prudenceb

And now the Boston Globe is referring to the Cape Cod guy in the little blue kayak being chased by the shark as "the most famous kayaker in New England." His first time ever in a kayak - and note that he is not wearing a pfd! pru

Unfortunately, I don't think I'm going to be able to join you on Saturday. However, I note that you are not launching til 11 am. When an nspn group launched from Lane's a week ago, it was pretty zooey there even though we got on the water a bit earlier - there were paddleboarders and recreational double kayaks with little kids and etc. Parking was already tight when I arrived at 9:45 am. Just something to be aware of if there's a big crowd of people showing up for the paddle. (I don't know if that's business as usual for Lane's in the summer, and no need to worry because everyone is always able to find a place to park.) pru

A lovely mellow paddle. Thanks to Bob for organizing, and for insisting that I do bearings and back bearings. High point of the day was the circumnavigation (hey, it counts!) of Coney Island. A beautiful spot on such a soft and calm day. pru

We were covered with blood there. Nice to see that some things never change! My sympathies - and may none of us ever have to camp there again! pru

Have fun on your trip this wknd! It should be a beauty! (well, except for maybe thunderstorms tomorrow afternoon...) -pru

When you're doing a hanging draw, do you edge toward the paddle side or away? I've heard it said both ways, but makes sense to me only in one direction (which I won't say for fear of documenting how flat-out wrong I can be!) pru

I'll come prepared with 10 bucks. I dont think there was a sign about paying for parking at Riverhead, but maybe that's the difference between solstice and post fourth of july! A small price to pay for an anticipated great day on the water - see everyone there! pru

A lovely evening on the pond - calm and warm with a strangely uncrowded parking lot given the beauty of the evening. Four of us - Les, Bill, Eric and I - practiced rolls and strokes that some of us are trying to perfect from our currents workshop last week. Les impressed us with hand rolls. We missed Pink Paddler and the Bearded Recluse - where were you guys?! And Lorrie, I came prepared in hydroskin for as much time in the water as you needed to work on scoops and hands of god rescues. Maybe next week?! pru

If this is where we launched for the solstice paddle, on one side of the road (where the covered pavilion is) it was paid parking, on the other side, with the boat launch (to the left if you're approaching from Salem) it was free - although some space was taken up by movie trailers for the Adam Sandler movie filming in town. None of us had to pay anything that day for parking on the boat launch side. So the $10 fee - are you talking about left/boat launch side of the street or the other/covered pavilion parking lot? pru

oh yes, indeed....that you lived to tell the tale! (but as for Eric only meant that if you were around, you would surely take him up on his offer!) pru

I'll be there if work releases me. And Eric, if Lorrie is around, I'd dress accordingly! pru

I'll be there - pru

Leon, I would be honored to tow you back early if worst comes to worse! (or is worse comes to worst....?) pru

Les - looking forward! - and I've eaten at Portsmouth Brewery, which would be just the ticket after a day of swimming....er....kayaking! pru

I'll be there assuming work releases me on time... pru

I'm interested - but have to off the water earlier than 4:30. Will find someone to leave with early if need be. pru

Avoid the island - which in one of my trip reports I dubbed Mosquito Hell Island - on Merchant Row just north of Isle au Haut on page 185 of the 2011 MITA guide! Hands down the buggiest and awfulest landing/launching that I've experienced thus far! pru

A really nice day - magical beginning with the flat calm pearly sea and sky, and then those sailboats like colorful bubbles on the water. I love Doug's full-screen photo of them. Thanks to everyone for a very nice paddle. pru

Yes, we saw the seals in the distance, but intentionally stayed away so as not to flush them off the rocks, which we've seen others do. And yes, we stopped at the NW campground - described in trip report - which we didn't much like. pru

