Mystic

8/3/14, West Island, Fairhaven, MA

It used to be that when I traveled, I'd imagine what it would be like to live in the places I visited or passed through, sometimes perusing real estate ads or the jobs in the classifieds. It added a whole other layer to travel; there was the day-to-day quest that most travelers are on: the need for food and shelter and a few interesting things to see and take up your time. But there was a bigger quest as well that arced over the entire endeavor. You're always asking "is this a place I'd like to live?" "How might it work?" That's how we've ended-up in Stonington for the last eleven years. We had the specific goal of finding a gallery space, but really, we were just rambling, looking for the next thing after moving-on from our last existence. Here in Stonington, we see plenty of people walking down the street carrying fliers from the real estate offices, so we're not alone in this, although I imagine that many real estate tourists are looking more for bargains on additional homes, rather than figuring-out where to live.

I'll admit that in my recent travels around New England, I have had very few thoughts about living in the places I visit. To me, most of the New England coast appears crowded and over-developed, and I'm relieved to get back to Maine, and even more so as I wind-down those last curving miles of roads toward Stonington. On the other hand, it's pretty tough to paddle past a handsome houseboat or a classic live-aboard and not think about more watery accommodations. The floating homes in the photo below are in Mystic, Connecticut. That self-portrait above it is in Watch Hill Harbor, Rhode Island- an amazingly beautiful boat called APHRODITE.

If you drive around Watch Hill, you'll probably pass a turn in the road where one particular driveway is guarded by a security team- mostly teenage boys in matching polo shirts, but a few armed guards as well. If you're not a big follower of pop culture, you might just pass on by, none the wiser, but the security team alerts you that maybe you ought to slow down and gawk at the driveway of a young pop star.

Providing security for the privileged appears to be one of the coveted summer jobs along the southern New England coast. Everywhere you go you'll come across these clean-cut youth in color-coded polo shirt uniforms and expensive sunglasses, at the ready to keep-out the riff-raff. At the wheel of a car, and probably more so if that car is smart and economical with a kayak on its roof and Maine plates, you'll often be reminded about where you don't belong. Move along, don't even think of stopping here. Parking? Oh that will be twenty or thirty dollars. At one beach I just pulled-out my notebook and began asking the young gentlemen questions, which they seemed happy enough to answer. They're probably just counting the hours until they can trade those polo shirts for other, differently color-coded polo shirts.

But on the water we're entitled to our own little kayak-shaped piece of floating real estate. Kurt Vonnegut once asked "what good is Planet Earth if you own no land?" But as long as you have a place to launch your kayak you've got access to some of the best parts of the planet, with just as much right to enjoy it as the mega-millionaire yachts beside you, and with better ability to enjoy the near-shore waters.

 
The Fishers Island Sound area of southeast Connecticut has ample enough features to keep a paddler exploring for some time. Aside from charming towns like Watch Hill, Stonington and Mystic, with harbors packed with some of the prettiest boats you'll ever see, there's salt marshes reaching inland surrounded by enough conservation land that you can truly get away from it all not for from the launch... until the Amtrak train hums past. But the train is part of the fun too.

The other day I launched in Mystic and after admiring some of the historic boats docked at Mystic Seaport, I paddled beneath the drawbridge just in time to see the hourly raising of the bridge and subsequent parade of boats passing through. Shortly thereafter and just a little ways downstream, the swing bridge turned and re-connected the railroad, just in time for a couple of trains to speed past.

I paddled past marina after marina packed with recreational sail and power boats, out past the village of Noank and on to the lighthouse at Morgan Point, which is now a private residence. I had no particular desire to cross over to Fishers Island, which lies a couple of miles south and makes a constant distant backdrop to coastal paddling here, but it's difficult to paddle in this area and not entertain thoughts of getting out there. Perhaps it's akin to the lure of Isle au Haut when you're in Stonington- this place that is nearby, a backdrop that defines the geography and conditions, but is just far enough to be a different world. It is, after all, in New York, a different state. But unlike Stonington, Maine, the stretch of ocean south of Stonington, Connecticut has only a few smaller intermediate islands to visit, and the currents can be strong and sometimes hazardous.

