Hog Island, Muscongus Bay

Part of the fun of a trip like this is that it is pretty tough to foresee the twists and turns wrought by weather, whims and tide and know where you'll be in a few days. We keep trying though- always a couple of different route scenarios for the next day or two that will bring you to X in a week or Y in two weeks. You may pore over charts and guidebooks all you want, consult the weather and the tide predictions and still, the place you find yourself at the end of the day may not be what you expected in the morning. In a way, that's part of the beauty of the Maine coast and the Maine Island Trail. In some areas, like here in Muscongus Bay, there are many options. You may feel inclined to try as many as you can.

This morning, we're on Hog Island, in the northwest corner of Muscongus Bay. It's been a good, fairly sheltered spot to hunker-down while a storm passed-through. We have a picnic table, over which we've hung a tarp, and the tent is up on a platform. The landing was an easy beach landing, and an easier than most spot to pull our boats well-up past the post-new moon high tide line. Late in the afternoon, after interspersing our time between rainy walks on the beach (a beach that actually has some sand) and time here at the picnic table updating notes and sipping hot beverages, we took a damp two-hour walk on a mossy trail that circles the Audubon-owned island. In some spots, we waded through shoulder-high ferns. Back in camp, Rebecca made brownies in the Outback Oven.

We came here from Thief Island, less than an hour's paddle, but worth it to find a more sheltered spot before the storm arrived. We'd landed there after sunset the previous night after paddling around 24 nautical miles from Ram Island, in the Sheepscot River. We hadn't intended to go so far - the whole idea behind this trip is to make a little time for ourselves to enjoy these places and paint and write, rather than slogging through long miles. But with the storm coming, we knew we'd get land-bound somewhere, and rather than spend another couple of days on Fort Island in the Damariscotta River as we did on our way south, it seemed prudent to just get around Pemaquid Point while the getting was good, and explore some other spots.

A good choice; it felt good to push ourselves, and Thief Island is home to the picnic table with one of the best views around, taking-in a broad swath of the bay, looking to the north, where the Camden Hills are visible above the Saint George Peninsula - a new perspective of a very familiar landmark. Last night, standing on the beach before bedtime, I gazed seaward, watching the Franklin Island light flash three times for every blinding flash from the light on Monhegan.

After leaving Crow Island in Casco Bay, we went-up Harpswell Sound and spent a night at Strawberry Creek Island, and the next morning caught the current up around Sebascodegan Island into the New Meadows River, where our friend Will picked us up and brought us back to the small house where he and his wife Sue spend their summers. We've known Will since we lived in Iowa (which we left in 1998) but reconnected through Facebook. Both Will and Sue are writers and we had a lot to talk about, late into the evening. They dropped us off at Five Islands the next day, and we paddled-off, heads full of stories, inspired.

The Sheepscot River MITA sites were busy that night, and we camped on Ram Island, sharing it with a young family who'd arrived in a powerboat. It's worth mentioning that we see very few sea kayakers, and have encountered none camped on islands. The next day, Sunday, we paddled to Muscongus Bay.

So today we're weighing our options. It's calm now, but the forecast calls for increased winds as the day progresses. We'll probably meander a bit more through Muscongus Bay, keeping in mind the series of moves that will bring us back through Penobscot Bay, and then Stonington in a week or so.

Notes: Some of these places are covered in my guidebook, AMC's Best Sea Kayaking in New England.

Our host, Susan Futrell's book Good Apples: The Story Behind Every Bite is forthcoming in
September, and promises to be a good read. Will Jennings' personal essays may be found in various publications, including  I'll Tell You Mine: Thirty Years of Essays from the Iowa Nonfiction Program. 

Island Snapshot: Crow Island, Casco Bay

We wrote in the MITA logbook that we liked Crow Island so much that we came back for a second night. We'd stayed there Tuesday night after a couple of nights on Jewel. On Wednesday, we packed everything up and paddled to Fort Gorges where, in a short window of less-fog, we had a glimpse of the Portland waterfront.