Have you ever had one of those weeks where there's a black cloud over everything that happens for days? Such was mine last week. Until Saturday morning, when I set out early - under a sparkling blue sky - to drive up to South Windsor Park to meet up with Warren and his brand new never-touched-salt-water Explorer for a camping trip to Whaleboat Island in Casco Bay. I could feel everything lightening inside the further north I got. Our plan was for a 10 am launch from Stockbridge Point at South Windsor Park ($7 for overnight parking), and to meet up with Rene, who had been able to leave on Friday, and had spent the night camping on Whaleboat with his son. Before I left, I debated what to wear on the water - and not being able to decide, ended up bringing every piece of paddling clothing I own - from drysuit to short sleeved Hydrosilk. The forecast was for temperatures in the 60's on the coast, with bright sun, although the clear sky promised was already giving way to clouds. Starting at the Kennebunk Service Plaza on the Maine Turnpike, I had first noticed the sky filling with soft clouds to the north and east, and what had been a bright blue sky was washing out. But that was OK. So…drysuit it was. And we launched. Which was not as simple as it sounds because Warren's giant new boat, fully loaded, must have weighed about 900 pounds. But we managed to get it into the water. I immediately started regretting my clothing choice, as it was calm and there was still enough sun that I felt a bit toasty. But on we went. Warren almost immediately pronounced great satisfaction with his new craft, which handled beautifully in its loaded state. We headed for the northeast end of Moshier Island, an easy crossing with little wind, no waves, and no boat traffic. I admired a beautifully built wooden ramp down to a dock in a cove at the end of the island. It was gently curved, with a decorative railing, like a bridge in a Monet garden painting. Warren warned that on the next crossing - from Moshier to French Island - we might see more high speed boat traffic (although we not yet seen any boat traffic, moving at any speed) so to keep an eye out. We paddled along, keeping our eyes peeled for nonexistent boats, when we saw a lobster buoy that stood out among the field of brightly colored buoys littered across the calm water. It was green and orange. Writ on it in easy to read white letters: FART. Unfortunate Mr. Fart the lobsterman? We laughed and a snapped a couple of photos. On we went to the south end of French Island. We stopped at the point, a lovely rocky area, to take a bearing, although we really didn't need to. We aimed for the north end of Little Whaleboat Island, and continued the calm paddle, the skies becoming more overcast. Little Whaleboat is actually several small islands that encompass a beautiful, still cove with another small island in the middle. Here we met up with (actually, ran into, because we'd had no plan for how we were to meet) Rene and his son. As it turned out, Rene had had a change of plans, and they were headed back in, unable to spend a second night out on Whaleboat. Rene and son were both dressed in shorts and thin tops, and told us that it had been sufficiently hot when they arrived at the island on Friday that Rene had gone for a swim and set up a tarp for protection from the sun. Rene had heard about a cleared area (suitable for camping?) on Little Whaleboat, and we got out to take a look. What we found: a likely ever-evolving art installation covering two small cleared areas - neither big enough to hold a tent - and constructed of driftwood, lobster buoys, shells, rope and various bits of detritus that wash up on a beach. One area was neatly paved with flat stones. A driftwood plank four feet long ran between two trees. On it were about six sea urchins and a few shells lined up in a neat row. A smaller branch was propped between two other trees, and hanging from it at neatly spaced intervals were strands of thick rope, each about three feet long and of a different washed out color. Bottles and buoys hung from trees. It would have been fun to stay and contribute to the artwork, but we had things to do on the water. Rene and son paddled off for the mainland, and Warren and I lingered for a while in the flat calm cove. Because we were protected there from any wind, the loudest sounds we heard were the songs of bird. It was glorious! There was a small flock of birds, which looked like swifts (my ignorance of birds is just about endless), floating on the water. Whatever they were, they seemed calm and were not at all skittish. We were able to paddle near them and they didn't fly off. Warren and I agreed that this was such a special spot that we should plan to visit it every year. As we paddled out, we saw an osprey circling overhead, and then a large nest. It had to have been the untidiest osprey's nest ever constructed - a flimsy looking haphazard assemblage of sticks that wasn't very deep - and I could only hope that the inhabitants will be better parents than