A Perfect Way to Start Sea Kayaking

I paddled away from the island, pointed out into Southeast Harbor, against the wind. It was the first time I had paddled alone in awhile and it felt good to really let go and move quickly through the water, concerned only for myself. A breeze mildly corrugated the surface, but the whole Inner Harbor-Southeast Harbor area was relatively calm... amazingly so, considering the bumpy conditions at the mouth of Webb Cove that had driven us in this direction. My clients had hoped to spend the first night of their multi-day trip out in the archipelago, but this was just their second day of sea kayaking, and the lure of quieter water beckoned. Fortunately, it was as placid as I had predicted.

My clients were a couple who wanted some instruction and guidance to get started sea kayaking. For our first day we'd scheduled a full-day Fundamentals class, followed by a Journeying focus on the second day. I would help them get to their first destination. After that they would continue their trip on their own.

It's good to have such a specific goal: try to get them paddling safely and efficiently enough to continue on their own. A full-day Fundamentals class is a good start. We cover strokes and maneuvers as well as safety and navigation, all in the context of a journey. We may cover some of the same material in a shorter class, but in a full day, students have the chance to really try out these skills and get coached on them.We finished the first day with rescues in the pond.

After their first day of paddling, the couple had the chance to go back to the campground and recuperate- get a meal in town and a good night's sleep before the next morning, when they packed their boats and we headed out- me just for the day, while they were packed for four nights. The focus of our second day was more on the big picture: navigation, seamanship, making choices along the way.

Our environment was a good teacher. Conditions picked-up quickly. Shortly after launching I was asked about the wave height. "Under a foot," I said, but by the time we made it to Indian Point I conceded that the waves had grown to a foot and a half, and were a solid two feet soon after that. This was more than my day-two paddlers wanted to be in, and since the forecast called for more of this the next day, we planned a route to more sheltered waters. In the meantime, they were able to experience enough bumpy water to start gaining their own perspective- to understand what they might or might not want to paddle in.

We ate lunch on a ledge and found our way in through the river-like passage of Hatch Cove. The wind faded to a distant hiss and we passed beneath the bridge, floating on the ebbing tide into the calm pocket of Inner Harbor. Ahead, our island lay waiting. We landed and had a look around. The couple sat on the edge of the tent platform, looking content. It would be their home for the next couple of nights.

A couple of mornings later I received a text from them. They'd loved staying on the island and exploring the more sheltered areas around it (the following day had turned even windier). But then the weather improved and they felt confident enough to head out into the archipelago for a couple more days. When they finally returned, they had a calm, satisfied air about them, and they were certain they would be doing more of this.

Webb Cove, Whitmore Neck

We had a day off. The first part was spent catching-up on details that had been eluding us: emails, menu planning for trips, paying bills. We managed to get into town for the bank and the Post Office to pick-up a week's accumulation of mail. We could hear the usual activity downstairs in Old Quarry's office- the ringing phone, the occasional rising hum of customers crowding the front desk. Cars, many of them carrying kayaks, came and went from the parking lot. When we crept down our stairs and through the back of the office, we tried not to look at anyone or make eye contact. "Just keep moving," Bill told us. "Don't get sucked into the vortex."

But then, late in the afternoon, we managed to get down to the waterfront to go out for a paddle. We might have considered poling a canoe or padding a standup paddleboard, but it was windy, gusting in the high teens. Not too many others had gone out that day. But a pair of visitors were getting ready to launch a pair of open rec boats with wide cockpits and minimal flotation. I really just wanted to ignore them, but I had to ask "where you headed?"

What ensued was the usual such conversation that makes me not want to ask. "Just out to that point," the guy said, gesturing vaguely toward Buckmaster Point... and perhaps the islands that it leads toward. "We won't tip over, but if we do we'll just swim to shore." At least they weren't headed for Isle au Haut. In fact, with no charts, they probably didn't know what that high island out there was. Nor did they know where Webb Cove was, but I convinced them that it would be less windy there, and in fact we were going into Webb Cove to paddle in a calmer spot.

A short time later as we paddled into Webb Cove they passed us, headed back to the launch; they appeared to be having an ordeal. "It's windy as hell over there," the guy said.

It's so difficult sometimes to understand the perspective of others. We were soon out of the wind, following calm water at high tide. We carried over Oceanville Road and followed the winding path of water out into Inner Harbor.

We found some calm water.

I even took a swim. It was high tide, and the water had been warmed by the sun-heated mud. It felt great to jump in the water. We had been working a lot.

