tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34769209902136119662024-02-07T21:18:28.084-05:00Sea Kayak StoningtonStonington, MaineMichael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.comBlogger327125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-7938502156366040302021-10-25T14:02:00.002-04:002021-10-25T14:02:59.227-04:00Baileys Mistake to Lubec<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxPdnFCrzWLIpSWjTtpzCZmSz0UAHxIiJBRvdybxKpFnIUFNnl2mJ5IpKRUsg5PqeOTTf4SZXON5W0MQKsa7Gcyg1ghpIQNt-olqmZzeJyReI07thgf7udFY3aHlRW70TKT6XFM0zXb5g/s640/IMG_4049.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxPdnFCrzWLIpSWjTtpzCZmSz0UAHxIiJBRvdybxKpFnIUFNnl2mJ5IpKRUsg5PqeOTTf4SZXON5W0MQKsa7Gcyg1ghpIQNt-olqmZzeJyReI07thgf7udFY3aHlRW70TKT6XFM0zXb5g/w640-h480/IMG_4049.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We floated in our kayaks below the bluffs of Jims Head. Beyond the harbor entrance, a jagged horizon of rough water undulated offshore. We hoped that it marked the edge of a massive eddy that would diminish as we made our way along Boot Head and the tidal current slackened, affording us the least-bumpy passage around the head. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was a brilliant, clear day, and Jims Head rose steeply from the sea upon tall fins of dark, flaky rock. There were six of us. Most had been on a Downeast multi-day trip I’d guided at the end of August, and we were continuing from the spot where we’d had to cut the trip short. There’d been some bad weather coming, and we’d made a hard choice, but we’d made plans to return the next time we all had a day – in October, and here we were. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfG4-grNgR6f7DS0uFZhRyU6ONGUkbBJ66544vsHIDD0Xkm7klj1UcymA57DfrL5E5zhH8bbJonmPyrGmeTxkoU3uSbRtx7r0hyphenhyphenraMC1rnKF1Sx0dFE59RciGozyMwfa2UzgPAW_6bDz8/s640/IMG_3908.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfG4-grNgR6f7DS0uFZhRyU6ONGUkbBJ66544vsHIDD0Xkm7klj1UcymA57DfrL5E5zhH8bbJonmPyrGmeTxkoU3uSbRtx7r0hyphenhyphenraMC1rnKF1Sx0dFE59RciGozyMwfa2UzgPAW_6bDz8/w640-h480/IMG_3908.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We followed the shore out toward Boot Head, and though the conditions were docile, they were perfect for some mellow play along this shore. We looked for small challenges – slots to back into, rocks to get buoyed over by waves. The challenges grew progressively as we made our way along the shore. Finally, we took turns paddling into the tallest, darkest chasm on Boot Head. You back in so you’ll see the waves coming your way, and it makes it easier to paddle out quickly if the need arises. You go one at a time, alone, and as you venture backward, alternating your over-the-shoulder view of your destination with that of the bright entrance beyond your bow, your companions become distant silhouettes, occasionally eclipsed by a wave rising between you, You’re dwarfed by the soaring walls. You look up and see the crack of light above, the blue sky outlined by spruce. The walls are damp, mossy, echoing each time a wave thunks into the rocks behind you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXPHGm1cZhlKiP0XcVWeIX_9AmMdpiprQOkMkGP7pD-1cCJYUgYotCu9rdRg-sPiWICzUGUtKToEgmBBR57vQ9aJmGMn8rU5zHAykz6nLqAsUOp3L_SLbUZZVS_v309FXwOxdlF2OaGOY/s640/IMG_3961.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXPHGm1cZhlKiP0XcVWeIX_9AmMdpiprQOkMkGP7pD-1cCJYUgYotCu9rdRg-sPiWICzUGUtKToEgmBBR57vQ9aJmGMn8rU5zHAykz6nLqAsUOp3L_SLbUZZVS_v309FXwOxdlF2OaGOY/w480-h640/IMG_3961.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We were paddling the eastern end of the Bold Coast. We’d launched in Baileys Mistake and hoped to finish somewhere north of West Quoddy Head. We’d left a car in town in Lubec, so we could shuttle back to the launch. This easternmost section of the Maine coast is a stretch of steep, craggy shoreline dropping abruptly into the Grand Manan Channel. Known as The Bold Coast, the twenty-or-so-mile section between Cross Island and West Quoddy Head has only a few small islands to buffer coastal boaters from the open Atlantic, and just a handful of small coves or harbors. In addition, the tidal current accelerates between this shore and Canada’s Grand Manan Island as it flows in and out of the Bay of Fundy, known for having one of the highest tide ranges in the world. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxuq8KHx_hy6VP4tEVNgan2B9dsqBpP6XsMXhhWxhH1OfPKqOKqp9T5thMwmah6cepTy_2ND8MVs780nAdkEZJcNX-KPqX9oi9LBYk2fcIE8bGtG36cyf2lOHo34SFIbzLzOV9TxF90S0/s640/Bold+Coast+map+final+ss.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="640" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxuq8KHx_hy6VP4tEVNgan2B9dsqBpP6XsMXhhWxhH1OfPKqOKqp9T5thMwmah6cepTy_2ND8MVs780nAdkEZJcNX-KPqX9oi9LBYk2fcIE8bGtG36cyf2lOHo34SFIbzLzOV9TxF90S0/w640-h252/Bold+Coast+map+final+ss.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For some paddlers, the Bold Coast is a challenge standing in the way of larger goals, as it was the first time I paddled it with my friend Todd. We were paddling from Stonington to Lubec and at that time there was little info available about the area. Guidebooks suggested avoiding it. We learned what we could, including the popular theory that you could just catch the flooding current and make it from Cross Island to West Quoddy in about three hours. It didn’t work that way for us, and I now understand how little I knew about tidal currents back then. And even though I think I now understand the currents better, I still expect surprises. Maybe that’s part of what keeps pulling me back there. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh81wwK3rj8ROVJURlEsfnwWJaUDiquIO4AgFqIL_OPYw4KIRdbIhmK-sVkFeAHZtil0YJzajxbyPhZUVEJERv4HZJtT75YfP-ap9Kghrd4cDS-8JjcSIr4XWDvAAJ9CPPgmOktMM1DWT4/s640/IMG_3958.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh81wwK3rj8ROVJURlEsfnwWJaUDiquIO4AgFqIL_OPYw4KIRdbIhmK-sVkFeAHZtil0YJzajxbyPhZUVEJERv4HZJtT75YfP-ap9Kghrd4cDS-8JjcSIr4XWDvAAJ9CPPgmOktMM1DWT4/w480-h640/IMG_3958.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the years since, I’ve paddled the area various ways, but have found it most rewarding to take shorter trips that allow for ample shoreside exploration, especially if the conditions are calm enough to get in <i>really</i> close. Yes, you could go far enough offshore to catch that big current, but it’s likely to feel like simple “Point A to Point B” paddling – highway miles, and I wouldn’t go out of my way to do that. I’ve also paddled a hybrid route – staying near shore as far as Boot Head and going offshore for the last 6 miles to the lighthouse in an hour – or vice-versa.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPiXUHQB_aQVLAexRhgUVhHbG5Kns11Z3LN5RuhWxoahwlg8oA0ElUKUfoMZQYcATDJuSNP4M2LtFVvAHUZ0dc1Gyvy8Zpl5J9a8wibdScN_yB8vHTvp3LMN8MQ0wyzy45Uahzk_fl1A/s640/IMG_3999.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPiXUHQB_aQVLAexRhgUVhHbG5Kns11Z3LN5RuhWxoahwlg8oA0ElUKUfoMZQYcATDJuSNP4M2LtFVvAHUZ0dc1Gyvy8Zpl5J9a8wibdScN_yB8vHTvp3LMN8MQ0wyzy45Uahzk_fl1A/w480-h640/IMG_3999.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On the last Saturday of my guiding season, we met again at Baileys Mistake, joined by Todd (see trip #1 above) who’d been guiding with us over the summer. The day couldn’t have been much nicer. There was a bit of an east wind, and it did happen to be during an auspiciously big tide range (max flood in Grand Manan Channel approaching 4 knots) but it felt almost warm enough to skip the dry suit (but not quite). After paddling into the chasm on Boot Head, we stopped for lunch at Boot Cove, where a few hikers eyed our kayaks curiously (the Boot Head Preserve is owned by Maine Coast Heritage Trust and has nice hiking paths leading out to the cliffs, now somewhat ubiquitous on Instagram).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After lunch we continued, but as a couple of us headed along shore, continuing to find features to weave among, the others took the more direct route a little offshore, chatting with each other. Perhaps they’d had enough of all these details, or perhaps they had much to chat about – who knows? But though their route was more direct, and I was dilly-dallying among the rocks, I got a little ahead of them. I took this as a sign that the eddy was starting to increase – win-win: you get to dilly-dally along shore, <i>and</i> get moved along with a little help from the tidal current. Far offshore, the tall navigation buoys leaned heavily toward the southwest – current that would have been against us. So as we went around each new corner, I headed in toward shore. Though these rocks along this stretch are not tall and imposing like those at Boot Head, there’s plenty here to explore. There’s a few houses here and there, and you pass the shore of one more preserve – Hamilton Cove Preserve – before you reach Carrying Place Cove, where the shore again turns steeper along West Quoddy Head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmOYMO-URQuervc-FOmOqsi12Zyw8JmvqD5PL0aoeC3ASH8KxcQn8wFlGIJGfAWXrS2W9l3Q9_Ao1BXjRBkZ9ChzzxnPtrXOOn8F7HEPrMgVHOHJGJL6hoix8aCZYGEj2pv9jREz6lrqI/s640/IMG_4038.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="640" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmOYMO-URQuervc-FOmOqsi12Zyw8JmvqD5PL0aoeC3ASH8KxcQn8wFlGIJGfAWXrS2W9l3Q9_Ao1BXjRBkZ9ChzzxnPtrXOOn8F7HEPrMgVHOHJGJL6hoix8aCZYGEj2pv9jREz6lrqI/w640-h482/IMG_4038.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We got our obligatory group selfies in front of the lighthouse and then hugged the shore (more tall rocky passages to weave among) and then curved in westward to avoid the current against us in Lubec Channel. This was another test of faith in theories about tidal currents. Some wanted to head straight across and stayed far to the east of the group, paddling against more current than those veering westward. You could paddle a little farther with less current against you or paddle on a treadmill that looked more direct. Or at least that’s how it looked from my perspective, and by this point as a guide, I felt inclined to let people figure it out for themselves if they didn’t want to follow me or test my theories about it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The current beneath the bridge was largely diminished by the time we passed beneath. We made our way around the breakwater to the take-out. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Baileys Mistake, Maine 04652, USA44.7661442 -67.056293316.455910363821154 -102.2125433 73.076378036178852 -31.900043299999993tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-64032852690459012672021-09-30T08:37:00.002-04:002021-09-30T15:22:46.195-04:00 The 2021 Schoodic Sea Kayak Retreat<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWC8JnSvkNcAg0T1WMz6PKnLMZacSHp4-7OYY6YituxNpGANsR2Fzg9Ueni4j-AOr76484y-l1IAz_VJJsHqUeRrOZQ17EK0cH3rW_EtKKlxug_feDjTbZwKrHcBh3aLra34EhZlommz0/s640/IMG_3406.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWC8JnSvkNcAg0T1WMz6PKnLMZacSHp4-7OYY6YituxNpGANsR2Fzg9Ueni4j-AOr76484y-l1IAz_VJJsHqUeRrOZQ17EK0cH3rW_EtKKlxug_feDjTbZwKrHcBh3aLra34EhZlommz0/w400-h300/IMG_3406.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;"><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Last week we temporarily closed shop here in Stonington to coach at the <a href="https://www.guillemot-kayaks.com/event/gatherings/2021/2021-schoodic-sea-kayak-retreat" target="_blank">Schoodic Sea Kayak Retreat</a>. The five-day event gives paddlers of all levels the opportunity to paddle and play in a variety of locations with different coaches each day. Home base is The Schoodic Institute, a former Navy facility in Acadia National Park, near the end of Schoodic Point. There’s apartment accommodations and 3 meals a day at the dining hall… a bit like a summer camp for grownups bent on sea kayaking.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSUvSGJwToAMSeQQcoAmYaQye_s04ueG0ecynZo6EwLVYPZlHnG1dXYlCl8ZYOYWxo4LRDwUv1CXoXo1Q9SivaMHK-ArkBmE9J6X1sSgk128H-giZuYDmm-PzBeodMzIbQbvSPfCvEM88/s640/IMG_3496.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Ironbound Island" border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSUvSGJwToAMSeQQcoAmYaQye_s04ueG0ecynZo6EwLVYPZlHnG1dXYlCl8ZYOYWxo4LRDwUv1CXoXo1Q9SivaMHK-ArkBmE9J6X1sSgk128H-giZuYDmm-PzBeodMzIbQbvSPfCvEM88/w300-h400/IMG_3496.jpeg" title="Ironbound Island" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The event is organized by <a href="https://seasherpakayak.com" target="_blank">Gerry Polinsky of Sea Sherpa Kayak</a> and <a href="https://www.guillemot-kayaks.com/about-guillemot-kayaks" target="_blank">Nick Schade, designer and builder of Guillemot Kayaks</a>. Paddlers choose a “pod” depending upon their skills and desires, and that pod goes to a different paddling venue each day, with different combinations of coaches. The. participants come from all over, with a sizeable contingent of those paddling self-built kayaks, and a higher than usual share of those paddling with Greenland sticks. And though there is an instructional element, there’s no curriculum, much the way we teach or coach here at Sea Kayak Stonington. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mQpcpD2GlqSrK_MQWnRM4RhBjfj4099bqam6ofGCiSquGWpvrf4FINDReXwczad34joNazaoxGz_VKjVZSfbHDgUPn1XDnd6QMO7LxMPUPmWA093k-zrQQF7KtSMVvo8QL-C7SjP88s/s640/IMG_3486.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mQpcpD2GlqSrK_MQWnRM4RhBjfj4099bqam6ofGCiSquGWpvrf4FINDReXwczad34joNazaoxGz_VKjVZSfbHDgUPn1XDnd6QMO7LxMPUPmWA093k-zrQQF7KtSMVvo8QL-C7SjP88s/w300-h400/IMG_3486.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Aside from sampling the stunning neighborhood paddling venues, among them Bois Bubert, Ironbound Island, Sullivan Falls and of course the craggy shoreline of Schoodic Point itself, paddlers were also there to connect with other paddlers, to try out a few boats and get a few tips to improve their paddling.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEC8_gbJi6vzYxCu1mKJgOm6iwM4hszagpPaOHFMumY-Ru8MTIqqVWwnAWWcn4PuWzD0r17szoxa2amukx2RCnxiXMIMJ7fqIA7U4Ny97Awn0EvoqAPHRnTSQ7qfVkftJqxiDRvSlWfiE/s640/IMG_3560.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEC8_gbJi6vzYxCu1mKJgOm6iwM4hszagpPaOHFMumY-Ru8MTIqqVWwnAWWcn4PuWzD0r17szoxa2amukx2RCnxiXMIMJ7fqIA7U4Ny97Awn0EvoqAPHRnTSQ7qfVkftJqxiDRvSlWfiE/w400-h300/IMG_3560.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">For us it was a change of pace from the summer we’d been having. It wasn’t exactly a vacation, but we appreciated the excellent meals in the dining hall and the relaxed atmosphere – at least a bit less non-stop than the pace we’d been keeping all summer. We liked paddling those locales that we don’t get to regularly from Stonington, and it was satisfying to coach a few people intent on expanding their skills and comfort zones. We could easily observe significant improvements over the 5 days on the water.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTDdSB0uDM93HPZDvJp06piTu_6CEhEm-ZgrRGz1xZBiJpg-BGN9G9Ajmo-zUMH3sl5jdcjGUhzAIMO7IQH7VT0AcMCG7IZMbzYlTF_whCiLUaibWEER1DmdlnxBju3meBtFUnzU8Y4Q0/s640/IMG_3398.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTDdSB0uDM93HPZDvJp06piTu_6CEhEm-ZgrRGz1xZBiJpg-BGN9G9Ajmo-zUMH3sl5jdcjGUhzAIMO7IQH7VT0AcMCG7IZMbzYlTF_whCiLUaibWEER1DmdlnxBju3meBtFUnzU8Y4Q0/w300-h400/IMG_3398.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: times;">Among the highlights was the boat swap, in which we tried out a few different kayaks, including some self-built models. We both loved paddling the <a href="https://www.guillemot-kayaks.com/catalog/strip-built/sea-kayak-recreational-kayak-solo/petrel-play" target="_blank">Guillemot Petrel Play</a>, which is available in kit form from Chesapeake Light Craft, as well as the composite version built by <a href="https://www.turningpointboatworks.com" target="_blank">Joey Schott at Turning Point Boatworks</a>. I had imagined it as mostly a play boat, akin to the P&H Delphins we often paddle, but was surprised how well it performed when you’re more focused on covering a few miles. The kayak has a 13.15-foot waterline for its 14' length. As the name suggests, it is indeed a nimble play boat, whether you’re catching a standing wave at Sullivan Falls or taking a tight turn through the rocks beneath Ironbound Island’s cliffs. I put it through a number of turns, forward, backward… upside-down, and it did just want I wanted – one of those “magic” boats that immediately makes you feel like a better paddler.</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdV8dg6A6NIfL_5aSJMWvDGbE-o9yftUmwTZKbW9Zhjr3xYnXDjBSomBKDtVA3nWt0JTVS5EikeZvaqFAywRM0p7oOgfFYKomubjJ-qzYFko5MYEc59M_gMJx5_gMLJ_g49nwQW4Zd5cE/s640/IMG_3529.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdV8dg6A6NIfL_5aSJMWvDGbE-o9yftUmwTZKbW9Zhjr3xYnXDjBSomBKDtVA3nWt0JTVS5EikeZvaqFAywRM0p7oOgfFYKomubjJ-qzYFko5MYEc59M_gMJx5_gMLJ_g49nwQW4Zd5cE/w300-h400/IMG_3529.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There were off-water events as well. We gave an evening talk about our 2017 Maine coast trip. I set the timer and we just chatted about it, which seemed get the story across without putting anyone to sleep. <a href="https://mita.org/people/dan-carr/" target="_blank">Dan Carr of the Maine Island Trail Association</a> followed it with some info about the Trail. We were asked thoughtful questions and there were even a couple of positive testimonials about AMC’s Best Sea Kayaking in New England. I rarely hear such feedback or get much recognition beyond getting relegated the realm of “kayaking freaks,” so it was satisfying to bask in the scene for a bit. We even got a T-shirt.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW06hG82V1xvCnvBLT47Nv_iKs3Ox_EDtrqEUL_89ISY0VFnIO6qxckHrOd0uykms53dYZDK2DJyB0wcY6k_cq8B9Rpb1Fbjcq3XgZU6gX4FoOlIBNpbPtwpoQjWx81ss58vKlfBR26Fw/s640/IMG_3582.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW06hG82V1xvCnvBLT47Nv_iKs3Ox_EDtrqEUL_89ISY0VFnIO6qxckHrOd0uykms53dYZDK2DJyB0wcY6k_cq8B9Rpb1Fbjcq3XgZU6gX4FoOlIBNpbPtwpoQjWx81ss58vKlfBR26Fw/w300-h400/IMG_3582.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><p></p>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-13363641917707030522021-03-05T13:33:00.000-05:002021-03-05T13:33:54.116-05:00Gooseberry Island<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFOFTx3Vj9zA-tHRmUY3ZLPnWkpyGrHVYqrziY-5v7VGsYrHI_vj788dii_yQ6WtmdsWqYWYXKvyB7o13lze-ptADwy6jocn0gJDQk_IXho1RcAiyhc2oMZs-g9MJM2vX0Z0YbyulAu0/s12010/IMG_2676.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3842" data-original-width="12010" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFOFTx3Vj9zA-tHRmUY3ZLPnWkpyGrHVYqrziY-5v7VGsYrHI_vj788dii_yQ6WtmdsWqYWYXKvyB7o13lze-ptADwy6jocn0gJDQk_IXho1RcAiyhc2oMZs-g9MJM2vX0Z0YbyulAu0/w640-h204/IMG_2676.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">As we paddled along Little McGlathery Island, a mild swell washed over the near-shore rocks, lifting our kayaks gently and then dropping them as the waves rebounded from the granite bluffs.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Gooseberry Island lay to the south, with Isle au Haut rising behind it. The day had started bright and clear, but now a layer of high, wispy stratus clouds floated over us from the west, the sun a pale disc. Rebecca maneuvered beside me. She said, “Lunch on Gooseberry?” We turned our bows southward.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0yi0tPM-EA0puFxcgc93x3-gAhtSFGUxEZYFtSg2YoqbZQ2DiJ1YV7qJ2aE3e49nSzDpYQoOcsmVViu4psCdNuD_7MnlmYEbRsPlEceg_h3bLRG3cHcVCgmeuiKhSy10_7bk_PLgcP8/s2048/IMG_1593.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0yi0tPM-EA0puFxcgc93x3-gAhtSFGUxEZYFtSg2YoqbZQ2DiJ1YV7qJ2aE3e49nSzDpYQoOcsmVViu4psCdNuD_7MnlmYEbRsPlEceg_h3bLRG3cHcVCgmeuiKhSy10_7bk_PLgcP8/w640-h480/IMG_1593.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Paddling excursions had lately been the result of watching the weather, and days ahead, deciding that a particular day might be good enough for a paddle. And when that day arrived, if the weather forecast was close enough, and if we weren’t too lazy or too stuck in our routines, we dropped everything and went. Sunday was one of those days. With the temperatures approaching 40 degrees, we made some sandwiches, filled the Thermos with hot mocha and went for a paddle. We had a few ideas about places to go, but once we launched we just pointed across the Thorofare and went with no particular goal, until finally we found ourselves on the seaward side of Little McGlathery, angling out toward Gooseberry Island, a half-mile off. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWA7KKOq0qwK6MSbs7xB5UppLMjWx9LfihA0hSuArXZHU8RS3R3QvLvky2RnfPvSvuto2jEPFL1zJWFOfDEJxkiLGmuEGONftX0-tNg9deP7jFIWp2le7vSuLc_QUhbIJVQR0-nbhrcg8/s2048/IMG_2647.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1372" data-original-width="2048" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWA7KKOq0qwK6MSbs7xB5UppLMjWx9LfihA0hSuArXZHU8RS3R3QvLvky2RnfPvSvuto2jEPFL1zJWFOfDEJxkiLGmuEGONftX0-tNg9deP7jFIWp2le7vSuLc_QUhbIJVQR0-nbhrcg8/w640-h428/IMG_2647.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Even on the last day in February, I had a sense of relief as we rounded the point and saw that there was no one else at the beach where we liked to land, at the head of a narrow cove, overlooked by a dense boulder field. Of course, there was no one there, but the habits from summer remain. We hadn’t come across other paddlers since some time in the fall, and in a way I looked forward to seeing others out there again. There weren’t even many lobster boats out, quiet for such a nice day. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUY3ampJnJJI0U5FYK56V8y3CXzGvKP29UHmyQM6VcOueGkSahvGVLTVMwcd23f95J9ESPjr4jdQXEQ8zsKDPheNtvioJWS5vyuLByvlQgYf3PxPRAMkxzOxSJXG2qNtUU2ols-jyIbs0/s2048/IMG_2643.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUY3ampJnJJI0U5FYK56V8y3CXzGvKP29UHmyQM6VcOueGkSahvGVLTVMwcd23f95J9ESPjr4jdQXEQ8zsKDPheNtvioJWS5vyuLByvlQgYf3PxPRAMkxzOxSJXG2qNtUU2ols-jyIbs0/w640-h480/IMG_2643.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We landed on the shell sand beach, barely pulling our boats up since the tide was retreating, and we sat on a log to eat our sandwiches. The water looked glassy clear, as it does in winter when there’s less algae, but frigid, probably just above freezing. I don’t think we had much to say. We’d had no shortage of time together lately, and we always found things to talk about. But it was also a relief just to sit and eat our sandwiches and look out toward Isle a Haut, with the clouds thickening before the sun. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYIO_I8cwhseSTwjPR4YP4nKB1mNjY-x82VVLRUYeG-XygbEHpX5sdZLtB6dpnJI7WrDJt_qx6mUd3J1AAZ5up1p9HExtFMKtqUASBAxKun93hxkLxHHkZPW2JVKdvX8gHEdcNjrG1mMg/s2048/IMG_2651.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYIO_I8cwhseSTwjPR4YP4nKB1mNjY-x82VVLRUYeG-XygbEHpX5sdZLtB6dpnJI7WrDJt_qx6mUd3J1AAZ5up1p9HExtFMKtqUASBAxKun93hxkLxHHkZPW2JVKdvX8gHEdcNjrG1mMg/w640-h480/IMG_2651.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We then walked out among the boulders. I can’t think of any other spots with such a concentration of them, like the glacier just tired of artfully placing them here and there on sloping granite shores and said “ah hell, just drop ‘em all here.” Walking among them feels like strolling through a natural sculpture garden. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW2R0A8iOI9g_OSoUCE0iotCiGHG6Bm9HAm0HJgJ6fy0BdKeaTTkaOgS9dbxYIIY2_zfNuQWhPfrEh2SG43eUcj_eW1t53zfahazIxiEKHgmpj8_C3U5TK1L_qk0Ud6pOJKvmp-8hPHcs/s2048/IMG_2675.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW2R0A8iOI9g_OSoUCE0iotCiGHG6Bm9HAm0HJgJ6fy0BdKeaTTkaOgS9dbxYIIY2_zfNuQWhPfrEh2SG43eUcj_eW1t53zfahazIxiEKHgmpj8_C3U5TK1L_qk0Ud6pOJKvmp-8hPHcs/w640-h480/IMG_2675.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Gooseberry Island is one of the many names that pops into my head when someone asks me about a favorite place out in the archipelago. It’s been a favorite for a long time, even back when it was privately owned and we’d heard that Maine Coast Heritage Trust would acquire it. We like the island’s small size, the boulder field, the way it feels like the last stop at the edge of the archipelago, with Jericho Bay and Isle au Haut for a backyard and the vast Atlantic stretching out beyond. It’s only about 3 ½ miles from the launch, a good distance for a casual paddle, just far enough away from the busier islands near town, and yet angled away from the archipelago, so it feels more remote. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_teQepOSs7puSHHmF-oarnRqBn_D3oGa-iy8ZUfSAOD_HOH7SmZdDjootkG64esTo7EpL0qm6z0Np6FmTp6lBNcOIYe7N8tC4U1df71gM8cC18c-k3YdcD0QeclnAwRpjigYZcOTROkI/s2048/P1000844.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1537" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_teQepOSs7puSHHmF-oarnRqBn_D3oGa-iy8ZUfSAOD_HOH7SmZdDjootkG64esTo7EpL0qm6z0Np6FmTp6lBNcOIYe7N8tC4U1df71gM8cC18c-k3YdcD0QeclnAwRpjigYZcOTROkI/w640-h480/P1000844.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We started feeling a little chilled and launched again. I made my inevitable joke about skipping the swim at Green Island, and when we returned to the launch we were surprised how late it was; the days were getting longer. