January Thaw

This past week we had several warm-ish days with not much wind, and I used them to criss-cross the archipelago, revisiting favorite spots.

I even visited a few places for the first time. I tend to think I've been just about everywhere in the Stonington- Isle au Haut archipelago, but every now and then I'll paddle past a ledge and realize I've never landed there. That's Scraggy Island Ledge (above). Good spot for a cup of coffee and a granola bar.

Nate joined us for a foggy excursion and we worked on synchronized strokes. 

We visited favorite haunts: Wreck, Gooseberry, McGlathery, No Mans, and while the conditions were pretty mild, we managed to mark plenty of rocks with our gel coat. The tides were new moon-high- over twelve feet, and we watched currents moving through the narrow spots, carrying-off high tide debris.

 We were just happy to be out.

We played in some tiny waves off Gooseberry.

 And arced around Spruce and Devil, threading our way back into the Thorofare.

 I could have easily forgotten it was January. The warm days continued. I paddled hat-less and wore sunglasses.

I took a bunch of pictures and drank tea on ledges. Like Spruce Island Ledge (above).

It might have been enough to make one wonder: "shouldn't I be doing something... else? Isn't all this paddling a bit self-indulgent?"

Well that's just crazy talk. Sure, there's bills to be paid, etc, but I kept watching the weather, knowing these days wouldn't last, and they didn't (and they won't). After tea on The Fort, and then on Second Island (had to give the west side equal time) I saw the new weather moving-in, and as I put my gear away that evening, figured it might be awhile before I got out again.

But that was my mistake. If I'd been on my game today, I could have squeezed-in a decent paddle before the temperature dropped and the winds picked-up. Honestly, I felt ready for a break, which is pretty amazing this time of the year.

Steves, Gooseberry

Over forty degrees, not much wind, some sun... A good day, finally to get out for a paddle. It had been awhile. In Newfoundland for the holidays, we had watched the weather, the high winds and blowing snow that stung the face, and usually agreed that it was just as well we hadn’t brought the boats. Even the 650-foot ferries sat-out some of the gales, delaying our return.

Near Bonne Bay, Newfoundland

Back home, it took some effort to get back into our routine, but oddly, it seemed to fall more into place when we took the better part of a day off and went paddling. “Where to?” we asked at the ramp in Stonington, and it seemed obvious enough. Point toward Steves, take it from there.

Fishermen took advantage of the weather window as well, the harbor humming with lobster boats as we headed across the Thorofare. “Feels like a long time since I’ve paddled,” Rebecca said, and I agreed. Not counting Sunday’s pool session (which I mostly spent standing in the water beside boats) it had been nearly a month since my last excursion. It felt good to follow the shoreline of Green Island, getting the feel for it again, edging and turning around the rocks as small waves pushed us back and forth. We pointed toward the familiar sloping profile of Steves and soon realized we were being set to the west by the ebbing tide. We let it take us: along the shore of Potato, past the sandbar poking-out from George Head until Steves Island lay just before us. At nearly low tide, the easiest sandy beach was on the east side. We pulled-up for a break.

Most of the snow had melted or blown away. We walked around the island, took a few pictures, picked-up some garbage. The sky turned darker as a band of clouds moved-in from the southwest. We kept moving, paddling out past Wreck and then Round Islands.

The wind began to pick-up, just a bit, and we rounded McGlathery, its southeast shoreline stretched ahead of us, granite ledges sloping down into the waves. Giant boulders poised on the incline, apparently ready to roll into the ocean, as they have been since the glacier left them there.

We stopped on Gooseberry Island and ate lunch. Like Steves, Gooseberry is small enough that you can walk around it in a few minutes. You don’t forget that you’re on an island. We sat on a driftwood log, staring out at the open ocean beyond Fog Island, watching lobster boats belching black exhaust as they sped the last miles toward home.

There’s a lot to like about Gooseberry Island, but the boulders really stand-out. The eastern end is strewn with glacial erratics, a random sprinkling of granite boulders, some a good bit larger than us. We wandered among them and marveled. If it had been warmer, we might have spent the afternoon marveling.

But even at forty degrees, it’s prudent to keep moving, keep the blood pumping. Once on the water again, we felt plenty warm, and headed back to Stonington. 

Lunch on Gooseberry

 

Dick and Kale met me at the ramp in Stonington. Temps hovered around freezing with a breezy north wind, but the sun on my face felt warm. The breeze gave us a push as we paddled toward the sloping profile of Steves Island.

 

I hadn’t paddled here in awhile. Lately I’ve preferred to car-top elsewhere, getting better acquainted with areas I don’t know as well, a satisfying process as I stare at the chart and see the pieces coming together. The satisfaction deepens when you return and see those places at a different tide, or in different weather, and your experience with a place starts to take on layers, informed by what happened each time you were there. 

A few weeks ago, paddling around Bartlett Island off MDI, I remembered how a group I had guided there started singing. As I paddled, the song came back to me- not the popular rock band’s version, but the students paddling their kayaks version. The song drifted through my head as I slowed to stare at tall icicles dripping down the cliffs. Then, below those icicles there was movement, and a coyote took a good look at me before loping off into the woods. And so another layer was added to my experience of the place.

 

 

But in the Stonington archipelago, my adopted backyard, there are enough layers of experience that they all blend together. I've paddled certain routes enough that it sometimes feels like a routine evening stroll, my mind wandering among my thoughts as much as the landscape.  Other times, it’s all still new. Having someone else along adds a whole new dimension. We paddled to some favorite spots: the tiny island paradise of Steves, McGlathery with its boulders perched on sloping slabs of granite, and on to Gooseberry, where we took a break. Out of the wind, with the sun on us, we felt plenty warm.

Meandering into the wind back toward Stonington, we hopscotched in the lee of islands: back to McGlathery, over to Spruce and on toward Hells Half Acre. Wherever we stopped, the beaches looked inviting with little to visually suggest that it was January. In colder months as the water cools, the algae thins-out, and the water turns clear... inviting even, if you weren't moving just to stay warm.

Despite the name of this blog, I sometimes wonder how long I can keep writing about paddling around Stonington and keep it interesting, at least for myself. One way is to get out of Stonington and then return. I like Thoreau's often-quoted statement from Walden: "I have traveled a good deal in Concord...". A case could be made that experience is experience, that it is just as rich to travel in small circles and get to know your backyard as it is to make an extended journey. I love reading accounts of extended journeys, yet I often read with a skeptical eye when the author claims more than he should about a place he glimpsed for a tiny fraction of its (and his) history.

There are too many variables: the tide, the weather and season, and perhaps most importantly- what's going on in the author's head. I think I've been skimming over the surface in these dispatches, and maybe that's all I will ever do. But when we land on some of these islands, or when I let the waves toss me along their shores... it's hard to describe the feeling. I walked among the sun-warmed boulders on Gooseberry and felt something bittersweet, that I loved it so much I didn't want to leave. I could only express this to my friends by saying something like "I really like this place." For now, I'll just leave it at that.