Kayaking the Coasts

There is something decidedly unnerving about settling into a sea kayak and paddling off blindly into a wall of fog. My kayaking buddy, Philip Kibler, checked the chart and set the compass mounted in front of him to 180 degrees. “We’re off,” he sang with a cheerful faith I did not share. As we glided across the mirror-smooth water, there was no way to distinguish where the gray of the sky met the equally gray sea; the only spots of color within our 50-foot circle of visibility were the hundreds of lobster floats strewn like fluorescent confetti across Penobscot Bay.

We had arrived in Stonington two days earlier to celebrate our fifth anniversary together by kayaking along the coast of Maine. On the drive here down through northern Maine, we knew we were nearing the coast at Bucksport by the smell of salt air and the McDonald’s signs advertising McLobster Rolls. South of Bucksport, rural Route 175 took us back in time as the road narrowed; by the time we had crossed the bridge that links the mainland and Deer Isle, we had traveled back a century. At road’s end, Stonington seemed even older, with its quaint, one-block-long Victorian main street hugging a cove peppered with moored fishing boats.

We had booked a romantic room at the Inn on the Harbor to pamper ourselves before setting off on a week of waterborne adventure. Each of the inn’s 13 rooms is named after one of the grand sailing schooners that often grace the harbor. We occupied the Angelique (after a 95-footer that sails out of Camden, Maine), and, with the set of binoculars left in every room, we took in the Penobscot Bay panorama of boats.

The following morning, we drove to the town dock in a heavy fog whose three-week presence was beginning to annoy even the weather-hardened locals. Our plan was to hopscotch around the Deer Isle Archipelago camping and staying at the occasional seaside B&B.; We laid out a mountain of dry bags stuffed with sleeping bags, tent, clothing, water supply and food while a growing crowd of locals kibitzed about whether we could fit all this gear into the two kayaks’ watertight compartments. It all fit, to everyone’s amazement including our own, right down to the bottle of white wine we’d brought should we encounter a bounty of seafood along the way.

After spending close to an hour silently sucking on an old pipe, one old-timer finally asked, “You goin’ out in that?” He waved his pipe at the fog. I gave him the thumbs up and shoved off.

Following the ebbing tide to take advantage of the pull of the water, we were out of sight of Stonington within minutes. It was warm and muggy but dead calm. The rhythm of paddling and the sonorous drone of foghorns had us relaxed and happy to be on the water again.

In the fog, we could hear, but not see, a couple of boats working lobster traps (there are roughly 4 million off the coast of Maine); we had brought along fresh butter just in case we could buy a couple of lobsters at the source.

Philip and I have a fair amount of kayaking experience in waters balmy and icy, from Baja California to the Arctic, and we came prepared for the full spectrum of weather that can assault the Maine coast. Even in late June, we wore neoprene pants and life jackets, and carried a weather radio, extra paddles, a pump (which we hoped we wouldn’t need for bailing) and an air horn to attract attention.

Paddling coastal Maine, even in sheltered Penobscot Bay, requires an intermediate level of experience with navigation and kayaking; those without would enjoy the experience more by going with a group or a guide.

As we cleared the mouth of Stonington harbor, three seals popped their heads out of the water just ahead of us. We took it as a good omen.

Throughout the early afternoon we could hear water lapping the rocky shores of the islands we paddled past before we could see them. With our late start we planned a short first day of only three miles. All too soon our home for the night, Harbor Island, came into view.

Harbor is one of 4,617 islands off the coast of Maine, the vast majority of them privately owned. Normally they would be inaccessible to the public, but a unique nonprofit conservation organization, the Maine Island Trail Assn., has struck an arrangement with some island owners: A $40 annual membership in the association grants access to 75 private and state islands on the trail, a 325-mile waterway extending from Casco Bay (Portland) on the west to Machias on the east.

Late that afternoon we hiked around the granite shores of the island, collecting mussels that we steamed in a smattering of white wine and fresh garlic. We fell asleep that night to the rhythmic dripping on the tent of mist from fog that had collected into droplets on the spruce branches above us.

The next morning held promise with a slight breeze and the sun teasing us through the shifting blanket of fog that made Merchant Island, barely 100 feet away, vanish and reappear throughout breakfast.

The day’s destination was six miles south: the biggest island in the area, Isle au Haut (pronounced aisle-ah-ho) or “High Island.” By the time we drew near, the weather had lifted enough that we could see the hills--barely 500 feet high--that gave the island its name.

We pulled in alongside the general store on the waterfront of the town of Isle au Haut, where most of the 70 year-round residents live, and listened to lobstermen gathered out front comparing how many pounds they’d brought in that day. Islanders here are not keen on tourists--there is no hotel, not even a cafe in town--so to respect their privacy we didn’t linger.

A short stroll up a boardwalk through the forest brought us to the 1857 Union Congregational Church, a gem of the steeple-and-white-clapboard style of New England houses of worship.

Two miles from town we reached the 1907 Robinson Point Lighthouse. We were greeted by Jeff and Judi Burke, who in 1986 converted the old buildings into the Keeper’s House, the only lodging on the island. While he brewed us a cup of tea on the old propane stove, Jeff explained that the inn has no electricity. Dinner is served by candlelight, and a pot-bellied stove in the sitting room keeps the house warm. There are six small rooms done comfortably with painted antiques. The tiny oil house where the oil that fired the light was stored is now known as the honeymoon cottage for its seclusion.

As we readied to leave for our campsite, two couples rode up on the inn’s bicycles, which they had used to explore the piece of Acadia National Park that occupies the southern half of the island. “We hurried back because we could smell dinner,” they joked as they settled into Adirondack chairs facing the sea.