But seas were calm and I felt good, and just had to paddle somewhere, so off I went, first toward the tightly-packed cottages on Groton Long Point, and across the sound toward the lighthouse on North Dumpling. I encountered amazingly little boat traffic, but as I neared Fishers Island I noticed a wall of fog hanging beyond East Point. Unsure if the fog might be coming in with the tide, I ate my sandwich quickly on the gravelly shore of Flat Hammock and moved-on.

Since the incoming tide flowed westward up the sound, I followed the shore of Fishers east for a bit, admiring the homes, taking advantage of whatever eddies I could find until I reached Brooks Point and headed back across. Despite the usual logic that currents increase the most mid-channel, I encountered the strongest currents near the edges, in shallower water, and especially as I approached Ram Island where the water turned bumpy over Ram Island Reefs.

A pair of chimneys stood on the island where a home had burned-down just this spring, and horses grazed nearby. Once known as Mystic Island, Ram had been the site of a grand Victorian hotel with direct steamship service until the 1920s. And like other such places in southern New England, the 1938 hurricane wiped the slate clean. Around the corner, a couple of boats were anchored in a placid cove, and an islet just off the north end had attracted a few powerboaters who anchored off a sandbar, enjoying the beach. I stopped here for sandwich #2.

By then I began to think of the seven-hour drive to get home, and meandered a bit more pointedly through the islands and back into the Mystic River, where the incoming tide brought me quickly back upriver to the launch.

May Snapshots, Volume I

In the three weeks since the last paddling excursion I wrote about here, I've managed to get-in plenty of paddling, mostly in Massachusetts and Rhode Island. I've been too busy paddling (and driving) to spend much time writing much more than copious notes and plans for the next trip. And yet I really love those days I get to spend writing about it as well.  I've also been helping Nate teach Pinniped's Leadership & Guide Training class at Old Quarry, and today I'm feeling a bit worn-out, beat-up and waterlogged.

Several excursions could have easily warranted a blog post, but for now I'll have to settle for a few snapshots of highlights.

Hingham Harbor. On our way down to Osprey Sea Kayak in Westport, MA, where Rebecca would be taking an Instructor Development Workshop, we stopped just south of Boston for a paddle in Hingham Harbor. We paddled to the public islands, checked-out the sights and campsites, and returned to the beach to witness a bunch of high school girls doing "polar plunges"- dips in the ocean usually lasting about half a second. The plunges were well-documented on phones, and afterward the girls warmed-up in cars, each attentive to the little screens on their hand-held devices.

Newport. For four days while Rebecca took her class, I went off on my own to explore. In Newport I launched at Fort Adams, following the shore south past Ocean Drive to Land's End and back. Then I went out to check out the Rose Island Lighthouse (above- I always seem to get those "flag fully extended" winds) and back around Goat Island in Newport Harbor. At the Goat Island Bridge, fishermen lined the railings almost shoulder to shoulder, casting lines and continuously hauling-in squid. The fishermen were strangely quiet, with only the sound of reels and squid expelling water as they were hoisted up. 

Jamestown Island, Rhode Island. When I see a big island on the chart, my mind inevitably veers into planning circumnavigations. I went all the way around Jamestown (AKA Conanicut Island) to discover that the southern end is a good deal more exciting and lively than the northern end. Fun paddle, but tiring. Here's a few moments of that trip on video.

Sakonnet Point, Rhode Island. Swells rolling into the mouth of the Sakonnet River squeeze through a sieve of rocky domes and ledges, creating fun play spots. Paddling solo, I maneuvered cautiously among the islands which were thick with nesting seabirds. The islands and Sakonnet Point Lighthouse are easily recognizable from far-off, with three stone columns on West Island marking the site of the The West Island Club. The club was a haven for wealthy sportfishermen in the late 1800s and was finally washed away in the hurricane of 1938.

