The following is an excerpt from kayaking the Maine Island Trail last summer.

The Deluxe Tour of Isle of Haute.

We started with breakfast on a small island. Karen was hoping for a million dollar view from her tent, but was disappointed because the fog was so thick, you couldn't see a thing.

We paddled around to the town landing and waited for the ferry. While we were waiting, we went up to the national park visitor center and got a map. On the way back we saw the tamest deer I've ever seen.

The ferry captain has a stash of bikes for rent and we were allowed to pick any one we wanted. Karen picked the cute one with a carrier rack and I got a mountain bike with a water bottle holder. We headed out on a dirt road to the southern end of the island.

From there we hiked Duck Harbor Mountain trail. the skies were clearing, but when we got to the top, we could see to the West, but the fog hung thick to the east. We followed Goat, cliff and western head around the southern tip of the island. There was one spectacular cove after another. The area reminds me of Cape Bretton.

After we got back to the bikes, we continued to ride around the Island and came to Long Pond. By this time, the fog was gone and was getting hot. A perfect time to take a quick swim.

We continued around the northern end of the Island and when we got back to the kayaks,we found a tail wind a favorable current ready to take us to our new home. The people next door are playing guitar, so I'll close for tonight.

A Gray Day in Brooksville

With school out and summer camp yet to begin, my wife and I decided to carry on a three-year tradition of bringing our daughter on a June visit to Oakland House in Brooksville. It is an amazing rustic retreat that we have come to regard as our vacation house. Proprietors Jim and Sally Littlefield come from the sort of lineage one only finds in New England. Their family received the property from its original Maine land grant, opened the Oakland House soon thereafter, and have run it for generations. They are wonderful MITA supporters and continue to operate an unpretentious family resort that is a treasure of the coast of Maine.

On the first evening in the cabin, I find on a shelf Robert McCloskey’s children’s classic, Time of Wonder and read to my eight year old daughter. I remember it from when I was a child, but had never realized, as I do now, that it takes place in western Penobscot Bay – directly out the picture window from our cabin.

The next morning, I wake to gray skies but calm seas. It is time! I have not yet managed to get my kayak into the water this year, but this will be the day.

Noting on my chart that the little inlet I will launch from is called Deadman’s Cove, and always being leery of solo paddling, I make an extra check of my safety gear and run my float plan by my wife.

I put in at eleven o’clock on a rising tide and make a spirited crossing of Eggemoggin reach. It is not a pace I can maintain indefinitely, but as my first time on the water in months, I have no intention of adjusting it. I pass between Little Deer Isle and Pumpkin Island Light and then Birch. Even with areas of fog, the view of western Pen Bay is incredible, dotted with islands large, Islesboro low on the water halfway, and the coastal mountains around Camden in the distance.

My crossing to Pickering Island is slower. I stop to grab a plastic bag that hangs like a ghost from the surface of the water. The southwest breeze is light but freshening. Passing the western shore of Pickering, I soon find a small inviting cove with a cobbled beach. An osprey chirps from a nearby tree but I see no nest and its protest is modest and brief. I pull out, eat my sandwich on the beach, and make a quick cleanup of the cove in exchange for my visit. I fill my hold with trash, reconnecting with the MITA spirit and feeling less guilty that I am missing a MITA cleanup that day.

The view to Bradbury is hazy but unobstructed, but Butter Island at twice the distance is completely shrouded in fog. Only the uppermost treetops peeking through occasionally give any indication that the island is even there.

The southwest breeze is building as I push off to the northwest and Hog island. A friendly lobsterman gives me a long, low wave hello as he passes off my bow. A harbor seal pops up to investigate from afar but keeps his distance. The shallows between Hog and Fiddlehead are beautiful, with knotted wrack gently waving just below the surface at high tide.

I head northeast to Spectacle and encounter three porpoises passing along. Shortly thereafter I grab another plastic bag, ending its entanglement threat and garish marketing of Combos Pizza Snacks to the porpoises and other passing sea creatures. I reflect on the fact that all of the trash I have picked up today has been plastic-based, and that I have read that molecular polymers will be one of the longest lasting earthly vestiges of humanity. At the same time, I acknowledge that the watercraft I am sitting in is also made of the stuff. Few of us can claim innocence in the global rise of plastic.

Spectacle island should logically be a single glasses-shaped island with two heads joined at the center by a sandbar or tombolo. Instead, the high tide allows my shallow hull to pass directly over the ‘eyepiece’ between two nice little islands. Instead of sand or cobbles, I’m surprised to see expanses of smooth pink granite below me. I wait for the scrape of my rudder hitting bottom but it never comes. But I am startled by a large brown bird lighting silently from a dead tree far to my left. Its disheveled looks first suggest an aged bird, but then realize it may be a molting juvenile bald eagle. Shortly after, I see seals basking on rocks in the distance, and reflect happily on the resurgence of certain species since my childhood summers in Maine.

I begin crossing Eggemoggin Reach at its western elbow, but red nun Marker off my bow makes clear that the rising breeze and current coming up the reach are pushing me laterally. I head back to Pumpkin Light instead of trying to cross the reach in a long ‘b-line’ home. It is a beautiful lighthouse, sadly decommissioned in the 1930s. There can be nothing on earth harder to maintain than an obsolete lighthouse, but it is beautiful to see from the water.

