Seal Bay, Vinalhaven

Seal Bay on Vinalhaven is one of those areas of the chart that my eye is drawn to, and once there,  lingers for awhile as I realize how much shoreline is packed into those inlets and how little of it I've seen. I've paddled through it a couple of times, but it seemed time for another visit, and with a mid-day high tide, I might be able to explore a cove or two.

Of course, getting there is half the story. Six or eight miles from downtown Stonington, Seal Bay is on the other side of East Penobscot Bay. If it were a little closer, this might have been a day trip. I headed west out of the Thorofare and pointed somewhere between Mark and Scraggy Islands at a slightly higher patch of shoreline a few miles away. The appeal of such crossings lies more in the imagination - the possibility of getting places- than it does in reality. You try to paddle a straight line, and just keep going. I thought about this and that, and tried to avoid looking at my watch. The wind and waves were bigger than I'd anticipated and, paddling a fairly unfamiliar boat, I had a few moments of doubt. But those moments passed. Less than two hours after leaving Stonington, I arrived at a point of land on Vinalhaven, and slipped through the gap between Coombs Neck and Neck Island.

Right away I passed a few simple cabins, right on the water. They got my imagination working- it seems that you don't see too many waterfront cabins that haven't either been fixed-up or torn-down and replaced by zillion-dollar architectural marvels on their footprints. These look like they've been unchanged for awhile, except for that one on the right, which still looks like a boathouse, but with a nice place to hang-out on the deck. Perfect.

I followed the twists and turns of the easternmost cove and finally took a break on a ledge. The shoreline is probably all privately-owned, but it's mostly undeveloped and wild. Smith Cove was much the same, just bigger- only a few houses on it.

I could see Hay Island, where I planned on stopping for the night, but I wanted to check-out as much of the bay as I could while the tide permitted. "Bay" seems a deceptive term for the body of water. It's mostly very shallow, and as the afternoon went on, more and more ledge and mudflats were uncovered. At Burnt Island, I carried across the rocks barring the island to Vinalhaven. 

I followed the shore to the west end, but with the water quickly draining, I didn't want to get stuck, and headed back out along the shore of Penobscot Island. The area between Burnt and Hay islands is a popular anchorage- a hurricane hole sheltered from bigger winds on the outside. A few sailboats were anchored there as I found my campsite, and a couple more arrived as I explored the island and ate my dinner.

The night turned very dark and I sat out on the ledges for a while, until a shooting star flashed across the sky. I figured that must have been what I was waiting for, and turned-in. The forecast on the weather radio called for increased winds the next day, building to gale-force as a storm arrived. I resolved to get up and get going early, which is what I did. 

I opened the gallery a few minutes late.

Five Days Around Vinalhaven

Vinalhaven, only about six miles across Penobscot Bay from Deer Isle, remains about as elusive to most Deer Isle residents as a distant continent. You can get there from here, but it requires either crossing a broad stretch of ocean in your own boat or driving a couple of hours to Rockland to take the ferry. We’re usually content to vaguely identify it as part of the dark mass of land along the western horizon, merging with North Haven and the Camden Hills. Last fall though, our sunset vista was altered by a trio of newly-constructed windmills on Vinalhaven, each standing nearly four-hundred feet tall, and the island crept further into our consciousness. When Todd and I made time for a five-day kayak excursion, we decided to take a closer look at Vinalhaven.

The weather on Monday wasn’t great for the crossing: northwest wind in the mid-teens with higher gusts. Air and water temps in the mid to high forties. From the time we nosed out of the Thorofare until we pulled into Seal Bay, my boat weathercocked enough to keep me sweeping and leaning the entire time- an exhausting -and I hate to admit it- not terribly enjoyable paddle. Todd did better in his Solstice (even with the rudder removed). The five gallons of water I carried in the cockpit may have contributed to a problem with load distribution, but there wasn’t much I could do about it once we were underway.

A cold, wet, tiring paddle, but other than that, pretty good. Nothing that a little miso soup on the Jetboil couldn’t cure.

Highlights:

-Little Hen Island: our first campsite, in Seal Bay. Mostly out of the wind on a night with frost warnings in the mid-thirties. At night, beyond the trees, the red lights of the windmills winked rythmically.

-Hugging the shore in a clockwise circumnavigation. Checking-out the coves and inlets on the way into town, where we tied-up at the public dock and ate ice-cream.


-Camping for two nights on an island west of Hurricane Sound, ambiguously referred to as Spectacle Island. Half the island was removed in the most destructive quarrying activity we’ve seen, but we camped in a less-touched, idyllic spot with a huge view of Pen Bay and the Camden Hills. Despite the cold, I slept with my tent flap open so I could see the lights of Camden and the clear points of stars above.
-A day trip around the White Islands and Little Hurricane Island, where we found just enough swell to make for some excitement among the rocks and waves.


At one point, I was stranded about as high and dry as I’ve been- a balancing act until a big wave set me free. Todd reached for the camera, then thought better and went for the tow belt, but I was out of reach. Toned it down a notch after that.


-The windmills, surprisingly big and close, again and again.



-The Basin, a large inlet surrounded by wild, protected land. The tide goes in and out of the basin through two small openings which develop strong currents with standing waves and boils. We went in, committing ourselves to a couple hours of exploration before the current reversed direction. Inside, we paddled among islands of glacial erratic boulders, watched over by ospreys and eagles. A small baby seal, only about a foot and a half long, swam right up to my cockpit whimpering like it was looking for its mother. Cute as it was, I kept paddling.


-The Fox Islands Thorofare. Wow. Impressive real estate. Hundred year-old summer residences overlooking an obstacle course of mooring balls, which I assume will soon be tethering all sorts of recreational vessels.


-North Haven. We peeled our drysuits down to our waists and took a walk through town, which felt quiet and friendly. People looked at us, but not in the “what the heck are you wearing?” sort of way. Almost everyone said hello. Had a coffee at Waterman’s Community Center and the friendly woman there was happy to answer all of Todd’s questions. Interesting, how the people on these different islands so close together develop such different social habits.


-Calderwood Island. A large land trust island managed by Maine Coast Heritage Trust. From our campsite on the east end, the water and microwave towers in Stonington were clearly visible, but still far enough to feel like another world. Five days, fifty miles, plenty of hanging-out on islands: a fairly relaxed way to start a not-so relaxed summer.