You could almost feel all the activity around you there, like a hum in the air, which was occasionally split by the surprising, all-encompassing thunder of a jet, having just taken off, rising overhead. On the return trip, we paused at Cow and Little Chebeague Islands, where we also could have camped, but maybe we wanted to distance ourself just a little more from that urban buzz.

We kept going until we found ourselves, once again in the fog, drifting into the familiar little cove on Crow Island.

Our campsite lay in a grassy clearing beneath the stout, spreading limbs of a mature oak. Only steps below lay a crescent of crushed white shell beach, pocketed between grey, rocky outcrops where we did our cooking and lay clothes out to dry (when the sun poked through).

Though I'd had a positive image of the island from previous visits, I hadn't first gravitated toward it, probably  due to its proximity to the mooring field and anchorage for some 40-50 vessels. At the head of the cove, maybe a quarter-mile away, a boatyard, store and Post Office bustled. But bustle is relative.

We'd arrived in the fog and quickly found ourselves in our own world. Lying in my hammock, hung from another stately oak, I could hear the clang of rigging against an aluminum mast, and the occasional chug of a power boat off in the fog, but our island - on a clear day an easy day trip for rec boaters launching from the beach at the head of the cove on Great Chebeague - could have been miles away from anything.

There's an old cabin in the middle of the island, and you can camp inside it or on its covered porch if you want, but I liked our spot near the shore better. There are logbook entries, in childish scrawl, that describe the cabin as "wicked scary."

When the sun comes out, the true proximity to other people is more evident, and the liklihood of sharing the island more probable. The lobster boats come nearer, their rumble unending. But at high tide the water along the sandy beach looks inviting enough for a swim. And Casco Bay is a bit less cold than waters Downeast; you're more likely to stay in for a bit.

So, like a lot of islands along the Maine Island Trail, it's tough to leave. On FRiday, when we wanted to head east and have some current behind us as we made our way up Harpswell Sound to Strawberry Creek Island, it made sense to wait until after lunch to launch, so we had the sublime luxury of a few hours hanging-out, painting, reading, writing... just soaking in Crow Island's ambiance. When nineteen kayaks paddled by young teenagers and their slightly older leaders arrrived on the beach, we were ready to move-on.

Day 17 on Jewel Island

I don't want to give the impression that I've spent an inordinate amount of time lying in the hammock while we've somehow managed to also paddle to Casco Bay from Deer Isle, but once again, I am indeed lying in the hammock, which this time is strung between two stout birches in a meadowy campsite upon a bluff on Jewel Island, in Casco Bay. It's mid-day and the fog that drifted-in first thing this morning still comes and goes, alternating between soupy-thick and thin enough to see the houses on Cliff Island, almost a mile distant.

Earlier, we used the fog as an opportunity to take a hike on this 222-acre island and visit the concrete towers that were used to guard Casco Bay back in World War II. I'm sure the view from the top is stunning- well it was stunning, but we couldn't see beyond the edges of the island. When the fog lingered, we decided it would be more prudent to spend more time here, rather than bump around with all the bigger vessels in these waters.

Here's a quick synopsis of our travels since the last post.

From Fort Island, we headed-out the Damariscotta River, spending a couple of hours in East Boothbay to get a few supplies at a small general store and water at the kitchen sink in the fire station. We made our way out to Damariscotta Island and over to The Cuckholds, where we'd hoped to camp on the MITA island west of the lighthouse. Fortunately we arrived early enough to realize it wasn't a good choice: populated with colonies of shrieking birds and the stench of their poop, not much of a flat spot to pitch a tent, and you might feel a bit on display for the guests arriving at The Inn At Cuckholds Lighthouse, on the neighboring Island, greeted by a crew of smartly-uniformed staff. Instead, we opted to paddle another five or six nautical miles up the Sheepscot River to camp at Spectacle Island, a truly lovely and idyllic campsite on its own forested islet.

The next day we went back out the Sheepscot, around the south end of Georgetown Island and into the Kennebec River, catching some current to help us against the north wind as we paddled a few miles north to Perkins Island. We were caught by a downpour well before we arrived, and explored a bit in wet paddling gear before setting-up the tent. We were glad we had warm, dry clothing to put on and hot drinks to warm us up. Maine in the summer has fairly broad meteorological mood swings, and you need to be ready. But the rain passed by and we were able to hang-out by the lighthouse as it got dark, taking photos, watching the current build.

