prudenceb

Gary - Wonderful and rich report, well worth waiting for! Your photographs are just splendid. Thank you for taking the time to put it all together. Your resource list was also a welcome and helpful addition. pru

Yes, important to be thoughtful and careful in the trajectory of one's kayaking journey, but what I found scary(est) about the account was that the people who signed up for this symposium/course made the assumption that they were in the hands of people who knew what they were doing. By this I mean not only that the instructors were good paddlers who had the skills to teach skills to the students (and how amazing is it that the author never came out of his boat? - I was shivering and out of breath just reading about his repeated upside down/underwater surfing/rolling experiences) -- but the students would also assume that the instructors would have them in a venue appropriate to the students' skills and to the things that were being taught. It's one thing to be an intermediate paddler taking a course in an intermediate-skills area and to have unforseen or unpredictable events ratchet up the hairiness of the paddling environment, and another to be led by instructors into an area that was either predictably beyond their skill set, or unknown/unfamiliar to the instructors - although the author was right in being worried about what the conditions would be just from looking at a chart. Yes, when you take a class you sign a form that essentially requires you to acknowledge that kayaking is an inherently dangerous sport and that you might die (oh, those insurance companies!) - but still, you sign the form believing that the instructor will not either knowingly, or by ignorance, put you into a potentially very harmful situation. That happened in this case. I am glad that everyone came out OK and that the instructors had the good grace to apologize up and down (and up and down again) for the errors that they made (and the bad venue was just one of them, as the account makes clear). But it think the account will give me a moment's...thought...the next time I sign up for a class with someone that I don't know. pru

Years ago I did a solo walking tour in the Outer Hebrides - Lewis, Harris, N. Uist etc. I wasn't a kayaker back then, but in rambling over the islands, I was struck by the incredible beauty of the water - white sand beaches and blue green water. As Lorrie suggest, Skye is nice as well, in the Inner Hebrides. I've fantasized about paddling there, so if/when you go, hopefully you'll let us know your experience. pru

...and why didn't they have such fun and interesting courses 30 years ago?! pru

Oops, wore drysuit for first time yesterday before seeing gasket care advice. I will 303 before the next time. However, does 303'ing the gaskets at the END of the season (for those of us who didn't paddle all through the snowy months last winter) carry them through until the next wearing in the fall? pru

Good water, good wind, good sky (despite the lack of predominating blue), good group, good paddle. And, of course, good DQ at the end! pru (ps - nevertheless, still hoping for a lake trip one day with dry conditions and glassy surface!)

