A Few November Days in Muscongus Bay - 11/2-4/12

[prudenceb]

A Few Days in November in Muscongus Bay (11/2-4/12)

"Well, god bless you," were the parting words of the grizzled and friendly son of the grizzled and friendly owner of Muscongus Harbor Marina, where Warren, Rob and I launched for a weekend of enjoying midcoast Maine islands. His words followed a discussion of the upcoming weekend weather, possible weather challenges for December camping (little things like sea ice, which could make landing on islands a…challenge - although no problem launching because the year round lobster-boats with their big engines break up the ice in the harbor), and some shakes of the head that conveyed a certain questioning of the sanity of individuals who choose to set out on the sea in little boats at this time of year.

We launched in early afternoon under lowering skies, the bumpy water steel grey and the wind blowing in our faces. This was the maiden voyage of my new boat, which had spent two days following orders at the 4**** assessment weekend in October, but had yet to spend the night out on an island. I was thrilled to be aboard! We headed southeast to the tip of Hog Island, then rounded the island, and rode the wind waves blowing from that direction up the eastern side of the island. This was Warren's and my third trip to Muscongus Bay, and we noticed that it was showing us a third season, which felt more early winter than fall. The deciduous trees were all completely bare. The color seemed to be drained from the firs, which looked more black than green. The world was devoid of color with the sky almost completely overcast. It was exhilarating to think, "We're paddling and camping in Maine in November!"

We saw Crow Island, our camping destination, off in the distance, and it was a quick ride down the length of Hog, with one stop along the way for Rob and Warren to investigate the platformed campsite for future reference. I stayed in my boat - so thrilled I continued to be to finally have it! - working to stay in position against the insistent wind. We continued on. Because there were still several hours of light on this second to last day of daylight savings time, we passed by Crow (concerned for a moment that it might be already occupied as we saw a bright orange life vest hanging from a tree) to show Rob Strawberry Island. Strawberry, with its small and cozy central grassy camping area, would be a delight at this time of year - for two people who either like each other very much, or who don't mind listening to the snores of others during the night!

As the day was getting on, we didn't linger long, and returned to Crow, where we found that the life jacket was not a sign of existing life on the island, but just an old-fashioned life jacket tied to a tree. We each staked out our campsite. I made a beeline for where I had stayed when Warren and I were there in the spring. Toward the south end of the island, I thought it would be protected from predicted northerly winds. Warren and Rob set up a tarp in the central camping area, Warren pitched his tent, and Rob rolled out his luxurious bivvy sack. I assume you've all seen the picture he posted of the interior. Amazing what can be fit into such a small package!

We ate dinner on the rocks at the north end of the island. The wind hadn't yet turned to the predicted north/northwest. There was no sunset to see because there was no sun to see setting. There was, however, a curious glow reflected on the bottom of the low clouds over Bremen Long Island to the east. We debated whether this was city lights (what city?!?), moonlight from behind the clouds, or some natural or unnatural disaster of which we were ignorant because we felt so far from civilization as we sat out in the dark.

Because Warren and Rob's previous camping expeditions had been characterized by lousy…er…challenging weather, and Warren's and mine had been blessed with moderation in that department, I could only conclude that it was my excellent personal relationship with the Weather Gods that had made for the latter, and that my absence from Warren and Rob's previous trips accounted for the former. This observation led to a debate about the relative power of the Weather Gods (my friends) versus Mother Nature's (Rob and Warren's taunting mistress of ceremonies). Because the forecast before we left had been for only slight winds, under 10 knots, but had changed to a prediction of gusts to 25 knots the next day, we decided that Mother Nature appeared to have the upper hand over the Weather Gods. But it was also clear from our pre-launch discussion of wintry conditions to come that Old Man Winter would trump all…and that there would be no messing with Old Man Winter when he had firmly settled in.

