Around North Haven

I woke up in my sleeping bag. The sky was lightening already. I’d left the fly off the tent, so I could drift to sleep beneath the stars, and now across East Penobscot Bay, where the Mark Island Light had flashed all night like clockwork, the horizon clouds were turning pink. The seas were calm, the air warm for late September, and I had all day to paddle around North Haven.


I felt lucky to be there. Rebecca was taking my place in the gallery for a few days, and the weather just happened to be perfect. I’d pitched my tent atop a grassy bluff on Little Thorofare Island with asters blooming between the rocks and a view so sweeping I wanted to just sit and stare. Not for everybody, judging from the MITA logbook- the steep, rocky banks are a bit tricky. I had unloaded my kayak, hauling gear up in mesh duffels, then shouldered the boat up to my perch.


Getting around North Haven would take a minimum of 18 nautical miles, and I figured I’d check out a few coves as well. It would be a big day. I ate my oatmeal and launched. When you know you have a long way to go, it’s tough not to start off with an almost frantic pace, thinking of the destination more than the scenery at hand. This is especially senseless when the destination is the place you’ve just left, but I settled into a quick rhythm, soon passing Mullen Head, Marsh Cove and the bluffs below Oak Hill, the northeast point of the island.


To the north, with the Camden Hills and Islesboro as a backdrop, schooners tacked back and forth across the bay. I followed the shoreline: dark bluffs rose directly from the water with an occasional stairway poking down from the woods to a cobble beach. After a couple of hours, I paddled into Pulpit Harbor, following the shoreline past well-kept old homes all the way to the end, which at high tide had the feel of a farm pond surrounded by grassy meadows.


I continued along the coast, dipping into the coves and harbors along the way, and the hours and miles went by. I would think about how far I had to go, forcing myself to focus on a fast and efficient stroke, only to be distracted by the usual stuff: rocks, the perfect cottage- often the guest house on a larger estate, and sunbathing women whose curves, on second glance, transformed into sensuous limbs of driftwood. I rounded the southwest end, pointing toward the next mansion on a headland.


Finally, halfway into Southern Harbor, my hull ground to a halt on a sandbar and I sat for a long moment before getting out for a stretch and a Snickers. I was tired and had miles to go. Instead of following every remaining inch of shoreline, I took a more direct route for town, landing at the North Haven town dock. I walked into town. I bought an ice-cream cone at Coopers and walked, following the road out of town. Everyone who drove by waved like they knew me.


I found the trail and walked uphill across a field, through some woods, and emerged at a rocky protrusion called Ames Knob. I stood and marveled at the view, watching the comings and goings in the Thorofare until I had a strong desire to be back in my kayak, headed back to camp, where I arrived just as a couple of schooners anchored nearby for the evening.


As I made dinner, I realized I felt tired, not only from a 24-mile paddle, but from all I had seen. It was a lot to take in- even the small details, like the lack of tire tracks on North Haven's quiet streets. And learning, once again that the more I see, I understand how much more there is to be seen. I would get to a bit more of it the next morning, at high tide when I paddled into some inlets that are otherwise inaccessible, but I still feel like I'm just getting to know the place.

Five Days Around Vinalhaven

Vinalhaven, only about six miles across Penobscot Bay from Deer Isle, remains about as elusive to most Deer Isle residents as a distant continent. You can get there from here, but it requires either crossing a broad stretch of ocean in your own boat or driving a couple of hours to Rockland to take the ferry. We’re usually content to vaguely identify it as part of the dark mass of land along the western horizon, merging with North Haven and the Camden Hills. Last fall though, our sunset vista was altered by a trio of newly-constructed windmills on Vinalhaven, each standing nearly four-hundred feet tall, and the island crept further into our consciousness. When Todd and I made time for a five-day kayak excursion, we decided to take a closer look at Vinalhaven.

The weather on Monday wasn’t great for the crossing: northwest wind in the mid-teens with higher gusts. Air and water temps in the mid to high forties. From the time we nosed out of the Thorofare until we pulled into Seal Bay, my boat weathercocked enough to keep me sweeping and leaning the entire time- an exhausting -and I hate to admit it- not terribly enjoyable paddle. Todd did better in his Solstice (even with the rudder removed). The five gallons of water I carried in the cockpit may have contributed to a problem with load distribution, but there wasn’t much I could do about it once we were underway.

A cold, wet, tiring paddle, but other than that, pretty good. Nothing that a little miso soup on the Jetboil couldn’t cure.

Highlights:

-Little Hen Island: our first campsite, in Seal Bay. Mostly out of the wind on a night with frost warnings in the mid-thirties. At night, beyond the trees, the red lights of the windmills winked rythmically.

-Hugging the shore in a clockwise circumnavigation. Checking-out the coves and inlets on the way into town, where we tied-up at the public dock and ate ice-cream.


-Camping for two nights on an island west of Hurricane Sound, ambiguously referred to as Spectacle Island. Half the island was removed in the most destructive quarrying activity we’ve seen, but we camped in a less-touched, idyllic spot with a huge view of Pen Bay and the Camden Hills. Despite the cold, I slept with my tent flap open so I could see the lights of Camden and the clear points of stars above.
-A day trip around the White Islands and Little Hurricane Island, where we found just enough swell to make for some excitement among the rocks and waves.


At one point, I was stranded about as high and dry as I’ve been- a balancing act until a big wave set me free. Todd reached for the camera, then thought better and went for the tow belt, but I was out of reach. Toned it down a notch after that.


-The windmills, surprisingly big and close, again and again.



-The Basin, a large inlet surrounded by wild, protected land. The tide goes in and out of the basin through two small openings which develop strong currents with standing waves and boils. We went in, committing ourselves to a couple hours of exploration before the current reversed direction. Inside, we paddled among islands of glacial erratic boulders, watched over by ospreys and eagles. A small baby seal, only about a foot and a half long, swam right up to my cockpit whimpering like it was looking for its mother. Cute as it was, I kept paddling.


-The Fox Islands Thorofare. Wow. Impressive real estate. Hundred year-old summer residences overlooking an obstacle course of mooring balls, which I assume will soon be tethering all sorts of recreational vessels.


-North Haven. We peeled our drysuits down to our waists and took a walk through town, which felt quiet and friendly. People looked at us, but not in the “what the heck are you wearing?” sort of way. Almost everyone said hello. Had a coffee at Waterman’s Community Center and the friendly woman there was happy to answer all of Todd’s questions. Interesting, how the people on these different islands so close together develop such different social habits.


-Calderwood Island. A large land trust island managed by Maine Coast Heritage Trust. From our campsite on the east end, the water and microwave towers in Stonington were clearly visible, but still far enough to feel like another world. Five days, fifty miles, plenty of hanging-out on islands: a fairly relaxed way to start a not-so relaxed summer.