dry suits, yes or no?, what do people think? pru

I'll go! The foliage is supposed to be peaking, and winds be damned! pru

A Few Days out of Muscongus Harbor Several weeks ago Warren and I decided to plan a trip to Muscongas Bay in which we would be forced to rely only on ourselves, rather than on more experienced companions, or those with local knowledge. This was my first such experience, while Warren had already planned and carried out a solo trip (not my cup of tea!) in the summer. It seemed a good way to cap off what has been for both of us - on sometimes parallel, and other times intersecting, paths - a rewarding year of acquiring paddling skills. I could have entitled this trip report "It Takes a Village," thinking of the many people from whom we have learned and to whom we owe debts of gratitude: from teachers and guides in formal classes to companions on NSPN and other trips. You know who you are - and thank you! We split up pre-trip functions: Warren pored over his chart of the area as I was still trying to chase down where I could get a waterproof chart; I prayed to the weather gods. Once again, our respective efforts paid off. Warren came up with a solid plan (complete with fallback options), and the weather gods gave us a spectacular stretch of weather for the Columbus Day weekend. We launched out of Muscongus Harbor on Friday morning. Driving north that morning, I had noticed that there was heavy frost on the ground on the shady side of the road the closer I got to Damariscotta. A mixed blessing: mosquito-killing temperatures might also call for dry suits, which we had decided not to wear as the weekend forecast was for record-breaking temperatures. I know, I know: dress for the water, not the air - but the water wasn't yet deep-fall cold, and the thought of being in a dry suit on an 80 degree day was…stifling to contemplate. Fortunately, the day warmed up considerably even as we loaded our boats, and we were comfortable in the layers that we had brought. While as the weekend progressed the skies would become completely clear, on Friday there were thin clouds and a spray of contrails across the sky emanating from the airport in Portland to the south. The air was chilly but not cold, and it felt like fall. Deciduous trees had lost their leaves, and we saw the spindly architecture of bare birches among the fir trees. The seas were calm and visibility pretty much endless, but we still decided to work on our navigation skills by establishing headings for each small leg of the trip out to our chosen island. We immediately saw that the calm seas would allow us to do an open crossing to our first choice camping island - near Cranberry Island. (Would someone please clarify what MITA islands we can and cannot name in trip reports!) We stopped for lunch at a MITA island near Loud's to check out the camp sites for future reference. Then we took a heading to Jones Garden Island (which we could perfectly well see!), and followed it until we were right next to the rocky, stinky, bird-covered island. From there, it was another crossing to our destination, which proved to have two inviting beaches for landing. We looked for the recommended "lilacs" camp site, but couldn't find it, so settled on the site at the northeast corner, a lovely open grassy area. We each set up our tent, and then headed out again for an afternoon paddle. I don't know what the word "Muscongus" means, but on that Friday afternoon, as the temperature dropped, the wind picked up, and the thin clouds thickened, it seemed to have a dark meaning. We circumnavigated Cranberry Island, looking at bare and desolate areas with low shrubs and few trees, and it looked like a place that one might find much further north. When we turned the corner and headed down the east side of the island, we started to feel the full brunt of the southwest winds that had started to blow. The weather gods were tapping us on the shoulder, reminding us that the beautiful conditions they gave us could as easily be taken away… By the time we got back to the narrow passage to our island, we had some biggish beam waves - Warren said he had to brace once - and we were glad when we reached the shelter of our little bay. The wind was really blowing, and even with layers of dry clothing, we were a bit cold and there was no easily accessible completely sheltered place to prepare our suppers. Nonetheless, we sat out on the rocky beach by the passageway. As we ate, a bald eagle swooped close and low over us. The sun set at our backs. The wind died during the night, and Saturday dawned a perfect mid-summer day in October. We decided to head back to Hog Island, and from there to island-hop north, to check out the old sunken wreck various people had told us about, and also some other MITA islands for future reference. The seas were very calm and the wind pretty much negligible. Over the course of the day, we ended up stopping at three different islands. We also started seeing a few kayakers, which only seemed right given the ideal conditions. Indeed, we saw one couple paddling a tandem kayak - a lovely strip wooden craft with one long open cockpit - and the man was shirtless. We hoped that both paddlers had pfd's close by. We went to look at the sunken ship, but didn't get far into the cove before an irritable lobsterman gestured to us to keep away. I felt marginally better when I saw that he did the same to some people in a small motor boat. We decided not to risk the lobsterman's…negativity…and looked at the ship from the opening to the cove. Warren proposed that rather than returning the way we'd come - which might expose us to any increased afternoon winds for the open crossing back to our campsite - that we thread our way over to Bremen Long Island, and from thence to Martin Point and on to Friendship Long Island where we would follow the shore and back to Cranberry and home. However, we ended up doing a longer point-to-point crossing directly to Friendship because once again, the seas were favorable. There were friendly and fun swells and not too many lobster boats. We had thought that it would take longer to get back, and when we saw that it was still only mid-afternoon, we spent close to an hour playing in what I would have to say is my kind of rock garden: a low-tide exposed series of rocks in a dead-calm area between Friendship Long Island and Cranberry Island. The water was all of a foot deep, and the bottom was covered by mussel shells, little crabs, and some kind of reddish seaweedy somethingorother. I would have been happy to linger there for hours, staring down into the water. Of course, too many hours and the tide would rise and the rock garden would disappear… Warren found an area where a solid mass of mussel shells seemed to flow down between the rocks, a glacier of mussels. When we got back to our island, we saw a few kayaks hauled up onto one of the beaches, and a man in blue over white Explorer out by our beach fishing for mackerel. In the small world that is the kayak community, it turned out that he was padding a boat he said he'd bought from Gillian Beckwith. He and his friends had found the lilac site that we had not, and we strolled over a bit later to see it (and try and figure out how we'd missed it). He and one of his friends were standing peering into a large tidal pool, in which they had apparently placed - and lost - two lobsters ("free range lobsters," they said) that a passing lobsterman had just given to them for nothing. I rooted for the lobsters' freedom, until they said that the claws were rubber-banded. They eventually found them and asked us if we knew how to kill a lobster (they had no pot in which to boil water, and I think were planning to grill them on a fire if they could figure out how to kill them humanely first). We didn't. And I don't know what they figured out. It was a spectacular evening and we sat on the rocks facing west. A few clouds sat near the horizon, thin and two-dimensional. To the south, there was a thin band of what must have been fog, which gradually ate a tiny island that we'd seen earlier on the horizon. Not all at once, but starting in the middle and then working outward until the whole island was gone. We watched a slow and beautiful sunset. It was warm and still. Unbelievable for Columbus Day weekend on an island in Maine. The wind picked up again during the night, and while Warren had predicted that it might fall when the sun came up, it did only briefly. We were glad to be packed up and launched before 9 am for the open crossing back, beating the wind that increased again by the time we'd reached a relatively more sheltered area. Another warm day despite the wind, and I would have been happy to putter about sheltered coves for more time rather than land, unload and drive hours home. But land, load and drive hours home we did. Throughout our trip, both Warren and I kept commenting on the different personalities of the various places we've paddled in Maine. For example: the Deer Island archipelago somehow more intimate with many tiny islands with white shell beaches; Muscongus - at least where we were - seeming bigger and more open, with brawny dark islands. And what's with the moss hanging everywhere? Does Muscongus mean "moss hanging from trees"? A fabulous weekend, and I will personally attest that Warren has learned A LOT about navigating and route-planning. Me, not so much, but I certainly can claim some success in my personal relationship with the weather gods.

