First Annual Muscle Ridge Fall Camping Weekend 9/28-30/12

[prudenceb]

First Annual NSPN Muscle Ridge Fall Camping Weekend September 28-30, 2012

Ten NSPNers and one guest thumbed our collective noses at numerous highly discouraging weather forecasts to brave rain, wind and toxic smoke to make the First Annual NSPN Fall Muscle Ridge camping weekend a rousing success. But let it not be said that we are are Destination Addicts, as it turned out that we never actually made it as a group out to the eponymous archipelago.

The long initially rainy drive up to South Thomaston on Friday morning became more pleasant when we hit Maine and saw a demarcation line in the sky - rain to the south, blue sky and clouds to the north and east. We accelerated into the better weather, mindful that what we were leaving would be chasing us as the day and weekend progressed. We arrived at the Lobster Buoy Campground as planned a little before 10:00 am, to find that Gary, our maestro of a trip organizer, had already made an excellent executive decision in deference to the weather, switching us from our reserved group campsite on the water's edge to another a few hundred yards inland, where we would be marginally more protected from the predicted nastiness coming off the water. We awaited the arrival of others wanting a Friday paddle, and we eventually had the noon launch quorum that we needed. Before we launched, everyone set up his/her tent, and there was a group effort to move picnic tables near a stand of scrubby trees in the center of the camp area, from which an elaborate roof of intersecting tarps was constructed to shelter the camp kitchen and dining areas. Gary handed out party favors to all: bait bags holding a tube of glow sticks suitable to be made into bracelets and necklaces if fashion choices dictated. In so doing, Gary set a new standard for trip initiators that others would do well to emulate in the future!

We discussed paddling options for the day. The (basically inaccurate, as we were to find out) NOAA forecast promised us rain starting in the afternoon and continuing overnight, with some clearing on Saturday. Muscle Ridge beckoned two miles offshore. We elected to save an exploration of the area for the next day, when the weather would be better, and additional paddlers would be joining us. We decided a trip along the coast up to Owl's Head and the lighthouse there would be a good afternoon paddle. Most of us (Gary, Barry, Paul, Mary, Roger and his paddling buddy Alison, and I) embarked in this Owl's Head pod. Two others (Bill and Dave) decided they preferred a shorter paddle, and elected to head out to Muscle Ridge.

We launched a little after noon - right on time. By now, the brief blue sky had given way to cloudy grey. But the wind was negligible as we pushed north and east. Despite lively debates as we proceeded regarding exactly where our planned lunch spot - Crescent Beach - was located, we managed to bypass it and ended up lunching on a little island (unnamed on my chart) looking over at a populated sand beach. (Different charts were ambiguous on the matter - some appeared to indicate that Crescent Beach was a cobble beach south of where we ended up; others seemed to tell us to continue on a bit.)

We had a nice lunch in the gloom of the day, and Barry was good enough to sprint over slippery rocks to retrieve my kayak, which spontaneously decided to back down off of where I'd left it and float away. It would not have gone far in any event, and the water was only knee high. Still…it is a bit alarming to watch one's boat leave without one…

We continued onward, passing between the coast and Sheep and Monroe Islands to the east, until we saw in the distance the picture postcard view of Owl's Head with its lighthouse high up on the edge of the promontory, the light shining a welcome in the grey day. The sky was a matte milky grey background with an overlay of puffy clouds near the horizon. We rounded the head - it was raining by now - and looked up and saw people climbing up the steps to the lighthouse. We took pictures, admired the view, then turned around to pull up on a beach we'd passed on the near side of Owl's Head. Most of us climbed up to look at the lighthouse (passing the granite grave marker, flanked by two small American flags, of "Spot, the Lighthouse Dog"). The view up there was spectacular. Grey water and sky and islands stretching out. A small boat chugging below, trailing a wake.

We next headed over to Monroe Island, where Alison had promised a cobble beach of impressive stones. It didn't disappoint - although we had insufficient time to find the single best souvenir rock on that beach. In fact, half of our group never even disembarked! But Alison and I found a few keepers, and thus loaded up, continued on around the more exposed northern and eastern sides of Monroe, heading back to camp. We had to get out of our boats and walk them through two inches of low-tide water off of Sheep Island, and as we continued, the afternoon wore on, the sky darkened, the wind picked up and it rained. The final mile or so back to Waterman Beach, the launch site, was a slog through those conditions. Thirteen miles after we started, we pulled ashore shortly before the late-September nightfall.