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com2Stonington, ME 04681, USA44.155729099999988 -68.659967215.845495263821142 -103.8162172 72.46596293617884 -33.5037172tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-52938159054880585782021-01-08T19:22:00.002-05:002021-01-12T10:51:15.398-05:00The Fort, Second & Andrews Islands<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz0DvM448HiXxZHGGyWW1lyHHwEVE9DrdZW9nTgfMcFbj9buutx9dP1DDe9xFeD7uutC_T8JlmAmo6V_UNMzKcrXZZEkQ6AtDCHOUddshIUNj1q2yKE3uW4Jg-tyOB5U7Q3AhdGsDbomE/s2048/04478AF3-FA81-400B-8895-78BEAE1454AC_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz0DvM448HiXxZHGGyWW1lyHHwEVE9DrdZW9nTgfMcFbj9buutx9dP1DDe9xFeD7uutC_T8JlmAmo6V_UNMzKcrXZZEkQ6AtDCHOUddshIUNj1q2yKE3uW4Jg-tyOB5U7Q3AhdGsDbomE/w640-h480/04478AF3-FA81-400B-8895-78BEAE1454AC_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: large;">Our winter excursions tend to be a bit less ambitious than in warmer months, so if we launch from town, we find ourselves at the usual places fairly often. Nothing wrong with that, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d paddled out the Deer Isle Thorofare and, instead of going left or straight, taken a right turn.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl7x1FEHLlLFmn-2xjpyOS76YDzg8e5YeyMxRv9OpwCzA5gQYix7v2GSQCa3nZFklGCWCF59_s_DCUsnIg8i6ghyw6JUCbXfxOVL2DqDMgsV_6wb1d78AsXrzUjc7JtwWNkACIHBF28gY/s1842/SW+Deer+Isle.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="918" data-original-width="1842" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl7x1FEHLlLFmn-2xjpyOS76YDzg8e5YeyMxRv9OpwCzA5gQYix7v2GSQCa3nZFklGCWCF59_s_DCUsnIg8i6ghyw6JUCbXfxOVL2DqDMgsV_6wb1d78AsXrzUjc7JtwWNkACIHBF28gY/w640-h318/SW+Deer+Isle.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size: large;">With all the attention given to the islands between Stonington and Isle au Haut, some nearby neighborhoods are often overlooked, like the southwest corner of Deer isle with its trio of small uninhabited islands just offshore. It really does feel a bit like a watery neighborhood, bounded on the north by Fifield Point, which stretches slightly southwest toward The Fort and Second Island and more distant Andrews Island. The stretch of residential shoreline between Fifield Point, Sand Beach and Moose Island makes up the other side – about a mile-and-a-half of bulbous, glacially smoothed granite with a few pocket beaches and a bunch of (mostly) modest summer cabins.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9g4WiRew5lgzd85MmWTiR54o7VM38G2tC_TeMcMYMh_TkPfxw42N4qm53H-V7Rf8zW6C6Lmlj5kmEQCEYG6JHuPbSmSCtWeIntGuMT-LwuBeTe2YdBkKY6qC7Ijdl_jQr4O6POgQYDRE/s4608/99683731-D0A1-4888-8EF1-DEC52F74A57A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9g4WiRew5lgzd85MmWTiR54o7VM38G2tC_TeMcMYMh_TkPfxw42N4qm53H-V7Rf8zW6C6Lmlj5kmEQCEYG6JHuPbSmSCtWeIntGuMT-LwuBeTe2YdBkKY6qC7Ijdl_jQr4O6POgQYDRE/w640-h480/99683731-D0A1-4888-8EF1-DEC52F74A57A.jpeg" width="640" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rebecca and I met Todd down at the ramp just after lunch and headed out just as the tide was cresting. The clouds were thick and gauzy, with the sun occasionally shining through. Temperatures hovered around freezing; we were comfortable as long as we kept moving.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBkDPA4qyL4uFeaiKlsYNn8scX7F9-rfypSGGO3QkqQ-1tJYma0eqfKrp_cPBlKBF6A2JPE7bLvQHWzyHGMgE06KcKerdaFRNMtQ9KW-CNT3c70jQvFHt5IF7Q2ykOm8BIqvgy4FDCbEA/s2048/3ACE38BE-0B06-44D4-AF82-082FEA8861C2_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1441" data-original-width="2048" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBkDPA4qyL4uFeaiKlsYNn8scX7F9-rfypSGGO3QkqQ-1tJYma0eqfKrp_cPBlKBF6A2JPE7bLvQHWzyHGMgE06KcKerdaFRNMtQ9KW-CNT3c70jQvFHt5IF7Q2ykOm8BIqvgy4FDCbEA/w640-h450/3ACE38BE-0B06-44D4-AF82-082FEA8861C2_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">We went past the boatyard and followed the shore of Moose Island, past the newer, large homes with corresponding ‘PRIVATE ESTATE’ signs posted over the beaches. With the tide so high, there were plenty of shoreside rocks to weave among, and a very slight swell rolling in, and as often happens in such conditions, we started focusing less on any destination and more upon the feeling of maneuvering through these passages. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIsxfLttADCikFValYgBvlB31ay4vdRZi_Wed93z2IQcA7Qz2XHnwvdAGUkotyRjojBcjpGuJcEw4GbMyb34Dnw4cwmskyUzRvRdBMsQOEr-rx-wh58mpJpQeU76Wji97o59IkKvNcYo/s2048/E434FC68-5003-4095-ADE2-657703C72BE7.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIsxfLttADCikFValYgBvlB31ay4vdRZi_Wed93z2IQcA7Qz2XHnwvdAGUkotyRjojBcjpGuJcEw4GbMyb34Dnw4cwmskyUzRvRdBMsQOEr-rx-wh58mpJpQeU76Wji97o59IkKvNcYo/w640-h480/E434FC68-5003-4095-ADE2-657703C72BE7.heic" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The sun was already low, dimmed by clouds, casting the boulders in a flat, wintery light. We paused and remarked that none of us had harbored high expectations for this developed shoreline. Perhaps in the summer, with more people around it would feel busier, and certainly at a lower tide we would be more limited in our options, but at high tide on a winter’s day, when many of the summer cottages had boards over their windows, surprise, surprise: it was pretty nice to be there. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJj4lofzFoRYK6FFVTqRqcXhyn2E2bt2V9pPPjNBxOwtN5dsgPOsVooPpTVNuzC1x_4MEhLV72dQlF5IIK6BvHzkBIpeRDdmiCT8KOnCwPRle1Re5eZMSOMOZT74sNfCTDgkKS4V0RJ0/s2048/EBCF5E7E-828F-406A-B4E7-E8E6A9109ABE_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJj4lofzFoRYK6FFVTqRqcXhyn2E2bt2V9pPPjNBxOwtN5dsgPOsVooPpTVNuzC1x_4MEhLV72dQlF5IIK6BvHzkBIpeRDdmiCT8KOnCwPRle1Re5eZMSOMOZT74sNfCTDgkKS4V0RJ0/w640-h480/EBCF5E7E-828F-406A-B4E7-E8E6A9109ABE_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sand Beach, which is essentially a town park and a go-to spot for those wanting to get out for a bit of fresh, salty air, or perhaps a sunset over the Camden Hills, was empty. We followed the shore and finally spotted a distant couple walking the shore, pointing binoculars out toward the water.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXbTLaWJK05EYBm-ey2GR-X4PA61X-WaFGohU5tlqdnY4iEuMraIiqekHTHm_Ofs3wzxMmSf28m2kM17jYvTw8yXP33xpN_D3lGx0moPNNxap58RLXXTwpxNqGY65OEp-SxkQ276w8ahA/s3497/346E9C5C-B3FA-4BC2-84C4-16B02510D206.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="3497" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXbTLaWJK05EYBm-ey2GR-X4PA61X-WaFGohU5tlqdnY4iEuMraIiqekHTHm_Ofs3wzxMmSf28m2kM17jYvTw8yXP33xpN_D3lGx0moPNNxap58RLXXTwpxNqGY65OEp-SxkQ276w8ahA/w640-h165/346E9C5C-B3FA-4BC2-84C4-16B02510D206.heic" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">At Fifield Point we headed across to The Fort, a 2 or 3-acre island with a prominent rocky bluff rising above many of the trees. The island is only a couple-hundred yards from the point, but we began to feel the northeast breeze as we pulled away from shore – the wind from the northeast was part of our logic in choosing this mostly sheltered route – and we felt quickly chilled as soon as we landed. It would need to be a quick stop. Maine Coast Heritage Trust owns the island, named, apparently, as a reference to a time in the past when it was a popular duck hunting spot, and often resounded with gunfire. A trail leads up to the high point atop a granite promontory with broad views of East Penobscot Bay. It’s a big view for so little effort. Across the bay, the Camden Hills were spotted with snow. Nearby, in the shallows leading toward Second Island, seals were piled upon a ledge. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJAFBIzL_tMp4393Zv8BjKqFysdXMb4_G4zONO5HEAjF_EgFibqb4RNJpqcuJRgRRfYQAn31dh4zmr_03IS3KrQzkPA8xwdfKeMXG-ZrgmJbm4xe-xIwES9l_TnGDYmczuep432R2_EI/s2048/9D8EE1C9-5FD1-4EDD-A135-16CF3B4AB7AA_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJAFBIzL_tMp4393Zv8BjKqFysdXMb4_G4zONO5HEAjF_EgFibqb4RNJpqcuJRgRRfYQAn31dh4zmr_03IS3KrQzkPA8xwdfKeMXG-ZrgmJbm4xe-xIwES9l_TnGDYmczuep432R2_EI/w640-h480/9D8EE1C9-5FD1-4EDD-A135-16CF3B4AB7AA_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I’d be lying if I denied repeating our usual winter mantra: <i>this would be really nice in the summer</i>. It’s fine out there in winter, and certainly better than not paddling, but right now it sounds pretty idyllic to spend a little more time hanging out without getting cold. We paddled around Second Island and over to Andrews, also owned by Maine Coast Heritage Trust and would have loved to have landed there and taken a walk around, but we were a little chilled and sunset was nigh. We paddled back to Moose Island and retraced our path back up the Thorofare, arriving at the ramp a little after sunset.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Notes: <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Fort and Andrews Island are owned by <a href="https://www.mcht.org/preserve/merchant-row/" target="_blank">Maine Coast Heritage Trust </a>and open to day use. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">State-owned Weir Island, just off Sand Beach is on the <a href="https://mita.org" target="_blank">Maine Island Trail </a>and has a campsite.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sand Beach is private land designated as a town park. In recent years it has suffered from a dramatic increase in visitation. The recently expanded parking area continues to become overrun, resulting in sloppy parking along the road. This past summer there were complaints, <a href="https://islandadvantages.com/news/2020/aug/20/old-quarry-closes-sending-boaters-and-kayakers-adr/#.X_iMUy2z00o" target="_blank">echoed in a newspaper story</a>, about boaters parking trailers that take multiple spaces. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com4Stonington, ME 04681, USA44.155729099999988 -68.659967215.845495263821142 -103.8162172 72.46596293617884 -33.5037172tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-70668678499295559222020-09-10T12:33:00.011-04:002020-09-10T12:50:28.502-04:00Rainy Day in September<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIApPCTJKt8Hx_P0DsdEBnCy9oM35WHXQozS4fUlUKI1zPIhSFQU-ECPxHm3x2MYnzd6uzY69_OMzUNkbaGWsp2M8uYWxgeKd19eyjqS_4AvGmTR_0hoB_28Tr7hw72lG5_pJIXp9K17A/s4608/6F440C61-A059-4B8B-B7D6-DCDA7AA4749C.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIApPCTJKt8Hx_P0DsdEBnCy9oM35WHXQozS4fUlUKI1zPIhSFQU-ECPxHm3x2MYnzd6uzY69_OMzUNkbaGWsp2M8uYWxgeKd19eyjqS_4AvGmTR_0hoB_28Tr7hw72lG5_pJIXp9K17A/w500-h375/6F440C61-A059-4B8B-B7D6-DCDA7AA4749C.jpeg" width="500" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’m lying on the couch, wearing dry clothes, drinking coffee. I managed to sleep an hour or so later than usual. Outside the front windows, fog hangs thick over the harbor. It’s been raining and tires hiss over the wet pavement below. I’m very happy to be here, and happy, for a change, to not be out there on the water. A day off from paddling. My last day off was another rainy day almost two weeks ago, and before that was a similar span of good paddling days, all filled with work. My body feels beat-up. I’ve done my stretches and thinking maybe another ibuprofen may be good. My mind feels a little beat-up too, and I’ve been looking forward to sitting here, doing exactly this, even though I still have very little time to do it. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Pz4Bq2BYUuG3-43QfsqRdgkzOqq4dLseDbC4W3IqW0xMXHPcOGa6QSsiJmXJMK2BCap7CW9fVcx_SR-B1JeM6cQJbUV553iV0YSSOBfAg6GdD3mbFPc-pL1kBl0MpQ6hZLhU7oZ2vU0/s2048/C2EFEFCC-ED6C-4C96-A233-FE1E5E47BCD0.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Pz4Bq2BYUuG3-43QfsqRdgkzOqq4dLseDbC4W3IqW0xMXHPcOGa6QSsiJmXJMK2BCap7CW9fVcx_SR-B1JeM6cQJbUV553iV0YSSOBfAg6GdD3mbFPc-pL1kBl0MpQ6hZLhU7oZ2vU0/w500-h375/C2EFEFCC-ED6C-4C96-A233-FE1E5E47BCD0.heic" width="500" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It has been an amazing summer, especially considering how it began. Back in June we had little idea of whether we’d even have a business through the summer. Maine had largely avoided the virus, partially due to strict quarantine and testing requirements. At first it looked like our only customers might be people from Maine. All our trips were cancelled. The ten-day guide’s class I teach in June was cancelled. I pondered over whether I should continue the liability insurance for Upwest & Downeast Sea Kayaking. I wondered if maybe our guiding business might become a footnote: one good summer followed by a global pandemic. I could sell a few boats. We thought maybe we’d just do a lot of kayaking on our own this summer- an appealing thought, even if it avoided the question of income. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHItD-VJp8OuJ1UpT40GvkRCG_zSgFx7e6i4kruxVucQsNzxGW6aDYTHy8Eig55frC0Vk-J9zk24xMl6xzvYiL4VF8SGgzoFTqFiUY535iDEPI7P4pA2Rrba5i1KjD4wQOwghf4fWIAU4/s4608/8D9A9CD9-A2EE-46C9-A9F2-4F268E91F483.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHItD-VJp8OuJ1UpT40GvkRCG_zSgFx7e6i4kruxVucQsNzxGW6aDYTHy8Eig55frC0Vk-J9zk24xMl6xzvYiL4VF8SGgzoFTqFiUY535iDEPI7P4pA2Rrba5i1KjD4wQOwghf4fWIAU4/w500-h375/8D9A9CD9-A2EE-46C9-A9F2-4F268E91F483.jpeg" width="500" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But then the Maine restrictions eased- just enough to allow more visitors and still be safe. We worried about it of course. We worried about the virus more than making a living. Making a living was a little more within our control. I posted the COVID restrictions on the website, for which I received a little fallout, as if I were making this stuff up myself. But so be it, I thought. I didn’t want people who weren’t careful or considerate. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgErCTQ_w8ArLrSrHtW1ITOHOzRjaF60a6fAN3czMGpxtj7OnthUrCnWBeUs55gWYDqOsmYDmTIARfPPkpKGD894YF5iVbh2ZxpE8co0VtH-Cok62meJM6hkRbsfBmW8wjFRcaJIU32E7s/s4608/94B48B20-D00D-4C5F-AE9C-79DAF844E0EC.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgErCTQ_w8ArLrSrHtW1ITOHOzRjaF60a6fAN3czMGpxtj7OnthUrCnWBeUs55gWYDqOsmYDmTIARfPPkpKGD894YF5iVbh2ZxpE8co0VtH-Cok62meJM6hkRbsfBmW8wjFRcaJIU32E7s/w500-h375/94B48B20-D00D-4C5F-AE9C-79DAF844E0EC.jpeg" width="500" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On July 4<sup>th</sup> I ferried over to Vinalhaven to guide my first trip of the season. The next came a couple of days later, up in Brooklin, and the next a couple of days after that. The pace rapidly increased. Our guests seemed so glad to be here, so relieved to be outside. Soon we had trips every day, and then multiple trips every day, with both me and Rebecca guiding. We focused on providing custom private trips, which had been our intention from the start. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzDf7zG8twyIWH9tCblh5J3WamsohxGknrZvt1BP5CoUcwqM8g-W9ynyyb7G4ZbzMDKXzrwEEjjdBmqqDd9q5dNjypj-8n97Sk0T_Cu8tJtcTvCHFYov97wearkSayCxvVmZNTKPskaw/s2048/0C02DDAD-4197-49E2-8F94-0CA27303DB5E.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzDf7zG8twyIWH9tCblh5J3WamsohxGknrZvt1BP5CoUcwqM8g-W9ynyyb7G4ZbzMDKXzrwEEjjdBmqqDd9q5dNjypj-8n97Sk0T_Cu8tJtcTvCHFYov97wearkSayCxvVmZNTKPskaw/w500-h375/0C02DDAD-4197-49E2-8F94-0CA27303DB5E.heic" width="500" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Added to the influence of the virus were changes at Old Quarry Ocean Adventures. Bill, the owner had retired at the end of last year, and with the virus it seemed prudent to remain closed for the summer. But a crew evolved and it did open, at least long enough for someone to buy the place as a private residence. It closed on July 31<sup>st, </sup>and suddenly the demand for trips rose dramatically, along with the desire for rental boats. Traffic at the town ramp increased, and people started launching and parking at places that became problematic and raised the ire of various people. On some days the ramp became quite crowded, often with people who parked for hours while loading their boats. We began to see many more obviously unprepared people heading out into the archipelago. Campsites appeared randomly on various islands. Kayakers’ cars began occupying prime downtown parking spaces for days at a time. We began cautiously renting some of our boats, a side of the business about which I’m still hesitant. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNuq03wKceHYppWihsj2DDp7k6gBUN_pzqrXcFlfXeJbC_JlYcBDRlx2w4xtzaT02sjwBYpIf23tb1Po8MXWhhi4l8kcAUjHh6rE0eEW5pyYXQn6iGNhPn0JD78coqMQ-H0rnk4TVaBBQ/s2929/0359CB4F-4EA4-4F2A-86C4-132737FD6F18.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1074" data-original-width="2929" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNuq03wKceHYppWihsj2DDp7k6gBUN_pzqrXcFlfXeJbC_JlYcBDRlx2w4xtzaT02sjwBYpIf23tb1Po8MXWhhi4l8kcAUjHh6rE0eEW5pyYXQn6iGNhPn0JD78coqMQ-H0rnk4TVaBBQ/w500-h183/0359CB4F-4EA4-4F2A-86C4-132737FD6F18.heic" width="500" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A weird summer was made even weirder by the death of a woman off Baileys Island when she was bit by a great white shark. We only had one trip cancel for fear of sharks, but it has been on everyone’s mind. Just this last week rumors of local shark incidents have been circulating- a shark nipped at a lobster trap as it was being hauled onto a boat, and there is apparently an increase in dead seals being spotted. I don’t want to spread unsubstantiated rumors – Facebook works well enough for that – so I’ll leave it at that for now. I saw many many seals yesterday off of Little Cranberry Island, and they didn’t seem too concerned.</span></span><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivYN2KAcIovqpPp4XrknlNZb3QwVPAOStijent5-kWsyJDY1IRoWvA0JwvULpuYljrgn0daiUHZEfYZqHW8R8CaFYkDugg-UA4hXt4E52jQrIT-VZPbbV1vofoWFNcOEuBZC8BDNdB53Y/s2048/D76C8B4F-0D91-4EC7-9F2A-3EE4435759BB_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivYN2KAcIovqpPp4XrknlNZb3QwVPAOStijent5-kWsyJDY1IRoWvA0JwvULpuYljrgn0daiUHZEfYZqHW8R8CaFYkDugg-UA4hXt4E52jQrIT-VZPbbV1vofoWFNcOEuBZC8BDNdB53Y/w500-h375/D76C8B4F-0D91-4EC7-9F2A-3EE4435759BB_1_201_a.jpeg" width="500" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So here we are, nearing mid-September. I expect demand for trips to taper in the next few weeks. We have much to think about in terms of where we want to go with our guiding business. We like the simplicity of the ‘mom and pop’ aspect – just me and Rebecca, private trips, keeping it simple. And yet we spend a lot of time hauling boats around. Every evening we spend hours cleaning gear and answering emails and other inquiries. I recently turned 56. I feel like I’m in pretty good shape, but some of these days are pretty tough. Most of the time I hardly think about it – I just show up and do it, but on a day like today, with the rain and fog and a little time to reflect, I know that it all warrants some thought about what we’re doing and where we’re going with it.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkstE9LMjueLvcB36-oMrAPBs-vMfdgZuYCnJbfuxMxK1JSDgEuM-jEd8yiNJd7kyg_TuhOvZRMX0h0bud_Lf6GeGinRSehAFv6XpXTkmfKI1thOs-zp5KuXBgzhSvLnhYu9TAys7hBg/s2048/F64AF1CC-CAA5-4ED8-BC57-3065BAB39E72_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkstE9LMjueLvcB36-oMrAPBs-vMfdgZuYCnJbfuxMxK1JSDgEuM-jEd8yiNJd7kyg_TuhOvZRMX0h0bud_Lf6GeGinRSehAFv6XpXTkmfKI1thOs-zp5KuXBgzhSvLnhYu9TAys7hBg/w500-h375/F64AF1CC-CAA5-4ED8-BC57-3065BAB39E72_1_201_a.jpeg" width="500" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium;">Notes:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I also have a book to finish. I published the<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Upwest-Downeast-Meandering-Rebecca-Daugherty-ebook/dp/B08CYBHK1X/ref=sr_1_1?crid=29EQQP8LJXD96&dchild=1&keywords=upwest+and+downeast&qid=1599755266&sprefix=upwest+and%2Caps%2C190&sr=8-1" target="_blank"> Kindle edition</a> in July so it could be accessed from <a href="https://zestmaine.com/upwest-and-downeast/" target="_blank">Zest Maine</a>, where the first chapter was published. We received a grant from the Maine Arts Commission to help with publishing the print edition. I’ve been too busy to shepherd the book into its final form, but maybe now I can finally do that. In mid-August we gave a webinar for the local land trusts about our trip and the book,<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iFcUFokPi0I" target="_blank"> and it can be seen here.</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Stonington, ME 04681, USA44.155729099999988 -68.659967215.845495263821142 -103.8162172 72.46596293617884 -33.5037172tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-16231962709657401852020-06-21T11:46:00.002-04:002020-06-21T13:13:38.219-04:00Island Clean-Up<style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilJEaN8D2uY_0X38amNZ60wxPj3QXAFYMafmzA_n1zHSucfMhmfnROk4pUkQfjjVw3ZuTT_HPUqRsfus_WT3jQDTw-LT6diMbgC1u2s1QgLCkawRZbTdMiy59iZn_XsmLIbO7PMSueL-w/s2637/219ADD5F-29F0-4414-890F-6ACE6F94BC62_1_201_a.jpeg"><img border="0" data-original-height="2637" data-original-width="2637" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilJEaN8D2uY_0X38amNZ60wxPj3QXAFYMafmzA_n1zHSucfMhmfnROk4pUkQfjjVw3ZuTT_HPUqRsfus_WT3jQDTw-LT6diMbgC1u2s1QgLCkawRZbTdMiy59iZn_XsmLIbO7PMSueL-w/w640-h640/219ADD5F-29F0-4414-890F-6ACE6F94BC62_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">Although we’ve organized many annual island clean-ups over the years, usually to Wreck and Round Islands, this year it was not on our radar until the <a href="https://mita.org" target="_blank">Maine Island Trail Association</a> contacted us about their plans, which were a bit different this year. Because of the need for social distancing, it is problematic to put a bunch of diverse people together in a small boat, so MITA has asked people to volunteer for less organized efforts with fewer people. Of course, we could pick-up all kinds of trash out there, but can’t really get most of it back in our kayaks. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwDfxc2YuGuvCpG6WfmwO9SvZmSQlw-aYQjC_x3gdgMlq1thOJJOrBDb3O2xk_n2xDy-5unqin8zF0Ivj13tdjCfxeiL22wQj5vo6RLxjWb1ZSkIIgHOOYAnPlSvFbWVm__ct9m4TzKE/s4365/C8CD9CD4-70AF-4C40-84CA-A58C43B6F17E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4365" data-original-width="3456" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwDfxc2YuGuvCpG6WfmwO9SvZmSQlw-aYQjC_x3gdgMlq1thOJJOrBDb3O2xk_n2xDy-5unqin8zF0Ivj13tdjCfxeiL22wQj5vo6RLxjWb1ZSkIIgHOOYAnPlSvFbWVm__ct9m4TzKE/w316-h400/C8CD9CD4-70AF-4C40-84CA-A58C43B6F17E.jpeg" width="316" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">MITA organized a concentrated effort off Stonington though, with the MITA skiffs picking-up garbage, so I sent out an email or two. Also, staff from <a href="https://www.islandheritagetrust.org" target="_blank">Island Heritage Trust </a>wanted to take part, so we took-on our usual Wreck and Round Islands, which are both owned by IHT and are on the Maine Island Trail for day use. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXsTllDlb0ZktJ_wwExwM0SUYrG7m2pOWldI1BrTQjajQUaEnWtzs8B7J0MMcqksdIlDgiOPBFUrZ6aUi5mjr8iOOEJq-Ft4mruWFprQzkaoJV285QdwJLfqmK6ZZUoYzHNAPpze9hkD8/s2286/A40D8159-C5FA-4E9C-9577-B408FD18B64D_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2286" data-original-width="2286" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXsTllDlb0ZktJ_wwExwM0SUYrG7m2pOWldI1BrTQjajQUaEnWtzs8B7J0MMcqksdIlDgiOPBFUrZ6aUi5mjr8iOOEJq-Ft4mruWFprQzkaoJV285QdwJLfqmK6ZZUoYzHNAPpze9hkD8/w640-h640/A40D8159-C5FA-4E9C-9577-B408FD18B64D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">We ended-up with a nice group of people: 9 in kayaks and another 2 in a skiff. Some local, some from afar (one from out of state who had done his quarantine time). Social distancing was not difficult, and I think everyone was happy to be part of a group with a common goal. Rebecca and I are pretty familiar with Wreck Island and where the garbage usually accumulates, and I think our methods have become more efficient over the years. We split-up and went opposite directions, finally meeting at a beach on the south side for lunch, joined by the two MITA skiffs and the skiff from our group. And yes, we all kept our distance from each other. Note: in the next photo, the people sitting close to each other are in the same family. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMsNdyTKHBfhEFO1jxhHpdf2SFNLb1ntebc83LbLMnuoXjv_Ml_-mfyB9m_MsyShXtvy7lxM5L9C2jtDy5ZqnszLIw0eyRH9FpBbvOnDIQfGkNe1blqM_-qlfkt5kMnq2xUwmlrjWiyFk/s4608/01D8F3F6-6706-4E44-B7A8-FAAC45A59063.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMsNdyTKHBfhEFO1jxhHpdf2SFNLb1ntebc83LbLMnuoXjv_Ml_-mfyB9m_MsyShXtvy7lxM5L9C2jtDy5ZqnszLIw0eyRH9FpBbvOnDIQfGkNe1blqM_-qlfkt5kMnq2xUwmlrjWiyFk/w640-h480/01D8F3F6-6706-4E44-B7A8-FAAC45A59063.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">The forecast had been for some fog, so I was relieved that we had a clear day, even a bit hot (90s inland). The day was really just perfect in many ways- the weather, the paddling, the people. After lunch we went-on to Round Island and found part of it clean, obviously recently picked-up by an anonymous volunteer (thanks, whoever you are). The other side had the usual accumulation of fishing-related garbage. We meandered back to town, stopping at Little Camp Island for the slightly elevated glimpse of the nearby islands from the bare top of the island, where wildflowers are starting to bloom. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMmn4KYaCrcdhtjSfcxSW6VZ2pVJznqVfwwyNfzlrR9ns3d1GR1mnGWkK5qMBeqkbMhDFLzOwUMbwuQEtY6XAb0nuCHyN76JtRKFBbLUGS-tCZRvEQCcYVtBDs0UGk2ETcrhHquOwY588/s2756/655E57B5-51BB-4800-8B3C-78A4D8D7365D_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2756" data-original-width="2756" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMmn4KYaCrcdhtjSfcxSW6VZ2pVJznqVfwwyNfzlrR9ns3d1GR1mnGWkK5qMBeqkbMhDFLzOwUMbwuQEtY6XAb0nuCHyN76JtRKFBbLUGS-tCZRvEQCcYVtBDs0UGk2ETcrhHquOwY588/w640-h640/655E57B5-51BB-4800-8B3C-78A4D8D7365D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">I hesitate to include the weird encounter we had there, which cast a little shadow over an otherwise perfect day, but it’s probably worth mentioning. As we approached the landing beach on Little Camp we saw a portable latrine tent set-up atop the beach. