Friday, July 25, 2014

Evening

While I've been getting better acquainted with far-flung New England paddling locales, I haven't made it out into the Stonington archipelago nearly as much as I would like. July and August are so busy for us that it's tough to rationalize getting out, even in the evenings, since I tend to keep the gallery open- and I've been traveling as well. But on some days I count the minutes to five o'clock- or more likely, wait until those last gallery visitors leave, well after five, and shut the door quickly before gathering my gear. One evening I headed out alone and paddled at a somewhat frantic pace out to Steves Island, trying to leave the day's frustrations behind.


At Steves, intent on doing my duty as a MITA island adopter I found one group taking up the whole island, each tent in its own campsite, including one that was in a place that hadn't been a campsite the last time I checked. I walked around the island quickly, picking up trash, and said hello to some of the campers, although they didn't seem to want to say hello to me, so I kept going, resolving to cover-over the new tent site next time. I never really left my land-bound worries behind and even picked-up a few more en route. The closest I came to losing the heaviness that seemed to follow me was along the south shore of McGlathery Island, where I found a few swells to bounce among. I needed a longer trip.


We have managed to take time off a few times lately to get over to Sullivan Falls. On Monday evenings a band performs in the park, so we play in the falls until the music starts, and go ashore for a picnic with live music. Nate has been spending even more time at Sullivan, since it seems to be his most popular class lately. 


But last night, after getting very very tired of talking with people, we got out for a paddle. The air felt clear, still and almost cool. In the harbor, boat reflections saturated the water surface with color, and Rebecca lingered, taking it in, thinking about paintings. She took a few photos, and even though I felt anxious to get moving, it felt good to be unhurried. It reminded me of our first years here, why we came to live in Stonington and why we've stayed. Town had seemed full of talk and hub-bub, and I felt enormously weary of it. But out here it was a different story.


We followed the shore of Crotch Island, practicing a bit along the way, challenging ourselves to turn the boat different ways around tight obstacles, sometimes following the contours of the shore backward, until we went around Sand Island. I landed among some rockweed below some steep ledges- merely because I had never landed there before, and when I saw the view from atop a smooth granite boulder, I felt amazed that I hadn't really noticed such a beautiful spot.


It reminded me of our early days paddling, how it seemed that every time we went out it felt new, even if we were paddling in the same places. And lately, as I've traveled around New England, looking for the best places to paddle, I've become perhaps a bit jaded.  I'm a bit rushed, a bit desperate to cover territory that I know I'll never completely connect with the way I do our own backyard. Sometimes it helps to paddle with someone who is showing you one of their favorite spots to see it through their eyes. They're more likely to get out there at the end of the day for a few hours after work, not to crank-out miles or accomplish anything, but merely to enjoy the feeling of the place- to float on the water and take it in.


We followed the contours around the west side of Crotch, watching the sunset turn the shore rocks orange, and meandered, very slowly back through the harbor as lights came on in town.

Saturday, July 12, 2014

Cape Ann on a Calm Day

After Cape Ann kicked my butt back in April, I knew I had to return and see what it was like to circle the peninsula on a calmer day. On that April trip, I learned a great respect for the area’s potential to develop nasty conditions, but while I focused on staying upright, I missed some of the near-shore subtleties. This time I spent a couple of days paddling shorter routes, getting a closer look at the nooks and crannies of the Annisquam, Gloucester Harbor and Castle Neck, and I set my sights on Thursday, which looked like the calmest day of the week. I started the morning by driving out along the southeast shore to scout the conditions; while waves beat against the shore rocks, the seas were generally calm. The pair of lighthouses on Thacher Island beckoned.


I launched on the Annisquam River at high tide and the current quickly increased as I made my way toward Gloucester Harbor. On my last trip around the peninsula, I’d paddled clockwise, and thought I’d like to try it counter-clockwise this time. One advantage of this was that I’d be paddling the waters I’d just scouted only a couple of hours after I’d seen them, and I’d get that southeast shore out of the way early. I exited the Blynman canal less than an hour after high tide and already a small wave train had begun to develop where the current shot into Gloucester Harbor. 



The current gave me a nice push; even after a quick break on Ten Pound Island (no bathrooms at Long Wharf Landing) and dodging a regatta of youngsters in sailing prams, I made it out to the end of Dog Bar jetty- about five nautical miles from the start- in a little over an hour.


Fishermen perched at intervals along the jetty, casting into the sheltered side, while others strolled, enjoying the sunshine and the mild breeze off the ocean. To the southwest, the skyscrapers of Boston poked above the horizon in the growing haze. A mild swell carried me up and down as I followed the breakwater toward the lighthouse and I couldn’t help but compare this to my last trip around Cape Ann, when I’d arrived here going the opposite direction. Then, I’d been focusing on reaching the breakwater for the last two and a half hours as I’d struggled through rough and confused seas all the way from Thacher Island. I’d paddled a dozen or so miles before I’d left Thacher, and my weariness, along with the splash of forty-degree water and gusting winds turned a fun paddle into an ordeal frought with uncertainty, tossed by the constant mogul-field wobble of waves pushing from different directions, and occasionally, a fat wave rising before me that just grew and grew.




But that was back in April, and those seas bore little resemblance to this calmer, sunnier version of Cape Ann. Brightly-colored specks of sunbathers dotted the sand on Good Harbor Beach, where a light salty mist hung in the air amid the din of children playing in the surf. I paused behind Salt Island and set my sights on the two towers of Thacher Island. It’s convenient that instead of building one granite lighthouse tower rising 166 feet above sea level, they built two; even the least confident navigators should know which way to point. But the twin towers were deemed necessary back in 1771 when they were first built, due to rough seas and nearby ledges that were the cause of numerous shipwrecks.



