Isle au Haut - Camping at Duck Harbor

As with our canoe trip the previous week, we were dragging our feet about getting out to Isle au Haut. I’d made the reservation for Duck Harbor Campground back in early April, which is pretty much the only way to get a reservation for the five-site, National Park campground. As the only public camping area on Isle au Haut, its sites are in high demand. The sites are deluxe – perhaps what some would call ‘glamping’ if you rigged-up a few string lights. Each site has a three-sided shelter, a picnic table and fire ring. There’s a couple of outhouses, and drinking water comes from a well just down the trail. It’s the perfect base camp if you’d like to spend a day or two exploring the rugged and remote southern end of Isle au Haut, either by paddling or on foot. 

If you’re just tuning-in, Isle au Haut is the big island (about 6 miles long and 2 miles wide) that lies 5 or 6 miles south of Stonington, our home on the Maine coast. Much of the island is part of Acadia National Park, but unlike the heavily-populated part of the park on Mount Desert Island, which is thick with tour busses and very casual visitors, access to Isle au Haut is by boat only, which has a way of weeding-out the riff-raff. It takes a little effort to get out there. 

Of course, as the big island on the horizon, it also has a way of attracting people who don’t know what they’re getting into. A decade or so ago, Outside magazine ran a short, rather misleading piece touting the island’s merits, suggesting that novice paddlers ought to rent a kayak and just head-out to the island, flagging-down a lobster boat along the way to grab dinner, and then “crash” in one of the lean-to shelters. For a while at Old Quarry, the ‘kook’ factor, already high, greatly increased. I still encounter paddlers whose plan is simply “Isle au Haut,” never mind the archipelago along the way, or the fact that much of the shoreline there is private or difficult to access. (Or the fact that paddling skills, including navigation might come-in handy). There’s a tiny village near the island’s north end, home to about 40 year-round residents and more in the summer.

As is often the case for us, getting out the door took more effort than it should have, and we didn’t launch until sometime in the afternoon. We had the current and a north wind helping us along, but if we’d continued to Duck Harbor we would have arrived around sunset. 

After 45 minutes of paddling, we paused below the campsite on Harbor Island, eyeing the sun sinking toward the Camden Hills, and decided to spend our first night there. We had the maximum 3-night reservation at Duck Harbor, but as much as we wanted to get there and wake the next morning to a full day, we prefer to avoid late-day arrivals, especially when the seas are lively, as they were even in Merchant Row. So we camped on Harbor the first night.

The northern campsite on Harbor is a favorite (although I suspect I might say the same of any island in the archipelago when I happen to be camping on it). The granite ledge slopes gradually down to the water, where a cushion of rockweed makes it easy to pull a kayak ashore. We pitched our tent on the soil just above the ledge. I quickly set-up the stove on a particularly flat-topped boulder to cook dinner, and Rebecca remarked that I seemed to have the routine worked-out. I’d camped there a few weeks earlier with a client and used the same rock, and had probably used it in the past as well. There were a few mosquitoes, but we carried our dinner to a windier, bug-free outcrop and watched the sunset. By bedtime (pretty early these days) the wind further shifted northward, and it rustled our tent fly all night.

By Monday morning, we’d lost our previous sense of hurry and took our time leaving Harbor Island and then meandering out through the Isle au Haut Thorofare, past Robinson Point Lighthouse, and then the last couple of miles to Duck Harbor. 

We parked our boats by the trail and carried our gear in Ikea bags up to Site #5. Only two other sites were occupied – perhaps thanks to the cool, windy weather and a rainy forecast. We’d stayed in the other sites, and this was our first time in this one, which is set-apart from the others, a little more remote, adjacent to a trail leading out to a cobble beach. We ate a late lunch and took a couple of walks, finally watching the sun begin to sink from the rounded granite hump of Ebens Head.

