Searsport, Belfast, The Passagassawakeag

The really decent paddling days have been a bit scarce lately, but one morning we got over to Searsport and launched during a brief window of sunshine. Then, as we progressed along the coast toward Belfast, dark clouds moved in from the west, and below them, the dark curtainy wisps of snow squalls. 

It only made the day more dramatic. We paddled along the back yard of a neighborhood that we usually see from a very commercial strip of Route One: big houses with acres of lawn, old bungalows atop crumbling bluffs and colonies of motor court cabins. Rebecca sniffed the air. "Thai food," she said, and sure enough, there was Seng Thai far up the hill.

We wanted as much help from the tide as we could get, so we hurried through the harbor and passed beneath the old and new Route One bridges, and on up the Passagassawakeag River. The tide was already against us so we hugged the edges, looking for eddies and made our way upstream. Judging from the flow coming out of Wescot Stream, the flow was augmented by spring run-off.

We got about as far as we could get, to a forest where the river turned shallow and swift, and pulled up on the ice to eat our lunch.

We seal-launched off the ice and headed downstream. By now, the current had picked-up considerably, and we reached Belfast in half the time it took to get upstream.

If you live in some place with lots of big bridges and industry, paddling beneath the Route One bridge might not sound like such a thrill. But for me, I think of how many times I've driven across these places and looked down, wondering what it would be like to be down there on the water. Somehow, seeing it from the watery side of things just seems to complete the picture somehow, and paddling past the urban-industrial waterfront-- the factory that makes "distinctive potato products" and the wastewater treatment plant--  these geographic puzzle pieces come together in my mind.

What I'm saying is that paddling in a place just makes it better.

We meandered along the waterfront, checking-out the boats. Toward the mouth of the river, low swells came in from Penobscot Bay and, squeezing into the harbor against the outgoing current, grew steeper and closer together. A few miles south, those snow squalls still progressed across the bay. We pointed our bows east and headed back, bouncing over the waves with the smell of Thai food blending with the feel in the air of impending snow.

Mack Point, Sears Island

At the Searsport town landing, we packed-up and launched, following the shore. The air had already warmed to the mid-30s, and with the sun shining, we felt plenty warm as we paddled through what felt like one backyard after another.

We headed toward Mack Point, where the shore is crowded with white steel storage tanks and a pair of piers jutting 800 feet into the bay. A tanker pointed out into the bay, leaving as we approached, and a tugboat headed back. It was good timing; I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near a ship like that as it embarked.

Mack Point is deceptively large. Giant warehouses and a massive crane line the shore, and behind them, scores of fifty-foot high tanks. It felt like we moved slowly, but, we realized, we were just very small.

As we approached the piers, my instinct was to paddle beneath  along the shore -- just like we do at home. Fortunately, Rebecca pointed out the sign stating that trespassers were considered a security breach. So we went around, past the tugboats, past all the guys in hardhats, past the ship fenders a dozen feet across lined with scarred spruce trunks. We followed the shore into Long Cove, passing Sea-Truks and cranes and the railyard with long lines of tank cars.

We paddled toward the head of the cove.  It was high tide, and chunks of ice floated here and there. And then, a creek. I turned-in, pushing through thickening ice. I made my way into the forest, and Rebecca followed. We made it a few hundred feet before the creek narrowed and came to an end- at least for us. At the end, water trickled over some rocks from a snowy ravine. It was quiet here -- a little traffic noise from Route One, probably only a hundred yards away. Amazing though, considering the industrial netherland not far off.

But not for long -- depending on how things play-out. We floated in Mack Point Forest, very close to the proposed site for the new liquid propane “super tank” that has been at the core of controversy here lately. A company called DCP Midstream has been trying to clear the way to build a 22.7 million gallon tank: 138 feet high, 202 feet across. It would be the largest such tank on the US east coast, and be visible far down Penobscot Bay... and of course from much of Searsport. If you drive through Searsport, you would see it right behind The Anglers restaurant (and Baits Motel), both of which will be dwarfed by the tank. Opposition to the tank is strong and fervent. It is in the news every day.

Of course, Mack Point has been an industrial hub for many years. Back in WWII, a pipeline ran from there all the way to Loring Air Force Base in northern Maine. Every year, about 160 ships bring liquid cargoes- mostly petroleum products- to the port, in addition to a few dozen dry cargo ships. This is nothing new. Liquid propane is. It’s tough to wade through the information put out there by the liquid propane proponents, who of course claim that they are very regulated and safe. And they like to point-out the taxes they will pay, and the twelve jobs they will create. The opposition has a “not in my backyard” slant. But why not? Would anybody really want this in their backyard? There are so many compelling reasons to not have this in your backyard, that I will include a few links to them. And as much as I might like to use my JetBoil stove, they seem to be filling those little propane canisters just fine somewhere else. 

But we just enjoyed what a nice place it was to be floating in our kayaks. We paddled on to Sears Island where we carried over the causeway and ate lunch. Sears Island is another place that could have been developed and industrialized, but thanks to the Friends of Sears Island, much of it is preserved. People were there walking their dogs. We paddled around it - some four or five miles, all wild, and paused at the old jetty, where the view is dominated by Mack Point.

And as we paddled back to the launch, the old part of the town came into view: the 1800s ship’s captains’ houses, the churches. Two very different worlds, side by side, both close enough to my backyard that I'd like to see them unchanged, and return some day to that creek and find it as peaceful as it was on this day.

For more info:
Thanks But No Tank
Bangor Daily News Editorial
Mack Point Watch
Penobscot Bay Blog
NY Times article
Waterlines - a kayaker's point of view