Bill and Dave reported that they had made it out to Muscle Ridge and had found some nice between-island currents; they had gotten back in sufficient time to shower, change, and lay out appetizers and drinks for the rest of us. Do not believe the one Trip Advisor low rating for the campground, which complained about dribbles of cool water rather than a nice hot shower for your 50 cents. Several people who elected to shower before supper reported that the water was heavenly hot, and plenty of it. Most of us, now joined by Cathy, who had arrived mid afternoon and still had her boat on her car, gathered around the cooking table, where Gary heated up butternut squash soup (kindly made by his wife), and Dave heated up beef stew (kindly made by his wife). We huddled under the tarps as the rain came down, and warmed up with hot food. There were several propane lanterns glowing, and people cupped hands around them for warmth. Mary - who had all of our envy with her little RV with an actual bed with mattress, sheets and pillows and room to change (and, we were convinced, a hot tub and sauna tucked in there somewhere) - produced a splendid dessert: individual little pastries in the shape of puffins - with éclair bodies and candy heads. We ate, drank, talked, huddled, cupped hands, and listened to the rain - by now a steady soak - come down.

One by one, we peeled off and sprinted to our tents for the night. Is there anything that feels cozier than being inside a small well-sealed tent on a very rainy night? I do not think there is a better way to sleep. I heard a rumor that there was an almost full Harvest moon that night, but it surely was never more than that rumor. So much for needing glow sticks for a full-moon paddle…

Morning "light" brought more rain and blowing trees. Our "better" Saturday was clearly worse. "Oops", NOAA said, "We got it wrong yesterday, today is going to be lousy - rainy and windy." We ate breakfast under the tarps, all of which had survived the rainy night. Reconnaissance of the water and sky conditions told us that Muscle Ridge was out there somewhere, but you wouldn't know it without a chart. Another decision made by group consensus: to abandon Muscle Ridge as our destination and hug the coastline southward toward Tenant's Harbor for protection from the elements. Continuing our freedom from Destination Addiction, we decided on a turn-around time rather than place, and headed off as one group, joined by Rene, who pulled up in time for a 9:30 launch.

Off we went, in the wind and rain. But both were entirely manageable, and as the morning progressed, the rain tapered off - to return in brief sprinkly periods intermittently throughout the day. Not as the steady-state-until-mid-afternoon that had been predicted. We coasted on sporty waves and current under the bridge to Sprucehead, emerging on the other side to find almost flat water and no wind. We stopped along the way to assist a group of men - deployed on a power boat, a floating dock, and the shore - attach extra lines from boat to dock, which I gather they were attempting to haul out of the water. A golden retriever, with windblown dog drool wrapped around his muzzle, and wearing a bright orange vest, surveyed the process from the bow of the boat. Rather solemnly, I thought.

We stopped to stretch our legs at an island whose name I never got (the problem of paddling past where the chart is folded). We set out again, the wind at our backs, and Roger advised that we all turn around and paddle a bit into the wind to test out what would be headwinds on the way back. Definitely some pushback in that direction, but manageable. On we went. We did a lovely crossing with nice swells and beam waves - but stopped for a time as Gary and Paul had a navigational pow-wow, eventually triangulating to determine which island lay ahead. Paul reported that he lost the debate. It appeared as we headed toward a gap between islands that there would be waves across a good deal it, but that was an illusion and the waves didn't extend far out.

We were almost at Tenant's Harbor. It was lunch and turn-around time. We disembarked at a perfect flat grassy landing area. We lunched on the rocks around the corner from a real fixer-up cottage almost absent of paint, weathered grey boards with blasted out windows, and a ladder inside going up to a loft or attic. Behind it was a cleared out area with tree stumps to sit on, and an old privy in a similar state of (dis)repair, but civilized enough with a toilet seat and lid rather than just a hole in a rotting board.