Pitch black at 7 pm, and it wasn't warm sitting out there. Bedtime for me, while Rob and Warren vowed to stay up until 8. Thank heavens that ever-prepared Warren had brought a full array of sleeping bags to the launch site, and that Rob in his giant boat was able to carry all of them. I borrowed one, but didn't plan on using it, assuming that my own sleeping bag would be sufficient if I were wearing toasty clothing. However, shivering in my tent in my sleeping bag in various layers of clothing, I thought darkly, "We're camping on an island in Maine…in November...," and thought how nice it would be to be in my bed at home. But Warren's back-up sleeping bag saved the day…night! I just pulled the bag over my mine, and presto!: a toasty night ensued, and I slept deeply. The first lobster boat chugged into action at 3:53 am. The next wake-up call was the 6 am argument of a pair of cranky crows.

There had been the promise of sun on Saturday, but consistent with the upper hand of Mother Nature that we had already observed, any hope of a sunny paddle was soon obliterated. After breakfast (where Warren and I marveled as Rob cooked up on his pink skillet and consumed five pancakes with butter and syrup), we pointed for the south tip of Palmer Island, then rounded to the east of Bremen Long Island, with a goal of paddling through the Flying Passage, riding the incoming tide up to Hungry Island, where Warren wanted to find the northwest campsite. While we saw tantalizing patches of blue sky off in the distance, and once or twice the sun seemed to be trying hard to break through the uniform cloud cover over us, it never did. Looking around - grey water, grey sky, black trees - and feeling the cold in my fingers from leaky neoprene gloves, and the cold in my toes from insufficiently thick socks under my cold neoprene boots - everything in the environment just repeated, "November November November."

We crossed over to Hungry Island, and stopped at what looked like the camping site - a fairly big and open beach. But it backed up against a high bank of dirt and rocks and twisted bushes. Rob clambered up, looking for the site, but returned pronouncing the area above a "war zone" of blow-down trees. No MITA site here… We continued northward and almost immediately saw another, smaller beach, and as we aimed for it, we saw a sign on a tree and knew that this was the spot. I again remained in my boat, tapping my feet against the bulkhead for circulation and whirling my arms to get warm blood into my cold hands, while Warren and Rob explored. It was approaching noon, and we decided that we would cross once again to the north end of Bremen Long Island and look for the first appealing spot to stop for lunch. As we reached the middle of Flying Passage, we could see the current running, and crossed into it, the boats being pulled first north with the current and then south just to keep it interesting. A few corrective strokes kept us pointed where we wanted to go, and shortly after noon, we pulled onto a small beach on a dark little cove that was protected from the wind.

Hot lemonade, hot tea, hot cocoa and various solid lunch items as well as a nice fleece hat were very warming. We were snug and comfortable. "We're paddling and camping in Maine in November!" We talked about plans for upcoming trips this winter and short expeditions for next season.

Thoroughly warmed, we launched once again after an hour. My hands and feet were finally warm (that's what hot lemonade and a hat will do for you!), and as we crossed to the western side of the Hockomock Channel, the wind disappeared, and we had a paddle on almost flat calm water for most of the rest of the day. The Weather Gods were in the ascendancy! Mother Nature had been bested, despite her desire to throw another test at the boys. We poked into silent and still inlets. Dead leaves swirled overhead and floated on the water. We stopped to look at the wrecked ship in the harbor, and returned greetings with a friendly lobsterman with a boisterous and goofy-looking big brown dog. We circumnavigated Oar Island. The now-still day, overcast and all, was glorious and welcoming. But daylight hours remaining were few, and we pointed for Crow, as the wind began to pick up and we were more exposed to it.

Warren identified a nice spot out of the wind (the theme for the weekend). Not far from where we sat, we could see the water moving past in rushing little wind-driven waves out from the small protective outcropping of rocks immediately to our north, and we could hear the wind in the trees at our backs, and feel it when we walked to our campsites. Absorbed in talking about something or other, we looked up and were amazed by the single most beautiful sight of the weekend: the low afternoon sun, which we couldn't see directly all, had suddenly - and magically - lit up a strip of trees on the island across the water to the east. The water was the same steel it had been all day, the sky a pearly grey - but bisecting them, a glowing yellow band of lit-up trees. I felt awed. With no specific belief in any deity, it is moments like this that give me pause to wonder…

Warren gave me my first lesson in operating a Jet Boil, and we all fired up water for a hot supper. The sky was finally clearing, and the stars came out overhead. The same localized light glowed in the low clouds as it had the night before. I saw a first star and wished on it. More stars came out, and we could look up and see the Milky Way, which has completely disappeared from the sky over our overly lit cities and towns. We sat in the pitch dark, speaking and then silent. A satellite passed overhead. Then another, moving faster than the first. The hushed thought: "We're camping on an island in Maine….in November!" Had any of us ever sat outside, on a rock, in the dark, on a cold evening anywhere, let alone Maine, for the hours that we sat out that night?