On Friday morning we floated out of the Kennebec, past Fort Popham and out the mouth of the river. I'd paddled there plenty of times to play in the surf and standing waves, but this was the first time we could let the current take us on past all that until we reached open water, whereupon we took a right. Cape Small beckoned a few miles off, past long stretches of sandy beach until we made our way around it and found a a pair of pristine crescents of sand, facing out to sea. Apparently this stretch of undeveloped shoreline is private, but since no one was about, we pulled-in where the waves were smallest and had a quick lunch. From there it was just a few miles to West Point in Phippsburg, where our new friend Sid lives, just a short distance from a gravel launch. Sid fed us, entertained us and put a roof over our heads for the night. We were also able to drive into Bath for a few groceries, clean our clothes and ourselves, and recharge the batteries. He was a huge help. Thanks Sid!

Sid joined us the next day as we made our way to the Cribstone Bridge between Orrs and Baileys Islands and on out to Eagle Island, where Sid turned back for home- good training for the Blackburn Challenge, which he'll be paddling in in a few days. We went on to Bangs Island- a bit late- and watched the lights come-on at Great Chebeague Island as we made our dinner.

Yesterday, determined to see Robert Peary's Eagle Island when his house was open, Rebecca and I paddled over to Eagle Island and toured the home on the island the Arctic explorer had bought in his twenties, for $200. Onward from there, we arrived late in the day here, Jewel Island.

Mid-day has turned to mid-afternoon and the fog still lingers. Rebecca has found something to paint. We may get out for a short paddle - maybe just another walk. We'd like to get over to Fort Gorges and get a glimpse of the Portland waterfront before we start heading downeast, but we do need to start heading that way soon. Maybe after another day or two here in Casco Bay. We want to have enough time to explore Downeast and to not hurry too much on our way back toward Deer Isle. But at pretty much every island we stay on, we fall in love with it, and don't mind the idea of hanging out a bit and enjoying it. We're struck every day by what a privilege this is, and I don't think an evening goes by in which I don't sit back after dinner, take a look around and say "I'm so glad we're taking this trip."

Notes: I'll just need to add a few specifics when I have less limited Internet and power, but many of the places we've been paddling through are covered in my guidebook AMC's Best Sea Kayaking in New England.

My photo-posting ability is a bit compromised now, but I've been putting some on Instagram. Look for either Seakayak Stonington or #upwestanddowneast.

Day 11 on Fort Island

Once again, I’m in the hammock, this time on Fort Island, a mile or two up the Damariscotta River from East Boothbay. My hammock is strung between a couple of spruce trees atop a bank at the head of a small cove, facing north, avoiding much of the wind whipping upriver from the ocean. The forecast for today included thirty-knot gusts and thunderstorms, so we went to some effort to get up here, in a relatively sheltered spot, and we’re glad we did. The cove is tranquil except for the frequent shrieking of terns, diving for the little fish that swarm the shallows of the cove. Rebecca has found something to paint, and I’m weighing which might feel more grimy, my present funk or salt residue covering my skin. Choices.

We left Ram Island last Friday morning amid concerns of fog rolling-in from where it lingered offshore. We had a five-mile crossing of West Penobscot Bay to get over to Monroe Island a stretch of water that contains the occasional tanker, but the fog stayed out to sea, and we made it across easily enough.

We made our way along the shore of Owls Head and had lunch on Ash Island, another one of Maine Coast Heritage Trust’s hidden gems, before continuing-on to Lobster Buoy Campsites in South Thomaston, where we spent Friday night, as much to recharge batteries as anything, but the shower was nice, as was refilling water containers… and the Klondike bars. A club was there for a few days of paddling and I ran into a friend I know mostly from Facebook.