they are homebuilders… We paddled directly across to the north end of Whaleboat Island, again keeping an eye out for boats in the channel. Not many. We rounded the point, and went on down the eastern, more exposed side of the island. We could see Eagle Island off to our left, and beyond that Cliff and Jewell. It was nice to be back in a familiar neighborhood. The wind had begun to pick up, and it was a bit of a slog to the "central" meadow, which seemed closer to the southern end of the island than the middle. Along the way we passed one seal draped over a rock. It was sufficiently windy and wavy that we didn't want to head out to give him a wide berth. Even so, as we passed, he did nothing but slowly swivel his head, watching us as we went by. He stayed put on the rock, and I was glad he hadn't felt the need to escape into the water. When we reached the meadow where we were to take out, we almost didn't recognize it because the grass was so much higher than it had been last month. The meadow was spectacular: bounded on both sides by now flowering wild roses, the grass was higher than our knees. The surface rippled in the wind. Not only were there the red and white flowering bushes, but also teeny-tiny yellow and white and red wild flowers growing in the grass. I even found a teeny-tiny patch of wild strawberries: 3 whole strawberries, each smaller than the eraser on a pencil. I selfishly ate them all! Warren made a beeline to the camping site he'd claimed last month, at the top of the meadow, looking west over the edge of the island. I actually preferred mine - a bit lower down in the meadow, and looking east over the expanse of moving grass, with a view of Eagle Island in the distance, although in the increasingly cloudy conditions in which we set up our tents, the features of the island were indistinct. After a quick lunch, we headed out again. While our original goal had been to head north to the Goslings, and then on to Williams Island and beyond, the deteriorating day made us change our plans. We went south to the end of Whaleboat and then paddled in the lee of the increasing wind down the entire west side of the island. The promised sunny day was now almost completely overcast. When we once again reached the north end of the island, which is over a mile long, the wind was up even more and the temperature had dropped. We did the mile plus crossing to East Gosling, with whitecapped beam waves the whole way. We were, at this point, glad for the drysuit decision. I for one was relieved when the crossing was over and I could stop in the calm water between the two Goslings. A number of power and sailboats were anchored between the islands, and there were people on the beach at the north end of the East Gosling. Warren wanted to go ashore (across the rocky, seaweedy low tide landing spot) to visit the camp that had been the site of his solo camping adventure last year. While he took his stroll down memory lane, I engaged in one of my favorite boating activities - sitting absolutely still and staring down into the water. Not much to see at this spot but seaweed and rocks… Next stop: West Gosling. While the campsite there is a nice one, compared to being out on Whaleboat, which in the windy distance looked far away indeed…and out there on this not particularly hospitable afternoon, the numbers of boats and people at the Goslings gave it a bit of a Downtown-Crossing-on-the-water feel. We debated whether to do the shorter crossing back to Little Whaleboat, which would afford us an easy last bit entirely out of the wind over to Whaleboat. But the wind had by then shifted just enough to southeast that a straight shot back to Whaleboat would be mostly into the wind - no more beam waves to deal with - and so we went straight for it. It was a fun, exhilarating trip back, right into the waves. And the minute we hit the shelter of Whaleboat, dead calm. Again we paddled up the protected east side. We stopped at the North Campground, which we hadn't noticed before. While it looked nice enough from the water, once ashore, we walked up the rocks and saw that it was a dark, somewhat damp area heavy with moss. Mosquitoes found us quickly. There was an impressive forest of blow downs right behind the campsite, a dead brown chaos behind the living trees. Warren thought it looked like something out of The Hobbit. Not in a nice way, I'd say. There was a signboard with information about the campsite and the history of the island. Whaleboat was given its name by mariners because its long slender shape, with upswept forested ends and a depressed central meadow, reminded them of a whaleboat. In 2012, I would say that if I'm thinking of a long narrow boat with upswept ends I'd think of …..hmmmm? Kayak Island? Somehow, it doesn't have the same ring to it. Again we paddled the length of the island, completely protected from the wind. We dawdled along. I saw a brown blur moving against the rocks to my left. And then it emerged again. An otter, running along a seam in the rock, appearing and