Snow on Steves

After not much snow here this winter, we got a pretty good storm. Honestly, I needed some days of nasty weather to get some work done that I'd been putting off. The next afternoon I was in the gallery when I realized that the wind had dwindled, the sun had come out, and it wasn't too cold. Work could wait; I packed my gear quickly and headed out. After all, I could hardly remember the last time I paddled among the islands with fresh snow on them.



I had only a couple of hours before sunset, so it seemed only natural to head out to Steves Island. I might even get a jump on my duties as a MITA island adopter.

 

Well, even in the summer, I don't usually have a lot to do to look after Steves Island. Most of the campers who stay there take good care of things, probably packing-off more garbage than they arrived with. I came across some of the usual fishing garbage, but otherwise, the snow made the island feel even more pristine than usual. A few treetops had been blown down and blocked the trail. The campsite on the western beach will get a little more starlight than before.

 

Mostly, I just walked around and looked at things.

And then I paddled home as a new front moved-in.

Paddling Home in the Dark

As I paddle home in the dark, phosphorescence streaks my bow wake, blending with the reflections of stars so it feels like I’m hovering someplace between water and sky. I feel my way along by the solid catch of paddle blades and the dim, familiar shapes of ledges. Out at the anchorage by Hells Half Acre, maybe a mile away, a dozen or so mast-top lights mark the sailboats beneath them, but otherwise, all is dark. It feels good to know my way; I’ve been making this commute often enough.


It has been a long day of guiding. In the morning, Jake and I took a group of nineteen to Green Island, returning to the ramp at Old Quarry where hordes of visitors massed toward the water’s edge as if to flee some natural disaster on shore. The tandems from our morning trip were immediately put back into service. Nearby, a couple of rented canoes rafted-up together, their occupants sitting on the gunwales, ignoring Bill’s warnings to be careful.

Jake and I each had groups waiting for us, and it took some herding to figure out who went with whom... after which we determined we didn’t have enough boats- every single boat was out. Then Nate returned from his three-day trip and we grabbed his kayaks. After figuring who went in what cockpit, we adjusted footpegs and as I did a pre-trip briefing, noticed one of the canoes, now swamped, the occupants swimming for shore. Jake and I looked at each other and shrugged; what did they expect?



My group- nine people, including some kids- wanted to go to that quarry on Green Island, so back to Green I went, where for the second time that day, I stacked kayaks on the beach to make room for more as other groups arrived. On the way back, we stopped by Hells Half Acre, and back at Old Quarry, found the shore covered in a maze of returned boats, waiting to be cleaned.

But I had a sunset trip- a couple and their two kids. Sure, they’d been sea kayaking, the father told me, nodding toward the kids- “but not since they were born.” Getting to Hells Half Acre before dark seemed a long shot, but he seemed driven to get to the island. I could understand. We probably should have turned back, arriving just after sunset- just enough time for a quick photo before turning around. Fortunately, the wind helped push us back.


A hectic day, to be sure, following on the heels of several such days. The day before I’d spent the morning instructing a group in the pond, before taking them out for the afternoon, co-guiding with Jessica. It had poured down rain all day, but near the end of our trip, the rain cleared and we stood atop Little Sheep Island, gazing out at a rainbow over the islands. “It’s moment’s like these,” Jessica said, “that make me look around and think I’ve got the best job in the world.”

Different rainbow, different place & year... but otherwise the same

Paddling home in the dark, I round Indian Point to see the trio of winking red lights atop the windmills on Vinalhaven. At the house on the point, light spills from the windows onto the shallows and ledges. Inside, a television flickers. I could use a day or two off from paddling, even if it means sitting at my desk at my other job. I feel pleasantly worn-out and my brain a bit fried, but it feels good to focus on a clean stroke, and to think, as much as possible, of nothing.

Fresh Tracks on Green Island

Wow- sunshine, temps in the lower thirties and not much wind. Not only that, but several feet of fresh snow on the ground; I had to get out. I also wanted to make the most of the snow, so I strapped my old snowshoes onto the bow and headed out.


Last weekend we'd gone to Mount Desert Island for some cross-country skiing in Acadia National Park before our late afternoon pool session with the kayaks. The skiing was amazing- miles of groomed trails on the carriage roads. Most winters lately I've been content to skip those other, non-paddling winter sports, but the snow this winter is too good to miss. We were worn-out by the time we got into the pool, but still managed two solid hours of rescues and rolling and such. The repeated practice is crucial, especially if one is paddling in winter. It's been a few months since I dipped my head in the ocean.


In the summertime, this would have been a typical after-work paddle: out around Steves and McGlathery and back. This time, as I passed Green Island just after high tide, I found myself lingering beneath the big rocks where caps of snow melted in the sunshine.


If you ignore the heaps of cast-off granite blocks and the fishing debris, the islands usually feel fairly pristine. Add a fresh coat of deep snow, tracked only by animals, and it feels almost primeval out there. Beside the pure white, the blueness of the sky and sea is punched-up to its bluest levels, and the spruces embody the meaning of the word "green". As I drifted I had this feeling that I often have while paddling- that I could hardly believe my good fortune. And I could have just as easily not gone paddling: stayed home to clean the apartment or something. So the apartment remains messy and I've had at least one moment when I consciously feel privileged to be seeing what I'm seeing. A moment like that now and then helps get one through the more mundane times.


The wind picked-up as I went around McGlathery Island, and soon, a long front loomed in the western sky- the next storm. By the time I landed on Green and strapped the snowshoes onto my kayaking boots, the sunlight had drained from the sky, and it felt like more snow could come any time.


I chose Green because it has a well-maintained trail, thanks to Maine Coast Heritage Trust and its volunteers. Without that, most of the islands have blown-down trees and undergrowth that could be pretty tough-going on foot- let alone snowshoes. I followed a loop trail through the woods, pausing at an overlook above an old quarry. As I took-in the view: a slightly higher perspective of familiar islands in the foreground, Mt. Desert in the background, it occurred to me that I'd never even hiked that trail before. It's probably less than a mile from where we've lived for nearly eight years, and I'm only just now getting there.


Amazing. And there's still plenty more I haven't seen.