Fort Wetherill, Jamestown. I joined a group of paddlers on a Rhode Island Canoe & Kayak Association (RICKA) trip that met on Saturday morning. This trip ventured into lively and sometimes large conditions for a bit of rock play among the cliffy stretches of Jamestown.  I often found myself paddling near the appointed leader, hanging-back from much of the group, which seemed almost indifferent to the probability of larger swells turning the impact zone into chaos. A few mishaps ensued, but were followed by efficient rescues. After paddling alone so much, I was grateful to be included, and had a great time paddling with this group. They assured me that their trips didn't usually result in so much carnage. Check-out the video here.

Marion, Massachusetts. As we meandered home, we launched in Marion for a paddle in Buzzard's Bay. The shoreline is mostly residential and Bird Island- the only public access destination- is off-limits much of the time due to bird nesting, but we had a nice lunch on a ledge in Aucoot Cove.

Then as we drove home, feeling a bit worn-out and sleepy, it seemed that a bit of surfing at Popham Beach might be a good eye-opener. It was near the end of the day, so we hurried down to the beach and got in a bunch of good rides in less than an hour. Plenty of adrenaline to get us the rest of the way home.

But it was good to get home. A few days later we taught a pool session in Bar Harbor and took a spin out around the Porcupines- about the calmest day we've had there for awhile, which made for some enjoyable near-shore paddling (or like the photo above - "in" shore paddling).

Beaver Neck, Rhode Island

Nate is busy getting his new teaching & guiding company, Pinniped Kayak together. I joined him last week, picking-up some new boats in Rhode Island and Boston, and we managed to get some paddling in as well. Fortunately, our trip to The Kayak Centre, in Wickford, Rhode Island fell on a gorgeous, relatively warm and calm day, and the guys in the shop gave us some good advice about paddling locales. 

We headed down to Beaver Neck on Conanicut Island, where we launched from Mackerel Cove Beach. In summer, the beach is off-limits to kayakers due to swimmers (and lifeguards) but the other day we had it to ourselves. Gently-spilling waves rolled in slowly- the perfect opportunity to try out the Valley Gemini SPs. At under fifteen feet, these boats are well-suited to play, but are designed like scaled-down touring kayaks. They turn easily, track well, and are extremely lightweight.

After warming-up for awhile in the surf, we followed the shore out of the cove and the seas progressively grew. I think the forecast was for 1-2' seas, and they were perhaps a foot bigger -- just enough to turn into some much larger waves that broke onto the shore rocks. At the southern end of the neck, Beavertail Point has a reputation for rough seas. Here, the open ocean divides around the point, rising-up as it climbs the shallows.

One spot in particular, several hundred feet from shore, had caught our attention earlier when we scouted from the road. The three-foot seas rose abruptly, forming a monstrous wave at least three times higher (probably around ten feet) and then dumped as abruptly as it formed. You don't want to find yourself beneath this wave when it breaks. We watched it and determined that we could squeeze between it and where the waves began to break just off the point. We slipped through, but the rumble just behind us as the wave crested felt a bit spooky.

We moved in closer to the shore, observing areas that looked inviting until that one set of larger waves rolled in, illustrating the wisdom of watching before charging into something. It's a thrill just watching from the side; you can feel the expended energy as the waves pound into the rocks... and be glad that you're here rather than there.

We coasted into a tiny cove for lunch. Sometimes it feels like we go to a lot of trouble just to have lunch in such an idyllic spot.

The real fun came after lunch: smaller waves breaking just off the shore amid a playground of rocky passages and idyllic coves. Nate took his new boat into some tight spots and loved how it performed.

We wound our way around the north end of the neck and back to the launch (a carry-over to the beach). I'd hoped for another paddle the next day, after we picked up some P&H boats in Boston, but the weather was wet, miserable and foggy. Fortunately I'd stopped for an excursion in Plum Island Sound on the way down. Here's a glimpse from that day: (check it out here on Vimeo).