Saturday we’d only been paddling for a couple of hours before we came upon a new MCHT preserve on High Island, just off Tenants Harbor. It looked good, and afternoon conditions didn’t, so we easily chose to spend a night there. A young family from Tenants Harbor arrived in a powerboat – nice folks – and camped nearby. We paddled into town and picked-up some supplies at the General Store. The ice cream didn't seem like it would last out to the island, so we ate it while sitting on the dock.

Sunday we paddled past Jamie Wyeth’s Southern Island and spotted the painter walking from the lighthouse building to the house. The downeast/ upwest aspect of this route has been pretty obvious so far. The term ‘downeast’ comes from the days when schooners frequently plied the waters from Boston down-wind and east, up the Maine coast. So we’ve mostly been paddling against it. Hopefully it will be at our backs on our way back up the coast.

We picked up a few more supplies in Port Clyde and headed out across the northern part of Muscongus Bay and camped that night on Black Island. Yesterday we made our way south along Pemaquid Point -against wind and southeast swell that created miles of lumpy paddling. But seas off the Pemaquid light were relatively calm. Still, it was tough going, so it felt good to turn north into Johns Bay and let the following seas push us northward for a bit.

So here we are, taking another zero day, which may be the only way I’ll update the blog. We spend a lot of time hauling gear and boats, unloading and loading, and then it’s time to make supper. So this time in the hammock is the exception and well-appreciated. At pretty much every island we get to, we look around and wish we could spend more time. So far, it still feels like we’re at the beginning of the trip, just getting our routines down, getting used to it. I frequently look around at our surroundings and it just makes me smile. There’s something about doing a trip like this that feels a little unreal, off in your own world for a bit. And yet it feels so second nature as well, like all the kayak training has prepared us to do exactly this. Each day rolls into the next. Tomorrow we’ll probably pass through Boothbay Harbor and head into the Sheepscot River.

Day 6 on Ram Island: The Trip Begins

I’m lying in my hammock. I’ll just get that fact out of the way early, since it plays largely into my current personal mythology- which is that we’re on a somewhat leisurely kayak trip, taking time to enjoy the sublime beauty and idyllic vibe of the Maine islands in summer. This is our fifteenth summer living on the Maine coast, but we’ve worked so hard during the short summers that such an idyll has usually been merely a short blip in between work, or else we were busy guiding or teaching someone else. It’s funny, but we’ve stood in so many places we’ve paddled to in the non-summer months it got to be a joke: nice place- this would be really nice in the summer. Well, now we’ve got the rest of the summer, and it is nice.

I won’t go over every twist and turn of our journey so far, but we launched from Greenlaw Cove on Deer Isle, where we’d been house-sitting for the past eight months, on Saturday, July 1st. We’d hoped to leave sooner, but weren’t surprised that leaving turned into a difficult, drawn-out process. It’s always that way for us. Twenty-seven years ago we arrived late for our honeymoon, since it took so long to clean the house where our wedding had been, and we’ve followed a similar pattern ever since. But we both had boat repairs to make, and Rebecca even added a bulkhead and day hatch to her Pygmy Coho. And there’s something about living in a house, getting dug-in to a particular lifestyle that just seems to hold you there, to make it difficult to leave. We moved our belongings to storage and to Rebecca’s studio in Stonington until all we had left at the house were the things going into our kayaks. We made three ‘final’ trips to the dump. We projected launch times, and those times came and went. If we went into town, we ran into people who said ‘I thought you were taking a kayak trip.’ The trip began to seem like a dream that might not even happen.

We spent that first evening fogged-in on Campbell Island, and when the fog cleared and a heavy rain began, we could see the lights of the house we’d left- the owner had returned hours earlier – not much more than a mile away. It rained heavily that night, with a strong, steady wind that kept the tent’s rain fly taught with pressure. But we were on our way, and it felt good.

The next morning we paddled through fog along Stinson Neck, pausing at some favorite boulders we’d spent a lot of time looking at from our previous winter’s house-sit near Mud Cove. Since we moved-out of our above-gallery apartment in Stonington, two-and-a-half years ago, we’ve managed to live in company-provided housing or in house-sits. We’ve still paid a fair amount for heat and utilities, and we’ve provided the owners with a service by looking after the houses (and in one case, a cat) but we’ve lived in some nice spots, gotten to know the watery neighborhood in their backyards, and watched our pennies in a way that has enabled us to take this trip. We could barely see the Mud Cove house, peeking through the drifting fog.