The first time we camped at Duck Harbor, years ago, we thought we’d use it as a kayaking basecamp. One could do that, especially if you wanted to don a helmet and get into the extensive rocks and ledges along the island’s southern end. But lately we had paddled enough that the simplicity of walking seemed a luxurious indulgence. Plus, you get to wear dry clothes. We headed-out around Western Head, pausing frequently to take pictures and just sit and take it in. 

It was nearing high tide when we arrived at Western Ear, the small island barred to Western Head at the southern end. Meaty waves rolled-in from the southeast, colliding over the bar with smaller ones from the west. We watched as the tide rose, mesmerized, regretting a little that we weren’t in our kayaks – I’d never seen such waves at this spot. Usually when I paddled around Isle au Haut I was out here around low tide. But this was a day to sit on shore and watch, which became more obvious as we walked the Cliff Trail. 

At every spot where the trail poked-out for a view of the waves crashing against the rocks below, we had to stop and take it in. 

We ate all our snacks. A walk that might take 2 or 3 hours grew into a 5 or 6-hour hike. We encountered no other hikers that day, and the only boats we saw were a couple of lobster boats.

The winds that day, Tuesday, were from the south, and would have made our paddle back to Stonington easier than in the strong north winds predicted for Wednesday. But by the time we arrived back in camp for a late lunch we were tired and didn’t feel like packing-up and paddling. Besides, reservations out at Duck Harbor are hard to come by, and you might as well make the most of them. 

We spent one more night and paddled back amid lively seas Wednesday morning, into a powerful headwind: exhausting paddling. It really was a mistake to not head back a day earlier, when the wind was in our favor, but it allowed us another long, leisurely day out there. And now with the hard work behind us, when we’re no longer cold and wet, it’s easy to only remember the more enjoyable parts.

Every time we go out to Western Head, we’re struck by what a different world it is from Deer Isle, and yet so close. Every time we go, we resolve to get out there more often. A few weeks ago we paddled out in the tandem in a little over two hours – maybe that’s one way we can do it. Or we just need to work less and play more.

Notes:

Read more about this route in my book, AMC’s Best Sea Kayaking in New England.

Reservations for Duck Harbor Campground may be made starting on April 1^st. I suggest you wait a few days though, until we have our reservation.

Three Days Around Isle au Haut

Being up early doesn’t feel so early when the sun has already risen well above the islands to the east, and lobster boats have been grumbling around for awhile, but I’m up doing my stretching routine on the raised ledge that juts out from the east end of Wheat Island. It’s only early because my guests are still in their tents, and I have some precious time to myself. The early sun turns the granite boulders reddish-orange; the water is calm. I do my stretches slowly and sit for awhile, gazing out at the low smudge of Marshall and Swans Islands, and beyond them, the hills of Mount Desert Island rising through the haze.

We spent the previous day paddling around Isle au Haut. One of my guests had just finished her first day in a sea kayak. For most paddlers, an Isle au Haut circumnavigation is a trip you work up to slowly. The day trip from Wheat Island spans at least 15 nautical miles, and the seas around the southern end of the island tend to be lively.

We had no particular goal for the three day trip, but on her first day, my guest had taken instruction well, and she was strong and in excellent shape. My other guest was also fit and had been on some challenging kayaking trips. Aside from that, they had great, easygoing attitudes and I could tell they wouldn’t mind a long day that would kick all of our butts a bit. The weather and tide was perfect for the circumnavigation, so we decided to go for it.

I can imagine making such a choice and soon regretting it, but as we paddled along the east shore of Isle au Haut... past York Island and Turner Cove, forgoing a break on Battery Island for the easier landing on Horseman Point, we moved along easily. We chatted about previous paddling experiences and admired the scenery. Occasionally I gave some feedback to improve forward stroke efficiency. Without an efficient stroke, a longer paddle excursion could be a bit of an ordeal- and I see very few paddlers with anything close to an efficient stroke. It’s easier to teach this to someone on their first day of paddling than to someone who has years of an arm-cranking stroke committed to muscle memory.