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before, certainly not on a no-camping island, and I suppose it might have signaled an unusual encounter to follow (or it could signal someone really concerned about Leave No Trace visitation). There was a familiar local skiff anchored, and after we landed we noticed a beach blanket and assorted other stuff, but saw no people. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN3STCXwLwCU6tvHPVHinDbeC5-Zd01NtL_A5mOsMLAuZyrrMnY8n9CG-xpHsZ4n6Hl66ZkA_qGhuOSLlZfZWP2byqCfYxoakNcK272yxngDt8A_hNPjF2HnnZrpTX-ws13aYq8fWWB9U/s4608/733D8647-13D3-4875-B4B0-C713439F3B51_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN3STCXwLwCU6tvHPVHinDbeC5-Zd01NtL_A5mOsMLAuZyrrMnY8n9CG-xpHsZ4n6Hl66ZkA_qGhuOSLlZfZWP2byqCfYxoakNcK272yxngDt8A_hNPjF2HnnZrpTX-ws13aYq8fWWB9U/w300-h400/733D8647-13D3-4875-B4B0-C713439F3B51_1_201_a.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">We encountered the couple and their dog as we walked toward the height of the island. Just to summarize- and I missed most of the exchange, being hard-of-hearing and having walked ahead- but he complained that they’d come out there to get away from people and that there was a virus going on, etcetera. He was reminded it was a public island, which only drew a lot of angry swearing. We could have elaborated that not only was it a public island, but a very popular one, close to town, and not a place one should ever expect to have all to oneself. And of course we were only visiting for a few minutes near the end of the day. Fortunately it ended there. I watched over our boats as they packed up and left. It’s not worth dwelling on it, but it was perhaps a reminder of the strange time we’re experiencing. I’ve had very few negative experiences with people out there, and the current state of things seems to increase tensions, and perhaps also enhance local residents’ sense of territoriality and animosity towards people who might be from somewhere else (even though many local locals are of the ‘no mask’ ilk). Maybe it’s good to take it as a reminder to not make assumptions and to try to be nice. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">We returned to the launch, having left two islands in a much cleaner state, part of a bigger effort that improved a bunch of islands out there, and that felt pretty good. I would encourage anyone to look for these clean-up opportunities and get involved. <a href="https://mita.org/call-to-oars/" target="_blank">Here's a link to MITA's 'A Call To Oars' announcement.</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">Notes:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1)<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">More info about this paddling locale may be found in my guidebook <i><a href="https://bookshop.org/books/amc-s-best-sea-kayaking-in-new-england-50-coastal-paddling-adventures-from-maine-to-connecticut/9781628420067" target="_blank">AMC’s Best Sea Kayaking in New England</a></i>. I get asked quite a lot for basic advice: what boat to buy, am I being safe, etc. There’s a lot of that in my book. Please buy it or check it out from the library. I don’t mind occasional requests for help or advice, but it does get old when people are averse to just reading a book where all these questions are already answered. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2)<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">While the<a href="https://www.maine.gov/covid19/" target="_blank"> quarantine order for people coming from out of state</a> is in effect, those coming from New Hampshire and Vermont are now excluded from the requirement, and all others may skip the quarantine if they have a certificate of compliance from a recent negative test. New inquiries and bookings have begun again. Yesterday’s trip gave me hope that we can be safe and socially distanced without it interfering with our on-water safety and fun.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3)<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">The new book: it’s getting there. I will probably make a Kindle version available before the print edition is out. Proofs of the print edition have taken much longer than expected, and we still have some illustrations to add. Also, <i><a href="https://zestmaine.com/the-church-of-the-double-bladed-paddle/" target="_blank">Zest Maine</a></i> will include a link to the Kindle edition in their July/August online issue, which posts on July 15. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4)<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><a href="https://upwestanddowneast.com/subscriber-series" target="_blank">One thing we’re offering this summer is a 5-week subscription series</a>: 5 full-day trips with instruction in various locales for only $400 (that’s $80 per day). I’m not very good at selling myself. I meet and communicate with so many people who would benefit and something keeps me from pushing it. You can try out different boats before you buy one. You can learn things and gain some basic understanding of how to be safe, all while going different places on fun trips. And you can meet some other local paddlers. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5)<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> <a href="https://www.oldquarry.com" target="_blank"> </a></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><a href="https://www.oldquarry.com" target="_blank">Old Quarry Ocean Adventure</a>s is open again, with, for now, a pared-down selection of offerings. There will be camping and kayaking. You can go there to park and launch. The other day we met Eric, the new manager, and he’s got a great attitude. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Stonington, ME 04681, USA44.156192 -68.6666925999999915.845958163821152 -103.82294259999999 72.466425836178843 -33.51044259999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-31371646910386889122020-05-29T14:44:00.000-04:002020-05-29T14:44:28.093-04:00Remote Sea Kayaking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">By ‘remote kayaking,’ I mean ‘remote’ as in ‘virtual,’ as opposed to ‘far away from things.’ I prefer the latter meaning. A month or two ago, the virus prompted pretty much everyone to start conducting meetings and other events via remote computer hook-up chats. For some reason I thought ‘no way, I don’t want to do that,’ and I did manage to mostly avoid Zoom for a while. Maybe it’s part of that tendency that people sometimes have when they get to a certain age where they feel filled-up, overwhelmed with all the new things in the world and want to stop learning. Bad idea, right? I started to cave-in to it when friends appeared as guests on some of these online events, and last week I even watched panelists from the Maine Arts Commission review my application (and several others) for a grant. Anyway, I’ve just finished watching, from a bug-on-the-wall’s perspective, the last of The Maine Island Trail Association’s ‘Lunch and Learn’ series, and I wish I’d started paying attention sooner. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">This episode featured three sea kayak guide/instructors: Karen Francoeur, Keven Beckwith and Nate Hanson, who all gave advice about getting into sea kayaking. There were over fifty viewers, some who commented or asked questions in the chat function. When the subject came to trip planning, I was grateful to hear my name mentioned, both in reference to <i><a href="https://bookshop.org/books/amc-s-best-sea-kayaking-in-new-england-50-coastal-paddling-adventures-from-maine-to-connecticut/9781628420067" target="_blank">AMC’s Best Sea Kayaking in New England</a></i> and to this blog. I felt a little pang of guilt, having not posted anything here for a while. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In fact, I’ll admit that I’ve become ambivalent about the whole idea of blogging, as well as even sharing photos from paddling excursions on social media. There are many reasons for this – it’s complicated and perhaps best left unexplored for the moment. My feelings about it go far beyond the current situation with the virus, but I’m not sure about flaunting it when many people are unable to get out, and when many other people are gung-ho to do so – in rec boats, in jeans when the water is still cold. There have been two paddling deaths in the last month or so on Maine freshwater, both probably due to unprepared paddlers in cold water. This has always been the case in spring, but this year the illusion of summer came to us a little earlier, and people have time on their hands. Frankly I’m surprised there haven’t been more mishaps. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">But it is getting warmer, and summer will come, one way or another. I really haven’t paddled much for a while, and my excursions have not been ambitious – it’s been enough to just get on the water. And staying at home has been good on other fronts. <a href="https://zestmaine.com/the-church-of-the-double-bladed-paddle/" target="_blank">A couple of articles recently came out in Zest Maine, both personal essays that revolve around sea kayaking</a>. In their next issues, the online magazine will publish the first chapters of my new book, <i>Upwest & Downeast: Meandering the Maine Coast by Sea Kayak.</i> I know I’ve been saying for a while that it’s almost done, but… it’s almost done.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://upwestanddowneast.com/" target="_blank">My statement on my guiding business site about COVID-19</a> has changed a couple of times and it has been difficult to plan, but so far we’re proceeding with the assumption that, at least for a while, we might be guiding and teaching people who live here in Maine or have quarantined for 2 weeks. In many ways it would be a relief to avoid the limbo of unknowing and just skip this year, but we’ll see. We’re in a good place, living in downtown Stonington near Rebecca’s studio, which is just up the street from the public ramp. I feel inspired every time I look out the window, even on days like today when a dense fog obscures the usual view of the archipelago and Isle au Haut. Hopefully we’ll be taking a few people paddling soon, or at least just getting out more.</span></span></div>
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<o:p></o:p>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Stonington, ME 04681, USA44.155729099999988 -68.659967243.973400099999985 -68.982690699999992 44.338058099999991 -68.3372437tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-40453027829313424712019-10-06T14:39:00.000-04:002019-10-06T14:39:10.168-04:00Isle au Haut - Camping at Duck Harbor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRaYfJEfiWvoNgqyRU4llyltc5AgRMWHf63w2CHZr5zQOQdIe6Tf2ZbvchdE93_HsLJsdrmWjkYf5DTk7ylIf4ZAwPPRO8PVraAPTh01Wnue6__RjioQk_f57e7DxzqpP9nGk3aIs8b8I/s1600/fullsizeoutput_76a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRaYfJEfiWvoNgqyRU4llyltc5AgRMWHf63w2CHZr5zQOQdIe6Tf2ZbvchdE93_HsLJsdrmWjkYf5DTk7ylIf4ZAwPPRO8PVraAPTh01Wnue6__RjioQk_f57e7DxzqpP9nGk3aIs8b8I/s640/fullsizeoutput_76a.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="450" src="https://www.google.com/maps/embed?pb=!1m14!1m8!1m3!1d43886.20128251558!2d-68.6576976!3d44.043622!3m2!1i1024!2i768!4f13.1!3m3!1m2!1s0x4cac22e2a235f8bd%3A0x6a095b0d65e56e76!2sIsle%20Au%20Haut%2C%20ME!5e1!3m2!1sen!2sus!4v1570381429401!5m2!1sen!2sus" style="border: 0;" width="600"></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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, <i>Outside</i> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Notes:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Read more about this route in my book, <i><a href="https://amcstore.outdoors.org/best-sea-kayaking-ne" target="_blank">AMC’s Best Sea</a> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GIJBDHA/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1" target="_blank">Kayaking in New England.</a></i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Reservations for <a href="https://www.nps.gov/acad/planyourvisit/duckharbor.htm" target="_blank">Duck Harbor Campground</a> may be made starting on April 1<sup>st</sup>. I suggest you wait a few days though, until we have our reservation.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Isle Au Haut, ME, USA44.0753601 -68.633358343.8927276 -68.956081799999993 44.257992599999994 -68.3106348tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-54010404436210980442019-09-27T14:37:00.000-04:002019-09-27T14:37:31.598-04:00Lobster Lake - West Branch Penobscot Canoe Trip<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Because we were cooking chili on the last night, there were the inevitable fart jokes and comments – the lure of sleeping without flies over our tents to allow better air circulation, the hope that the beans would run their course by the next day when we would all pile into the truck at the take-out. One might expect that laughing at flatulence would be the sort of thing we outgrow, but we – all six of us – ranged in age from late forties to early sixties, and we had not outgrown fart jokes. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">But then again, it was day three, and we’d been having fun, like kids, laughing easily at just about anything. We were at the Pine Stream campsite, on the West Branch of the Penobscot River in Maine’s North Woods, our canoes pulled-up on shore below us. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The trip had begun some 14 or 15 miles upstream where, instead of just paddling down the river, we’d spent our first night going up Lobster Stream to Lobster Lake. That first day we’d launched later than hoped. Rebecca and I had started the morning in Stonington where we’d been cat-sitting for a couple of weeks – a bit of luxury to have a bathroom and kitchen and a comfy couch with internet – a nice break from our trailer out in the woods. We left in the dark, as fishermen were arriving in town. We’d been up late, cleaning the apartment in anticipation of the owners’ return, our cars each stuffed with miscellaneous belongings and bins of kayak gear, and we were feeling weary of the unrooted nature of our lifestyle. We drove our separate cars over to Deer Isle, where the day before we’d loaded the canoes onto the trailer at our friends’ house. We finished loading gear and food, hoping we’d got everything, and set-off, six of us in the crew cab of Linda’s truck. We were hoping to meet our shuttle at 9 am, well over three hours away. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Those plans dissolved quickly when, north of Blue Hill, a wheel came off the trailer. Linda saw it happen and stopped quickly enough to avoid destroying the hub, and amazingly, we found the wheel and tire intact, along with 4 out of the 5 lug nuts, in the roadside weeds. A man waiting with a child for a bus helped us get it put back together. At the time it felt like maybe the trip was doomed, like it was a sign. We’d all struggled with the decision of whether we would go or not. It seemed there was so much else going-on, and it would have just been easier to stay home. But we all told ourselves that these were mental obstacles, that once we got our butts into the canoes, we would be very glad we came. Now we weren’t so sure. At nine am, instead of meeting our shuttle, we sat in the waiting room at a tire store in Brewer, flipping through magazines. The truck and trailer could be shuttled later though, and now we were not beholden to a schedule.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">By then it seemed prudent to persevere; what else could go wrong? We launched mid-afternoon and paddled a few miles to our campsite at Lobster Lake. Along the way we had glimpses of Katahdin and other nearby mountains, but I was struck that the area was mostly flat, mostly wet, criss-crossed by waterways. Our canoes were piled with gear in the middle, some with coolers and folding chairs. In the back of my mind, I observed how this differed from doing the same thing in a sea kayak, but also compared it to a composite L.L. Bean catalog cover, and wondered if maybe I should be wearing plaid, or a more backwoodsy sort of hat. We camped at Shallow Bay campsite, above a sandy beach. Not far away, an L.L. Bean guided trip had camped on another beach, and as it grew dark, the glow of their campfire was the only other light we could see. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">On Saturday morning we paddled back up Lobster Stream, past the put-in, overflowing with trucks, and entered the West Branch of the Penobscot, where we suddenly had a little current helping us downstream. I started off paddling in the bow and it felt good to work on my canoe stroke, to get into a torso-turning rhythm, to know when to throw-in a little draw stroke to pull us around an obstacle. Our friends, unknown to each other before the trip, chatted behind us. I wondered when we might see a moose. We stopped to check-out campsites, but never felt like we’d gone quite far enough. Then when it did feel we’d gone far enough the campsites were full: big tents, fishermen, canoes with outboard motors. Around Big Island, the sites were all close enough to each other that you’d never feel quite alone. We stopped at a vacant site, ate a late lunch, and kept going until late in the day, when we were almost to the next lake, not far from where we would take-out. By then, the vacant site near Pine Stream felt a bit miraculous: a big hump of smooth rock rising from the river. Before the canoes were even unloaded we jumped off the rock, into the river, and swam. Fresh water: that’s another difference between sea kayaking and canoeing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">While we ate dinner we easily decided to spend another night at this site. We liked the smooth rock and the broad view of a bend in the river with shallow, marshy banks. It seemed inevitable we would see moose here. At the first campsite there’d been tracks in the morning – a moose strolling right up to the tents – but we’d seen none along the river. There were plentiful tracks in the mud here as well. We decided we’d spend Sunday enjoying this place and taking a side trip up Pine Stream. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">On the map, Pine Stream winds several miles south, originating in several remote ponds. The water was only high enough to paddle a mile or two upstream though, so we got out and walked a little and then headed back, stopping for lunch along the way. We had a little down-time that afternoon, something we all needed. I lay in my hammock and read for a while.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The weather changed overnight, clouds moving-in from the west, the wind increasing, and in the morning we paddled the last couple of miles out the river to Chesuncook Lake with the wind behind us. Katahdin rose above the lake in the distance. We took-out at Graveyard Point and found the truck and trailer parked there. The rain began while we loaded-up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Notes:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Moose seen: 0 (maybe they were anticipating the start of hunting season on Monday).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Shuttle provided by <a href="http://www.allagashgatewaycamps.com/" target="_blank">Allagash Gateway Campground</a>, $225. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">There were a few other fees as well, a day-use fee and a nightly camping fee – all well worth it, but another notable difference between camping here and along the islands of the Maine coast, where it is generally free. So, groceries and gas aside, three nights of camping with a shuttle came to a couple-hundred dollars per couple.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Among our friends on this trip were Shari and Hutch, whose adventures living in a tiny trailer can be read about at their <a href="http://www.freedominacan.com/" target="_blank">Freedom In A Can website</a>. </span></div>
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<span id="goog_1736698698"></span><span id="goog_1736698699"></span><br />Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Lobster Lake, Northwest Piscataquis, ME, USA45.865606 -69.548379745.821364 -69.6290607 45.909848 -69.4676987tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-34908107433598957612019-09-12T13:43:00.000-04:002019-09-12T13:43:03.576-04:00Mellow Days Along he Bold Coast<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">We’d been working without much break since June. The guiding business had done well, and in addition we’d kept-on with some of the home improvement work, hedging our bets in case the kayaking work didn’t come-in. But it did come-in, so we worked every day, trying to keep up with it, the rest of the summer stretching ahead like marathons yet to be run. Finally, on Labor Day, we tied the Delphins atop the car and drove Downeast. We felt a weight lifted, just to be driving, a few days-off ahead.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We took a few kayak excursions off the Bold Coast, paddling it just the way we like: no need to get anywhere, just tooling along the steep rocks, exploring, looking for waves to buoy us over ledges or through chasms. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Despite windy forecasts, the conditions were perfect for near-shore wave and rock play: small swell gently rolling-in, nothing too big. We did this each day, taking-on short stretches of the shore, retracing our routes as the tide changed, revealing a different set of features. It was the first time we’d paddled together in a while, the first time in a while either of us had paddled without a guest. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">On that first excursion I caught a wave between some rocks – one of those moments when you’re not sure if it will play-out like you hope, but a pillow of refracting wave bounced me along into a watery pile-up that left me in a calm pool when the wave went back out. I felt myself smiling, We’d felt worn-down enough on the drive up, that it almost came as a surprise, this smile. </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The new guiding business had evolved over the summer. I began with the idea we would simply be guides for hire, and try to avoid investing in too much overhead like boats and gear. But I suspected that this approach might take a while to catch-on, so I started offering scheduled day trips through Air BnB Experiences. This has gone well. I’ve offered regular trips in the Brooklin Islands and Stonington as well as the Cranberry Islands and a few sunset trips. The private trips and instruction filled-in the rest, including a few multi-day trips. Rebecca was further busied with her studio-gallery in Stonington, and filling-in at the Old Quarry shop. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">All this time we lived in our vintage (old) thirteen-foot travel trailer on a friend’s property in Deer Isle. It was tight, rustic living, but nice, despite this being a banner year for mosquitoes. I built a small deck with a screen room as a vestibule, which gave the mosquitoes a place to congregate and feel welcome before proceeding to the inner sanctum where we slept. Evenings found me rinsing gear and hanging it out, hoping it might be somewhat dry before I needed it again in the morning. We roasted vegetables on the grill as it grew dark and usually fell asleep exhausted. We’d wake with sunrise and think ‘what now?’ In those last weeks of August we looked forward to the four days off we’d planned way back in April. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Anyway, that’s what we’ve been up to, in case anyone has wondered why this blog has been dormant. I feel less inclined anymore to write about trips with guests, and that’s pretty much all the paddling I’ve done for a while. I’ve had very little down-time these last few months. But I’d like to have a few more days like the ones we spent along the Bold Coast. We were in a rented cabin, and when we weren’t on the water, we stared-out at Grand Manan Channel, puzzling over the mysteries of this stretch of coast, watching the water surface for indicators about current direction. The seas were generally calm. It was foggy about as much as it was clear. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Driving back to Stonington, where we would be cat-sitting for the next few weeks, we felt pleasantly drained, not quite ready to leave the quiet behind, but I also looked forward to returning to my work, which over the next week would include several full days and an overnight off of Stonington.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Looking for more particulars about paddling off the Bold Coast? Buy my book, <i><a href="https://amcstore.outdoors.org/best-sea-kayaking-ne" target="_blank">AMC’s Best Sea</a> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/AMCs-Best-Sea-Kayaking-England/dp/1628420065/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=AMC%27s+best+sea+kayaking+new+england&qid=1568248756&s=gateway&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Kayaking in New England</a></i>. The <a href="https://mita.org/" target="_blank">Maine Island Trail Association’s annual guidebook</a> also now includes some good info on paddling this volatile area. If it’s not obvious from my observations here, I think a great way to explore this area is to take smaller day trips, rather than the end-to-end approach that some paddlers follow when they want to ‘do’ this spectacular stretch of shoreline.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My article <a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><i><span id="goog_558842830"></span>Dallying Downeast </i>came out in July’s Small Boats Magazine<span id="goog_558842831"></span></a>. The article covers the same trip that inspired a forthcoming book… hopefully out soon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Want to book a trip with me or Rebecca? <a href="https://upwestanddowneast.com/" target="_blank"> Check-out our website</a> or <a href="https://www.airbnb.com/users/show/255556418" target="_blank">our listings on Air BnB Experiences.</a></span><br />