We spent the next two nights camped on a favorite Maine Coast Heritage Trust island off Stonington where we’d never camped before. Our friends Gordo and Lisa joined us for the first night. That morning after they left we went through our gear and paddled in to Stonington with some odds and ends we thought we could live without. At this point, going into town felt almost surreal. Before we even landed we ran into my first paddling buddy Todd, who was setting off on a paddle with his wife and young son and a couple of friends. And in town we saw people who either knew nothing of our trip (and we didn't want to take time to talk about it) or people asking “when are you leaving on your trip?” We refilled our water containers at The Stonington Ice Cream Company and Ron sent us on our way, fortified with ice cream. We stopped at Green Island for a quick swim and ran into more people we knew.

So on Independence Day it felt liberating to cross East Penobscot Bay, heading for the less familiar islands of the Fox Island archipelago. We camped that night on another MCHT island, overlooking an anchorage where a couple in a white wooden sailboat had also anchored for the night. Rebecca went off to paint and I made a casserole in the Outback Oven, marveling how in the golden evening light, the anchored sailboat, trailing a perfect peapod for a tender, looked like an image from the Wooden Boat Calendar we get every year. As it grew dark, we watched Stonington’s fireworks low on the horizon, imagining what it felt like in town.

In the morning, we paddled past the sailboat and said hello. We chatted awhile with the couple before we learned that this was Benjamin Mendlowitz, the photographer responsible for the Wooden Boat Calendar, and countless stunning photographs we’ve seen elsewhere. We tied-up at the public dock in North Haven and spent a couple hours in town – bean burgers at Cooper’s Landing, some fresh Turner Farm kale from the market at Calderwood Hall… a browse through a couple shops before filling our water bags from a hose at Waterman’s Community Center. North Haven usually strikes me as a slightly sleepy, friendly town, but this was the busiest I’d seen it, in full summer plumage- plumes with a deliberately casual, but well-endowed tone. As we climbed down into our kayaks from the dock, a group of kids were launching sailboats from the yacht club.

We made it here, to Ram Island late afternoon yesterday. We’d been watching the weather, which called for a bit more wind today, and we would either get an early start this morning to head over to Muscle Ridge, or spend two nights here. So far, the packing and unpacking process, as well as hauling gear and boats, has been very time consuming- frustratingly cumbersome. It seems to be getting better, but the chance to spend a day just enjoying the place – like we’d planned- sounded good. When I got this hammock set-up, I felt pretty sure we’d be sleeping-in a bit this morning. So here we are. Through the trees I have a view of this stretch of Hurricane Sound, which has ridges of boulders granite that make up this island. I’ve been hearing a distant, churchy ring of a bell-buoy, and the coming and going grumble of lobster boats. The Vinalhaven ferry just motored past a gap between islands. The wind swishes through the spruce, and some crows and gulls taunt each other like rival gangs. We’ll probably get out for a short paddle in the neighborhood, or just hang-out here. Either way, I’m often struck with our good fortune, just to be here.

Notes:
At this point we’re pretty sure that we won’t go farther south than Casco Bay. If we spend too many “zero days” like this, even that may be a stretch if we want some time Downeast as well. But we keep telling ourselves we are doing this for fun.And so Rebecca can paint and I can write. Which doesn’t lend itself well to the long stretches with no camping access along the southern coast.

For more information about these paddling locales, check-out routes #14 and… ( I think) #17 in my guidebook, AMC’s Best Sea Kayaking in New England.

I am full of amazement that I can sit here on an island and write this and put it on ther Internet, but Google (Blogger) and my iPad aren't on friendly terms yet, which is why there's only one photo here so far. I've wasted some significant island time trying to make it work, But I'm posting the occasional photo on Instaqgram and Facebook. You can look for Sea Kayak Stonington or search for the #upwestanddowneast hashtag.