthouse, where a couple came out and waved.

I paddled around the east side of the islands. Despite the calm conditions, enough swell came in to keep it lively near the shore. Being alone and some seven miles out to sea, I stayed away from the rocks. Breakwaters are built between Star, Cedar and Smuttynose, and the shore on the east side is pretty rough, so even though I’d been in my boat for awhile, there was no stopping. On the north side of Appledore I found some nice slots with land-able cobbles but I kept moving, on around to the west side harbor, overlooked by the old radar tower and the buildings of Shoals Marine Laboratory.

I took a break on Smuttynose Island, but kept it quick. The wind was picking up and I didn’t want to push my luck. I took a quick tour around Gosport Harbor and past the Star Island waterfront, where workers were busy readying the conference center for its summer season. It would be nice to spend a little more time exploring sometime, perhaps even staying a night at the accommodations there. I headed across to Lunging Island where I paused and got my bearings. I could see the entire New Hampshire seacoast, from the Seabrook Station Nuclear Power Plant over to Portsmouth where the Picsataqua River Bridge arced above an otherwise flat landscape. Multiple cranes poked into the Portsmouth sky. Further north, Mount Agamenticus rose over the southern Maine shoreline. My bearing back to Rye Harbor almost matched the location of a few convenient cell towers, so for the next hour and a half, I kept my bow pointed at these. Once again, even though high tide had come and gone, the current drew me south.

Back at the parking lot, I felt tired but satisfied. As I loaded my boat and gear and made some coffee for the road on the Jetboil, recreational fishermen returned, trailering their boats, gathering around the beds of pickups to chat. I had a long drive back home, but I couldn’t help but follow the shore for a few hours, thinking about all the places I have yet to discover.