Wonderful day, wonderful rain. I hear a rumor that Squam Lake is surrounded by mountains. Could that possibly be true?! Thanks to everyone - and especially to Doug for arranging a memorable paddling day. pru

yes! pru

As we discussed at the meeting, I'm up for Squam on Sat. Looking forward to some fresh water paddling for a change! pru

Ah! Now I see. I shall order from them. It's so confusing when Maptech just leaves a part of the Maine coast blank! pru

I called - alas they are all gone. Also for those (Phil, Ed?) who say the NOAA Muscongas map is 102, I looked that up and it's for Penobscot Bay.

thanks everyone for all the helpful suggestions! Now I feel confident I will have a navigational aid when I get to Muscongas Bay. pru

I've been on line to get NOAA chart 13301 for Muscongas Bay in Maine. When I've gone to web site of places that sell them (and when I've called) some, I haven't been able to clarify whether the charts of the waterproof/resistant ones that we use (not laminated). Can anyone advise me the best web site for purchasing NOAA charts? pru

What a difference between your Sunday and our Saturday. I particularly like picture #5, where the sky doesn't seem to know exactly where or what it wants to be... pru

it was foam, not scum - I was watching him taking the pix...

Beautiful day. Beautiful pictures. Thanks - once again- for organizing it, Doug. pru

Dress code? Interested in peoples' thoughts about whether it's dry suit time yet or not...? Cool at launch time, not so cool as day progresses, water not yet that cooled down... pru

Having rooted for the change to fri, for the second fri in a row I can't make it - have friend coming in from out of town. Also, impossible ever for me to be there at 4:30 -but I'll look forward to seeing you, Les (?and others) on Sat at Pavilion launch. pru

