December

We've continued to explore the northern end of Penobscot Bay. One day we launched in Orland and paddled-up the Narramissic River. We carried our boats around a small dam and kept going, on into Alamoosook Lake, where ice covered the outlet of the Dead River. Great Pond Mountain rose in the background- hinting at the surrounding 4300 acres of the Great Pond Mountain Wildlands.

On another day I launched in Bucksport, following the Eastern Channel down to the Orland River, then up to Orland, connecting the dots from previous trips.

This connecting the dots is weirdly obsessive, but it is satisfying to return again and again and understand the place a bit more each time. At home in Stonington, we mostly just walked- on days when it was too cold or windy to paddle.

That's Dow Ledges (above)- just a stroll beyond our usual walking route on Indian Point. In the summer, I often pause there when I'm guiding, just before we cross over to Russ Island. On 99% of those trips, someone probably asks what it's like in the winter. Well, there it is.

I took another trip around Verona Island. Maybe I'm hoping to get it just right, with the current pushing me the whole way. Not this time; I paddled up the Eastern Channel against the current as the water turned shallow, dipping my paddle tips in the mud as I searched for deep water. Deconstruction on the old bridge continues.

It can be a lot of driving around, but I enjoy getting back in the car, warming my hands on a cup of Circle K coffee from the Irving station in Bucksport, and listening to tunes as I follow winding roads home, catching glimpses of the places I paddled, or perhaps noticing spots I haven't been yet.

But all that driving took its toll on our car. Actually, it's probably just from living right beside the ocean, parking where we get a lot of salt. It became a crisis last week, and we had to replace the old car. High on priorities was the kayak-hauling potential- and I like to sit in the open hatch to get my gear on and off. So last week, on a gorgeous thirty-ish day with fresh snow on the spruces- we went car shopping.  That shot below is a self-portrait, driving off the island when I still figured the car had a few more (thousand) miles to go.

Aside from squeezing-in a few paddles between a couple weeks of visiting family, I did manage to join the Island Heritage Trust's trail-building crew for a morning on the new Backbone Trail. We've almost made it to George's Pond. It skirts the inner reaches of Holt Pond- so this is actually providing public access you can get to in a kayak. And for me it also just adds to that obsession of connecting all these dots, adding to the big atlas in my head.

Verona Island

One thing that keeps me exploring in my kayak is the nearly unlimited spots I’ve driven past and wondered “I wonder what it’s like to paddle there.” Among these locations, a few stand-out to the extent that they’re almost iconic, that it might seem a required Maine sea kayaking rite of passage to get your photo snapped in front of them. Perhaps it was that impulse that brought us, on a warm day this last week, to Verona Island.

On the chart, Verona Island is a four-mile chockstone where the Penobscot widens from its riverine origins north of Bucksport, transforming, as its channels converge south of Verona Island, into Penobscot Bay.

 Most of us in Downeast Maine have driven across a short stretch of the island many times as we’ve followed Route One over the Penobscot Narrows Bridge, as well as the smaller bridge connecting the island to Bucksport.

It takes about ten miles of paddling to circumnavigate Verona Island, and as far as I can tell, there's no perfect formula to get the current pushing you the whole way, especially if you put-in from the ramp on the north end of the island, as we did. After all, the Penobscot is a river, with fresh water continually flowing down from Bangor and beyond. Rebecca and I launched mid-cycle on a rising tide. I could probably put a lot of effort into theories about the best approach, but my guess is I'd be wrong half the time. To keep it simple, some of the time we had the current behind us, and sometimes we didn't. When we didn't, we adjusted our position between the edges and middle of the river, looking for eddies, or lack of them, and sometimes it helped.

 
We took a clockwise route, only because the current seemed favorable that direction at the time. This took us down the Eastern Channel at mid-day, which is surprisingly undeveloped. A big shallow bend in the river surrounding Porcupine Island (which appears to be non-private) is shallow and muddy- maybe not prime real estate. And I'm just guessing that before the Penobscot was cleaned-up, living downstream from the paper mill might not have been so pleasant. (This is merely conjecture- I'd love to hear if this wasn't the case).

Maybe it works well to go clockwise around the island because you save the real highlight- paddling beneath the bridges- for last. The east side was fine, and the southern end afforded a spectacular view down Penobscot Bay, but I think our pulses quickened the most as the bridge came into view and we progressed toward it, finally passing beneath, just before dusk.

And right now, as an added bonus, there's still two bridges to pass beneath. The Penobscot Narrows Bridge was built to replace the old Waldo-Hancock bridge. When the new bridge opened in 2007, the old one remained. Finally, it is being taken-down. As we approached, a pair of workers high above paused to let us pass. Just beyond the bridge, we pulled to the side to watch them work, torch sparks shooting in the dusk. 

I don't know how long the deconstruction will take, but there will be a little less of the old bridge each time we see it. Eventually it will be lowered onto barges. I'd like to be around to see a bit more of the process- whether I'm in my kayak or on the shore. It will only happen once.

The man-made wonders continued as we finished the paddle, passing before the paper mill. However you want to look at it, the mill is a spectacle. As I've driven past, I've often admired the billowing clouds lit by Bucksport's lights, and the reflection in the river. A few days later, as we visited a more pristine island- the sort that most sea kayakers come to Maine to visit- we had to appreciate its wildness, since it wasn't so far from these man-made spectacles. But it also made me appreciate the diverse environments we can paddle in around here. Shaking-up the scenery every once in awhile helps us keep our eyes open.

Thanks to Rebecca for some of these photos.