It was cold feet (literally) that drove me "indoors," while once again Rob and Warren lingered outside. I soon discovered that my "protected" campsite actually featured a nice clear path through the trees aiming directly northwest, a perfect alley down which the prevailing wind could whistle. My tent shook, but I crawled into my two sleeping bags, and listening to the wind (and hoping that it was insufficient to knock down any trees!), soon fell asleep. Another very comfortable night.

Sunday dawned cold, bright and sunny, and very windy. Rob reported that closing up his bivvy sak all the way kept it 10 degrees warmer inside than it had been the night before, even though last night was substantially cooler. But even in the cold of the morning, it was warm on the dinner rock, particularly with Heidi as my model, as I was wearing every layer of clothing that I had brought, and was covered as well with a storm cag. It was wonderful to soak up the sun and to watch the lobster boats in the distance (when do these guys ever not work?).

Even though daylight savings time had ended, we decided to stay in the same time in which we had begun, and to claim the extra hour when we landed back at Muscongus Harbor. We launched into stiff breeze (piece o' cake for Rob and Warren, who were sufficiently cocky to be challenging Mother Nature to throw more at them), and while I was glad we weren't going to have a day of slogging into it, Warren let me know that it was really just a puff! On rounding the northern tip of Hog, we found shelter from the wind from the west, and crossing over to Hockomock Point, we received further shelter, and it was an easy paddle south and east with the only wind effect a helpful one, pushing us to our destination. We passed the now-empty cormorant nest where last spring we had run into indignant parents making very clear that they wanted us out of their neighborhood.

Warren observed how slowly all of us, without discussing it, were paddling. We paused frequently and did nothing at all while the wind did the work. I closed my eyes and listened and felt the boat moving. We were clearly in no rush to end the trip.

The launch site came into view. Too soon. "We've paddled and camped in Maine in November!" Back up in the parking lot, out in the wind again, it was a cold day, but magically an hour earlier, giving us plenty of time to load up, drive the hours to home, clean gear and pack things away.

We saw one seal. We saw and heard many loons. A fair number of lobstermen and boats. But except for a man on a dock at one of the manses overlooking the water, not another person on water or land for the three days. Paddling and camping in Maine in November with the Weather Gods ascendant. Heaven!

Lessons learned: 1) Summer sleeping bag is insufficient even when one is wearing long underwear, fleece pants, two shirts, socks and hat. 2) Cold winds blow through the holes in Crocs; Crocs are not good land shoes in November. 3) Hot liquids and hats warm feet and hands. 4) Paddling and camping in Maine in November is a joy. 5) Maybe the islands are best left to Warren and Rob in December...or maybe not...

Pru

[...]

Pru,

As always a wonderful report! Although the weekend was full of memorable moments, without a doubt the best moment for me was when Rob described the reason why he and Cathy (Rob's wife, aka - Pinkpaddler) decided to join the NSPN community. It was after they read one of your trip reports from last season which chronicled one of our adventures.

Now, after reading this trip report, I hope our latest adventure will inspire others to come with us next season and enjoy camping along the coast of Maine.

Warren

[rfolster]

Initial launch raft up (from my bow cam)

Pru hamming it up

November on the water

Strip of sun from somewhere

With no specific belief in any deity, it is moments like this that give me pause to wonder…

Pru taking a picture of Warren...

who was taking a picture of me taking a Picture of Pru

Dinner reservations on the upper west side

All snuggled in for a cold November night...

just so we can enjoy a crisp November morning

[...]

Rob,

Great pictures! That trip with just the right balance of safety, comfort and fun. The December trips will once again challenge us to keep the balance, but I know we will succeed. I see at least two new MITA islands in our future before the 2012 season is over!

Warren

[brambor]

Great picture and excellent outdoor spirit! good for you!

At least you did not have any snow. :-) last Saturday I slept in a snowy knoll close to Mt.Moosilauke. :-)