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Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Island Dr, Lubec, ME 04652, USA44.737319360891711 -67.0943083613452744.517897360891709 -67.588693361345264 44.956741360891712 -66.599923361345276tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-75292182316251968962019-07-10T14:52:00.000-04:002019-07-10T14:54:28.691-04:00Little Hen Island, Revisited<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We’d just paddled across West Penobscot Bay from Stonington, our bows pointed to the tiny islet, and we were anticipating getting there: getting tents up, a snack, just absorbing the place. It was still early enough in the day that we could get out for another paddle, or perhaps just spend a few sunny hours exploring the island and its surroundings as the tide went out. We were also early enough that if someone else had beat us to the island – it was, after all, July 3<sup>rd</sup>– we’d be able to find a different spot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Just then, a short catamaran – a Hobie 16-footer – shot out from the north, driven by a tailwind, right for ‘our’ little island. We both paused our paddle strokes. The sailboat was moving fast and would certainly get there first. I began to mentally imagine the other campsites we could go to instead. But the boat kept going, right past the island, over the shallow sandbars that would soon be revealed. We didn’t hesitate; we hurried to our landing and quickly began unpacking gear from our boats.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It reminded me of when Rebecca and I arrived here two summers ago. We’d paddled from Ram Island around the southern end of Vinalhaven. We were tired, anticipating some relaxing time in the campsite, when another group of sea kayakers arrived in our peripheral vision, also headed for the island. In denial, I simply didn’t look toward them until I’d arrived first, and then realized they were friends, and I felt a little bad, and of course, invited them to share the island with us. There were four of them though, and they went-on to Hay Island instead. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This time was oddly similar, since we noticed, as M put up her tent and I strung my hammock, that the catamaran had arrived on the sandbar, and the occupants were unloading gear onto Tiny Little Hen (Middle Little Hen?- both my names) another small islet a couple hundred feet to the north. We were camped in the MITA site, but I guessed that the other, unofficial site might work better for them, since they could beach the catamaran and easily access the island: our campsite stood atop steep granite bluffs over the sandbars – we’d landed on the other side. It did certainly change the nature of our stay there, looking from our cooking spot at others camped so near, but other people’s presence is simply one of the variables that makes our experiences out there unique each time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">M took her time, exploring with her camera. After a while, we took a spin in the kayaks up the bay to check out the schooner <i>Victory Chimes,</i>which was anchored near a tall bluff. We landed and looked in vain for a trail I’d once followed to the bluff-top. Then we paddled back to camp. There’s a story here about when high tide came – a new moon spring tide that arrived at midnight. My hammock set-up was not so ideal, and judging from the flurry of headlamp-lit activity on the other islet, their site was not quite high enough… but I’ll keep this short and save it for another time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As Rebecca and I had done two years ago, we liked it so much on the island that we decided to use it as a base camp the next day. That gave M a lot more time to explore with her camera, and we took a day trip out to Brimstone Island. Also, since it was July 4<sup>th</sup>and a lot of people were out in boats, it took away our worry that we wouldn’t be stuck without a campsite. And we had it to ourselves the next night. All of this was part of a 4-day trip. On the 3<sup>rd</sup>day, M and I paddled north, letting some strong currents push us up the bay. As Brimstone had been, it was a day of visiting islands with hiking trails to gorgeous vistas. We spent our last night on Pond Island, off Cape Rosier, and finished our trip at Bridge End, in Eggemoggin Reach. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This was the first multi-day trip I’ve guided for my new sea kayak guiding service, Upwest & Downeast, and it was a wonderful way to start, made possible by a client who knew just what she wanted- part of which was to relax a bit, since work had been lately stressful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I realize there are some significant gaps in my blog output; it’s due to too much happening, rather than not enough. Getting <a href="https://upwestanddowneast.com/" target="_blank">Upwest & Downeast </a>off the ground has been a consuming endeavor, and I’ve continued to work for others – on-call guiding and teaching as well as the ten-day guide’s class I teach every spring in Bar Harbor. I started the guiding service simply as that- a bare-bones service for people wanting to hire a guide, but <a href="https://www.airbnb.com/experience-hosting/listings" target="_blank">I've added day trips for people without their own gear as well, mostly available right now through Air BnB experiences. </a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Over the winter I focused mostly on my book-length account of our trip two summers ago, as well as an article about it that came out last week in <i><a href="https://smallboatsmonthly.com/article/dallying-downeast/?fbclid=IwAR3skyj9Z3xvJYsvi2s2hQ1ZE4l7Dm78YaQJJxuiCb8K19r2JVqh48sHKq4" target="_blank">Small Boats Magazine</a>. </i>In addition to all that, we still tend to make much of our living from other work. I sometimes ask myself if I need to keep writing this blog that has followed my paddling progress almost from the start. I’m not sure who reads it or cares. But the fact that I just now enjoyed recounting a little of last week’s trip seems reason enough to keep at it. I hope you’ll check-out the article in <i>Small Boats Magazine</i>. And the book is getting there, at this point mostly waiting for more illustrations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Happy Paddling!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Michael</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Vinalhaven, ME 04863, USA44.099140430465646 -68.79835613978707442.342949930465643 -72.753434139787075 45.855330930465648 -64.843278139787074tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-10639325696016686202019-02-14T12:23:00.000-05:002019-02-14T12:23:12.330-05:00New Sea Kayak Guide Service in Maine
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Rebecca and I have launched a<a href="https://upwestanddowneast.com/" target="_blank"> new sea kayaking guide service</a>. In February, with snow on the ground and ice in the harbor, “launched”
seems an exaggeration. It hardly seems real, more of a concept expressed
through a website and a few posts on social media, but it has been a long time
coming. The idea for the service is a bit different than that of most
outfitters; our goal is to provide clients with guidance and instruction just
about anywhere on the Maine coast, and to keep both the overhead and cost of
our services affordable. We’re aiming at a niche of paddlers who have their own
equipment and could use our help to develop skills and safely expand their
comfort zones, who want to learn by doing, by going somewhere. Or, simply,
we’re guides for hire, and we know this coast well.</div>
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Lately, I’ve been revising the manuscript of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Upwest & Downeast: Meandering the Maine
Coast by Sea Kayak</i>, an account of our 2017 summer-long paddle along the
coast. The revising seems to be unending. I’ll get through the story only to
begin again, removing vast sections and then, sensing something missing, write
new sections afresh. It’s my second winter on this project, and Rebecca is
working on a series of block print illustrations for the book. We’re quite obsessed,
and it sometimes occurs to me that we’ve drawn-out our immersion simply because
we like where it takes us, back to those long days, paddling from island to
island, living that life. In some ways, I think that’s also why we’ve started
the guiding service (which is also called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Upwest
& Downeast)</i>. It’s a selfish desire to spend more time out there. But
like the book, it’s also a chance to share what we’ve experienced and help
others discover it for themselves.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgilqtJvc28503OmUb-a2nxdDPKLi-uC6eZE4exa0rCCpKo2fGBBxktGfxV1H0ujGeH2D-h8156Rmq4OkjvqzhfP5z_1EjxJHL7OBozU7yvRkCei5_FCrS6jtRuqFuAzuF-AyD0p0uZY/s1600/9-1+Gooseberry+-+0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgilqtJvc28503OmUb-a2nxdDPKLi-uC6eZE4exa0rCCpKo2fGBBxktGfxV1H0ujGeH2D-h8156Rmq4OkjvqzhfP5z_1EjxJHL7OBozU7yvRkCei5_FCrS6jtRuqFuAzuF-AyD0p0uZY/s640/9-1+Gooseberry+-+0.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Rebecca and I have been guiding and teaching off and on
since 2010. We were reluctant to plunge into the commercial side of the sport,
not wanting to sacrifice the personal enjoyment it brought us, but it forced us
to seek-out more training, to dial-in skills and take our paddling to a level
we would probably not have otherwise attained. As a result, we get much more
out of paddling. We’ve also experienced the usual ups and downs of the sea
kayaking business, and realized that for us to stick with it, we’d like to
cultivate those better experiences and minimize the ‘downs.’ So here’s a few
ways we hope to do just that:</div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Each
trip is private. We help you go on the trip you’d like to take. You don’t need
to compromise with a stranger who might have different goals. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Every
trip is a ‘go.’ We don’t put a trip on the schedule and wait for sign-ups. If
you’d like more people for your trip, let us know and we’ll try to put you in
touch with other like-minded paddlers.</div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Each
trip is a full-day or more. There are enough barriers to just getting on the
water that once there, we want to make the most of it, and we don’t want to
rush. We can meander leisurely, or we can focus on putting-in some miles. We
can explore islands on foot, lie in a hammock, play in the surf or take a
time-out to improve our navigation. Or we can do awesome, big paddles.</div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>We
can go just about anywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take a look
at our <a href="https://upwestanddowneast.com/destinations" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Destinations</i></a> on the website to
get an idea about our favorite places.</div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Guiding
/ instruction: it’s all the same to us. You choose what you’d like, but we’d
rather do any instruction in the context of a journey: no ‘Quickstart’ crash
courses. And if you simply want to paddle with no instruction, that’s fine too.</div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Our
pricing is simple and fair: $300/day for up to two people. Beyond that, it’s
$70 for each additional paddler.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
get six people together, that’s less than $100 per person. </div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>There’s
no additional charge for overnights. For two people, a two-day/one-night trip
is $600. Again, simple pricing. </div>
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But here’s the catch. We don’t provide equipment or food.
See paragraph #1: we’re guides for hire, not outfitters. Aside from helping to
keep the price down, it encourages the sort of paddlers we once were ourselves:
committed to the sport, seeking out new challenges and improving skills along
the way to gradually build confidence. There are, of course, reasonable rental
options in the area as well. Odds are we’ll eventually invest in some client equipment,
but for now we’re going to keep it simple and see how it goes.</div>
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Warmer weather is only a few months away. Check-out <a href="https://upwestanddowneast.com/" target="_blank">our new website </a>and get inspired! </div>
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</style>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Stonington, ME 04681, USA44.155729099999988 -68.65996719999998343.973400099999985 -68.982690699999978 44.338058099999991 -68.337243699999988tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-32533014321024597162018-10-28T18:47:00.000-04:002018-10-28T18:47:17.343-04:00West Rattlesnake, Chocorua, The Sugarloaves
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At the check-out line, the cashier, a woman probably a few
years older than me scrutinized my face and asked me a question, and as usual,
I needed to repeat it back to her to make sure I understood: “Am I… <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">over fifty?” </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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She smiled. She probably saw my hesitation, as if I still
didn’t quite accept that I’d begun to slide into old age, that I might prefer
to not admit it, and I didn’t exactly want to be reminded. Was I getting
carded? I looked at our groceries and there wasn’t any alcohol, besides, she’d
said <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fifty</i>, and not whatever the
drinking age was. Hutch and Shari were ahead of me in line; we were all
together, our faces all still red and flushed from an afternoon hiking up a
mountain after the first snow. She hadn’t asked <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">them</i>. They looked on curiously. She’d singled me-out; it was that
obvious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shrugged. “Yes,” I said.</div>
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“You’re in luck.” She turned to the register. “You get a
discount on Thursdays.”</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCOY6vGawVNH_ir8stAwxO7jP7uk21R5WPEiYptwoB5NOXQ92XtN2NjoqkjuA2W2kkMF8093wDrYvG-qvgzbX4qFE42mi75BQ0NwdyW9suzsvvvrSZBQtz4NPpNs1FlLI6-YtjabSYK84/s1600/P1130593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCOY6vGawVNH_ir8stAwxO7jP7uk21R5WPEiYptwoB5NOXQ92XtN2NjoqkjuA2W2kkMF8093wDrYvG-qvgzbX4qFE42mi75BQ0NwdyW9suzsvvvrSZBQtz4NPpNs1FlLI6-YtjabSYK84/s640/P1130593.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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We took our first walk on Wednesday afternoon, the day after
Hutch and Shari had arrived. It was a pretty typical walk to take first-time
guests on: West Rattlesnake, a small mountain that overlooks the lake. It’s a
bargain hike: a relatively short and easy walk with the reward of a massive
view at the top. Aside from being a good warm-up hike, we get a good look at
the neighborhood from up above. The lake spreads below us, islands recognizable
as if from a vividly colored map, with an autumnal red and yellow arboreal
border. Rebecca and I like to take our friends up here and just stand for a bit
and not say anything, not point anything out, just watch our visitors take it
in and try to remember what that was like. But then we’ll point things out,
just to get oriented: that lake over there to the left is Winnipesaukee. That
mountain off in the distance to the west? That’s Moosilauke. We sat for awhile
as others came and went, just taking it in until finally it occurred to us that
maybe we should head back down.</div>
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On Thursday Hutch and Shari and I headed up Mount Chocorua,
which quickly became ‘Chocula’ instead – it’s only a few letters off, and the
name of the vampire-themed cereal is much easier to pronounce. The hike began
in autumn, beneath a canopy of vivid green and yellow foliage, but progressed into
freshly-fallen snow that became ankle-deep by the time we stopped at the Jim
Liberty Cabin for lunch. </div>
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The cabin is there for overnight stays, first-come,
first-served, with nine wooden bunks and decades of graffiti scored into its
woodwork. Heavy chains secure it to the ledge, and there’s a hint of a view
between the spruce trees encircling the small meadow around it. It all lay
beneath a heavy, wet layer of snow, which still clung to the spruce boughs like
sugar frosting on a gingerbread house. I remembered a visit from many years ago
in which my friends and I spent a night there. Tents were pitched in the ‘yard’
and the cabin was crowded, dominated by the loudest occupants, drunk and
boisterous, and it reminded me why I tend to avoid such places. But we had it
to ourselves and we ate our sandwiches on the porch steps, admiring the fresh snow.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB13cPDhNkm6ZukfCZTwgXZmsus39ST6NfeNN21XRxkUVlfbtW4gI3uufi-3YVKOoscTHy97kRQ-Hq5p843dgX15nfzO5iGH95Op3MlNRzuO1HOw02A9tUi7tCeDf3aaFHKCZodTmStbM/s1600/P1130720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB13cPDhNkm6ZukfCZTwgXZmsus39ST6NfeNN21XRxkUVlfbtW4gI3uufi-3YVKOoscTHy97kRQ-Hq5p843dgX15nfzO5iGH95Op3MlNRzuO1HOw02A9tUi7tCeDf3aaFHKCZodTmStbM/s640/P1130720.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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We progressed up the trail, and within minutes paused to
turn around. We all gasped involuntarily when we saw the view. Whatever our
expectations, they were surpassed. The nearby trees lay beneath heavy snow,
while down below the white frosting tapered, blending with bright reds and
yellows and greens, a study in contrasts. It had been snowing intermittently
still, but sunbeams bore through the grey layer of clouds, lighting startling
patches of color. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwlrn-VkzlI2iMOc9beP8h2UB0ii6-cQHj1t5LDo2s8VqYQV0OjSDuylGqjOey3__To_94aVBanI5vOhPNZm09jg3SD8X9inuO3inWM0ZxU4nCGEbPVaRKj3PxABzQel-B1tGy8_hDx-c/s1600/P1130736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwlrn-VkzlI2iMOc9beP8h2UB0ii6-cQHj1t5LDo2s8VqYQV0OjSDuylGqjOey3__To_94aVBanI5vOhPNZm09jg3SD8X9inuO3inWM0ZxU4nCGEbPVaRKj3PxABzQel-B1tGy8_hDx-c/s640/P1130736.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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This alone was worth whatever effort the hike had taken,
which was good, since not much farther up the trail we decided to head down
without reaching the summit. Had the snow been deeper, we might have been able
to find traction along the path, but the unstable single layer of snow tended
to simply slide away below us on the steeper parts – with consequential drops
beneath them. Microspikes wouldn’t have been effective, but it hardly mattered;
that revelatory glimpse buoyed us as we walked down, and later it carried us
through the grocery aisles so that even the cashier’s reminder of my advanced
age only further elevated the mood.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCxL8FAM8iKsrPSUYSVB0u2qHRoKO9EnJ6reb_56i9wvM-sz17Bf6EJ-hGHFW0bbSkMlHJsGirdRG3KNKDgEYk8YSeBeV0W-tvd9Cg41QEurvQAhoj3RCwDic3OF7E5bcxPyuO83SUMo/s1600/P1130812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCxL8FAM8iKsrPSUYSVB0u2qHRoKO9EnJ6reb_56i9wvM-sz17Bf6EJ-hGHFW0bbSkMlHJsGirdRG3KNKDgEYk8YSeBeV0W-tvd9Cg41QEurvQAhoj3RCwDic3OF7E5bcxPyuO83SUMo/s640/P1130812.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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The next day, after a late morning, we were in the mood for
another bargain hike in a different neighborhood, so we drove up to the north
side of the White Mountains to a pair of smaller mountains called the
Sugarloaves. Again, we began in autumn and gradually ascended to snow-covered
ground, although not nearly as deep as the previous day’s. It was still chilly,
below freezing, but the wind had died and the sun shone with hardly a cloud in
the sky. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxXVzZx3yjVrGM-wJFIDomiIeUBN7n3K_DmyhuLIXl2BltBHIN6kIeDnyKhyphenhyphenMsNSEqA31EPt2PEHcGV8y5gt22odf5hQ602qyZJLSbIgEqgMD6CLtwggNXPsjq96iG7H6G8hOO360tAo8/s1600/P1130792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxXVzZx3yjVrGM-wJFIDomiIeUBN7n3K_DmyhuLIXl2BltBHIN6kIeDnyKhyphenhyphenMsNSEqA31EPt2PEHcGV8y5gt22odf5hQ602qyZJLSbIgEqgMD6CLtwggNXPsjq96iG7H6G8hOO360tAo8/s640/P1130792.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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This is another true bargain hike, and the snow made it even more so,
since the surrounding peaks, including the Mount Washington massif, were
sparkly white, frosted like a heavily-sugared breakfast cereal. And you get not
one, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">two</i> stunning mountaintop
views, from both North and Middle Sugarloaves. We looked up at considerably
higher peaks I’d been too fairly recently, like North Twin and Mount Hale,
where the views are not nearly as overwhelming. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT22V_ZaIXTVdbfysTC3fEONTl2rGORiVTBeh0MOE8Cs1l2KVaVfO0uA8P5bMiMTHYMnxBoKBHnSdUlzlpQ0opw3ifiRfQHDPmzKCBAkAeY1jM9j_jj3G7Ww6l3Vf_ipVl92w2LhoNVMg/s1600/P1130803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT22V_ZaIXTVdbfysTC3fEONTl2rGORiVTBeh0MOE8Cs1l2KVaVfO0uA8P5bMiMTHYMnxBoKBHnSdUlzlpQ0opw3ifiRfQHDPmzKCBAkAeY1jM9j_jj3G7Ww6l3Vf_ipVl92w2LhoNVMg/s640/P1130803.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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We returned to the trailhead not long before sunset and
grabbed coffee at a gas station for the drive home, which took us through
Franconia Notch at dusk, listening to nostalgic oldies on the radio – songs
from the eighties and nineties that had been popular, it seemed, not so long
ago, soundtracks to fleeting episodes from our pasts. </div>
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Notes:</div>
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We got to know Hutch and Shari over the summer when they
worked with us at Old Quarry. They’ve spent most of the last six years living
in a tiny ‘canned ham’ travel trailer, traveling all over and documenting their
adventures on their blog, <a href="http://www.freedominacan.com/" target="_blank"><i>Freedom in a Can</i></a>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhermEjSuG2qNTIQ59w48YiCWjoY0_fpstPja2dgHgY8BGXn9ETuPcPPx6_Ld-smIt6t2IdM6eM8PWyZbxXI5xoUhoxQXXnA5H8Q0jlUuyvLzQqlIk2pZyZgvFBHdZcLl8KowgErVd6FeU/s1600/P1130682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1051" data-original-width="1416" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhermEjSuG2qNTIQ59w48YiCWjoY0_fpstPja2dgHgY8BGXn9ETuPcPPx6_Ld-smIt6t2IdM6eM8PWyZbxXI5xoUhoxQXXnA5H8Q0jlUuyvLzQqlIk2pZyZgvFBHdZcLl8KowgErVd6FeU/s640/P1130682.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Info on these hikes can be found both in the <a href="https://amcstore.outdoors.org/white-mountain-guide-trail-set" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">AMC White Mountain Guide</i></a> and in <a href="https://amcstore.outdoors.org/books-maps/books/hiking/best-day-hikes-in-the-white-mountains" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">AMC’s Best Day Hikes in the White Mountains</i></a>
by Robert N. Buchsbaum.</div>
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</style>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Mt Chocorua, Albany, NH 03818, USA43.9542382 -71.27340500000002518.4322037 -112.58199900000002 69.4762727 -29.964811000000026tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-34353764115734395022018-10-16T19:10:00.000-04:002018-10-16T19:10:41.932-04:00Autumn Leaves on Mount Avalon
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I’d been walking a short time, gazing down at my feet
stepping through a golden-yellow layer of recently-dropped birch and aspen
leaves, when it occurred to me that my pace was falling in step with the rhythm
of a tune moving through my mind: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Autumn Leaves</i>.
Aside from the obvious reference to my surroundings, the tune set a
comfortable, relaxed pace, a good way to start a hike, and I didn’t mind. I
seem especially prone to getting these ‘earworm’ tunes stuck in my head,
following me for miles while I paddle or hike, and they’re not always so unobtrusive.