The cool thing is that part of my job is talking to people about kayaking, helping them plan their trips, answering whatever questions they might have. This used to happen to me a lot in the gallery, and there it only took me away from the real work at hand. Of course, now it's easy to get a bit burnt-out on it, especially when people are obviously not prepared and you try to drop a hint or two. We try to file float plans and get people to provide basic information- where they're going, where they'll camp. Some float plans might suggest that they're camping on Vinalhaven one night and Isle au Haut the next - no sense that land is private or that there are designated campsites. We might ask if they have wag bags, since so many people still don't seem to understand that they're expected to pack-out human waste. There is a lot to know and learn about getting into a kayak and going out for a camping trip, especially if you don't do much of either.

But we try to be patient with people, and when those "experienced" paddlers rent a boat, we might gently suggest that they use their paddle right-side-up. Or we might just let them go. Everyone is the hero of their own epic journey, whether they're going out for an impromptu night on Little Sheep Island or a well-planned two week paddling adventure. Or just a trip into Webb Cove.

We paddled around Whitmore Neck and took a break on Whaleback Ledge. We hit some wind as we came around the point, but it all felt good.

Lunch on Sheep Island

With two or three feet of snow from the weekend blizzard still on the ground, the forecast called for temps well above freezing, but with increasing, gusty winds. I’d been sick for weeks, unable to get-out, and now that I felt mostly better, I watched the weather closely for a break. When I looked-out at the harbor in the morning and saw calm water, I figured this was it. It took forever to get our gear together, and by mid-morning when we launched, the winds were picking-up from the west. So- a perfect day to head over toward Whitmore Neck.

We drifted beneath the pier and made our way through the mooring field off Clam City. Most of the lobster boats had heeded the forecast and stayed-in. High tide wasn’t for a couple of hours, but it had already come-in higher than it often does, so we took advantage of it, poking into spots we usually don’t go.

I could feel the weeks of inaction in me, a residual sluggishness, so we took it easy, meandering here and there, content just to be on the water, marveling at the ice and snow. At Dow Ledge, we surprised a fox, who swam to shore.

Wildlife sightings such as that are a gift, and already, I thought, if we didn't even go further, I was glad we'd made it out. Seeing the snow-capped rocks and paddling among ice floes only added to the feeling and kept us moving along shore to see what would come next.

We headed-up Hatch Cove, but unsurprisingly, were stopped by ice just past the bridge.

We had no particular plans, so followed the east shore out, contemplating the mysteries of the Hatch Cove moai.

The mysteries were not revealed to us, so we kept-on, checking-out the small rustic cabins around Whitmore Neck, closed-up for the winter, slaloming between rocks and ice floes along the shore.

Out at Sheep Island, we found the wind we'd been avoiding near shore. 

We arrived at the beach at high tide, with barely room for us and our boats. But the rocks were out of the wind, warmed by the sun, and we had a nice lunch break. The wind slowed us some on our return, especially back in the Thorofare, but back in town you would have never known it.

Spruce Island, Hatch Cove

Air temp: mid-twenties, water still in the upper thirties, and the sun is nowhere to be seen. By most accounts, it looks like a gloomy, mid-winter day, but the fact that we’re out paddling takes away the gloom. It feels good to get out. We take a familiar route out around Spruce Island on very calm water, pausing, of course, to glide through the granite gateway just off Buckle Island



Back in at the launch by dusk, we don our thick neoprene Ninja masks, just to see how the the water feels. Cold on the face, but otherwise, not bad. I’m wearing two base layers, a fleece and a wool sweater beneath the drysuit.


It’s good to try out this stuff close to the launch. I discover that my Folbot needs some additional outfitting to really be safe out there. Nate, a glutton for the cold, rolls again and again



One trip I’ve held in reserve for a windy day “outside” is the trip around Whitmore Neck (Oceanville) which is actually an island connected to Deer Isle by a bridge spanning Hatch Cove. Oddly, the only time I’ve attempted this trip is in January, when not only do you have to get through Hatch Cove at high tide, but you can only hope that the ice won’t be too thick.



Rebecca and I get there a little after high tide, surprised at the current running beneath the bridge. Ahead, our way is blocked by a large patch of ice. It looks solid, but today I'm paddling my ice-breaking kayak, so I plunge-in, clearing a path. This is actually weirdly fun- something I have to do at least once every winter.



Ice paddling is time-consuming though, and hard work. So we don't have time to get around Whitmore Neck. It's good to have a few routes that remain elusive.