Paddling Around Our Backyard, Part I

Most of the excursions I write about here, especially in the summer, take place before or after work. Last week, Rebecca minded the gallery for five days, and Todd closed the doors to his window shop so he and I could spend five days sea-kayaking. We chose a route that would take us in a loop around Stonington, around the edge of our usual paddling area, and a little beyond. If weather and conditions cooperated, we would go around North Haven and Vinalhaven, head across to Isle au Haut, Marshall and Swans Islands, and then around Mount Desert Island before heading home. We knew it was ambitious, and we hadn’t done too many twenty-plus mile days lately, but who knew when we’d get the chance again?

Above: the eight-mile paddle along North Haven's north shore. Not too many houses, not too many boats. Quiet. The Camden Hills are much closer here. Camden comes into view with the concentration of sailboat masts below Mt. Battie. Rockland gives the impression of distant urban sprawl, with the tower at the Dragon cement plant in Thomaston in the distance.



We camp on a small island near the west side of Vinalhaven. In the morning: fog. We paddle against the current, out past Heron Neck on Green Island.


We saw a lighthouse. We did all the quintessential Maine stuff.

Rolling Fog: now you see it, now you don't. Where's Brimstone? Out here somewhere.



Ah, there it is.

Foggy Trip To Bear Island

With Tropical Storm Hannah approaching, there's been a lot of talk about what weather we'll get and when, but early this morning, the bright, swirling colors were still at the edge of the Weather Underground map of Maine. Rebecca was still out at Bear Island, and I planned on paddling out to meet her and paddle back. At seven this morning, I headed out of Sylvester Cove into the fog.


Paddling alone in the fog can be almost surreal at times. The land I've left has disappeared quickly, reducing my world to two shades of watery grey: the undulating dark plane of waves and the drifting fog above. There's a lingering uncertainty in the back of my mind, fueled partially by the doubts expressed by those who knew I was going, partially by my own doubts... and partially, well, are those waves getting bigger? I've been over it on the chart: a two-mile crossing to Eagle, keep the compass just shy of 300 degrees. Okay, the waves are tossing me back and forth, so it's 270 to 300, which should be fine. After 25 minutes, I hear a bell, which should be the buoy I'm aiming for. I change course slightly and head toward the clanging.

After I've passed the buoy, I see land, but it isn't what I was expecting. For a moment, the world stops making sense, but I know I'm looking at the Porcupine Islands, at the southern end of Eagle, rather than the point with the lighthouse. That was the buoy with the bell, not the one with the gong. Oh well, this course works too, maybe even better. I make the remaining connections: along Eagle to a point, head west to Fling Island, then a straight line to Bear.



After meeting Rebecca, we reverse the course, or attempt to. We miss Fling and see a little more of Eagle Island than planned. We take a few minutes to look at the polished oval stones on a beach on one of the Porcupines. We eat some cheese and crackers left over from last night's gallery opening.



Then it's back across, aiming a little upwind to account for the waves pushing us north. Amazingly, we come out of the fog right at the red nun we were aiming for.

Bear & Hardhead Islands

It's one of those moments: we're at the top of an island, a chunk of rock that rises straight out of the ocean, softened on top by a lush tangle of low, wind-blown vegetation. In the back of my mind, I'm aware that, miles away in Stonington, there's a sign on my gallery door that says "Open in Early Afternoon." It's one-thirty. We hadn't planned on coming to this island, never mind landing and hiking up to the top, but here we are, and the feeling is overwhelming: the beauty and intensity of the place, as well as the fact that I'm able to be here at all, and will soon be sitting at my desk in the gallery, working. All I can say is "man, we've got it good here."



We'd cartopped the kayaks over to Sylvester Cove. Rebecca was loaded-up for a week out on Bear Island, where she's renting a house with a bunch of other women, mostly artists. Brighid and I used it as an excuse to paddle in a different neighborhood. Despite forecasts for 15-knot winds, gusting to 30, we pointed west, toward the light on Eagle Island, and headed into the wind.



It was certainly breezy. I took my hat off and tucked it inside my pfd. We passed Hardhead Island to the north, which looks awesome and otherworldly with its cliffs and lack of trees. It would be tempting to say "barren", but the top is thick with lush foliage.