Sometimes it’s the last tune on the radio en route to my adventure, but it may
also be a recurring theme, like the instrumental disco anthem that followed me
for much of the Maine coast on our <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Upwest
& Downeast</i> paddle last year. More and more it seems my earworm tunes
lack lyrics, which I find agreeable enough, especially when this figment of my
imagination drives the constant, multi-pitched ring of tinnitus, another
made-up sound in my head, into submission.</div>
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I was headed up the Avalon Trail in Crawford Notch, which is
a bit of a bargain hike to get to a view of the valley. But I was lured by the
proximity of a couple of taller mountains, Mt Tom (4051’) and Mt Field (4340’)
upon whose flanks Mt Avalon (3442’) is situated. Though I wasn’t expecting huge
views from the taller summits, I was in the mood to walk, and it was a warm
sunny day, probably the balmiest we’d see in October. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgeA3YzDue-7VIlMprIaEW3XGVM1Q6MAJxlVwvWGi-J_UQLQCLtBfDSrIg-K_agA752PDezx3BRMOYx5N8VYbcrZ07OPdJND94y3HlNFF399emiNx5NwS3_bJDL0ImAZLx3wpbAo2NZ4/s1600/P1130375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgeA3YzDue-7VIlMprIaEW3XGVM1Q6MAJxlVwvWGi-J_UQLQCLtBfDSrIg-K_agA752PDezx3BRMOYx5N8VYbcrZ07OPdJND94y3HlNFF399emiNx5NwS3_bJDL0ImAZLx3wpbAo2NZ4/s640/P1130375.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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The tune cycled through my head, mostly drawing from the
version I’d heard the most, from Cannonball Adderly and Miles Davis. I’d never
known the song’s lyrics, but somehow the instrumental versions convey the bittersweet
sense of longing and wistfulness at least as well as any words could. I don’t
know how that works – that a simple tune seems to embody ideas and feelings
without the help of spoken language, but it does. And since a melody is more
universal than lyrics, it seems to apply itself to your surroundings more
readily. The warm day made me more aware of its passing, wistful for all the
summer days now past, and the leaves were probably as bright as they would be
before the next storm knocked them down and the season rounded the corner
toward winter. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjyezTSGYyv8nlZ93XYUpX6wa3c6oB-mJVC8D-cCpgB0C8WsNng0HSIM2E3vdOjcuYUWiyfcsVP7p7bC5lo77l8O2JRrZjnHKadN6KY5wuuL6j102Vyfi_48JQIsUGaR3gsBXo5PBZ3CU/s1600/IMG_6588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjyezTSGYyv8nlZ93XYUpX6wa3c6oB-mJVC8D-cCpgB0C8WsNng0HSIM2E3vdOjcuYUWiyfcsVP7p7bC5lo77l8O2JRrZjnHKadN6KY5wuuL6j102Vyfi_48JQIsUGaR3gsBXo5PBZ3CU/s640/IMG_6588.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I’d been in New Hampshire for about a week and I’d gone for
a couple of other hikes as well. The first was not well-chosen for my first
hike after a summer of paddling and little hiking. I headed up North Twin
Mountain (4761’) with aims of getting over to South Twin (4902’) but I never
quite got into it. It felt like a lot of work. My leg muscles burned with the
uphill effort and I ended up with a headache (perhaps a bit dehydrated?) that
took away from my enjoyment when I got to the summit of North Twin, which was
socked-in by dense clouds. I finally remembered the ibuprofen in my first aid
kit, which helped, but I had to admit I wasn’t really enjoying it, and headed
down after a snack on North Twin.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcT5OrIsaldZB8lhSQ46vaqotZsNmMUFvvdo4BJvm_5i4bvmRO9NPmZZLKAR24Ex6uxFoFS0mtAr5IzXsbnihfXRLHcxpB5ZIoeabU9bD163BuhOqS0wg-4ydav9x9b8PmgD5g71bYAoc/s1600/P1130405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcT5OrIsaldZB8lhSQ46vaqotZsNmMUFvvdo4BJvm_5i4bvmRO9NPmZZLKAR24Ex6uxFoFS0mtAr5IzXsbnihfXRLHcxpB5ZIoeabU9bD163BuhOqS0wg-4ydav9x9b8PmgD5g71bYAoc/s640/P1130405.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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For my next hike, I lowered my ambitions considerably, and
had a gorgeous warm day. It was the Friday before Columbus Day weekend though,
and the Kancamagus Highway was busy enough that I felt annoyed by the time I
parked at the trailhead for Hedgehog Mountain (2532’). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpf5A8kLs4H0jeCmkvmdzIqNx3NQO-5yP9KyQyS-0bjvBxIzJw9sEWZHTdwoiv_yxZXZ7F9W3UqFYpsLk_DmNtUH4UnD2Zdo_JOcQA1tKqgjMPlm0U64iJK05js6cbV3xPIidS65U9zs/s1600/P1130390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpf5A8kLs4H0jeCmkvmdzIqNx3NQO-5yP9KyQyS-0bjvBxIzJw9sEWZHTdwoiv_yxZXZ7F9W3UqFYpsLk_DmNtUH4UnD2Zdo_JOcQA1tKqgjMPlm0U64iJK05js6cbV3xPIidS65U9zs/s640/P1130390.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Despite the tailgating
traffic that jammed all the scenic turn-offs, there were only six cars in the
lot. I’d been to the trailhead before, and had one of those uncertain moments,
unsure if I’d taken this hike before, but if I had, I’d forgotten it well
enough, and it all seemed new and wonderful. You don’t have to go far before
you step atop open ledges for expansive views of the 4000-foot mountains
surrounding this little peak. I only ran into a few other people, but the
trailhead lot was full when I returned, and I resolved to forego hiking until
the weekend was over.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWPrlVeS1Z3Or5CurVJEV91SdR8nwAJ-eyC2_lRc2xCeqFuDTbC4r8ABSKpLlEGVZdd5b137ZoZ8bv5F6yg__n8WpvLUb8qeEuJWbZBlVe-6wY-dI4PrRY4dYHkqhyv4vHxwWRpJM5u2M/s1600/P1130450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1446" data-original-width="1446" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWPrlVeS1Z3Or5CurVJEV91SdR8nwAJ-eyC2_lRc2xCeqFuDTbC4r8ABSKpLlEGVZdd5b137ZoZ8bv5F6yg__n8WpvLUb8qeEuJWbZBlVe-6wY-dI4PrRY4dYHkqhyv4vHxwWRpJM5u2M/s640/P1130450.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I did, however, drive to southern New Hampshire to buy a
used canoe, and since I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d take a hike up
Monadnock, a small mountain I’d climbed many times in my youth, when I lived in
that area. As I approached the road into the state park though, I saw that it
was closed off by the police – no room for more cars. They were doing me a
favor, since such crowds would drive me nuts. Besides, I wanted to try the new
canoe. In between hikes, I’d been out for a few short paddles, in kayak and
canoe. They’ve been nice, but when I’m in New Hampshire I tend to think more
about hiking.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtuS4JinraeRqgkGd3sIkUVxZakfy6KVQiKxeQcr_sby94fu6WU_h3y6P_zpdJaQr7rI0Q8EyENsMNuCoFQpLqgNxkQ6rJU2b4d_59Xt8dKag2trilUpEkefciLMJ7jNEZN38tOXewFys/s1600/P1130499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtuS4JinraeRqgkGd3sIkUVxZakfy6KVQiKxeQcr_sby94fu6WU_h3y6P_zpdJaQr7rI0Q8EyENsMNuCoFQpLqgNxkQ6rJU2b4d_59Xt8dKag2trilUpEkefciLMJ7jNEZN38tOXewFys/s640/P1130499.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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The highlight of the Mt Avalon Hike was Mt Avalon, even if
it doesn’t feel like much of a summit. There were also some enticing
waterfalls, not far in from the trailhead. Mounts Tom and Field were fine, but
you know you’re at the summits mostly due to the piles of rocks marking them,
with limited views nearby. The top of Mt Avalon feels more like an open ledge
on the side of Mt Field, but has by far the best vantage. A few other hikers
came and went while I sat there, eating my sandwich, watching the cloud shadows
pass over the brilliant patchwork colors in the notch. I could see our red car
parked beside Route 302 down below, and not far away, the bright red roof of
the Mount Washington Hotel. The summit of Mount Washington was shrouded in
clouds, never revealing itself. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpEGB0uZF0TgOR1QKmcUQPSZkB0CTVymw-6vQnB3Wwn0Jn1HcXCmUmYaJ8x7p3qCNkVv-6LjM2i9X_vkA-BCWgzQHeRnmso6NbSFTUJUIwopg-J_kl87kO1OJIWk7hhQu4gWPSSX4AAQ/s1600/IMG_6613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpEGB0uZF0TgOR1QKmcUQPSZkB0CTVymw-6vQnB3Wwn0Jn1HcXCmUmYaJ8x7p3qCNkVv-6LjM2i9X_vkA-BCWgzQHeRnmso6NbSFTUJUIwopg-J_kl87kO1OJIWk7hhQu4gWPSSX4AAQ/s640/IMG_6613.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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I overheard a couple counting the 4000-footer mountains
they’d been up, and I suppose that personal challenge (much like the MITA
30-In-30 Challenge I’d embarked upon over the summer) brings a lot of hikers to
these and other peaks that, while they offer some nice hiking, have
underwhelming views for the effort involved. I joked with the couple that there
was nothing wrong with the views; after all Mt Tom had a nice spruce tree with
some lovely mosses surrounding its base, as cultivated as a terrarium. And of
course there were those piles of rocks. Mt Field had a view of Mt Washington
from a small opening in the trees. </div>
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When hiking to mountaintops I often remind myself that Thoreau
wrote in his journal “… <span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It
is remarkable what haste the visitors make to get to the top of the mountain
and then look away from it." It’s just a reminder that there’s more to a
mountain than the view away from it, but it can also be a bit of a rationalization
when you’ve just sweated to a mountaintop and there’s not a lot there that
makes you want to linger.</span> But Mt Avalon’s views were good enough to make
me linger, and for just a little while forget the tune in my head. </div>
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Notes:</div>
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In addition to AMC’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">White
Mountain Guide</i>, I’ve been using <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">AMC’s
Best Day Hikes in the White Mountains</i> by Robert N. Buchsbaum. The book
helps winnow the nearly endless hiking options in the White Mountains down to a
few of the more attractive ones. In addition to the nuts and bolts info in the
White Mountain Guide, there’s a bit of the author’s take on what it’s like to
hike in these spots, why one would want to go up one trail instead of another,
as well as historic background and natural history.</div>
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</style>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Crawford Notch, Hart's Location, NH 03575, USA44.208333 -71.40499999999997318.686298500000003 -112.71359399999997 69.7303675 -30.096405999999973tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-56247360630826090202018-10-03T09:26:00.000-04:002018-10-03T09:43:49.251-04:00The Last Five<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1GFue_kKsN1haFhuAcEJ5lN9Wmh1It_QadnOS3SmqqyCO37aez1lkb6zj4_mgZz-KEhFZMlm5KHw4UGjUnWbmOFiwFks5C5pHwPhElXf6rrbWOG4etEIwAX2SQ7qwswFzsFZR13rnME/s1600/P1130341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1GFue_kKsN1haFhuAcEJ5lN9Wmh1It_QadnOS3SmqqyCO37aez1lkb6zj4_mgZz-KEhFZMlm5KHw4UGjUnWbmOFiwFks5C5pHwPhElXf6rrbWOG4etEIwAX2SQ7qwswFzsFZR13rnME/s640/P1130341.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Parked beside the road at Reach Beach, I took my kayak down
from the car, and placed it on the sand, just a dozen or so feet away, where
the water lapped at the bow. It was nearly high tide on a placid mid-afternoon,
the last day of September, with three or four hours before dark, and I had a
goal: to land on the five Maine Island Trail islands at the east end of
Eggemoggin Reach. To get to them I’d need to paddle a loop of about ten miles
and not dilly-dally too much along the way. I loaded my boat and headed out.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="450" src="https://www.google.com/maps/embed?pb=!1m14!1m12!1m3!1d19681.876041551182!2d-68.56085296394822!3d44.222756983022734!2m3!1f0!2f0!3f0!3m2!1i1024!2i768!4f13.1!5e1!3m2!1sen!2sus!4v1538572267934" style="border: 0;" width="600"></iframe></div>
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It had been at least a week since I’d last paddled, and I
could tell; it felt like work. Maybe it was that I was so focused, paddling
faster than usual, thinking about how I barely had enough time to cover the
route before sunset, but how I really wanted to get to these islands. These
would be the final five islands I needed to land on to meet the Maine Island
Trail Association’s 30 in 30 Challenge. The deadline was still a week away, but
we would be heading to New Hampshire for a bit, so if I wanted to meet the
challenge, this was my chance. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglw2zCSK4Xg1xRh7S6rZpNa2AePul-DeZJppMUQIYw-wg0tptzAZs62cx-1D7cOp4CL2hfru3mRaq3QbdumzyNWTXWEtiEztYoTQpApeOwXNH4xy1qCihGZTC3eXzIVLYQY0lPeBz0zVI/s1600/P1130246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglw2zCSK4Xg1xRh7S6rZpNa2AePul-DeZJppMUQIYw-wg0tptzAZs62cx-1D7cOp4CL2hfru3mRaq3QbdumzyNWTXWEtiEztYoTQpApeOwXNH4xy1qCihGZTC3eXzIVLYQY0lPeBz0zVI/s640/P1130246.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Campbell Island, #27</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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If you’re just tuning-in, the 30 in 30 challenge is MITA’s
way to celebrate the Trail’s 30<sup>th</sup> year, offering a rare, special
edition piece of headwear for those who land on 30 islands before Columbus Day.
All you have to do was set foot on the island and then document it. Man, I
really wanted that hat. (Of course, what they’ve failed to mention is that the
hat is what some would call a lampshade with the number “30” scrawled on it
with Magic Marker). It was rare for me to have such a goal. Most of my
personal, non-work paddling this year had been fairly leisurely, mostly to get
away from it all, in pursuit of hammock time as much as exercise. I’d become a
bit of a slacker.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfz25efXYVVfEHWni5VZbi5NJOi4I7JW-lFo5ByqT8nUNIi6Zyqxeo74bNFICtm1utoIGMSJhTdt3InmnVqCzRTJbMDeFEitHwUdJdAKoycTIoSyZsPSO0lE1SPUj_xno7oENAK99XFbc/s1600/P1130286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfz25efXYVVfEHWni5VZbi5NJOi4I7JW-lFo5ByqT8nUNIi6Zyqxeo74bNFICtm1utoIGMSJhTdt3InmnVqCzRTJbMDeFEitHwUdJdAKoycTIoSyZsPSO0lE1SPUj_xno7oENAK99XFbc/s640/P1130286.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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The mountains of Mount Desert Island rose to the east,
beyond Blue Hill Bay, their peaks cloaked in a low layer of cumulus, but here
it was absolutely clear and sunny, a crisp autumn day with a mild breeze. A
couple of small sailboats crisscrossed Greenlaw Cove. I weaved among near-shore
rocks below the houses on Oak Point. I realized I was still thinking of the
goal more than enjoying the moment, maybe not enjoying it as much as I could,
but whatever – I had places to be. Ahead, at the mouth of Fish Creek lay Apple
Island, and I thought ‘that will be number 26.’ I looked over at Campbell
Island, off to my left and thought ’27.’ I looked at my watch. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizsnlLjodbaJ0SSe7wujQ1DD6B4r0lF6F-gUg0kCd3mtRH7ugrEjdnch5gI-XFqgmL0UmklWcMeF_sH1k-6Ow9VTm2zhi9MjZzDw53hWxcw7r5RzgwNQIVt12yKT1owInqbggJM_UPuo/s1600/P1130271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizsnlLjodbaJ0SSe7wujQ1DD6B4r0lF6F-gUg0kCd3mtRH7ugrEjdnch5gI-XFqgmL0UmklWcMeF_sH1k-6Ow9VTm2zhi9MjZzDw53hWxcw7r5RzgwNQIVt12yKT1owInqbggJM_UPuo/s640/P1130271.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sheep -Stinson Neck #28</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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But then, up ahead, a seal popped its head above the surface
and looked at me. The water near it roiled with movement, and I steered toward
it, arriving amid a school of densely swarming foot-long fish. They swam
beneath and turned, as if of one mind, like a cloud moving through the water,
catching silvery flashes of sunlight. The cloud moved to the surface, breaking
through with fins and tails, a mob of fish, and circled around. This was
unusual. If I saw fish around here, which didn’t happen often, they were
usually finger-sized, corralled into shallow coves by terns. These were big,
fat fish, thousands of them, and I sat floating for a while, watching. I
thought vaguely of my schedule, my need to get to five islands before dark. And
I lingered a bit longer – so what if I came back in the dark? If need be, I had
lights. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5c0wXDlXrCa67EzSwHVkORIh2w9NTfZCbx7g_A5vM5xMoF15w9UdIOVs2VJKNHo2jmj66Cb4swWKq4BHHS5tqLe_CA96RESPtyyHbFubkUPVoZT4SV5YyOzUXEXa9YUzuItLoYS2CWKk/s1600/P1130301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5c0wXDlXrCa67EzSwHVkORIh2w9NTfZCbx7g_A5vM5xMoF15w9UdIOVs2VJKNHo2jmj66Cb4swWKq4BHHS5tqLe_CA96RESPtyyHbFubkUPVoZT4SV5YyOzUXEXa9YUzuItLoYS2CWKk/s640/P1130301.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sellers Island, #29</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I continued toward Apple Island, perhaps a bit slower-paced
than before. But I felt more ‘there.’ Maybe then I felt some of the
stress of the last week begin to slip away. As our season at Old Quarry
wound-down, we got the news that we needed to move out of the space in
Stonington where most of our belongings were stored, and Rebecca would need to
find a new studio. We’ve been transient for nearly four years now since we
moved out of our gallery and apartment in downtown Stonington, and we’ve lived
either in outfitter housing or in house-sits, but this approach was only possible
because we’ve lived with a tiny fraction of our belongings, the furniture and most
other household items stored away. So for more than a week we’d been moving
from one storage unit to another – an exercise in futility if there ever was
one – and to a new studio space for Rebecca.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9hqKbOE6wB4flufPYaOvI2SSvbUwFsxZyBXFuKKosYbYJMk_935TaUe-xEPgL1w6sFWkROoJJoSdUB2vMStbFvm_t6q8bFidKxq3hA0BCaR9Gxz4VIb3jw1GBLAushbjnG2E3dzTLd3c/s1600/P1130226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9hqKbOE6wB4flufPYaOvI2SSvbUwFsxZyBXFuKKosYbYJMk_935TaUe-xEPgL1w6sFWkROoJJoSdUB2vMStbFvm_t6q8bFidKxq3hA0BCaR9Gxz4VIb3jw1GBLAushbjnG2E3dzTLd3c/s640/P1130226.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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I arrived at Apple Island and walked around, looking for a
photo to document my brief visit. It can be tough to find something interesting
when you only hop out of your boat for a few minutes. I felt hungry, but I
didn’t have any snacks – I usually paddled with granola bars stashed away in
various pockets, but this time I had none. But there were apples on the trees.
The lowest had been eaten by deer, but I found a stick and knocked one from a
higher branch, and it tasted perfect: sweet, crisp, as fresh as it gets. So I
knocked down a few more and stashed them in my day hatch.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjadQhYI6kXYmNh3IGl2g9j597Dxwn4nj0tISgNsAhqaxL8Z4noX2pKLTPP5KgghxUnzgSY8guTsg-vvI7mOh5nB8Kwex6pFa7nSknrQUfUoFw9kt68EyhX8pLBldHMY0Q60HaHuljAYxg/s1600/P1130239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjadQhYI6kXYmNh3IGl2g9j597Dxwn4nj0tISgNsAhqaxL8Z4noX2pKLTPP5KgghxUnzgSY8guTsg-vvI7mOh5nB8Kwex6pFa7nSknrQUfUoFw9kt68EyhX8pLBldHMY0Q60HaHuljAYxg/s640/P1130239.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apple Island, #26</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I went on to Campbell Island (27) and Sheep Island - Stinson
Neck (28) and then headed across the Reach, where I landed on Sellers (29) and
finally Little Hog (30). Somewhere in there I found my rhythm and the paddle
strokes came more naturally, with less effort. Then, with the current against
me, I stayed on the Brooklin side of the Reach, skirting the edges of Babson
and Little Babson Island to where I could paddle against a little less of the
flow to cross back to Deer Isle. The sun was sinking in the west – right over
Grays Cove. I pointed my bow below it and headed back.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipXERqdFTuIKKYQxskAtqSPjEl1MlOKA5MmSNn_V61QmErYLWzo6EezI04E0GYVYeovJT2CZGB8kJRFaIMUYbJ9b4u0_bix3zfunl5MgjNyxVEb0Yq_wsB0ZjLyIYmxIKIcL0PN0glnXU/s1600/P1130328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipXERqdFTuIKKYQxskAtqSPjEl1MlOKA5MmSNn_V61QmErYLWzo6EezI04E0GYVYeovJT2CZGB8kJRFaIMUYbJ9b4u0_bix3zfunl5MgjNyxVEb0Yq_wsB0ZjLyIYmxIKIcL0PN0glnXU/s640/P1130328.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little Hog Island, #30</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Notes:</div>
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There’s still a few days to take part in <a href="https://mita.org/30in30/" target="_blank">MITA’s 30-in-30 Challenge</a>. You too could wear one of these hats.</div>
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In mid-September, I paddled a tandem with <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Rosendo" target="_blank">Joseph Rosendo</a>,
host of the PBS series <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Joseph Rosendo’s
Travelscope</i>. We were followed by a film crew in the NIGH DUCK who recorded
our conversations, including a stop on Hells Half Acre, where I had a lot to
say about the merits of the Maine Island Trail. The episode will air sometime
later next year.</div>
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This wasn't our year for doing big kayak trips, but we were able to enjoy the trips of others vicariously, and sometimes offer a little assistance. Cheri Perry and Turner Wilson, who together travel the world teaching, mostly Greenland skills, under the auspices of<a href="http://www.kayakways.net/index.php" target="_blank"> Kayakways</a>, came through Stonington on their way downeast on a long coastal trip, and we just saw them a few days ago while they were driving home. I saw bits and pieces about their trip on Facebook, and hope someday to hear more about it.</div>
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In addition to moving stuff between storage units and studios, we've moved from Old Quarry into a an apartment we'll be sitting until next summer. It overlooks Stonington Harbor and is a short distance from the launch there.</div>
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-->Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Stonington, ME 04681, USA44.155729099999988 -68.65996719999998343.973400099999985 -68.982690699999978 44.338058099999991 -68.337243699999988tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-91525796574774376752018-09-09T07:41:00.002-04:002018-09-09T07:41:37.629-04:00Whitmore Neck
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdeA6dmOPejpB9DrW7-Xm8PAnBD7jDYad6tCIE9jP24_fIdHTdKJRbhpC0kRck5wXNX9rDeAyyNYMEPx1McAYGG_sB6LutD0vpUBzl66M9QUcko9nXIvfAGbndZ9WrV7cO5utn5DpBbz8/s1600/P1120928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdeA6dmOPejpB9DrW7-Xm8PAnBD7jDYad6tCIE9jP24_fIdHTdKJRbhpC0kRck5wXNX9rDeAyyNYMEPx1McAYGG_sB6LutD0vpUBzl66M9QUcko9nXIvfAGbndZ9WrV7cO5utn5DpBbz8/s640/P1120928.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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For the second day in a row I had a no-show for a scheduled
trip. When you wonder why they haven’t arrived and you look for the paperwork
so you can call them, and then realize that there’s no paperwork to be found,
it seems a safe bet that you’ve been waiting in vain after planning your day
around this non-existent trip. And then, while you’re standing there in the
office in your gear, your packed boat waiting down by the shore, your employer
does his usual ‘who’s on the clock?’ mantra (I wasn’t, though I should have
been). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKLrmY9nZpBQrEzCe_76LhyphenhyphenzqsxHfkkyoBbc9UZlryQ0_Hr1eo8xIVBO7EThbGu4wlm8LU_tPqfNQ1U3nGe6zDYZvlrleElzLSwFEAUuvn8-gZyLz8gzGfBB6GImcINNTBaybLNRmzFag/s1600/P1120813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKLrmY9nZpBQrEzCe_76LhyphenhyphenzqsxHfkkyoBbc9UZlryQ0_Hr1eo8xIVBO7EThbGu4wlm8LU_tPqfNQ1U3nGe6zDYZvlrleElzLSwFEAUuvn8-gZyLz8gzGfBB6GImcINNTBaybLNRmzFag/s640/P1120813.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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This is all business as usual at Old Quarry, except that it occurred
while a thunderstorm was passing through and the office was suddenly packed
with more idle employees than usual. I didn’t really mind the ghost clients’
tardiness – the trip would have been delayed anyway – but after the storm was
gone I was ready to paddle, so I headed out. </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="450" src="https://www.google.com/maps/embed?pb=!1m14!1m12!1m3!1d19718.521838319815!2d-68.64242189911573!3d44.18888341729512!2m3!1f0!2f0!3f0!3m2!1i1024!2i768!4f13.1!5e1!3m2!1sen!2sus!4v1536418954647" style="border: 0;" width="600"></iframe></div>
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Before I launched though, I got a curry started; we were
having an employee ‘we survived the season’ potluck that evening. So by the
time I was on the water I had about three hours ahead of me to paddle. I spent
a minute just floating, wondering where to go. It was an hour after low tide,
so the current was coming in, and I began imagining a route: islands I hadn’t
been to for awhile which were also, conveniently, MITA islands that I could add
to my #mita30in30 Challenge list. I would head around Whitmore Neck.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFYFy0ucGOp5XnBvuQf7Tz1M1s_asYBBOesPVdsIpei1RljcTt3a_GAWPpa409QfHtU0c5lO5fBrfJm8WQZfPq1LYjqeDOB-Z9Emvt3wwHRLvA0WLVqimnd_XFmc7znfaM6pdmWkilZfE/s1600/P1120838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFYFy0ucGOp5XnBvuQf7Tz1M1s_asYBBOesPVdsIpei1RljcTt3a_GAWPpa409QfHtU0c5lO5fBrfJm8WQZfPq1LYjqeDOB-Z9Emvt3wwHRLvA0WLVqimnd_XFmc7znfaM6pdmWkilZfE/s640/P1120838.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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The first part of the paddle was perhaps a little too
familiar. I’d already guided a morning trip out to Little Sheep Island, and
this stretch went past like a commute in which you arrive with little
recollection of getting there. Maybe it wasn’t the fault of the scenery. I had
a lot on my mind, mostly involving our plans for the immediate future. The
season at Old Quarry was coming to an end. I was weary of how tenuous our way
of life sometimes feels. The storm had passed,
but grey clouds still streaked the sky, slipping eastward. It wasn’t a great
day to lie in a hammock – a little cool and breezy still, and besides, I just
felt like paddling, focusing those frustrations into the physical mantra of the
clean and efficient forward stroke I seldom have opportunity to engage while
guiding. I passed the bulbous granite humps of Whaleback Ledges and turned into
Southeast Harbor, catching the inland current.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1FSK4OitEwBcZumQp_Xn05VKa9CxeIqHLe3bbGYmWsHiI7JjnN20hkTU-04SgfEZ0MMzpg_gBuVZoQw0emp-C6Q8AKJ1Sasz3DzfnXZ7dDTdL0d0IBd5bYjHAdqkmFPFFEr_dztRpLQ4/s1600/P1120829.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1431" data-original-width="1432" height="638" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1FSK4OitEwBcZumQp_Xn05VKa9CxeIqHLe3bbGYmWsHiI7JjnN20hkTU-04SgfEZ0MMzpg_gBuVZoQw0emp-C6Q8AKJ1Sasz3DzfnXZ7dDTdL0d0IBd5bYjHAdqkmFPFFEr_dztRpLQ4/s640/P1120829.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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There’s two MITA Islands up this way, and I stopped on both
of them. Polypod Island, owned by Island Heritage Trust, lies just offshore
from a few homes on the peninsula leading out to the Tennis Preserve. Like all
IHT preserves, camping isn’t allowed, so it’s strictly a day-use spot. I
usually get up to this area when it’s stormy or foggy and I’m looking for a
more sheltered trip, but now, with the clouds skidding away eastward, the sun
shone through, lighting the island’s oaks and birches, the ground littered with
acorns. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9tHKMETNndLzmNz0biDgtta9nUt73p44Lysv7T5ejaIr2gbBvnYQAcyamFVuivcFvqjly7hjIg-V00TfYcwTbzTzDUCRUlvRggi9zxUc-QpN1RTHZDXn7H3Z2-9DXu6kZcy61dw6wsIo/s1600/P1120853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9tHKMETNndLzmNz0biDgtta9nUt73p44Lysv7T5ejaIr2gbBvnYQAcyamFVuivcFvqjly7hjIg-V00TfYcwTbzTzDUCRUlvRggi9zxUc-QpN1RTHZDXn7H3Z2-9DXu6kZcy61dw6wsIo/s640/P1120853.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Inner Harbor Island lies, of course, in Inner Harbor. This
stretch of water, nearly surrounded by sheltering fingers of land, was a busy shipping
hub in the 1800s until a devastating fire tore through the South Deer Isle port.