disappearing. Look! I called out to Warren. When he finally saw it, he proclaimed that it looked more like a mink. Are there minks on Maine islands?! Otter…mink…he moved along rapidly, and then out of sight for good. We paddled slowly and chatted, looking at the rocky shoreline. The rocks on the west side of Whaleboat aren't solid faces of granite. Rather, they are vertical formations of thin rocky pages that form a big rocky book. The afternoon cloudiness was giving way to some sun on this unpredictable day, and sunlight threw interesting shadows on the rocks. By the time we rounded the south end of the island, the wind had diminished, and it pushed us north back to our meadow. We ate supper by Warren's camp, staring toward the setting sun. Birds hopped and sang in the wild roses behind and beside us. By 8:30, I was ready for bed, although it was still light out. I turned in, read perhaps six paragraphs of my book, and was down for the count. The best night's sleep ever on a Maine island. The next morning, Warren reported that it had been his best ever as well. Sunday morning was bright blue and completely clear. My tent fly was sopping with dew, inside and out. The grass was soaking wet as well. The water was dead calm. There was no sound but birdsong. Warren pointed out that one could see waves breaking over the reef on the north of Eagle Island. We could see Admiral Peary's house clearly - which we hadn't been able to the day before. It was such a spectacular morning that there was nothing to do but pack up quickly and get out on the glassy water. We were launched by 8 am. I said that sometime in the future we should plan to be up much earlier and launched so that we could take advantage of the still of the day, the special quality of early morning light and quiet. Warren told me something that Spider had told him: the best paddling is between six in the morning and two in the afternoon. Wise words, Spider. Back to Little Whaleboat to visit the special cove. The swifts - or whatever they are -were there, as fearless as the day before. We stopped and just listened. A swift came diving down to the water and pulled up, having snagged a small fish. To his left, Warren pointed out a few circles in the water, small fish surfacing. There was an enormous school of fish swimming through the stands of seaweed. I put my paddle down into the water among them, and the school divided around the blade, then reformed. Divided around a rock or seaweed and reformed. One of the women on the NPSN ladies paddle told me that she feels seasick looking down into the water, even when nothing is moving. Certainly when we paddle most of what we see is above the surface of the water - and that is spectacular: waves, shorelines and sky, birds and seals. But I find these still moments of looking down among the most cherished of my trips. (And, hey! what happened to all the jellyfish? We didn't see a one!) And while I wanted to stay longer, which is often the case, it was time to move on. We looked up into the trees. No sign of life this morning in the sloppy osprey nest, although as we headed out, we did see one osprey overhead. As we headed back to French Island, a small wind began to riffle the water. It struck me that all the tidy little islands in the distance that we didn't get to yesterday were shaped like cupcakes. (I must not have had a sufficient sugar fix the day before, affecting my perception of what I was seeing…) At Little French, Warren briefly disembarked, resisting the impulse to break into the Gilligan's Island theme song, as this little gem was the quintessential deserted island. Thank you, Warren, for fighting that urge! I paddled about and managed to get briefly stranded on a rock in about four inches of water. And then back to Moshier, the wind by now creating small waves. We kept looking for more of Mr. Fart's green and orange buoys, but it appeared that he must be a one-trap lobsterman. There were no more. By the time we reached our take out spot, waves were breaking on the launch ramp. We had timed our departure perfectly! So...where did all the jellyfish go between May and June? Why was this the first trip without an eagle sighting? Why is there a meadow on Whaleboat Island? Why is it free of poison ivy and ticks? Many questions to which I don't know the answer. But one that I do: Why keep driving hours and hours to get out on the water for an overnight? Because it's a sure cure for what ails you!

I wouldn't worry too much about the color clashes at this point - Working on the whole nspn site is a work in progress, and thinking about colors will ultimately be part of it, I assume. (But I think we can all predict that the new color scheme will NOT include the color pink!) pru

Hey, if it's a choice between rain on Wednesdays and sun on Sat/Sun, I'll take the latter any day! That said hoping for sun next week. pru

I'd like to second...and third...everything that everyone has already said. Weather goddess truly shone down on us! Thanks for organzing, Katherine! pru

I'm interested pru