I'm interested. pru

It's a hard to start writing a trip report immediately after reading Kate's fabulous account of her solo adventures in Nova Scotia. But even smaller journeys have great pleasures, as well all know from journeys of only a morning or an afternoon messing about in boats. This weekend, Warren, Barry and I joined Ed - whom we'd all met in various classes with John Carmody - for several days of paddling around the Deer Isle Archipelago. We arrived at Old Quarry on Friday afternoon. Comfortable quarters from which to launch, but a rather unnerving night for me in that immediately after heading into my tent to sleep, there was a great crashing sound: a tree that in the morning I saw was rather close by, had decided to go to ground at that precise moment in its long life. My little Marmot would have been no match for it had it been not many more feet closer... Thoughts of that tree stayed with me as I selected camp sites on subsequent nights! After a horrible stretch of weather (remnants of tropical storm Lee and Hurricane Katia), the weather gods smiled: we had bright sparkling skies predicted for the next three days. We launched on Saturday morning into the sun and wind. We had hopes of doing an Isle au Haut circumnavigation, but it was pretty immediately clear that that wasn't going to happen given the conditions. Having tentatively decided on a first night's island destination, but having been discouraged by Captain Bill at Old Quarry's reports of a large mosquito presence there (but I guess nothing like what Kate faced!), we moved on to island choice #2 off of Isle au Haut. But on approaching, we decided that it might be too exposed with all the wind, so moved on to option #3. Our plan was to unload there, set up camp, and then head off for an afternoon of exploring. Island Option #3 turned out to be...a...really...bad...choice: poor landing conditions, a not particularly attractive "beach," and a voracious population of mosquitoes. We hastily set up camp and headed over to Isle au Haut. We enjoyed a respite from the wind passing between Isle au Haut and Kimball Island, and then back out into it until we reached the shelter of Moore's Harbor - a really beautiful place. It was nice listening to the water against the pebble beach, and then nice to stretch our legs. I looked for a few little rocks to bring back and put on my desk. Found two beauties! We poked along the shore of the harbor and it turned out that that was as far as we got that day, and we headed back to Island Option #3 (sorry - trying to pay attention to the MITA rules about not discussing MITA islands on public forums). The tide was lower now, and our original landing spot was now hopelessly unusable, so we continued around until we found an acceptable cove and beach. The only problem being that our campsite was now some distance away. While I stayed down at the water's edge, Barry and Warren started hauling the boats above the high tide line. They returned from the first carry with swarms of mosquitoes around their heads and blood on their legs. Charming! We then did the quarter mile slog with our mosquito friends over rough terrain back to our campsite. It was only the wind that made being on the beach bearable, and when evening arrived, the wind dropped, and the mosquitoes came on down to join us. This drove Warren and me into our tents early. We didn't even bother with a cooked supper because of the bugs, while Barry - blissing out with mosquitoes forming a halo around him - cooked up his meal and sat up and watched what he later reported was a pretty spectacular red sunset. We had agreed earlier that this would be our only night on this island (although original plan had been to stay at the same place for two nights). It was a cold night, and we got up earlier than the mosquitoes and broke camp. Again, Barry sat with his coffee and orange juice, seemingly oblivious to the bugs who by then had risen out of their beds in the grass with the rising sun, while Warren and I decided breakfast would be Anywhere But Here, aka Mosquito Hell Island. We started the long trip back to where we'd left the boats, each loaded down with all our gear, determined not to have to make the trip more than once. We headed out on Sunday morning with the plan to meet up with Ed (who was overnighting at Old Quarry) and a friend of mine who lives in Blue Hill) on Russ Island at 10 am. On the way, we stopped to check out an island that Warren - with his urge for solo voyaging in the future - had marked as a good possibility for a future trip. He reasoned that any island that was described as being shaped like an amoeba had to be a pretty good island, and was he ever right! It was a tiny beauty with several inviting white shell beaches, pretty campsites and best of all: no bugs! We immediately and independently decided that this was to be our home for the night. We hastily unloaded our boats and set up camp, and then paddled out to meet Ed and my friend. My friend had in years passed guided out of Stonington, so armed with some ideas of our own and with her deep local knowledge, spent the day hopping from one island to another - each one more pleasing than the last. And all like little pockets of heaven after our first night's experience. We had a somewhat sporty crossing to one island, which was perhaps the prettiest of the lot, got out, took pictures, and marveled at the beauty of the day, the conditions, and our luck at being where we were. Then we all headed back to our island campsite, where we waved goodbye to Ed and my friend, and settled in for the kind of peaceful evening that we'd all imagined when we planned the trip. We sat looking over the water back at Stonington, and reflected on the fact that it was the 10th anniversary of 9/11 and here we were, far from everything. We all recalled where we'd been that day and what it had been like, and were glad to be missing what must have been an intensive weekend of media bombardment of memories of that day. The wind blew strongly on the other side of the island, but we were protected and calm. We stayed up to see the sun set and beyond (but not much beyond). The wind blew all night, keeping some of us (me!) awake a good deal of the night, and just as the wind dropped at 4 am, the first lobster boats were out to do their work. I rather enjoyed being kept awake by both. So Monday dawned clear and not terribly breezy. A giant cigar shaped cloud hung over the horizon, then slowly dispersed as the wind picked up again. We took our time looking at different parts of the little island, enjoying the comfortable accomodations, and appreciating that after having found and camped on what must certainly be The Worst Island in the Deer Isle Archipelago, we were now on one of the best. But the little beach where we'd landed was shrinking as the tide came in, and we had to load up and head out. It was a too-short trip (with wind and tide pushing us along) back to Old Quarry. While we'd all been thinking of how nice it would be to take a shower and what we enjoy about being at home, as we approached the ramp, none of us wanted to get out of our boats. Another beautiful day, and we'd have to spend it driving south. I expect that reluctance to get out of one's boat at the end of a trip is the mark of a successful experience. (I would post pictures of the trip but haven't become clever enough to upload them to this post - if I can figure it out, I'll do so later. And if any MITA member would like to know The Island to Never Go To, any of us would be glad to let you know!) pru

Fabulous and moving report. pru

me too pru