A deer munching on salty grasses along the high tide line barely acknowledged us as we beached on the pebble shore at Duck Harbor in the national park. When the afternoon mail boat arrived, it brought other campers and a park ranger. She assigned us our lean-to, one of five wooden platforms with three walls and a roof where we were allowed to pitch our tent.

In the morning we hiked the Western Head Cliff Trail, which descended to five different beaches. Dozens of brightly colored lost lobster floats littered the pebble shore. In the afternoon we set off paddling, but the weather had turned rainy and we cut short our day when the wind rose and sent waves splashing over the front decks of our kayaks.

*

The next day, the fickle weather had decided on sun again, and we stopped on tiny Wheat Island to spread our wet paddling clothes out to dry on the granite shoreline in the hot sunshine. The spit of sand was Caribbean white and the water Mediterranean blue, but it felt more like Arctic icy when I waded in to my knees.

The next few days passed in a peaceful rhythm. From our sea-level vantage point we spotted rafts of eider ducks that rose as one, the sound of their flapping wings like a roaring waterfall as they took to the air by the hundreds. Bald eagles soared overhead, dove into clusters of ducklings or were chased from nests by angry sea gulls. We paddled past beaches blue with crushed mussel shells on specks of land with names like Hell’s Half Acre, Grog Island and Drunkard Ledge. Each was ringed in pink granite and topped with a crew cut of spruce; some were so small they seemed to have only enough room for a tent at high tide; and with 10-foot tides we quickly learned it is very difficult to use the ocean to cool the day’s-end bottle of beer.

By our fourth day we could smell the banks of bright pink island roses as we pulled onto the beach at Sheep Island. Owner Tim Emerson maintains paths around the 45-acre island, where we spotted a couple of foraging deer. Tim’s father, Ed, opened up Sheep as the first privately owned island accessible to island trail association members.

*

The morning after camping there we paddled to the mainland and met Tim’s wife, Kathy. The Emersons run the Oceanville Seaside B&B; in their 1850s farmhouse. Both kayakers themselves, they also look after 12 islands for the association. Their cozy home was a wonderful break from our tent. After hanging our damp paddling gear on the clothesline strung near the living room fireplace, we settled into a deep bath in a claw-foot tub and gazed up through the skylight at the stars. It felt like heaven. That night we spent in a real bed beneath an elaborate quilt made by Kathy.

After a huge breakfast we were off again toward the east, zooming across the shipping channel called Eggemoggin Reach in record time with a strong breeze at our backs. After pitching our tent on tiny Seller’s Island we paddled several miles along the shore, rounded a bend into Naskeag Harbor and found ourselves in a bay from the past where all manner of immaculate wooden boats lay at anchor.

Coming ashore, we headed up the hill to the Wooden Boat School, a Maine institution that attracts enthusiasts from across the country for its classes in wooden boat construction and sailing. Shop manager Jerry Cumbo took us on a tour of the rambling workshops where one group was learning basic seamanship skills while another was busy restoring their wood and canvas canoes.

After tuning into our weather radio, which forecast high winds and a small-craft warning for the next day, our last, we fell asleep at our Seller’s Island campsite to the wind-chime clanging of a bell-buoy channel marker. We rose just after dawn to find ourselves once again enveloped in thick fog. The water was calm and the wind still, so we quickly set off, hoping to reach Stonington before the storm front. We heard lobster boats moving from trap to trap as we paddled steadily, but wrapped in our eerie blanket of fog we saw no one.

Seven days and a leisurely 46 miles after we set off, the piers of Stonington once again appeared through the fog as we paddled into the harbor. After cleaning up at the charming family-run Boyce Motel on the main street, we finished our trip at the homey Bayview Restaurant with its stamped metal walls and ceiling. We settled into old pews that served as booths and dug into the Bayview’s legendary herb-crusted seafood pie. It was filled with fresh lobster, scallops and prawns--and not one morsel freeze-dried.

(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX / INFOGRAPHIC)

GUIDEBOOK

Maine Waters

Getting there: You can fly from LAX to Bangor, Maine, on connecting flights on Delta, Continental, US Airways and American airlines starting at $538 round trip.

Where to stay: Inn on the Harbor, Main Street, P.O. Box 69, Stonington, ME 04681. Telephone (800) 942-2420, (207) 367-2420, fax (207) 367-5165. Doubles, $100 to $125 per night, with breakfast.

Oceanville Seaside B&B;, R.R. 1, Box 890, Stonington, ME 04681; tel. (207) 367-2226. Rates start at $65 per couple, breakfast included.

The Keeper’s House, P.O. Box 26, Isle au Haut, ME 04645; tel. (207) 367-2261. Two-night minimum stay on weekends in July and August, $255 to $294 per couple per night, three full meals included.

Getting around: The Isle au Haut Co., tel. (207) 367-5193, runs passenger boats from Stonington to the island daily except Sunday; to Duck Harbor summer only.

Among outfitters providing kayak rentals, lessons and tours, that locals recommend:

Maine Sport Outfitters, P.O. Box 956, Route 1, Rockport, ME 04856; tel. (207) 236-8797. Maine Coast Experience, Reach Road, Brooklin, ME 04616; tel./fax (207) 359-5057.

For more information: Maine Island Trail Assn., P.O. Box C, Rockland, ME 04841-0735; tel. (207) 596-6456, fax (207) 596-7796.

Maine Division of Tourism, P.O. Box 2300, 325-B Water St., Hallowell, ME 04347-2300; tel. (800) 533-9595 or (207) 623-0363. E-mail request@mainetourism.com (for brochures) or info@mainetourism.com (for questions).