Given its shallow depths, the harbor would seem a challenging destination for a
fleet of granite and lumber schooners. As I sat on a rock at the height of the
island, I tried to imagine what it looked like, busy with canvas sails. I also
read MITA’s trail log, mostly signed by day visitors, like this one:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Z4QxExNmQrGpuCDzkQc7-78PFhBCu8tsSzhaPZG2EHUWr0BlO4HwYXbyPC6PqKtDvGaAhr0C2bpqHbXD4YtnpaOIsc7BcXbp0x8eNNiT1ZYkLJNrm4KcLzjsKH-CyoMgGU2lfL2iFHQ/s1600/P1120842.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="638" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Z4QxExNmQrGpuCDzkQc7-78PFhBCu8tsSzhaPZG2EHUWr0BlO4HwYXbyPC6PqKtDvGaAhr0C2bpqHbXD4YtnpaOIsc7BcXbp0x8eNNiT1ZYkLJNrm4KcLzjsKH-CyoMgGU2lfL2iFHQ/s640/P1120842.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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That made me smile. I was thinking of writing that it was my
25<sup>th</sup> island for the #mita30in30 Challenge until I read the last
entry stating it was the author’s 57<sup>th</sup>. So instead I wrote that I
liked how the challenge had brought me to this peaceful place when I might not
have otherwise gone there. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikOuJF8gq79zyrhRMDRDRkJmsGYEdwEg9hcv30IIWSe02zyS6B_KYAwv1cSKLc44D2ShZs5GoCMNtPJ954CIyvb0gS3IQqdADHPbQmSiz3sawicct387MU9JtHZioDE7ChikGuIR3G_dM/s1600/P1120864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikOuJF8gq79zyrhRMDRDRkJmsGYEdwEg9hcv30IIWSe02zyS6B_KYAwv1cSKLc44D2ShZs5GoCMNtPJ954CIyvb0gS3IQqdADHPbQmSiz3sawicct387MU9JtHZioDE7ChikGuIR3G_dM/s640/P1120864.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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There’s a rickety tent platform on the island, leftover from
pre-MITA island days. Replacing the platform would be a good volunteer project for
someone one of these days. Another logbook entry stated that the island had
been known as Lard Island. </div>
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I paddled past one of my many fantasy cabins, a dream house with lots of potential. I've observed it every now and then over the years, gradually rotting. </div>
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I’d taken my time to ensure that the incoming tide would
fill Hatch Cove, enabling me to get through, and by now the evening sun lit the
cove’s numerous smooth granite ledges, and the current bore me gently past them. </div>
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This is another very sheltered stretch of water, and though the banks are mostly
privately owned, most of the homes are tucked into the woods, out of sight, and
it feels wild and quiet. I drifted for a bit, in no hurry to return to Old
Quarry, but, oh yeah, I had that potluck to get to. </div>
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Despite whatever mixed feelings I had for this place where
I’ve worked off and on for the last eight years, I wanted to spend time with my
co-workers and maybe have a laugh or two about the various ups and downs the
summer had brought us. We would concur that overwhelmingly, the people we’d
taken on our trips really had been great, especially once we got them on the
water. So I headed back, once again, toward Webb Cove.</div>
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Notes:</div>
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<a href="https://mita.org/30in30/" target="_blank">Mita's 30 in 30 Challenge </a>is open until Columbus Day. There's still time to get to document your visits to 30 islands to celebrate the Maine Island Trail's 30th year - and you may win fabulous prizes!</div>
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/michaelsmita30in30/" target="_blank"><br /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/michaelsmita30in30/" target="_blank">I've kept a log of my 30 in 30 visits here on Instagram.</a></div>
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</style>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Stonington, ME 04681, USA44.155729099999988 -68.65996719999998343.973400099999985 -68.982690699999978 44.338058099999991 -68.337243699999988tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-20951328688346530912018-09-01T10:00:00.000-04:002018-09-01T10:00:01.742-04:00Lunch on Kimball, Hammocking on Gooseberry
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRomvfMjw4MPgtzKFCJazt8kORRb2GA0NPwrFJk751jQboiWZg_QGZhGLF97XGQMZ8vDEpVRJhXyQoTOJnK4LBc5lQGwx_Snv8SJVBZC0sIqS2rYpaXJa_HALtrfag5phzv1gux3hm_iE/s1600/P1120640.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRomvfMjw4MPgtzKFCJazt8kORRb2GA0NPwrFJk751jQboiWZg_QGZhGLF97XGQMZ8vDEpVRJhXyQoTOJnK4LBc5lQGwx_Snv8SJVBZC0sIqS2rYpaXJa_HALtrfag5phzv1gux3hm_iE/s640/P1120640.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I had an unexpected day off, and since it was raining and a
bit dreary, it seemed unlikely we’d be getting overrun with visitors at the
campground. I packed my boat and headed out mid-morning in the pouring rain. The
air felt warm though, the raindrops invigorating, and with a day ahead of me, I
could meander at will, maybe even find a little time to relax somewhere if the
weather cleared. </div>
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There were a few MITA islands in the archipelago that I hadn’t visited since I
started the <a href="https://mita.org/30in30/" target="_blank">#mita30in30 challenge</a>, Little George Head, Harbor and Kimball, so I
paddled off in that general direction and saw this pretty boat as I crossed the
Thorofare. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilmLaSQqE4uEM0iXIb2lhAUScewjC3ZXrHkGAvTP-pDkrAscgdHaOWNPTYjVLAk2uFgxp8dDG48ld3McBXwZDbdbF9ka53lk4FYcj-rL6C2CMNI7qwolmvGImSGc-FOLWt8jn-tZ9wYdk/s1600/P1120508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilmLaSQqE4uEM0iXIb2lhAUScewjC3ZXrHkGAvTP-pDkrAscgdHaOWNPTYjVLAk2uFgxp8dDG48ld3McBXwZDbdbF9ka53lk4FYcj-rL6C2CMNI7qwolmvGImSGc-FOLWt8jn-tZ9wYdk/s640/P1120508.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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As I rounded Green Island, the cove was completely empty –
no boats tied-up at the landing, no kayaks on the shore – so I thought ‘why
not?’ and stopped for a quick swim in the quarry in the rain. With the end of summer upon us,
you never know when the idea of a swim will seem less inviting, so it’s a good
idea to do it while you can. Green Island is one of my least favorite popular destinations
for guided trips. It gets crowded enough that at high tide we sometimes stack
kayaks like cordwood, and most groups take enough time that we can’t get to
other islands. You’re sharing the place with all manner of other boaters and it’s
often a ‘there and back’ trip, as if the whole point of going kayaking is transportation
to a swimming hole. Kids like it though, and some guides seem to invariably
take this trip, since their clients don’t seem to mind or know the difference. I
had it to myself though, and it felt great to jump in and go for a swim.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCYgTd4DISbn_Rz6i3NarpMbpdfWK1lnRevovPYPm208K04CnbUyVhknCzvawSdztsUeLnMfQMq7ioOQeQKzNgAO_zFuZAIDMgHlEmOOKDZ1u2Y391pVVnaBaspO-lfdBu9OJYmJjObNY/s1600/P1120533.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCYgTd4DISbn_Rz6i3NarpMbpdfWK1lnRevovPYPm208K04CnbUyVhknCzvawSdztsUeLnMfQMq7ioOQeQKzNgAO_zFuZAIDMgHlEmOOKDZ1u2Y391pVVnaBaspO-lfdBu9OJYmJjObNY/s640/P1120533.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I went on to Little George Head, a tiny islet connected by
sandbar to George Head Island. I’d stopped on George Head on a guided trip last
weekend, but didn’t get over to the tiny neighbor. I love these tiny islands,
and I could see it would be fun to camp here, despite being so close to Steves
Island, which is truly a favorite campsite (the site on George Head looks
awfully nice as well, tucked up in the forest). I suppose this is a good area
to head when it’s crowded and you want the security of 7 campsites all within a
quarter-mile of each other. By now, the rain was tapering, but wispy dark
clouds continued to drift past.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXInINVip0a_lGzDw8yuZ6TmdpV_OfUVW5ZwTbJ_KpV4Y1twJURIWooTfmh9-vsyDPtsaofxcyQegS3VReQjyB1H3IpaepwcGmgsPEoDf9x9CzsYJREgtljfuEPKCwFuDwrhaCLqIGM4E/s1600/P1120545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXInINVip0a_lGzDw8yuZ6TmdpV_OfUVW5ZwTbJ_KpV4Y1twJURIWooTfmh9-vsyDPtsaofxcyQegS3VReQjyB1H3IpaepwcGmgsPEoDf9x9CzsYJREgtljfuEPKCwFuDwrhaCLqIGM4E/s640/P1120545.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Across Merchant Row, I came to Harbor Island and landed
below the smaller campsite. If the weather had looked more promising, I might
have stayed here for awhile, since the woods above the ledges are perfect
hammock-hanging spots, but I was enjoying the exercise, and besides, another
couple miles would bring me to Kimball Island, which would be my 23<sup>rd</sup>
out of the 30 islands for the MITA 30 in 30 Challenge. If nothing else, the
challenge was giving me a good excuse to get to some spots where I don’t often
stop.</div>
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By now the rain had stopped and the wind had begun to blow
from the east and north, and it occurred to me that if it persisted, I’d need to
work harder to get back. Also, I heard my name on the radio; Old Quarry was
trying to reach me. My handheld was not powerful enough to transmit that far,
so I called on the phone and discovered that they were indeed expecting me
there to guide an afternoon trip. Better to omit what led to this, but let’s
say I’d started the day expecting to have that trip, and when it went to
someone else instead, I said to myself ‘fine, I’m going paddling.’ So there
I was, and too bad, there was no way to get back in time. Someone else would
have the privilege of towing a tandem into the wind.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGqYH7Twh5Pyd69JQUByBYUdqC8rUMN8nu8yLgucjSOSKyb9ANnVQC8pqiNYjNrg2uDHhgcMAJQ2mMe2hbr1il25zKedZsicAftNAxp_LUhQzXTa9eQxZ5C1gXKb6LdRutXYO1abdmKu4/s1600/P1120559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGqYH7Twh5Pyd69JQUByBYUdqC8rUMN8nu8yLgucjSOSKyb9ANnVQC8pqiNYjNrg2uDHhgcMAJQ2mMe2hbr1il25zKedZsicAftNAxp_LUhQzXTa9eQxZ5C1gXKb6LdRutXYO1abdmKu4/s640/P1120559.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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So I landed on Kimball, took a few photos to document #23,
and decided to paddle around it. As I did, I stopped on the ledges at privately-owned
Rosebud Island for a sandwich. The north wind was picking up, the air turning
cooler and clear. A mild swell buoyed me up and down as I went around Kimball
Head with Brimstone Island and Saddleback Ledge Lighthouse standing-out clearly
on the horizon. I made my way into the Thorofare and passed by the village of
Isle au Haut. Now I was kind of ready to get back, but I had about six miles to
go, all against a fairly steady wind.</div>
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So by the time I arrived at Gooseberry Island, I was ready
to relax a bit. Not only that, but the sun was shining, and out of the wind,
the air felt warm. I hung my hammock between a couple of boulders and spent some hours of quality ‘hanging-out’ time. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5agQild8nU1VOgdPFdzRb6l9e0Q_7tXfat_GmoAojSxeEZn_tNA7Kpu1zgFbJT1qFgn0gE5Rls6KyoAmfCj5ejOJ4msvoo_v10OUM94FbnEzPV20GF1x3ck-shSkDoTDeZ3QeueWd6sA/s1600/P1120655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5agQild8nU1VOgdPFdzRb6l9e0Q_7tXfat_GmoAojSxeEZn_tNA7Kpu1zgFbJT1qFgn0gE5Rls6KyoAmfCj5ejOJ4msvoo_v10OUM94FbnEzPV20GF1x3ck-shSkDoTDeZ3QeueWd6sA/s640/P1120655.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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And then I headed back, arriving just after sunset.</div>
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This area is covered in <a href="https://amcstore.outdoors.org/books-maps/books/paddling/best-sea-kayaking-ne" target="_blank">Trips #14 and #15 in my guidebook</a>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A<a href="https://www.amazon.com/AMCs-Best-Sea-Kayaking-England-ebook/dp/B01GIJBDHA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1535745462&sr=8-1&keywords=amcs+best+sea+kayaking+in+new+england" target="_blank">MC’s Best Sea Kayaking in New England.</a></i></div>
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</style>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Stonington, ME 04681, USA44.155729099999988 -68.65996719999998343.973400099999985 -68.982690699999978 44.338058099999991 -68.337243699999988tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-89436505726821095392018-08-28T10:19:00.000-04:002018-08-28T10:19:01.310-04:00There Goes Summer
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndCbTsw128peAIShw4wRG7CP1aRvLPwPOVujFaltQgKWRjfPnyX_9bO5mIR7sUHa3rjHv8mwtuCuzgk_J71BHvfK2uw5bXQvNCvXv6TZewxRrqH4vuZTxfz24ABlnJk06zx7SzjQZEqs/s1600/IMG_6491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndCbTsw128peAIShw4wRG7CP1aRvLPwPOVujFaltQgKWRjfPnyX_9bO5mIR7sUHa3rjHv8mwtuCuzgk_J71BHvfK2uw5bXQvNCvXv6TZewxRrqH4vuZTxfz24ABlnJk06zx7SzjQZEqs/s640/IMG_6491.JPG" width="638" /></a></div>
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Toward the end of the summer there’s a day out on the water
when the weather changes moods, and it feels like the season takes a subtle but
abrupt turn around the corner. The morning feels like summer, but as the
afternoon sun fades and the breeze picks-up, you start looking for those extra
layers of clothing. A few days ago felt like such a day. I’d guided a mid-day
trip and headed out on my own afterward. I didn’t get far. Paddling past a
favorite spot – one that had often been occupied by campers for much of the
summer, but was now vacant – I opted to stop and hang my hammock rather than paddle
farther. </div>
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I felt a bit worn-out, lazy – whatever. Maybe I wasn’t sure
if that southwest breeze would let-up before I had to paddle back and I didn’t
want to get farther downwind. Or maybe it just seemed obvious that the chances
to steal a warm, sunny hour or two in the hammock would become increasingly
rare in the coming days.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWpUHSTgXJjyWZH_L_5WJRIu52YRpk4x6aej4NSCP4f6VD0-LicdkTlmktBfrOITaVXKpInatbKHuzMo-BOrJWPhsGv5WqzgoyHrQpe8gGMFUvvuihPazPzr-YBihuThBWeO5OoskpPg/s1600/P1120429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1201" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWpUHSTgXJjyWZH_L_5WJRIu52YRpk4x6aej4NSCP4f6VD0-LicdkTlmktBfrOITaVXKpInatbKHuzMo-BOrJWPhsGv5WqzgoyHrQpe8gGMFUvvuihPazPzr-YBihuThBWeO5OoskpPg/s640/P1120429.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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From where I hung, I had a glimpse of the busy Stonington waterfront
a couple miles away. A few sailboats were anchored nearby and while I lay
there, occasionally looking up from a book, a couple more boats made their way
into the anchorage, sails full with the breeze. I’d hung my wet paddling gear
on a branch and lay enclosed within the peapod-like cocoon of my hammock
wearing nothing, and it felt good to dry in the sunlight. But as soon as the
sun went behind the clouds, I dug from my stern hatch the layer of fleece that
I’d carried all summer, but rarely needed.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXYhlzmH3XxO8EAq7UECQez-PeKFBdTMQCdevEKV2scaXKYilRdwfGKQ7ugobZr4B0lKdGFXQZQ-Fn3hNGBxrid3EqTTFcS1KnOTooMlTgtEM90FUssv4PJ8mRZz8XsXzI3bSlY7KYYxc/s1600/P8235164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXYhlzmH3XxO8EAq7UECQez-PeKFBdTMQCdevEKV2scaXKYilRdwfGKQ7ugobZr4B0lKdGFXQZQ-Fn3hNGBxrid3EqTTFcS1KnOTooMlTgtEM90FUssv4PJ8mRZz8XsXzI3bSlY7KYYxc/s640/P8235164.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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It reminded me of the day exactly a year earlier, in which
Rebecca and I finished <a href="http://seakayakstonington.blogspot.com/search/label/Upwest%20and%20Downeast" target="_blank">our nearly two-month meander of the Maine coast</a>. We’d
started the day at The Hub, a tiny island off the northwest corner of Mount
Desert Island, and it had been warm enough that I’d taken a swim before launching.
It turned out to be the warmest day of our whole trip. I even took a swim at
lunch, savoring it, knowing how quickly the whole experience would fall into
the past. And I was right. </div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk411GNo1QCuiDcEmMmNL0ua2U5ype3aod9iNUC3mJm0fkJeFtv6e9e4X65QxA2wIeucqpCC_-LqoSAuzmK-HEkkEB7gvXLU2iu0KNy6mThRh_rxX5I4aGxHRYWosgmwpcZD7xpXgEDgw/s1600/P1070458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk411GNo1QCuiDcEmMmNL0ua2U5ype3aod9iNUC3mJm0fkJeFtv6e9e4X65QxA2wIeucqpCC_-LqoSAuzmK-HEkkEB7gvXLU2iu0KNy6mThRh_rxX5I4aGxHRYWosgmwpcZD7xpXgEDgw/s400/P1070458.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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We took our last break on Little Sheep Island,
mostly because the wind had increased and I was chilled and needed another
layer. We crouched in the lee of a ledge and I ate a granola bar, shivering.
And then we paddled the last two miles and finished the trip. At Old Quarry, we
found the ground covered with boats that needed to be cleaned and returned to
racks; they’d had a busy day. We would be working there again, soon enough.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH0xhiqjSHJzHWRC9YsVXaq0LCztiXejcxiFh6fvsqq0U6GwglsZO3tvru_MaXdLa2TS8lfJsnXnobEv6SkSrV5uoWva4kpXxkFRBqYckmJJbtnb1yD-lrmorEQigpNawejiCfdcbTH9k/s1600/IMG_0816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH0xhiqjSHJzHWRC9YsVXaq0LCztiXejcxiFh6fvsqq0U6GwglsZO3tvru_MaXdLa2TS8lfJsnXnobEv6SkSrV5uoWva4kpXxkFRBqYckmJJbtnb1yD-lrmorEQigpNawejiCfdcbTH9k/s640/IMG_0816.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Not long after that, in Newfoundland, I began writing an
account of that journey, which has ensured that I don’t go a day without
thinking about it somehow. Rebecca began working from the sketches and
paintings she’d done on the trip, and in a way then, our experience evolved
into something else, something new. We try to relive it and to understand it,
but any account of reality is seen through a filter. It gets shaped and
re-shaped. The boring parts get cut, and you look for themes, threads that run
through it that might give it more shape than a mere account of a summer
vacation. I’m not sure that it’s there yet, but the process itself has been good,
the reliving. In a way, the writing process echoes the theme that seemed to
come up a lot, and I can’t get away from, which is simply the fleeting nature
of experience, how quickly it all passes: how we can try to grab it while we’re
living it, but how suddenly it is gone. Certainly that’s how summer in Maine
feels.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjathfP5h3Yt8Z2kAbqUf_dJaoJjHSzBah_FjmVDoRCsXUZ1SEu1paJfpBTykEDTQt2vYmv-4ySfMM0zXny05VheM7hjv4QqyEtwpPFngI3712dtkCh4UzoVO0KczDPUX16hVQQ8ZDnM8Y/s1600/IMG_1950.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1514" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjathfP5h3Yt8Z2kAbqUf_dJaoJjHSzBah_FjmVDoRCsXUZ1SEu1paJfpBTykEDTQt2vYmv-4ySfMM0zXny05VheM7hjv4QqyEtwpPFngI3712dtkCh4UzoVO0KczDPUX16hVQQ8ZDnM8Y/s640/IMG_1950.JPG" width="604" /></a></div>
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But one thing from the trip that has persisted is my desire
to relax a little, to get to these idyllic places and enjoy them for a while, especially when the air is warm.
When you’re worn-out after a day of work it may seem like too much trouble to
get the gear together and paddle out there for only an hour or two, but I never
regret it. And though we may not paddle as far or get to as many places, we
spend a little time getting to know this one place better. </div>
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Notes:</div>
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<a href="https://www.rapidmedia.com/paddlingmagazine" target="_blank"><i>Paddling Magazine</i></a> used<a href="http://seakayakstonington.blogspot.com/2015/03/horsin-around-on-cumberland-island.html" target="_blank"> one of Rebecca’s photos</a> in their
current issue to illustrate a piece on Cumberland Island. </div>
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We went to the <a href="https://mita.org/" target="_blank">Maine Island Trail Association’</a>s annual
volunteer party a couple weeks ago and were very surprised when they honored us
with their ‘Spirit of the Trail’ award, giving thanks for the volunteering
we’ve done, both in sharing my writing and research for the new Bold Coast
section, and the island clean-ups we’ve occasionally led. We met wonderful
people there, kindred spirits, and it made me wish we’d gone out of our way in
the past to go to more of these, to get more involved. </div>
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We’re mulling-over our options for our next move, but we’re
hoping to spend the next months doing a little house-sitting and just enough
work to pay the bills while we work on our own projects. If you have something
in mind that might work for us, drop me an email at michaeldaugherty@zoho.com.</div>
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</style>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Stonington, ME 04681, USA44.155729099999988 -68.65996719999998343.973400099999985 -68.982690699999978 44.338058099999991 -68.337243699999988tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-88622460582466909232018-08-10T21:07:00.000-04:002018-08-10T21:07:55.759-04:00Escape From Old Quarry: Wheat Island<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyyLAG1TIXp83jfZaks96EhCRwDQXzx36GiDJKPNeTCLraV-KgVb75Q-adDvYW7hzhQaaIhR0NUOReauN4HSqd_UmbJ4dWC39rT2VMFnS6ZP9QIhNtMc4l_ZVMhQVuTCqdDjNu-GyYQV4/s1600/P1120236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyyLAG1TIXp83jfZaks96EhCRwDQXzx36GiDJKPNeTCLraV-KgVb75Q-adDvYW7hzhQaaIhR0NUOReauN4HSqd_UmbJ4dWC39rT2VMFnS6ZP9QIhNtMc4l_ZVMhQVuTCqdDjNu-GyYQV4/s640/P1120236.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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A few days ago, I had the sudden gift of a day off – just
like I did last week: an entire day with no work or commitments. I could do
whatever I wanted with it. So I got my gear together. I could do something
epic. Maybe paddle around Isle au Haut. At first I thought I didn’t have to
work until later on the next day, so I packed camping gear. Then I learned I’d be
guiding a morning trip the next day. But I already had the gear and food
together. Whatever. I could figure it out as I went along. It was a gorgeous
day, and the only thing that made sense was to just get on the water. It was
mid-morning by the time I launched.</div>
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It felt good to be paddling away, alone, heading across Webb
Cove without first getting my group lined-up to make an efficient crossing, no
pre-trip briefing or endless foot peg adjustments. And of course, as always, it
was liberating to let my paddle strokes fall into their own rhythm: not
necessarily fast, just my own, without looking around wondering what I could do
to help everyone move more naturally in their boats. As I followed the shore of
Indian Point and headed out for Russ Island, I realized I felt weary, and a bit
lazy, and maybe I wasn’t in the mood for an epic paddle after all. I had my
hammock with me, and I began thinking about setting it up and just swinging in
it for awhile, enjoying the day on some island.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZB4iBWUtMTT5OfWCNH4SkBj6KeWjOHEnSvGYsFqbpoYxRkgKhAjX26VJA9_NpfaYq97pMoTQLomEdofQDojAcILdhCwThe8LariMvgFGTBj_4UwrPJNxLEdCLhBoszBYafBuxd-qpuc/s1600/P1120092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZB4iBWUtMTT5OfWCNH4SkBj6KeWjOHEnSvGYsFqbpoYxRkgKhAjX26VJA9_NpfaYq97pMoTQLomEdofQDojAcILdhCwThe8LariMvgFGTBj_4UwrPJNxLEdCLhBoszBYafBuxd-qpuc/s640/P1120092.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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As I passed Blasters Rock on Little McGlathery Island, it
occurred to me that it was a Maine Island Trail island and I hadn’t yet visited
it for the <a href="https://mita.org/30in30/" target="_blank">30 In 30 Challenge</a>. MITA is celebrating its 30<sup>th</sup> year by
challenging members to visit 30 MITA islands and documenting their visits. <a href="https://www.instagram.com/seakayakstonington/" target="_blank">I’vebeen posting photos on Instagram with the #mita30in30 hashtag, and it’s been afun challenge.</a> At first I figured I wouldn’t need to go out of my way, that I’d
naturally land on the islands during the course of my trips. But inevitably
I’ve begun to veer toward islands with the goal of adding them to my list, as I
did at McGlathery (#15). I’ve taken many pictures of this rock, but why not
another? </div>
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It’s been fun to follow how other people have risen to this
challenge as well. MITA posted an account of someone who took a motorboat
around Casco Bay and bagged the 30 islands within 24 hours. I’ve been seeing
some nice photos from these island visits on Instagram. And last week, Rebecca
ran into a group of women who call themselves ‘Ladies Who Launch’ who took an
epic trip around the archipelago to set foot on 18 MITA islands in one day.
