Knowing When To Fold

 

We had our boats packed, ready to go, but the precipitation had most certainly turned from snow into a messy mix of rain and cold wind-driven sleet that stung our cheeks. Rebecca wondered, “you think this is a good idea?”

            “But we’ve got our boats all packed,” I said. “All we have to do is launch.” Hearing myself, I realized she was right: it wasn’t a good idea.

 

We’d woken to see calm water stretching out to spruce-covered islands coated with snow like confectioner’s sugar. Though we had been out for a few paddles lately, we hadn’t had one that felt like paddling in a winter wonderland in quite awhile, and this appeared to be it. And it was warm- hovering right around freezing. The weather called for increasing winds in the afternoon, and more snow. If we were going to get out, it seemed prudent to get out early. 

We were a bit worn-out from our previous day’s pool session in Bar Harbor, but paddling seemed the best antidote to get all those muscles stretched out and working. So we ate a quick breakfast and got ready, which takes some time—an investment of time, you might say. So that by the time we had our gear together, drove over to the ramp and got the boats ready, it felt like we were ready to make the investment pay off. But then the precipitation began in earnest, and the wind picked-up, and suddenly it seemed not such a wise investment. Hearing myself say “but we’ve got our boats all packed,” was like hearing someone else in a safety article just before they put themselves in certain peril, and I knew the answer then, even if I wouldn’t admit it.

We talked it over for a minute or two. We could put on neoprene masks, we could just go to some of the nearby islands, or even just head down to Webb Cove and back. We had to remind ourselves that we were doing it for fun, not because we needed to, or to feel rugged (or to get pretty pictures for a blog post). We had thermal flasks full of hot cocoa and suddenly my mental picture changed, from taking a break on a snowy island, to sipping cocoa, warm and dry in the front room of our apartment, looking out at the storm, knowing we’d made the right choice. 

But it was still really hard to give up on the paddle and go home. And over the next hour as the weather changed three times, we went back and forth, deciding alternately that we’d made the right and wrong choice. I’m sure if we’d gone out, I would rationalize any discomfort and say it was well worth it. But you make your choices and stick with them. Sigh.

Hardwood Island

A few days ago, we had another warm, calm day for January, and though we had plenty of work to keep us ashore, decided to get out for a bit. We launched by noon, which gave us over four hours before darkness. Despite the lack of wind, the remnants of previous days’ winds continued in the form of swell coming in from the southwest, hardly noticeable in the harbor, but gradually increasing as we made our way south. 
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As we often do, we headed first to Steves Island. Rebecca checked things out on shore while I circled the island. It occurred to us that during the previous night it had hardly dropped below freezing, and it would have been comfortable enough weather to camp out. Off course, the nights are still long.

We headed across Merchant Row, and followed shorelines: Harbor, Merchant, Ewe, Hardwood. I had it in mind to stop on Ram Island for a break, but the seals had claimed it and were piled high on surrounding ledges. The south end of Hardwood Island, where we sometimes like to meander among the partially submerged boulders, was turning the moderate swell into some large breaking waves. We went around to the less active side and landed on the rockweed.

The south shore of Hardwood is sprinkled with good boulders upon which to perch, sip some hot cocoa and watch the waves come in. The sky began to cloud over, and though there was hardly any ice or show on shore to indicate the season, those icy clouds casting a halo around the sun have a distinct wintery look.

We followed Merchant Island's south shore, enjoying the gentle side to side wavy motion, with an occasionally bigger wave to keep it a little lively. By the time we reached the west end, with sunset imminent, we had to stop our dilly-dallying and head back.

The sunset saturated the sky over Penobscot Bay as we made our way below the bluffs on George Head, and across to Sand and Crotch Islands where the granite crane made a black profile against the pink sky. A couple of lobster boats came motoring along behind us. It had been a nice day and most of the boats had gone out, so there would be many more as it turned dark. We hurried across the Thorofare, back to the launch.

Scraggy Island Ledge

Sunday afternoon. We get our gear together and get down to the launch. The air is in the low 30s, sunny with not much wind. This time, we head west, along the shore of Crotch Island.

And on toward Mark and then Scraggy Islands. 

A few years ago, Todd and I paddled past Scraggy Island Ledge and came upon an amazing ice formation: a wave-like icy cornice that had frozen in place. Unfortunately, my camera battery had just run out. I've gravitated toward the ledge ever since, hoping to find something like it. It's always starkly gorgeous, but I've never seen ice like that again. Not a bad excuse to keep looking.

Rebecca tries to get me to play in some waves for the camera, but I remind her that it's mid-winter, and sunset is a half-hour away. The water feels... cold.

We head back, passing between Crotch and Sand Islands as the sun goes down. The lights of Stonington twinkle on as we slip between the Two Bush Islands, where only a thin scrap of the American Flag flaps from the pole.

Later, I remark that it's good to get out, but it's not enough to keep the paddling callouses on my hands, especially with the thick gloves. I'm looking forward to some longer trips, but for now, these excursions into the archipelago will do.