A father-daughter team of caretakers greeted me. They maintain the grounds and the north tower, which is now a private navigation aid, maintained by the Town of Rockport and the Thacher Island Association. At that moment, I was the only visitor and we chatted for a bit while they rigged lobster traps. I gave a quick lesson on tying the bowline, glad to have something to offer, and they told me that some days, especially in August, there’s so many kayakers visiting that they run out of places to stack the boats.



I took a quick walk around, checking-out the camping area, following the railway that carried fuel between the houses, and made my way to the north light, which was guarded by numerous seagulls and their young. I climbed the iron spiral staircase up to the top, and very carefully stepped out onto the catwalk. Nice view up there. I forgot to look for Boston, but the horizon had turned a bit hazy by then.



I continued north, around Straitsmouth Island and across Sandy Bay toward Halibut Point. By then I’d gone more than half-way and had started thinking of the long drive home. The seas had turned from mildly bouncy to almost flat-calm and the last few miles went past quickly as the tide turned and began flooding back into the Annisquam, giving me a mild push. On the west side, swimmers and sunbathers crowded Wingaersheek Beach, strolling far out upon a sandbar that made them appear to be walking along the water surface. Further west rose the dunes near Crane Beach, where I’d paddled the previous day, and it felt satisfying, the way the pieces of the puzzle come together. I made my way back to the launch, loaded-up and drove home.

Saturday, July 5, 2014

No Place Like Home

I was at a potluck (we have a lot of those around here) and someone asked me if I was still paddling every day- either before work in the morning or in the evening. I answered “no” pretty quickly, and said all the paddling I was doing was basically work- mostly research for the guidebook. At the time, I was rushing to finish a deadline (I’m working on AMC’s Best Sea Kayaking in New England for Appalachian Mountain Club Books). The potluck came after a long day of writing and gallery work (missing another nice day of paddling) which came after a research trip, where I’d paddled every day, all day, sometimes multiple trips a day with a drive in-between.

 
-->
Yes, paddling is fun and writing is usually sort-of fun, but it can certainly get to be work, especially when you do a lot of it. But as soon as I answered, a bit grumbly, that no, I hadn’t been taking those short one to two-hour before or after-work excursions, it made me remember those wonderful little trips into my own backyard, the Stonington archipelago, and I realized I’d been a fool to miss-out on the beautiful early summer mornings, or those evenings when the twilight lingers well after the sunset reddens the clouds over the Camden Hills.


As Rebecca and I drove home, I mentioned the conversation and she suggested we go for a paddle first thing in the morning. “But my deadline,” I said. It was only a day or two away, and as soon as it was done I’d be leaving again. Somehow we rationalized it, and in the morning launched at a decent enough hour. We headed straight out, and soon enough were approaching Steves Island.  
-->


Over the past couple of months I’ve been paddling along Cape Cod, off Martha’s Vineyard and along the rocky southern edge of Narragansett Bay. I’ve paddled within sight of the Manhattan skyline and beneath the skyscrapers in Boston as well as along the North Shore, and every time I return home, I’m reminded why we live here. If I’m driving in daylight, I get that first brief glimpse just outside of Belfast where Route 3 crests a hilltop and Penobscot Bay appears spread out into the distance. Then at Caterpillar Hill you can pull-off and really have a look: the bridge arches over to Little Deer Isle and beyond rises the hilly shape of Isle au Haut, while the Great Spruce Head archipelago stretches out toward the Fox Islands and the three blinking red lights atop the wind generators on Vinalhaven (since by now it will undoubtedly be dark enough). There’s so many islands it’s hard to tell where the ocean begins.


-->
But approaching Steves Island completes the picture. The treetops slope downward to the west, pruned by the prevailing winds, and the granite ledges reach out like welcoming arms, guiding you in to a sandy pocket beach between them. We walked the perimeter of the island, picking up the few odds and ends that had accumulated since the MITA clean-up a week earlier, and marveled at the solid feel of granite beneath our feet and the crisp, spruce-scented air.

It felt good to be home.

Here are a few snapshots from some of the places I've paddled lately:

 Gay Head Cliffs, Martha's Vineyard.

 Washburn Island, Waquoit Bay, Massachusetts.

 North Monomoy Island, south of Cape Cod.

 Wellfleet.

Nauset Marsh.

Provincetown.

 South Monomoy Island.

 Sandy Neck, Barnstable.

Wreck Island clean-up.

Thimble Islands, Connecticut.

Falkner Island, Connecticut.

Norwalk Islands, Connecticut.

Fishers Island Sound, Connecticut, New York & Rhode Island.  A RICKA club excursion.

Boston Outer Islands.

And then last week, I returned home to re-hang the gallery, and instead Rebecca and I joined our friends over at Sullivan Falls- a smaller day there, but the current and waves were perfect for plenty of easy surfing. We paid for it by re-hanging the gallery in the wee hours that night and into the next day- but it was well worth it.


It's been a great experience so far- some of it a bit lonely (there's too many shots of my lone kayak on beaches) some of it among new friends and a few old friends. The days have been long, stretching into the evenings as I work on notes in the campsite and ponder my next day's route by headlamp as I struggle to stay awake. And today, as I sat here in the gallery, a group of boisterous paddlers from Massachusetts came in and reminded me of how much paddling there is out there to discover. I can only get to a fraction of it, but I'm trying to make it the best fraction I can.