Lateral to the freshening breeze, I cross the Reach and pull into Deadman’s Cove very much enlivened. My first paddle of the year leaves me re-inspired by the MITA mission and this truly beautiful place. A cloudy day in Brooksville beats a sunny day pretty much anywhere else on earth!

Kayaking the Maine Shoreline

It's a most pleasant way to escape,
a yearly constitutional, a
routine away from foutines,
out classing then all.
It's an answer for
the search for peace and tranquility
not readily found.
I glide between templed islands and through comely coves and harbors, discovering nature's
beauty and serenity as
hosts of wild life welcome me into their home.
A gentle breeze intoxicates
my mind and senses
immunizing me from
the tireless tedium of
daily routines.

My spirit is
liberated and
I become a different
yet contented me.

On July 7th, four of us (Kathryn, Aubree, Scott, and myself Stephen) started north to paddle the Trail from Portland's East Bay Boat Launch. Having heard from MITA that only a few people attempt the whole trail each year, we rounded the corner by the bathhouse to find three more people, three brothers, packing their boats to embark on the trail as well. Images of the movie Dargeeling Limited came to mind as they prepared their newly built wooden kayak for departure. Even though we had our sights set on different routes and different islands it was nice to think that there would be other people paddling the trail with us. We hope that readers like yourself will follow our progess and enjoy the trip with us too. Thankfully the fog burned off and we left shore with the sun over our shoulders. It felt great to get on the water and leave the car, gas stations, stores, and shore behind. Heading out into the bay, we passed Cow Island and groups of kids from Ripple Effect playing on the shore. Arriving at Bangs Island, our destination for the night, we set up camp, made food, and enjoyed the sunset. It took a little while for the stress of packing and leaving to wear off but it felt good to be on our first Island. Our trip, already a few months old in planning, was finally underway.

Fog is rare in North Carolina. Leading three newcomers to Maine out into a foggy morning on day two of our trip to paddle the Trail was somewhat awe inspiring and mysterious. We are all basically from North Carolina but are new to each other as a group. Scott, Kathryn, and I knew each other a little bit before the trip but weren't what you would call close friends. Aubree is new to all of us. She came to hear about the trip through a mutual friend. We all started to get to know each other over the phone and by email as we prepared for what seemed like an opportune adventure for all of us at this point in our respective lives. Rounding the island from our camp spot, visibility shrank down to less than quarter of a mile in any direction. I knew that it was a short crossing but Scott said that he hoped I knew where we were going. Lobster boats loomed nearby and thankfully went slowly. A sail boat also crept up on us through the fog which was beginning to turn bright with sunlight. Within an hour, the fog was gone and we had sun to warm the afternoon.

Crossing the Kennebec! Day 5 of our five week kayak trip up the Maine Island Trail, Portland to Machias. Stephen, Kathryn, Aubree and I left Hermit Island Campground with gray skies and as calm a sea as we could hope for. We timed our departure to coincide with a slack low tide at the mouth of the Kennebec, and we were just about spot on.

We had to give the coastline a wide berth due to some pretty large breakers, aiming for one of the cans before turning left into the mouth. Even at slack tide, we had to paddle hard against a current that nearly submerged the lobster buoys and aimed to push us toward a rocky outcrop. But we hung in there and safely ferried our way into the beautiful expanse of Sagadohoc Bay, surfing our way on long rolling breakers.

Our low-tide timing of the Kennebec crossing worked well, but we found ourselves stranded a mile away from the campground, with an enormous fine, sandy tidal beach in between us and the shore. But after 4 days of paddling, our muscles had unequivocally announced their fatigued status and we were happy to sit with our boats as the tide came in and slowly took us toward shore.

The greatest surprise came when we unexpectedly ran into a good friend of mine and his family out walking the tidal pools. They rent a house nearby every year, and it was the final day of their stay. They invited us over for an amazing dinner (far better than the dehydrated meals we had planned!), and we went to sleep, weary, satiated and marveling at a world that can be so small and an ocean that can be so big.

For pics, visit our blog: www.mainekayaking.wordpress.com

It was a beautiful afternoon on Steve's Island. We were looking forward to
our third viewing of Stonington's Fourth of July fireworks. A recent
tradition that began in 2005, we camp on Steve's Island to watch the
fireworks that light up not only the sky, but also an island just north of
Steves. This island appears unnamed according to the nautical charts.
Following July 4, 2007, we now fondly refer to this island as Green Hornet
island, let me explain why.

As usual around the fourth, a large family gathering was in full swing on
George's Head Island. Boats rocked at anchor off the beach while their
dinghy was pulled ashore. The group partied away having a good wholesome
family fun time. As the day progressed, the tide changed and the wind
picked up.

We were relaxing on the rocks on the north side of Steve's Island looking
towards Stonington, watching the tide, the birds, the waves - and then, in
amazement, we watched the beached dinghy be lifted off by the rising tide
and be pushed away with the stiff southwesterly breeze. We weren't in
shouting distance. We watched helplessly as we realized the boat was
definitely adrift. How long would it be before anyone on George's Head
would notice?