That sounded like fun, but I wasn’t going to take such extreme measures. Still,
I felt the collecting impulse rising in me as I paddled across Merchant Row,
plotting how to add a few more islands to my list. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF89VZeMnKWQBhErhrkSrJTvoz3F91LtL-b90_AmwtHtVAIOwCPOLDRBaX5HmmtxC0iit4TW5lDto8xN-LNZYEORZW9bB5bXbOjjSL0eIv_ylyWsg8VXWqE4Z8sKIG_OpiMWyzGLD7hXY/s1600/P1120127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF89VZeMnKWQBhErhrkSrJTvoz3F91LtL-b90_AmwtHtVAIOwCPOLDRBaX5HmmtxC0iit4TW5lDto8xN-LNZYEORZW9bB5bXbOjjSL0eIv_ylyWsg8VXWqE4Z8sKIG_OpiMWyzGLD7hXY/s640/P1120127.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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I pitched my tent on Wheat Island (#16) and after lunch
headed next door to Burnt (#17). As popular as Wheat Island is, Burnt Island,
less than a quarter-mile away, seems to get far less use. I’ve stopped before
to try to locate something that looks like a campsite, and not found anything
obvious. This is how it is at some private islands that don’t get a lot of use.
There’s also brackish, standing water above the shore, which may be partially
responsible for the island’s reputation for mosquitoes. Such a rumor certainly
helps weed-out visitors, but even in the mid-day heat I slapped a few bugs, so
it’s easy to imagine they might get a bit more intense toward dusk.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDIIrtyf_ousqatnr3-OJyE5pRIYob6q5jnlAwcBJ5LP7kWkNEUfYaNHLqFw-0n-eY3MLgnCT5XZHP0M3B1iVQoO1aTTNlVKbDeD2LDc1RmjRXygQLTDtcnPjEtdhnf_2pFf_4kbsJ0o/s1600/P1120114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDIIrtyf_ousqatnr3-OJyE5pRIYob6q5jnlAwcBJ5LP7kWkNEUfYaNHLqFw-0n-eY3MLgnCT5XZHP0M3B1iVQoO1aTTNlVKbDeD2LDc1RmjRXygQLTDtcnPjEtdhnf_2pFf_4kbsJ0o/s640/P1120114.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
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From there I went on to Isle au Haut and crossed over to
Doliver Island (#18) where I ate my second sandwich. I hadn’t stopped on
Doliver in years <a href="http://seakayakstonington.blogspot.com/2007/06/tree-grows-on-dolliver.html" target="_blank">(perhaps this post from 2007 was my last visit?)</a> having more or less decided that I preferred campsites that
are less exposed – both to the environment and to homes on the shore of Isle au
Haut. But it struck me differently this time and I instead saw the exposure to
Jericho Bay as an asset, that not only was it a pretty place to eat lunch, but
would be a special campsite as well. We should never make up our minds about a
place after one visit. Maybe the grass was a little greener this time, or the
lone spruce tree a little taller than before. Or I was simply in the right
frame of mind.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCO14z8BqqURIzmn95PJj-HgdpqRBKDfWjAmvsBbFot7GvYdysMV5VsCsPqyujG-9DbgXBZ00LTy5WkXcIA24YAMnE7CLYAT5R5F8lXtAVusncn3_G1NgfXMZOKuGfYOV46zHBGa0hPUM/s1600/P1120123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCO14z8BqqURIzmn95PJj-HgdpqRBKDfWjAmvsBbFot7GvYdysMV5VsCsPqyujG-9DbgXBZ00LTy5WkXcIA24YAMnE7CLYAT5R5F8lXtAVusncn3_G1NgfXMZOKuGfYOV46zHBGa0hPUM/s640/P1120123.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
I continued around York Island, enjoying the gentle swell
along the rocks on the eastern shore, and then headed back to Wheat Island. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2JhTH-nTxYSer2BhJWmVsh5-uRUvv1b6Rr8vh3ZMbIDzXBKsAaLuNONXbEy0aiyprkXFNvnLIfXnJJalZiVShdufyXOE9RPzdJCfTvhM1IUrStwTNBBaa2OEZh0BMRns45p7UhCMyfVw/s1600/P1120167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2JhTH-nTxYSer2BhJWmVsh5-uRUvv1b6Rr8vh3ZMbIDzXBKsAaLuNONXbEy0aiyprkXFNvnLIfXnJJalZiVShdufyXOE9RPzdJCfTvhM1IUrStwTNBBaa2OEZh0BMRns45p7UhCMyfVw/s640/P1120167.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
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I
hung the hammock, took a swim and dried off in the sun. I realized I’d been
looking forward to this down time about as much as I looked forward to the
paddling. And it’s funny, how my incentive to paddle has changed over the
years. We came to Maine not long after living on a Greek Island, where, when I
got off work I would rush off on the scooter to a remote beach and just relax,
usually with a bottle of retsina and a book. In my first years of running our
gallery in downtown Stonington, I mostly just wanted an escape, a way to get to
some remote beach like I did in Greece – a place where I could just chill. The
kayak seemed the perfect way to get there, so I saw it more as vehicle: a way
to get from point A to point B.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBV2xGsyHrqMAS4gS4izxXohPtAKt-AZGyaVvy_kdux9ZOFc0a5IiM3AZyzRF7xsgvkdI2Hj63c2NpUSi1jQwGJG4bJAd7bkPBuWL6pGwskVWN_4q0n0sT0dPTSS7SWtqhp6y4bfCAYo/s1600/P1120217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1130" data-original-width="1506" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBV2xGsyHrqMAS4gS4izxXohPtAKt-AZGyaVvy_kdux9ZOFc0a5IiM3AZyzRF7xsgvkdI2Hj63c2NpUSi1jQwGJG4bJAd7bkPBuWL6pGwskVWN_4q0n0sT0dPTSS7SWtqhp6y4bfCAYo/s640/P1120217.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
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But as I learned how to maneuver my boat, I grew to love the
getting there at least as much as any destination. It was all about the
journey, not where I ended up. And I think that was reinforced by the kayaking
education I’ve had, the emphasis on learning to maneuver well, the joy to be
had in overcoming challenges, of riding a wave or slipping deftly through a
rocky chasm, propelled by the sea. And since I then learned to teach these
skills to other paddlers, the learning and teaching process sometimes
overshadows our surroundings.</div>
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<br /></div>
<a href="http://seakayakstonington.blogspot.com/search/label/Upwest%20and%20Downeast" target="_blank">
</a><div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://seakayakstonington.blogspot.com/search/label/Upwest%20and%20Downeast" target="_blank">But last summer when Rebecca and I spent two months paddling the Maine coast</a>, usually in heavily-laden boats, we began thinking more about
the destination. Our life was easier if we didn’t dilly-dally too much along
the way and we arrived at camp early enough to enjoy the place. We grew to love
our zero days when we stayed in camp, usually avoiding some bad weather. My
hammock became my living room and office, no matter where I hung it. And
everywhere we paddled, we were struck by the beauty of the place. It’s the
Maine coast in summer, after all: about as idyllic as it gets.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So lately it feels like my kayaking aims have come
full-circle. I love both the journey and the destination, and I’ve been finding
more time to enjoy those places. When I’m done with work early enough I’ve been
getting out for a couple hours to just ‘hang-out’ somewhere. And my evening on
Wheat Island was like that as well. I made dinner, watched the sun get absorbed
by the clouds over the Camden Hills and made myself a cup of tea as the stars
began appearing. In the morning I paddled back early, in time for a little
breakfast before my morning trip. </div>
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</style>Notes:<br />
The areas in this trip are featured in trips<a href="https://www.amazon.com/AMCs-Best-Sea-Kayaking-England-ebook/dp/B01GIJBDHA/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1533936637&sr=8-2&keywords=amc+best+sea+kayaking" target="_blank"> #14 and #15 in my guidebook</a>, <a href="https://amcstore.outdoors.org/books-maps/books/paddling/best-sea-kayaking-ne" target="_blank">AMC's Best Sea Kayaking in New England.</a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Isle Au Haut, ME, USA44.0753601 -68.633358343.8927276 -68.956081799999993 44.257992599999994 -68.3106348tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-76669316129255518382018-08-05T09:17:00.001-04:002018-08-05T09:17:06.959-04:00Lunch on Marshall Island, Dinner on Swans
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY7icPsHKHyF1nn8z78lrDJE9A0DN2yx3LRdK_z437hBLZSG_Tn8aTwTF5GNqFVDeoV29nNq3Xw14Au1nbW35Y_JoLK6QCaO6EGjhBgeVz58it9dvrA1SbGK25B16HQfr9SMy9yu4GRGA/s1600/IMG_1916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY7icPsHKHyF1nn8z78lrDJE9A0DN2yx3LRdK_z437hBLZSG_Tn8aTwTF5GNqFVDeoV29nNq3Xw14Au1nbW35Y_JoLK6QCaO6EGjhBgeVz58it9dvrA1SbGK25B16HQfr9SMy9yu4GRGA/s640/IMG_1916.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Hutch and I both had the day off and, deciding to make the
most of it, planned on a full-day paddle. Since it was a mid-day high tide and
heading south against the current didn’t make much sense, we decided to head
east, to Marshall Island. And just before we launched we discovered Old Quarry
had a boat going over to Swans Island that evening to take passengers to a
music festival at the Oddfellows Hall. Did we want to meet the boat over there,
go to the concert and catch a ride back? Amazingly, we hesitated for about
three minutes, since it hadn’t been our plan, but…well, duh. Of course we
wanted to take a one-way paddle with a shuttle back.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We chatted as we paddled over to Marshall, which made the
longer stretches go by quickly. In addition to a few parallel interests, we had
some similarities in our lifestyle choices. Hutch and his spouse Shari have
been here at Old Quarry for the summer, where they live in their 1957 ‘canned
ham’-style trailer. The trailer is pretty small – only 15 feet long… and
they’ve been living in it for 6 years! </div>
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<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="450" src="https://www.google.com/maps/embed?pb=!1m14!1m12!1m3!1d78972.78825322432!2d-68.49803183667849!3d44.14397021298076!2m3!1f0!2f0!3f0!3m2!1i1024!2i768!4f13.1!5e1!3m2!1sen!2sus!4v1533473902844" style="border: 0;" width="600"></iframe></div>
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We curved around Saddleback Island and crossed Jericho Bay
via Southern Mark Island and Saddleback Ledge. It was warm and sunny, clear,
with fairly calm seas and not much wind: the sort of day you could go just
about anywhere out there. As we neared the southwest end of Marshall Island, we
heard a distinctive exhalation of air and saw a minke whale surface not far
off, its long back curving above the surface, glistening in the sunlight until
the dark triangle of the dorsal fin appeared for a moment before the whale dove
again. Since minkes can remain submerged for some twenty minutes, it wouldn’t
have surprised us if the first glimpse had been all we’d see, but the whale
continued to surface, multiple times. We drifted and watched, all thoughts of
getting anywhere temporarily forgotten. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJEJm5Xd_Tzja14UWKcrmBZHYW-UPxh8bE4ME9S1XnYwnnJrKG-S4xsQN9d3ZPE8z5_GMEuxCaYSxQmtzhbRVSuBzfctfKujquFa251TnvoqdgtFJav7MTrJpLaaQWNeH-61bpY3u4ch4/s1600/P1110861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJEJm5Xd_Tzja14UWKcrmBZHYW-UPxh8bE4ME9S1XnYwnnJrKG-S4xsQN9d3ZPE8z5_GMEuxCaYSxQmtzhbRVSuBzfctfKujquFa251TnvoqdgtFJav7MTrJpLaaQWNeH-61bpY3u4ch4/s640/P1110861.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I think that’s when a paddle gets good: when you stop
thinking about the destination and you’re just focused on the present, wherever
you are, and it’s a bit of a gift, when those moments occur unexpectedly. We
landed in Boxam Cove and ate lunch, admiring the pink granite shoreline, banded
with dark intrusive dikes – a distinct formation found at a number of headlands
jutting southward into the sea along this stretch of coast. Of course we also
had to stop at the sandy beach at the head of Sand Cove, if only for a short
stroll on the beach and a visit to the tent platforms. We had it to ourselves.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMhNQ1sHfGVRif3q57mhuxCDKE_aayFek3hL2elpcSaarPriJeVuATP8pBx43Eu5ZvIicmdx4G8vWoGfkL3qY8mPIubQd8VAfMcP2ReCQnCBYi5Pv2YkfI14MxXi6s-9tQJ5pB2BlZO3g/s1600/P1110912.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMhNQ1sHfGVRif3q57mhuxCDKE_aayFek3hL2elpcSaarPriJeVuATP8pBx43Eu5ZvIicmdx4G8vWoGfkL3qY8mPIubQd8VAfMcP2ReCQnCBYi5Pv2YkfI14MxXi6s-9tQJ5pB2BlZO3g/s640/P1110912.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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We still had most of the afternoon to meander six or so miles
along the islands and ledges leading to Swans Island. It’s a good thing we
brought helmets, since the small swell made for some perfect rock play
conditions. Again, we lost track of time, trying to catch little waves through
the rocks or bumping over pour-overs. We could have almost forgotten our
destination. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgaX4g1Mb6rF4x57KrJv-RUbE1SjPnJDaE78jCbZGn_ifgdvSDpRGgx-wIhthSoaEL2PMVk6heFbpomc7_cNLx2Oe8GJYdBTD1TGpvnCIshmJeDccTZdls4i9nZH4oGoni5mNv1yHOT9E/s1600/P1110938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgaX4g1Mb6rF4x57KrJv-RUbE1SjPnJDaE78jCbZGn_ifgdvSDpRGgx-wIhthSoaEL2PMVk6heFbpomc7_cNLx2Oe8GJYdBTD1TGpvnCIshmJeDccTZdls4i9nZH4oGoni5mNv1yHOT9E/s640/P1110938.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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This relaxed quality to our afternoon would have been difficult if
we’d needed to paddle the ten or so miles to get directly back. Instead, we
found ourselves at the end of the day, paddling into Burnt Coat Harbor where we
waited for the Nigh Duck, floating just offshore. In the late-day light, the
harbor, full of lobster boats as well as visiting cruising boats, felt hushed. We
ransacked our supplies for any remaining food and ate afloat, watching schooner
passengers getting ferried in to the dock.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvSxjmrjmI6Ut7OIeTCp7Yl5TJlKZIZkwcVXlJD1oLDCJs4bmzievNN8S0pE4GJMjypLtXj1_CzfZCjfF7PpDgr8jnCSHGMQe7XhVUB_JaOsTbkBF-8VZgdMkv_UOzubwjq61-v_bs7pU/s1600/P1110957.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvSxjmrjmI6Ut7OIeTCp7Yl5TJlKZIZkwcVXlJD1oLDCJs4bmzievNN8S0pE4GJMjypLtXj1_CzfZCjfF7PpDgr8jnCSHGMQe7XhVUB_JaOsTbkBF-8VZgdMkv_UOzubwjq61-v_bs7pU/s640/P1110957.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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The Nigh Duck arrived and while the first passengers were
shuttled to the dock, Hutch and I climbed aboard and hoisted our kayaks to the
cabin roof. We got into some dry clothes and caught the last trip to the dock.
Despite having lived essentially next door to Swans Island for the last fifteen
years, I haven’t explored much beyond the shoreline, so it was a treat merely
to walk along the road to get to the Oddfellows Hall. It was quiet, hardly any
cars about, and I admired a few century-old homes along the winding asphalt.</div>
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The Oddfellows Hall is massive, a tall wooden antique of a
building with the auditorium, holding well over 200 people, on the second
floor. The performance was already in progress, but we were expected and a
staffer ushered us backstage and into the front row before a packed hall. The
Sweet Chariot Music Festival has been going on every summer for over twenty
years, a three-night event that attracts performers, usually with a folksy
bent, from all over. Since Swans doesn’t have much in the way of accommodations
and the last ferry leaves for Bass Harbor too early, the audience is mostly
island residents and visiting boaters. Before the evening performance, musicians
pile into boats and visit the schooners in the harbor, singing sea shanties.
According to some, some of the real musical highlights occur during the
after-parties. </div>
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But we had to leave before the show was over so we could
motor back across Jericho Bay, itself a dreamy experience. The stars were
bright, and the moon, just past full, rose over the ocean. Occasionally,
headlights flashed atop Cadillac Mountain and our re-entry into our
neighborhood was made obvious by the bright lights of the Haystack school
angling up the hillside on Stinson Neck. </div>
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Notes:</div>
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Hutch and Shari have a website called <a href="http://www.freedominacan.com/" target="_blank">Freedom In A Can</a>,
where they share their blog posts, photos and helpful hints for those
interested in their mobile lifestyle. They also write blog posts for <a href="https://blog.thedyrt.com/category/full-time-campers/" target="_blank">The Dyrt. </a></div>
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The <a href="http://www.sweetchariotmusicfestival.com/" target="_blank">Sweet Chariot Music Festival</a> happens around this time
every summer. What a cool event: check it out! </div>
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Each act in the festival gets about fifteen minutes on
stage. One group I particularly liked was a college-age trio from Camden called
<a href="http://pushfarther.com/" target="_blank">The Push Farther Project</a>. They play a variety of instruments, including cello
and other strings, and create unusual harmonies to sing what they call
“documentary” songs that incorporate stories gleaned from other people’s
experiences.</div>
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Trip #13 <a href="https://amcstore.outdoors.org/books-maps/books/paddling/best-sea-kayaking-ne" target="_blank">in my guidebook</a>,<a href="https://www.amazon.com/AMCs-Best-Sea-Kayaking-England-ebook/dp/B01GIJBDHA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1533473592&sr=8-1&keywords=amcs+best+sea+kayaking+in+new+england" target="_blank"> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">AMC’s Best Sea Kayaking in New England</i></a> covers Swans Island. Buy
this book. Buy this book. Buy this book. Repeat after me… I will buy this book…</div>
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/seakayakstonington/" target="_blank">I've been posting fairly frequently on Instagram, using it like a photo journal, and of course gradually accruing visits to MITA islands for the 30 In 30 challenge. </a></div>
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<a href="https://mita.org/30in30/" target="_blank">Ah yes, the MITA 30 In 30 Challenge- info here. </a></div>
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</style>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Swans Island, ME, USA44.1454426 -68.45141039999998643.9630676 -68.774133899999981 44.3278176 -68.128686899999991tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-13678759980382754892018-07-27T07:59:00.000-04:002018-07-27T07:59:12.342-04:00Greetings From Tumbledown Dick Head!
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbm-vBze3H7I_tvLKEKDJym6DBsFLY1c7DUsoBwjvbbi5d2xXS4U2z2SMquHHBCb6w0sxGhfwnL5QJZYMH-LCfLeKsH650-pP6kl8ke1StVZP5C5vloVwSFXbAbewv1KZBKGBsKLwRxI/s1600/P1110681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbm-vBze3H7I_tvLKEKDJym6DBsFLY1c7DUsoBwjvbbi5d2xXS4U2z2SMquHHBCb6w0sxGhfwnL5QJZYMH-LCfLeKsH650-pP6kl8ke1StVZP5C5vloVwSFXbAbewv1KZBKGBsKLwRxI/s640/P1110681.JPG" width="638" /></a></div>
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I’ve wanted to use that title for some time now. Tumbledown
Dick Head is a steep section of shoreline on Pleasant Bay, in Addison Maine
that until a few days ago I’d only experienced as that – a feature on the chart
that just naturally seemed to invite exploration. Nate and I have been fond of
using it during tabletop navigation exercises, and last year, when Rebecca and
I camped nearby during our Upwest and Downeast trip, I kept looking forlornly
up the bay, wanting to check it out. We finally managed to get there. </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="450" src="https://www.google.com/maps/embed?pb=!1m14!1m12!1m3!1d56644.853161174506!2d-67.74567859539168!3d44.56747595475448!2m3!1f0!2f0!3f0!3m2!1i1024!2i768!4f13.1!5e1!3m2!1sen!2sus!4v1532660988660" style="border: 0;" width="600"></iframe></div>
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We had a day off and drove to the Addison Point launch,
where we caught the outgoing tidal current on the Pleasant River that helped us
along. The wind from the south made it a bumpy ride, and by the time the river
turned to Pleasant Bay, fingers of dense fog began drifting in. We navigated
buoy to buoy, a quick ride to Mink Island, a tiny MITA island, where we stopped
for lunch and the fog thickened. We found ourselves, as we often do, off in our
own little world for a bit.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI99lWBpDqN8GFiP0y-7zuQejcBstsaaT22PwvRs91xalJ1JkRqY1dB-yeaKr9UBx5qTyQ2wrduknO2JebH5AujvDHhFl7iTn-OHzeMI-yRqPme0T-NKtH3Sc-mC351QqF7y9BsFqtFiU/s1600/P1110691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI99lWBpDqN8GFiP0y-7zuQejcBstsaaT22PwvRs91xalJ1JkRqY1dB-yeaKr9UBx5qTyQ2wrduknO2JebH5AujvDHhFl7iTn-OHzeMI-yRqPme0T-NKtH3Sc-mC351QqF7y9BsFqtFiU/s640/P1110691.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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We were already feeling good just to be away from work, off
the island (Deer Isle) for a day, to be off doing our own thing for a change. I
hadn’t driven to many new places to launch for a while, and it all felt
familiar and good… stopping to pick up a submarine sandwich to take along for
lunch, chatting with a local guy who’d just returned to the launch after
tending his recreational lobster traps, watching the current heading out to
sea, knowing we’d planned well and we’d get a considerable push from it. And
then finally, landing in a place we hadn’t been before, checking out the
campsite, taking it all in. </div>
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Since this is the Maine Island Trail’s 30<sup>th</sup> year,
they’re doing a challenge called “<a href="https://mita.org/30in30/" target="_blank">MITA 30 in 30</a>” that encourages people to visit
at least thirty MITA islands this summer by offering a cap for those who manage
30 islands. I’ve been posting photos on Instagram as I’ve visited the islands,
which has been a fun challenge and an easy way to document it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjabdooaExpDuzDO-wkLdykmGRUJ_I_FGebWc9JYiva6LL_TTd3M6oYlGaCgwh-mu4Ps9QmBxA7rh_7vhn5zEZB1xExy_yyeQA61_zdYHhr7bnvWNHjjHXSeeRh_YESuB7cv55rSDetRlc/s1600/P1110716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjabdooaExpDuzDO-wkLdykmGRUJ_I_FGebWc9JYiva6LL_TTd3M6oYlGaCgwh-mu4Ps9QmBxA7rh_7vhn5zEZB1xExy_yyeQA61_zdYHhr7bnvWNHjjHXSeeRh_YESuB7cv55rSDetRlc/s640/P1110716.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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If the fog had been less dense, we would have continued to
Sheep Island, which we enjoyed so much last summer that we stayed there twice,
and even spent a zero day hanging out there. But the fog was about as dense as
it gets, so instead we paddled through the Birch Islands and followed a bearing
over to the Addison shore, where we visited Marsh Harbor Island, another MITA
island, and then followed the shore north to Tumbledown Dick Head. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOETXTW4k7veg5zhZbnFSD9DctK9EI18BIGbVGC1wZYSSTQdnd3wJMoWRNV0v0fgWhTLnm0Y-mSZinnNfQHLCtKW_8ZVxWWCcFqe6qgyNW7QK8aD8qza44-tY8o0mRVBGeyb9Aq_46_oI/s1600/P1110730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOETXTW4k7veg5zhZbnFSD9DctK9EI18BIGbVGC1wZYSSTQdnd3wJMoWRNV0v0fgWhTLnm0Y-mSZinnNfQHLCtKW_8ZVxWWCcFqe6qgyNW7QK8aD8qza44-tY8o0mRVBGeyb9Aq_46_oI/s640/P1110730.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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As far as I can tell, the odd name of the place probably
comes either from Richard Cromwell, a 17<sup>th</sup> century English head of
state whose ineffectiveness earned him a short time in power and the nickname,
or from a pub named after him. Either way, it made me want to go to this place,
which is worth visiting – a steep cliff rising from the bay – but perhaps less
singular than its name. </div>
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Of course, by this time, low tide had come and gone, and we
had a nice push from the current to help us the 6 or 7 nautical miles back to
the launch.</div>
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Notes</div>
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/seakayakstonington/" target="_blank">You can see my Instagram photos here.</a> I've more or less stopped using Facebook except to post this blog - for several reasons, but I enjoy the photo sharing more than the sharing of just about everything else that you find on Facebook. I know - you probably followed the link here from Facebook... probably the only reason I still use it at all.</div>
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</style>Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Addison, ME, USA44.6184102 -67.74416450000001144.256092699999996 -68.389611500000015 44.9807277 -67.0987175tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-63968468628943682392018-07-24T07:45:00.000-04:002018-07-24T07:45:24.128-04:00After Work on Millet, Around Isle au Haut<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzxIhQ1C_rkx1DgD0wxi2Svm6Q_WxHfj0A_v99XLOG42ohAGBNN70NP0cuPfX9Nw_rmf7NE80_qeSFO0Mv8O1ml15r5GRrFtwcLUhpH87XNlC0KJhBa99NgKUnESz35BAvjXsrr9ndP0/s1600/P1110639.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzxIhQ1C_rkx1DgD0wxi2Svm6Q_WxHfj0A_v99XLOG42ohAGBNN70NP0cuPfX9Nw_rmf7NE80_qeSFO0Mv8O1ml15r5GRrFtwcLUhpH87XNlC0KJhBa99NgKUnESz35BAvjXsrr9ndP0/s640/P1110639.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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On Friday, I spent my first day in
Old Quarry’s new downtown shop, or as we call it, ‘The Outpost.’ It was a quiet
day there, with occasional people trickling in throughout the day, buying
t-shirts and browsing the odds and ends we have for sale there. <br />
<br /></div>
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<br />
But
Rebecca had a morning trip, and since her boat was already packed and she had
no other work for the rest of the day, she headed out on her own and texted me
that she’d ended up on Millet Island, suggesting I join her after work. I
hurriedly closed the shop and back at Old Quarry, got my gear together. It was
almost six by the time I was on the water, but I aimed toward Millet and focused
on keeping a brisk pace that reminded me of the post-work paddles I took during
our first years of having the gallery in downtown Stonington. I’d shoot out
into the islands with a breathless cadence, exorcising my storekeeping
frustrations, and by the time I felt myself buoyed by a mild swell, my mind
felt cleansed, my anxieties momentarily set aside. As I approached Millet
Island, I saw Rebecca standing with her sketchpad near the water, and I paddled
up to her casually and said “hi.”</div>
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<br />
We
didn’t have a lot of time before it would start getting dark, but even an hour
out there is a gift. I took a swim. The sun still felt warm enough to lie on a
slab of granite to dry. We sat with cold beverages and ate chips and watched
the sun lower over the Hells Half Acre neighborhood. We reminded ourselves that
this was always out there waiting; we merely needed the time and the motivation
to get out there. As we paddled back to Webb Cove, fog drifted back in, lit
brilliantly red by the sunset. I left my boat packed, since I had a full day
trip the next morning. All I knew was that I had a couple who wanted to go to
Isle au Haut.</div>
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<br />
It
turned out that they not only wanted to get to Isle au Haut, but to the
southern end of it – not a small trip by any means, but they assured me they’d
been taking paddles at home, working up to it, and in a tandem they were at
least powered by two paddlers. We arrived at Steves Island 30 or 40 minutes after
launching – a brisk pace – and we explored for a few minutes to let some fog
drift past before heading across Merchants Row.<br />
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<br />
The pace continued and I sensed
that we might actually get to the southern end, which we did finally. The tides
were in our favor, with low tide at around one. The weather was calm, the fog
had cleared, and the seas were small, so it seemed crazy to not take advantage
of it. Of course, by the time you get to Western Head, you may as well continue
with a circumnavigation. We’d gone a little under twelve nautical miles, and it
would take just over twelve to get back via circumnavigating.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqIinYdNNqMkJmN60Z9sh7beKhnT-OAWp4zGSpewVlISqh9Ga7IWuqAa_WlFfg6YZ6gswhQCZk6BYqicXv_0oSmrt-1Tk99PnHEspqLnuozCOWM0YBKvG53ypwNi_gpk3gZIMNNN76UNk/s1600/P1110662.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqIinYdNNqMkJmN60Z9sh7beKhnT-OAWp4zGSpewVlISqh9Ga7IWuqAa_WlFfg6YZ6gswhQCZk6BYqicXv_0oSmrt-1Tk99PnHEspqLnuozCOWM0YBKvG53ypwNi_gpk3gZIMNNN76UNk/s640/P1110662.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Of course by that
time my clients were pretty worn-out, but there wasn’t much choice but to dig
in and get ourselves back… which we did. I had to radio the office to expect us
late, promising to punch out at my usual time instead of my actual guiding
time, nearly four hours beyond what I could get paid for on a full-day trip.