Farther south, the swell increased gradually, and I tried to shepherd the group into some close-up exploration of shoreside rocks and chasms. She decided that, for her second day of paddling, getting around the island would be enough. He occasionally went in for a closer look. By the time we reached Eastern Head, the swells were just big enough to keep us a little farther from shore. We made our way along the southern end and ate lunch on a cobble beach, just a short walk to the Cliff Trail.

This was about half-way, and from then-on, our goal was to make our way along the west side and get back to camp without overly-exerting ourselves. We had a nice push from the current through the Isle au Haut Thorofare.

Back on Wheat Island,  we all felt pleasantly tired;  a pot of curry restored some of our spent energy. My guests sat back with glasses of wine and watched the sun set over Penobscot Bay.

 

In the morning, I’m feeling about as beat-up as I usually feel first thing every day. Doing my stretches out on the rock ledge helps. Today will be warm- even with the sun low on the horizon I can feel it. Today we’ll meander back through the archipelago- a grand tour of some favorite spots.

I feel good about the trip. My guests, an experienced paddler and a novice, have each been challenged and received some coaching and guidance to accomplish a trip that most paddlers would work up to slowly, if at all. Not only that, but the food was pretty good.

Springtime on Isle au Haut

I paddled beside Rebecca as the western sky took-on a rosy, decidedly evening feel. “Well,” I said. If we don’t want to get into camp late, we could always stop somewhere else. Steves Island, maybe. We’d get a nice sunset on Harbor. Or Kimball- we’d be most of the way there.”

“That could be okay,” she said, but didn’t break stride. Isle au Haut rose as a backdrop, still mostly obscured by other islands, and we kept paddling as if to get those islands out of the way.

“Of course,” I added, “we’d have the current against us in the morning.”

“And fog. It’s supposed to turn foggy and rainy. I’d rather get there.”


This last minute, tardy departure felt too usual for us. We were always running late, getting things done at the last minute. We were lucky to have even launched on Monday. The tasks were never finished, and the longer we stuck around, the more the phone rang and the emails came: it seemed irresponsible to be leaving at all. That afternoon, I’d walked into the back of the darkened gallery just as a man on the sidewalk tried the locked door and saw me. To be polite, I opened the door to tell him we’d be closed for a few days, but he didn’t care about that. “Is there a restaurant around here,” he asked, “that serves lobster?” A joke? No- a frequently-asked question. He looked over my shoulder and followed it up with another: “Are you one of the artists?” We launched by quarter to five.

The wind picked-up against us and developed a mild chop. We still had the current with us. At Steves we kept right on going. At Harbor, we paused. The idea was enticing, but we wanted to get there tonight. We wanted to wake up in the morning and have all day. Three all days actually- and another half day on Friday, when we would need to return to Stonington and open the gallery. After which, the gallery would be open every day for the next four and a half months- with at least one of us there every day. It was good we were taking a break.

The current had turned against us by the time we entered the Isle au Haut Thorofare, tilting the buoys toward us. Along shore we found an eddy and passed town: no one was about- just a well-preserved car  from the 1960s rumbling slowly past. The lighthouse beckoned. We arrived at Duck Harbor just in time to get settled-in before dark. 

Duck Harbor Campground has only five sites, all Adirondack-style lean-tos- posh camping on the southern end of Isle au Haut, Acadia National Park’s remote section. Until June 15th when the tour boats start running there, the only likely way to get there is under your own steam. You could take the mailboat into town and backpack or bicycle the rest of the way, or get there in your own boat. I’d made reservations back in early April, which not only held our site, but ensured that we would take the time off for the trip. Two other couples camped quietly nearby.

We spent the next three days walking around on the trails and the rocky shoreline, staring at rocks, mesmerized by waves. Fog and rain came and went and came back again. It was springtime and the plants were just getting started, bright leafy green everywhere, birdsongs a constant backdrop.