In the next moment there was sudden realization on the family's part. By
then the dinghy was barely reachable by swimming to it. After moments of
hesitation or indecision, one or two family members dove into the frigid
water, paddled a couple of strokes, and quickly abandoned their mission.
All stood on shore contemplating what could they do as they watched the
boat being pushed farther away from the island. We continued to watch too!
How often does a drama such as this unfold right before you! We also
began to think out loud. We have boats – could we paddle quickly enough
to catch up to the drifting dinghy? We would both have to go. One of us
would need to get into the dinghy, the other would need to tow a kayak.
Should we try – Shouldn't we? As we watched the dinghy drift in front of
the unnamed island, we waited, wondering if perhaps the wind would beach it
onto that island making a rescue easier for anyone. But as we watched, the
dinghy was pushed relentlessly past that island into the channel used by
boats going in and out of Stonington. Unfortunately for the family, on this
afternoon, there wasn't a boat in sight to come to the rescue of this
unmanned boat.

What the heck! The family hadn't made any move to get to their lobster
boat. They seemed to still be contemplating what to do. We could at least
try to rescue the boat. What would be the harm? We might make it, we might
not. We knew we were strong paddlers. We had to try!
Quickly we launched our boats and paddled hard towards the dinghy that was
continuing to be pushed away from us towards the northeast. With the wind
somewhat at an advantage we caught up to the green dinghy which we could
now see was named Green Hornet. Now what? We looked at each other – how
do we get in - from a kayak? The boat's side, even though just a dinghy,
towered above us and the waves were rocking kayaks and dinghy together in
an uncomfortable fashion. As I hesitated, Dan boldly pulled himself up and
in as gracefully as a caught fish. Before his kayak could get away, I
grabbed it and the line Dan tossed to me, promptly tying a line to his
kayak. All the boats seemed to be bumping dangerously next to each other
– I was eager to get away.

From the dinghy I hear, “How do I lower the engine?”

“Haven't a clue!” I replied. Neither of us had prior experience with
motorized boats. Pulling on anything that looked like a lever to find one
that would lower the engine, Dan managed that step.
“How do I start the engine?” Dan's cry came.

“No Idea!” I shouted, feeling useless.
But Dan's a smart man, and cool under pressure (a former Navy Rescue
Swimmer), he quickly managed to get the engine started, figured out how to
adjust the throttle and to steer. I paddled, into the wind now, towing his
boat. He motored along keeping with me as best as possible. I knew now why
he got into the Green Hornet so quickly! Still, I was the stronger
paddler.

As we made our way back, lo and behold, another boat was coming towards
us! We were so focused on the rescue we hadn't noticed that the family had
finally started their own attempt at rescuing their boat! We met off of
that unnamed island, which now you might understand why we refer to as
Green Hornet Island. We beached our boats and transferred the Green Hornet
to its rightful owners. Paddling back to Steve's Island, we felt proud of
our rescue and imagined the headlines in the local Stonington paper
“Kayakers Rescue Local's Dinghy!” Yet we knew that this local family
would probably prefer to keep mum about kayakers rescuing their drifting
boat! Thank you MITA for giving us a chance to share our rescue with the
world!

We woke at dawn. Just before we launched the boats, a fog rolled in, thick as cream. Using compasses, we headed into the cloud, losing sight of land almost immediately. We paddled in silence on a cold, slate disc of water—completely encircled by a bright curtain of white. The fog pushed in on us, on our boats, on our bodies in the way that pressing your fingers over your ears forces you to hear the sound of your own blood pulsing. As the sun tried to burn through the clouds above us, the white was infused with light—creating an ethereal glow. As houses and boats came in and out of visibility along the shoreline, they shone with an otherworldly quality—an over exposed photograph that falls unexpectedly from the pages of a book. Our pace picked up as the fog lifted and by 4:00 in the afternoon we had paddled about nineteen miles. A family of porpoises visited us as we made our way toward the bridge that marked the home stretch of our long day’s journey. The porpoises sliced gracefully through the surface of the water, punctuating each arch with an out breath through the blowhole. They swam between us and under our boats.
As we neared the bridge, the water became increasingly shallow until our boats were four colorful beached whales on a mudflat of clams, seaweed and starfish. We dragged our boats under the bridge until it became clear that we had far too much distance yet to cover and the mud was hungry like quicksand—eager to swallow our ankles and calves, suctioning our Chacos from our waterlogged feet. The only thing to do was to sit tight and wait for the tide to untie our boats from the sticky expanse and set us free.

We (Stephen, Scott, Kathryn, and myself) have been on the water for two
weeks now and it has been amazing. We are about 1/3 of the way through the
entire trial and have seen some fantastic sites and have met some great
people already. Seals, osprey, porpoise, wildflowers, and gorgeous sunsets
are just some of the beauty that we have taken in. The islands are our home
and and the buoy sprinkled water will continue to be our path for the next
few weeks. Thanks MITA for providing these islands to make our summer one
we will always remember.