Perhaps this isn’t sustainable as a business model, but at least I got to paddle around Isle au Haut, which is better than sitting in a shop all day.<br />
</div>
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Notes</div>
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More information about these trips
may be found in Trips #14 and #15 in my guidebook <a href="https://www.amazon.com/AMCs-Best-Sea-Kayaking-England-ebook/dp/B01GIJBDHA/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1532282720&sr=8-2&keywords=amc%27s+best+sea+kayaking+in+new+england" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">AMC’s Best Sea Kayaking in New England.</i></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Care to join me on a more epic
full-day paddle like this one? Call Old Quarry (207/367-8977) and tell them Michael sent you. </div>
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</style> Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Isle Au Haut, ME, USA44.0753601 -68.633358343.8927276 -68.956081799999993 44.257992599999994 -68.3106348tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-87637430147314468442018-05-28T21:25:00.000-04:002018-05-28T23:35:20.038-04:00Time-Out on Western Head<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9EhwCwlMrGv3SW5hVg-ZHg_kEh3aeH48iBfa5bVwA3y2dl_tLSYQIHUi4e-pWsDOr2L5qmImoQ2eAvAbk6tyy6zpESu02r42Zb6LmEhom2tsYSOSGnVvMw6nyeWDdHw9I9MpjVuhSxko/s1600/P1110059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9EhwCwlMrGv3SW5hVg-ZHg_kEh3aeH48iBfa5bVwA3y2dl_tLSYQIHUi4e-pWsDOr2L5qmImoQ2eAvAbk6tyy6zpESu02r42Zb6LmEhom2tsYSOSGnVvMw6nyeWDdHw9I9MpjVuhSxko/s640/P1110059.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Sometimes, during the first five minutes of a paddle it
feels like hard work, and I wonder: how am I going to go x miles today? And
then, hopefully, we become a little less aware of the effort, focusing on
executing a clean and efficient forward stroke, making a few turns around the
rocks along shore, and maybe we start chatting. The miles go past, we get where
we’re going, a little more worn-out than maybe we’d like, but we’re paddling
again. </div>
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It was like that the other day when Rebecca and I left Old
Quarry for a two-night trip out to Duck Harbor on Isle au Haut. And we weren’t
surprised to feel the paddling muscles grind so slowly into action; we’d just
gone through a winter of no paddling – the longest paddle-less stretch we’d endured
since we dove into the sport. In Newfoundland, we got in a few excursions into
November before the wind and snow and cold made such trips less enticing.
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But it felt good to be paddling in the Stonington
archipelago again. We’d been here at Old Quarry Ocean Adventures for seven
weeks, and we’d kept busy, helping to get the place ready for another summer.
It’s amazing how much pre-season work there is to do here: downed trees, tired
kayaks, a new reservation system in the office, boats to launch – projects
everywhere you look. Old Quarry is even opening a new shop in town. And in
early May the kayaking work began to trickle-in again, both here and with
Pinniped. So I had paddled some, but only for work. The work/play paradigm
quickly reminded me of what a gift last summer was: two months of living out of
our kayaks along the Maine coast, just going where we wanted to go, at our own
pace. </div>
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A few days before Memorial Day weekend when the season really began, we had coveted reservations at Duck Harbor, Acadia
National Park’s remotest and smallest camping area, with only five
Adirondack-style shelters near Isle au Haut’s southern end. The day felt
perfect: sunny, almost warm, and we took our time, stopping to take-in Harbor
Island and then Nathan Island before paddling through the Isle au Haut
Thorofare past the village, where hardly a soul stirred. Passing Robinson Point
Lighthouse and then Trial Point, we were drawn onward by the gently-building
swell and the broad horizon ahead. The southwest shore reached seaward, a
craggy stretch, interspersed with cobble beaches. By then, the western sky had
darkened with tall cumulonimbus clouds, and it seemed prudent to get where we
were going.
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It was a good choice. Thunder rumbled as we pulled our boats
ashore and carried our gear in Ikea bags up to our site. We’d no sooner stashed
everything inside the 3-sided Adirondack shelter when the storm hit. I hung my
hammock across the entrance and watched the rain pouring from the roof only
feet away. Nice.</div>
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We spent most of our time there hiking: slow dreamy hikes
out to Ebens Head and around Western Head. We paused on cobble beaches for
hours at a time to read, take pictures, have lunch or just nap in the sun. It
was pretty quiet: few other people. </div>
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While all of Isle au Haut is relatively
remote and wild, the southern end, which is mostly part of Acadia National Park
is especially off in its own world. </div>
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On Friday morning we woke to the white background roar of
the sea: strong southwest winds and swell, the surface of West Penobscot Bay a
messy froth of breaking waves. It was a challenging start, and a bit
intimidating since we were out of practice, but we fell into the familiar
rhythm, occasionally pausing as we heard a beam wave rise beside us and
crumbling beneath our hulls, sometimes opening a plunging trough before us.
Frequent splashes over the bow or the cockpit reminded us of how cold the water
was – the buoys all still reporting high forties – and increased our resolve to
remain above the surface. We got through it, and past Trial Point we were able
to turn north and let the seas push us toward the lighthouse where the waves
diminished. </div>
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We took a break on Steves and made it back to Old Quarry in
time for my afternoon trip.</div>
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Notes</div>
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<a href="https://www.nps.gov/acad/planyourvisit/duckharbor.htm" target="_blank">Duck Harbor Campground </a>requires reservations well in advance and is mostly
filled in early April after reservations open. However, the campground has a
new online system that is easier than the old mail-in process. It also makes it
possible that cancellations could result in last-minute openings, so it’s worth
checking, even in mid-summer. </div>
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<a href="http://seakayakstonington.blogspot.com/2012/05/springtime-on-isle-au-haut.html" target="_blank">Here’s a post from another trip when we camped at Duck Harbor.</a></div>
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This route is covered in Trip #15 in my guidebook, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://amcstore.outdoors.org/books-maps/books/paddling/best-sea-kayaking-ne" target="_blank">AMC’s Best Sea Kayaking in New England</a>. </i>If
you haven’t already, you really ought to buy this book. </div>
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If a guided experience in this area interests you, I will be
guiding a multi-day trip in the archipelago/Isle au Haut area, in early August through
<a href="http://www.pinnipedkayak.com/" target="_blank">Pinniped Kayak</a>. </div>
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-->Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Isle Au Haut, ME, USA44.0753601 -68.633358343.8927276 -68.956081799999993 44.257992599999994 -68.3106348tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-68329597652286777352017-12-12T17:18:00.000-05:002017-12-12T22:44:01.168-05:00Green Gardens Hike, Newfoundland<style>
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The northeast corner of Bonne Bay rises up to a rugged,
barren ridge called The Lookout Hills, the biggest of which – Big Lookout – is
600 meters (1968 feet) above sea level. And it’s only about a mile from the
sea, so it’s a pretty steep slope that more or less drops right into the ocean.
From where we’re living right now, we look out across Bonne Bay at this ridge,
as well as the mouth of the bay. It is spectacular. We've been here about two
months now, and it is still difficult to look out the window without getting
momentarily distracted – a good problem to have.</div>
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It’s good to have such a view when you’re inside working
much of the time, which is how we spend the first parts of our days.
Distracting as it may be, it makes you feel like you’re not totally missing-out
on what’s outside. Sometime in the afternoon we usually get out for a walk on
one of the shorter trails, not so far away, as much to stretch our legs and get
a little exercise as to explore and take a few snapshots. There have been a few
days when we realize, usually too late, that it would have been okay for a
paddle, perhaps in one of the more sheltered nooks of the bay, but we’ve felt
more motivated to walk than paddle. Most days the temperatures have hovered in
the low 30s (or around zero, as they say around here) and it tends to get windy
at some point. </div>
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I’ve often gazed across the bay at the Lookout Hills and
wondered what it would be like over there. Just beyond that ridge, around the
corner from this view we have, the shore stretches about 8 statute miles to the
southwest, to the town of Trout River. It’s a rugged stretch of coast, but
there’s one area with a popular trail, called Green Gardens, so named for the
gentle, rolling pastures perched atop the steep, shore-side cliffs. It is all
part of Gros Morne National Park.</div>
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A week ago we took a hike down to<a href="https://www.pc.gc.ca/en/pn-np/nl/grosmorne/activ/experiences/randonnee-hiking/gg" target="_blank"> Green Gardens</a>. This is a
full-day trip for us, since the trailhead is about an hour’s drive from here,
and the hike itself- the short version that just goes from the trailhead down
to the sea, and then back up – is about 9 or 10 kilometers (6 or 7 miles total).
(The longer version is now closed, due to erosion). The
weather forecast didn’t look great- a bit windy in the morning, increasing to a
gale warning in the afternoon, along with the arrival of a snowstorm. But it
was the day we had planned, the day we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">could</i>
do it, so we stuck to our plan – which, I was too aware, is the auspicious
beginning of many outdoor survival stories. </div>
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The trailhead lies high on a plain between The Tablelands
and The Lookout Hills, in a treeless, rocky tundra, gorgeously austere, but
with nothing to buffer the wind. We had it at our backs for the first stretch,
a mile or so in which we climbed a couple hundred feet in elevation, and were
aware that returning against it might be difficult. We reasoned that after we
crested the hilltop, we would be somewhat sheltered as we descended toward the
ocean- and we were. It’s a different landscape on that side, with trees, ponds
and meadows. The Gulf of Saint Lawrence came into view, steely grey, corrugated
with whitecaps, and we made our way down toward it, stepping through shallow
snow, which tapered-out into mud and bare rock as we descended.<br />
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It’s a bit backward from hiking up mountains. We hiked
mostly downhill to our destination, and had an uphill climb to look forward to
for the trip back. But the destination – Green Gardens – was astonishingly
beautiful, even now, when it wasn’t all that green. We came to the tops of
steep cliffs and walked along these meadows and pastures, dotted with piles of
sheep poop, looking down at rocks and sea stacks below. It invited us to
imagine paddling there. We were glad to not be paddling then- cold and windy as
it was, but what a playground! The near-shore area lay in the lee, the
whitecaps and big, lumpy seas beginning maybe a quarter-mile out. The shore had
big, dark beaches and cliffs – probably anywhere from fifty to a hundred feet –
rising just above them. </div>
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And the pastures themselves felt like playgrounds, grassy
fields to romp through, with weird rock formations like sculptures or perhaps
the set of a Dr. Seuss drama. On top of that, there are some campsites there:
tent platforms, picnic tables, privies. I wouldn’t want to carry boats and gear
up there from the shore (and you would probably need to carry everything up,
unless you were sure the tide wouldn’t come too high) but it would be a great
place walk to and camp. </div>
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We walked a little ways down the shore, had some lunch and
then headed back-up. We knew the storm was coming, and as if on cue, the snow
began.</div>
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We encountered a young woman walking toward us, which came
as a surprise, with the storm coming, and she didn’t look terribly prepared.
But she also looked young and energetic. The wind increased as we climbed – we
had nearly 800 feet in elevation to attain – and as we came back over the
ridge, it hit us in the face, driving the snow – and sometimes painful bits of
sleet – into our faces. But we were warmed-up from the climb, and just leaned
into it, savoring the severity of the scene. It was a relief to climb back into
the car. </div>
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We worried about the young woman we’d encountered, and stopped at the
park office to let them know she was out there. A ranger said he’d keep an eye
out and make sure she got back to her car.
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Notes: </div>
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This hike is in <a href="http://www.pc.gc.ca/en/pn-np/nl/grosmorne" target="_blank">Gros Morne National Park</a>. Visitor’s centers
are closed for the winter, but you can find information on their website. They
sell a small-scale topo map that covers the whole park – not a lot of detail,
but it gives you an idea where you’re going. </div>
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I also have enjoyed <a href="http://shopdownhome.com/Hikes-of-Western-Newfoundland--Katie-Broadhurst-Alexandra-Fortin_p_304.html" target="_blank"><i>Hikes of Western Newfoundland</i>, by Katie Broadhurst and Alexandra Fortin.</a> It
provides basic details for a number of hikes in the area, including several off-trail,
multi-day backcountry hikes, which certainly fuels my imagination for
warmer-weather treks. Alex Fortin and her partner Cory also have a website
called <a href="http://www.wildlyintrepid.com/" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wildly Intrepid</i></a>, which is full
of inspiration for adventure travel. </div>
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I’m really pleased that a photo I took was chosen as the
winner of The Preserve Prize in <a href="https://www.mcht.org/mewildcoastcontest" target="_blank">Maine Coast Heritage Trust’s Wild Maine CoastContest</a>. The photo was taken at Western Head Preserve in Cutler, and is
described in <a href="http://seakayakstonington.blogspot.ca/2017/09/the-bold-coast-boot-head_14.html" target="_blank">this blog post from September</a>. There were a lot of gorgeous photos
entered in the contest; I’m very grateful to have been chosen.</div>
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We still don’t have much in the way of plans; we’re mostly
focusing on the present, trying to get as much work done as we can. Hopefully
we’ll share some of that before too long. Of course, lately our distractions have included not just the magnificent view from the window, but from where I sit at the kitchen table we see the occasional spouts and diving tail flukes of humpback whales, as well as others. There's herring in the bay, and at night, the lights of seining boats float out there in the dark.</div>
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We’ve also been able to spend some
time with Rebecca’s parents, and with other family and friends. I’ve continued
to post snapshots every now and then on<a href="https://www.instagram.com/seakayakstonington/" target="_blank"> Instagram</a>. I’m still not sure why I’m
doing this (a bit like writing blog posts) but it is oddly compelling, and I
enjoy perusing other people’s photos more than a lot of the ‘content’ that gets
passed-around on Facebook. </div>
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Oh yes, I suppose it's worth mentioning: my sea kayaking guidebook, <i><a href="https://amcstore.outdoors.org/books-maps/books/paddling/best-sea-kayaking-ne" target="_blank">AMC's Best Sea Kayaking in New England</a></i> makes a great gift. </div>
Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com1Trout River, NL A0K, Canada49.471061 -58.12679800000000849.4297925 -58.207479000000006 49.5123295 -58.04611700000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476920990213611966.post-1918073244012594572017-10-28T13:41:00.000-04:002017-10-28T18:24:02.774-04:00Gros Morne Mountain, Newfoundland<style>
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Gros Morne Mountain lies just north of Bonne Bay, a fiord
reaching fifteen miles into Newfoundland’s rugged western coast. At 806 meters
(2644 feet) it is the second-highest mountain in the province, and for anyone
with hiking aspirations in the valleys around it, the peak is the elephant in
the room, constantly beckoning. And while it doesn’t rise that much higher than
some of the high spots atop the plateaus around it, the other peaks don’t have
marked trails ascending to their summits; one could certainly get up them, but
it would be a great deal more work. While mountains of this height may not
sound so big, remember that the hike itself starts at an elevation of just 10
meters, so the elevation gain is akin to some of the <a href="http://seakayakstonington.blogspot.ca/2017/10/a-tale-of-two-summits-mounts-katahdin.html" target="_blank">bigger hikes in Maine</a> or
New Hampshire.</div>
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I’ve wanted to get up the mountain on previous visits to
Newfoundland, but since those visits have been during colder months, I never
had conditions to do so. This visit was beginning to look the same until we got
a break in the weather a few days ago: no rain, not much wind, and air temps in
the sixties. Judging from the five or six cars in the lot, I wasn’t the only
one taking advantage of the nice day. The first 4 kilometers (about 2.5 miles –
I’m doing the conversions as much for myself, since I still think in miles) is
a gradual ascent through mossy forest and bog. It’s well-trodden, and
well-maintained, with plenty of boardwalks and steps. It isn’t that steep, but
I still found myself huffing at some point, something that seems to happen on a
lot of hikes. It’s like I wanted to get up here so much that I forgot that it’s
work. But then I slow down and it gets easier.</div>
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At an elevation of 1100 feet, the trail reaches a saddle below
Gros Morne Mountain, where Ferry Brook flows down a valley and forms a series
of small, shallow ponds. It is an astoundingly gorgeous spot. The mountains
rise steeply above, and stretch below to the towns along the edge of Bonne Bay.
I sat and ate a snack, watching a moose do the same down below in a pond. I
could also see the tiny specks of hikers beginning the ascent of The Gulley,
which looks more like the site of a landslide than a trail. </div>
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Getting to these ponds would be a worthwhile hike in itself,
and the park signs suggest as much, encouraging those who are less-prepared to
call it good and linger here awhile before heading back down. The sign says, in
effect “So you think <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> was a hike,
do ya?” The signage also counsels that if the top of the mountain is obscured
by clouds, don’t proceed any farther, that the trails are not that well-marked. But when I
crossed the bridge over the brook and started-up The Gulley, the sky above was
blue and cloudless. </div>
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At the bottom of The Gulley, it seems inevitable that you
pause and consider the climb ahead. It rises some fourteen to fifteen-hundred
feet in under a mile – a steep ascent over a loose jumble of boulders. After
such a well-marked trail below, it’s a bit of a surprise to find this stretch
almost completely unmarked, almost non-existent in places. Unlike the trails in
New England, these have no painted blazes anywhere. There are maybe three stone
cairns, each one supporting a post with an arrow that essentially points up. Of
course, you couldn’t get lost in the Gulley, but it takes a little more effort
to put your feet onto rocks that don’t shift sideways, so you’re always looking
for the easiest path. </div>
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But you get a lot of bang for your buck very quickly.
I kept pausing to look out at the view and down at the ponds where I could
still make-out the moose, knee deep, munching away like a cow in a pasture.
These pauses helped me slow-down and catch my breath. </div>
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At the top of The Gulley, the edge of the plateau is fairly
distinct: arctic tundra on top, thousand-foot drops below. The landscape
levels-out somewhat, gradually climbing toward the summit over the next
half-mile, following cairns supporting fluorescent yellow trail markers. The
markers are not that far-spaced, but it's easy to imagine being here in dense
clouds, unable to see the next one. It would be very easy, compass or not, to
lose the trail and venture closer than you want to some very precipitous drops.
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The wind picked-up as I ascended the last gradual stretch. At
the summit, a couple sat in the lee of a stone wall and I found another where I
ate my lunch. Someone had tied a Canadian flag, inscribed with many signatures,
to the summit sign, which had a generic, Department of Transportation look, in
both French and English. But it let you know you were in the highest spot,
which is good since the rise from the rolling tundra around it is so gradual.
After awhile, I noticed a few rock ptarmigans nearby, a grouse-like bird with
white arctic coloring that blended-in extraordinarily well.</div>
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The couple headed onward and I watched them until they
became specks, giving the massive landscape around us some scale, as did, half
mile away, a herd of caribou moving slowly across the plain. </div>
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The trail continues as a loop, gradually descending the
summit along the edge of a huge drop down to Ten-Mile Pond. This stretch of
trail takes over three miles to get down to the junction with The Gulley
section, so it is a good deal more gradual than the ascent. But the views are
over the top the whole way; I often stopped to just take it in. Back at the
ponds, the moose (I assume it was the same one, a female) hadn’t moved much from
where she’d earlier grazed, and now the light on the mountains began to take-on
that late-afternoon glow as I hiked the last few miles back to the car.<br />
<br />
Notes:<br />
We've been sea kayaking a couple of times and I'll write about that in another post soon.<br />
<br />
Off Center Harbor, a subscription boating website made an eight-minute video about out summer paddling trip along the Maine coast. For now at least, <a href="https://www.offcenterharbor.com/pygmy-1710-maine-coast-kayak/?utm_source=VIDEO%3A+Kayaking+the+Maine+Coast+in+a+Pygmy+Coho&utm_campaign=VIDEO%3A+Kayaking+the+Maine+Coast+in+a+Pygmy+Coho&utm_medium=email" target="_blank">they're sharing it for free (click here)</a> so that Pygmy Boats can share it with their subscribers. I'll admit it's a little weird to see myself on video, especially as I rhapsodize about the differences between skegs and rudders (not really a favorite topic, but it was of interest to the filmmakers).</div>
Michael Daughertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02820217758886100711noreply@blogger.com0Gros Morne National Park, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada49.652015 -57.75575790000004924.1299805 -99.064351900000048 75.1740495 -16.447163900000049