The trails were often squishy and damp, but they led to amazing places. We took our time. Rebecca painted. Sometimes I opened a book, or if Rebecca became busy with a painting, I took off bushwacking up to rocky promontories, trying to fill in the gaps of shoreline that the trails left-out.

We both did a lot of staring at waves and rocks. What went through our minds while we stared? Rebecca, I’m assuming, was often going through that process of creating art. How do I paint that? What makes it interesting? Will anyone else see how cool this looks to me? I often found myself following an imaginary kayak in through rocky gaps, tracing its course as it negotiated a turn, got stuck on a rock, and inevitably- pounded by one of the bigger waves that always seemed to follow. Good practice. Maybe better if I’d followed it up with actual paddling... but maybe just as well that I didn’t. 

The days passed. On Friday morning we headed back in the fog. We were in less of a hurry to get back to Stonington. The fog lifted enough here and there to make it more atmospheric than hazardous- a gentle way to return and plunge into our summer.

Around Isle au Haut

The sea is calm, the air clear, the distant hills sheathed in mild haze. On Crotch Island, the granite-cutting machinery hisses, blending with the chug of lobster boats- the tinnitus of greater Stonington that starts to fade as I cross Merchant Row. Diesel fumes waft from circling lobster boats not far off. After an hour, on Wheat Island, I take my first quick break- ten minutes- and soon I’m paddling along the east shore of Isle au Haut, below the hardwoods and steep dark bluffs just past Richs Point.


It would be easier, with so many miles ahead, to stay offshore, pointing my bow for the most distant headland, skipping the particular contours of the shoreline. But I’ve done that before. When you’re alone, it’s easy to make that snap decision- the slight turn of the bow that changes your course without really thinking about it- to get in close and follow the shore. It may take a little longer, but my mind is occupied- as much as it can be occupied, looking at rocks and houses, shifting my hips to make an occasional tight turn between rocks. Paddling further from shore is like driving on the Interstate, counting down the miles. Following the shore is more like taking a walk.


For a couple of miles I alternate between shore and ledges as a mild swell builds, occasionally amplifying into breaking waves over the rocks. The houses on shore become less frequent, as do potential landing areas. There are no people on shore, and only far-off lobster boats on the water. After about three hours of paddling, I round Eastern Head. To the south: open ocean, an oil tanker on the horizon. Ahead of me, the cliffy southern end of Isle au Haut curves inland and back out to Western Ear. If I paddled directly across, I’d cover almost two miles, but what fun would that be?

Instead I paddle about twice the distance, following the shore to where a dozen or so houses overlook Head Harbor. No one is around in the middle of this Wednesday in September; a quiet place on a quiet island. The hum of Stonington is worlds away. As I leave the harbor, there is only the sound of surf.

This shore is perhaps the crux of the trip: the farthest from Stonington, the most exposed to ocean swell, and the most spectacular. Because it is part of Acadia National Park, it is also the wildest. The cliffs look almost white in the afternoon sun. It seems right somehow that it takes some effort to get here. I’ve paddled maybe a dozen miles, with over a dozen more to go, and as far as I can tell, I’ve got the whole southern end of Isle au Haut to myself

But I need to think about getting back. I take a quick lunch break by Western Ear, gazing out toward Saddleback Light and Brimstone Island, and turn north. With the breeze and the swell behind me, this stretch goes by easily. And it’s a good thing. I’m feeling a little tired, and still have a ways to go, but I take a tour around Moores Harbor, simply because I’ve never paddled there before. I pause below Robinson Point Light for a snapshot, and ride the current through the thorofare, past town on the right, Kimball Island on the left.

On Kimball, some friends have finished work and I watch them get into the Nanatoo and cast off lines. A few moments later, they’re passing by, waving. I have just enough time to get back before sunset.