Round

Another pre-work paddle. The fog cleared away just in time, and we headed south. As we approached George's Head, the lone figure of a man walked out to the tip of the sandbar. From our perspective, he could have been walking on water. A quiet moment of contemplation perhaps? He looked at something in his hand, and extended the object at arm's length: the familiar profile of a man looking for better cellphone reception.



We took a break on Round Island, and admired a lawn-like expanse of seaweed.



Back in time for work.

Full Moon Paddle

With the approach of every full moon, there's talk of a full moon paddle. Usually, circumstances or the weather don't cooperate. Last night though, was glassy calm with a clear sky. I was tired after getting up early to see the lunar eclipse (see gallery blog) and a long day of work, and couldn't find anyone else who wanted to go. It seemed that this full moon might pass by unpaddled due to lack of motivation. Somehow, I pulled myself up from the easy chair and got down to the boat ramp.

In the still air, mosquitoes began landing and buzzing in my ears, which was good incentive to paddle along at a good clip. The moon had just come up as I passed Green, and at the sand bar on George's Head I turned on my lights. Gas lamps glowed from cabins on Potato and St. Helena, as well as on several sailboats at anchor that I passed near. Moonlight cast its glow over the sea, but mostly I navigated toward the vague outlines of islands I knew, listening for the telltale lap of wavelets against nearly invisible ledges. I disturbed a huge flock of ducks, their wings flapping against the water like applause.


After circling Wreck Island, I headed back to Stonington with the moon behind me, finally aiming toward the lights of the boat ramp. I'd been gone less than two hours. On Seabreeze Avenue, houses that will soon be vacant and dark for the next nine months were alive with families, driveways overflowing with out of state cars. Main Street felt quiet and subdued, restaurants all closed, a few cars strategically parked, emanating the glow of laptop computer screens.

I could hardly stay awake for dinner, but you have to have your priorities.

Sunday Morning

This Sunday morning paddle thing is getting to be a habit; I hope we can keep it up. This morning it was Barbara, Peter and me. We started off in a sparse fog, and went off around Sand and John Islands.



We only had a couple of hours, so we opted to stay close and take our time. It was almost high tide, and we saw waves breaking over the ledges between John, Crotch and Mark Islands. We went out and floated among the rocks and waves for awhile.


After a little practice and photography at the beach on Crotch, we headed in. In Stonington Harbor, people were fishing for mackerel off the pier at the Lobster Coop. The boat ramp was crowded, blocked by two pair of kayakers, and a couple of other boats. We landed and got out of the way in a hurry.


I didn't say anything to the other kayakers, but this is the sort of thing that gives us all a bad reputation. We don't need to block the ramp for even a minute. Don't park by the water while you unload your boat, and if you must, make it quick. Park in a parking place and carry your boat to an out of the way spot where you can get it ready. Of course, we've often waited for powerboaters to get out of the way, but they're not as agile as we are, and many of them (especially non-recreational boaters) have an attitude about EVER waiting for a kayak. That's my diatribe for the day.

Crotch Island

This morning's trip came together by chance: running into Sarah, who'd been looking for someone to paddle with, and then Eugene and Julie, who I hadn't been out with yet this year. Individually, anyone of us would have hit the snooze button and missed a great paddle, but we'd made plans which put us on the water by seven.


At first, the breeze kept us on the lee side of Crotch Island. We went up the millpond, or the crotch (at which point I thought I'd title this entry "Up the Crotch"). The real fun though, was on the other side, where the wind and waves came off Penobscot Bay.




Meanwhile, Todd decided to sleep in, but he came up with his prototype of the "Toddcam". I'm sure he'll be blogging the results here soon.



So I still need a title for this entry. Any ideas?

Waves, Grass, Fog

Waves
The waves were biggest after we rounded George's Head, and headed across Merchants Row to Hardwood Island. We'd chosen the west side of the archipelago because the growing south wind and swell suggested we'd find something less than flat over there. As we paddled along the south shore of Merchants, beam to the 2 or 3-foot waves, Todd remarked that there was something almost more calming about paddling in the waves.

We were both worn-out from work, and our shorter excursions (this was Todd's fifth time out this week, my third) weren't enough to really get us away from our concerns on land. But Todd was right, after several miles of up and down motion through the waves, we were focused only on paddling.



Grass
We took a break on a beach sheltered from the wind. After catching our breath, we walked down the beach. A small bluff rose from the sand, and there we walked through a meadow of tall grass. The wind made a constant hissing sound through the blades.


Fog
We headed across Merchants Row as fog closed-in. At first, we followed the dark shapes of familiar islands, but they soon disappeared, and we followed the compass. The rest of the world disappeared. Somewhere, waves lapped on a rocky shore. Water trickled from our paddles. Eventually, a ledge appeared, and then an island whose shore we followed until we were ready to cross the Thorofare.


A motor buzzed somewhere behind us, though. We waited as the sound grew, and then dissipated, nearly disappearing until suddenly it sounded like it was bearing down on us. It could have been going in circles for all we knew, but we guessed that the fog was doing funny things to the sound. We crossed the Thorofare, emerging among several large sailboats at anchor. We followed the more familiar lobster boats on their usual moorings back to the ramp.

Your Message Here

A couple evenings ago: practice out at the beach on Rock Island, then a quick jaunt around Crotch. Todd had a camera, so this time I show up on the other end of the lens. From a distance, we look about the same: yellow kayaks, rugged good looks, etc. Soon he'll be writing these blogs too.



This morning I'd planned on paddling with someone else, but when I called to check in at 5:45, I discovered I would be alone. I tried Todd's house (tossing pebbles up at the bedroom window) but he had work to do. So I went by myself. It's good to go out alone every now and then. It clears your head. Until those goofy bluegrass songs start creeping in.



I went around McGlathery, returning as others were heading out, before the air became too hot. I'm still wearing a drysuit, since the water is low to mid 50's, and I usually get wet. We just put in a huge order to NRS though. Actually not so huge, just costly. New semi-dry tops & sprayskirts, etc, etc. It never ends. Look- a buoy...

Circumnavigation of Two Bush

Last night: fog, lobster thieves roaming the shallows in a Whaler, rolling lessons and finally... Two Bush.


Despite its name, the island (two islands at high tide) is no longer vegetated with a bush or even two, neither of the plant-like variety nor of the presidential. There's a rustic flagpole with a tattered Old Glory and the scattered detritus from the Independence Day launch site of Stonington's fireworks. All this just a half-mile from town.