We passed Eagle Island, with its lighthouse on the point. Butter Island provided a windbreak before we plunged into the wind again, passing through the Barred Islands and landing at Bear. Rebecca was the first of her group to arrive- the others were all coming on a powerboat. The island has been in the same family, which includes the likes of Buckminster Fuller, since 1903, and is occupied by family members and a few renters throughout the summer. We met the caretaker and a woman showed us around before Brighid and I headed back.


With the wind at our backs, the paddling was a bit easier. Despite my anxiety over getting the gallery open, Hardhead Island was too awesome-looking to pass up.

We hadn't planned on landing; it was hard to imagine with those cliffs rising out of the sea, but suddenly we were passing a perfect little beach. The island is state-owned, and closed during nesting season, which was just over. We landed and took a quick walk up to the top.

We paddled beneath the cliffs on the south side. Above us, a row of nests rested upon a ledge.

We saw no other kayakers on the entire trip. And no lobster boats: only sailboats and recreational powerboats. By mid-afternoon, I was back in the gallery, chatting with people about art, and Brighid was working at Old Quarry.

Sunset at Millet

Brighid called at five. I closed the gallery, and by 5:40, Rebecca and I were on the water, paddling toward Webb Cove, where we met with a small entourage from Old Quarry. We headed out past Grog, and Bold. I haven't paddled that much with groups, and I've occasionally found the differences in the way we paddle frustrating and not very safe. Last night though, we paddled at about the same pace, stuck closely together and all seemed to have an intuitive grasp of how to move around each other.



After a break on Millet as the sun went down, we headed back. The breeze had settled down to a faint dry warmth on the face, and the water surface turned glassy, saturated with deep, evening colors.



The Victory Chimes and another schooner had anchored near Bold Island, so we drifted past. The passengers seemed to find us as interesting as we did their boat. The mosquitoes were also taking an interest, so we kept moving. Rebecca and I turned away from the group and, turning on our lights, headed toward the lights of Stonington.

Quick Evening Paddle

I manage to get the gallery closed by 5:30. By six, we're on the water. Lately it gets dark before eight, so it had to be a quick paddle. First stop: Rock Island for some fun and games. Todd has been learning new ways to paddle a kayak.



The technique still needs some work.

It's nice to let someone else take the camera, in this case, Rebecca. Not only do I get into a few pictures for a change, but I'm able to just paddle along, focusing on my strokes, chatting with Todd. Rebecca lags behind to take pictures, but she's quick in her orange Coho, and quickly overtakes us again. I like the casual nature of our quick evening paddles: no big plans; there's an opportunity to go, so we go. The sunset is brilliant, of course. We paddle around George's Head and arrive back to Stonington as it gets dark.

Not Enough Play

I've gone out a few times in the last couple weeks, but if feels like far from enough, especially when I sit at my desk and see the occasional flash of a paddle blade out in the harbor, as well as the far more frequent sightings of car-topped kayaks going past on Main Street.

Brighid and I had a bumpy morning before the Lobster Boat Races, two weeks ago.

Todd and Bill and I took a pleasant excursion out to Merchant and Spruce one evening, and enjoyed a spectacular sunset as we returned. And then a few evenings ago, Todd and I took a quick, stolen hour away from all the other stuff we had to do, and went out to the ledges near Rock Island to practice rolling. This time, I rolled more than I missed, doing consecutive rolls once I "got it", and it felt pretty good.

And now tonight, as I sit in the gallery on a Saturday night with no one coming in, I realize I should have gone kayaking instead, Oh well; you never know.

Croquet

The easiest way to explain this is the fact that we don't have a yard, but we do have a croquet set. So where can we play? Yesterday morning we headed out into the fog and found a nice spot on Sand Island.

It's a nice beach, but a tough course. The sand offers little resistance, and a bit too much oomph will send your ball all the way across the course, if not into the water. The slope is slight, but a ball in motion tends to keep going. We decided that a little "landscaping" would be okay.


We'll keep experimenting with courses and perhaps adapting rules for the terrain. It was great to have a game, but a little more paddling would have been nice too; it's tough to do it all.