By now, the wind had dropped, and the entire paddle back was free of struggle. We elected to split the difference between efficiency and scenery; rather than making a straight shot back across open water to Sprucehead, we stayed closer to shore to look at rocks and real estate. Then we split into two pods, with Bill, Dave and Mary deciding to take the short route back under the bridge from whence we'd come, while the rest of us continued around the outer edge of Sprucehead. This turned out to be a wonderful decision. We passed under high green pylons between Sprucehead and a little (?unnamed) island, emerging into a completely calm lagoon with low granite rocks forming enticing little distinct areas to explore.

Onward. Gary pointed out the notation "TARGET" on the chart, and said that its meaning would become clear when we got there. Preparing to put on a helmet and duck down to protect ourselves from incoming whatevers, we rounded the southeastern edge of Sprucehead, and saw ahead of us a large white boulder, painted white with one black stripe and big black circle, with "1884" written in black letters. The enigmatic target…

We scraped our bottoms going through another small rock garden, and looking now directly toward home, we saw a plume of smoke rising from pretty much where we'd launched. As we paddled on, the plume got larger and spread more. It smelled. It blocked the sky. It even dropped some ashes on us. The South Thomaston Toxic Waste Dump going up in smoke? What ill health effects would we suffer from our weekend kayaking off the pristine Maine coast? Roger, Alison and Barry paddled east to Tommy Island, both because the air was clearer out there, and because there was an enticing little house to check out. The rest of us paddled on into the smoke, which as we proceeded, born by the northeast wind, was overspreading the sky. By the time we landed, at four in the afternoon, the sky was the color of a bruise, even out over Tommy's Island, and the smell was most unpleasant.

We were met by an unfortunate woman on an orange bicycle, who had been trapped in her popup camper all day, breathing the smoky air. The good new was that it wasn't the South Thomaston Toxic Waste Dump going up in flames; it was the Thomaston (Volunteer?) Fire Department having a training day burning down an abandoned house - vinyl siding, asphalt shingled roof and all. Yeck! Apparently the concerns of the woman on the orange bike, communicated directly and in person to the person in charge on site, were not met with great sympathy. She was hoping to enlist support for an email of complaint to…The EPA?...the town selectmen?... Someone… Gary said he'd sign for the group.

Rain was again forecast for overnight and Sunday, and a number of us, including all who had driven the longest to get there, decided to head on home. Which we did, after loading up boats and taking some showers (still hot, still plentiful).

Those who remained will have to report on the final night and whether and where there was a Sunday paddle. But wind, rain, and smoke didn't in the end detract from a memorable weekend trip. We saw one bald eagle, numerous adult and juvenile loons, and a flock of scoters. Bill and Dave saw one seal. And those of you who wanted to come but couldn't make it, just think: you will be able to be on the Second Annual Muscle Ridge Fall Camping Weekend that will the be the First Such Weekend to Actually See the Group Get to Muscle Ridge. I hope! (And can only in addition hope that the Second Annual etc etc will be as hummus-free as the First!)

Thank you, Gary, for arranging the trip and starting a new tradition!

[brambor]

But let it not be said that we are are Destination Addicts, as it turned out that we never actually made it as a group out to the eponymous archipelago.

LOL Prudence. Great report!

[gyork]

Trip report continued (sat nite)

Like shackleton’s crew on Elephant Island, we were despondent from the abandonment of much of the party, not knowing they would return 12 months later. Most of the food stores were depleted-we took turns licking the inside of the glass vessel that was once brimming with squash soup. Mother Nature provided the only remaining water, as we queued up under the funneling tarp, mouths dry and agape, savoring the slow trickle of life’s liquid. At length, semi-comatose and too exhausted to respond, the collapsing tarp was quickly ignited by the remaining flickering survival candle, and another toxic inferno was born. Having no other options, we began our long overland trek in the blinding wind and rain to the nearest Wayside Inn in Rockland where we found warm air, soups, burgers and company to sustain us for at least one more day.

[kate]

My hat is off to you for sticking it out as long as you did! And I love the idea of a turnaround time rather than place. And sometimes it's best to go find a hotel.

Thanks for the delightfully-written report, Pru!

Kate

[PeterB]

Thanks for sharing with us the splendors of your eponymous archipelago. Wonderful, (near- Proustian) , trip report!

[bazzert]

Here's a link to some pictures I took

https://picasaweb.google.com/112004081705866592508/PenobscotBaySeptember2012?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCODt8-6Cu8WeRg&feat=directlink

and also the track (both days)

http://www.everytrai...trip_id=1792688

Barry