Near Pretty Marsh, Mount Desert Island
6 October 2024
The events in this post took place on August 27, 2024.
A couple of months ago, Jeff organized a group kayak trip. I'm the only one here who has never been in a kayak before. It's one of those things I've never thought about doing. Why get into a boat that's designed to go upside-down?
The last time I rowed anything was in my teenage years, when I'd take a dinghy ashore from the sailboat my father shared with a friend. I did paddle a canoe once when I was 12. Back home, kayaking and canoing are a thing people do on the canal and the Delaware River. Up here, I've seen groups paddling kayaks in the harbor.
Jeff means well, but by telling me and Heddy that we won't have to learn how to escape from an overturned kayak, which he calls a "wet exit," he's only adding to my ambivalence. I was today years old when I learned that there's a difference between a river kayak and a sea kayak. I'm wearing my old hearing aids and an older pair of glasses just in case I do wind up facing down.
I'm trudging along with everyone else, down the hill on Main Street and over to Cottage Street. Heddy spots a t-shirt in a window that reads, "Baa Haa Baa." Jeff takes a liking to it.
The guide lets us into the building and gives us a rundown of what to expect. I'm fumbling with all the stuff he's handed us: a life vest (hooray), a spray skirt (to seal us in), and a dry bag (for our stuff). There are clear pouches with landyards for sale as well, which fit a phone. I could use one of those. They're $5 each by cash into a box, or by Venmo. Venmo is giving me trouble, and all I have is $10. I drop the bill in and take two pouches, one for my phone, the other for my wallet and house key.
He's explaining how to get in and out of the boat, how to adjust the foot rails, and how to attach the spray skirt. He doesn't sound like he's enjoying any of this. Everyone else here knows how to do these things anyway. I'm feeling intimidated and clueless.
We pile into a van and go to the Quiet Side of Mount Desert Island, turning towards Pretty Marsh north of Southwest Harbor.
Our put-in site is in front of a wall of fog. While the guide sets the kayaks out, I walk around, taking pictues with my real camera before I have to stash it in the dry bag.
Fog is the best thing.
It's time to climb in. Glen is my paddling partner. Sorry, Glen. The triathlete is stuck with the noob.
The guide doesn't bother to check my leg position. He gives a hand with the spray skirt and pushes us into the water.
We immediately fall behind. Despite the instructions, I've got my paddle upside-down and backwards.
photo by Elaine McCarron
photo by Elaine McCarron
We're barely out of the harbor and I'm bored already.
Glen corrects my stroke just as my biceps are about to give out. I readjust my legs, which were too far out, and get my whole body into the paddle stroke. Much better.
My job is to tell Glen which way to steer. The kayak has a rudder. We seem to drift to the right a lot. Getting into the spirit of things, Glen insists we use nautical terms, so I'm constantly calling out, "Port!" We have to navigate through lobster trap floats.
Glen is counting on me for pictures. Whenever there's a lull and the chance for a good shot, I give it a go through the plastic phone carrier.
As we get farther out, the fog starts to clear.
I can't use my fingers to zoom in on the phone screen. I can't really frame my shots either. I'm leaving the phone on so that all I have to do is pick it up and shoot.
We're so low in the water that my view is almost like what I'd see if I were swimming. I think I'd rather be swimming right now, except that I wouldn't be able to see as much of the coast and I wouldn't have my camera. So maybe this kayak thing has benefits after all.
Water splashes onto the phone holder.
I'm relaxing into it now.
A bald eagle flies overhead, and later an osprey.
There's a small puddle of water on my spray skirt now. Some of it has splashed onto the phone case hanging from my neck.
We paddle to a small beach on Bartlett Island.
I've run my phone battery down by leaving the camera on. For this trip, I've used a battery backup case. It's bulky, but it's coming in handy now.
After a brief stop to duck behind a large rock and to grab a snack, we're in the water again.
I'm not sure what this boat is for, but it's puttering along.
A harbor seal pops its head up near one of the kayaks farthest from us.
We spot a bald eagle alighting on a tree. We have a bad angle for photos. Glen tries to get us closer while I hit the shutter randomly. Frank and Elaine are in a better position. An experienced kayaker, she has her phone out of any protective case and gets a good picture.
photo by Elaine McCarron
We pile back into the van. Elaine shows us her photos, which are far better than mine. I ask for the eagle and the house on the water. Back at the rental headquarters, we change into dry shoes. The guide disappears, leaving us to close up behind ourselves. There's a big map I didn't notice before. When I see where we took our break on the southern tip of Bartlett Island, I see something else: Hardwood Island. It was southwest of us when we took our break.We were as close to it as I've been since I spent two weeks there in 1982. My stay on Hardwood Island as a 16-year-old, for a two-week, ecology-themed program for high-schoolers, is what started this whole Downeast Maine thing, a thing that lay dormant until I came back here in 2016 for a neuroscience training program at Jackson Laboratories. (Wait. Scroll back. Is that Hardwood Island in the distance in my photo from the beach? The last time I saw that island, I was motoring away from it as it disappeared into the fog. My stay on the island became a metaphor for the unachieveable: freedom from my toxic family, life as an ecologist, peace, sanity. 42 years on, I have three of those things. I bailed on the ecologist part after grad school showed me what that really meant. Anyway, dear reader, now you know why coastal Maine, and Bar Harbor in particular, is my happy place.)
"Bar Harbor Beer Works?" I suggest. Glen, Martin, Heddy, Ginger, Lonnie, and Jeff are game. This is where I traditionally go after my Cadillac Mountain climb. We're a day late, but I'm glad there are takers. We get a table on the upstairs deck. I order a sour beer on tap. It's not Allagash, so I lower my expectations. Maybe because I'm a little dehyrdated and took some sips before the food came, I'm feeling a bit dizzy as we leave the restaurant. I've never been drunk. Can one get drunk on 8 ounces of sour beer? The feeling passes.
In the evening, I suggest by text that we watch the sunset from the town pier. To get there, Frank and Elaine suggest we take the officially-closed Shore Path. We step over the apparent contsruction at the edge of the woods. Beyond that, there appears to have been some work done. Invoking the Hill Slug ethos, we walk right past the "road closed" signs.
We're not the only trespassers.
In the bay, a cruise ship is coming in. Some in our group are trying to figure out which cruise line it is. They think it's Princess. I'm more interested in the Margaret Todd, out for her evening sail.
They're hoisting the sails.
There's a request for me to zoom in on the cruise ship so they can better see the logo, which seems to be Princess. The ship itself looks like a freakin' appartment building.
Maggie has all her sails up.
Farther along, the condition of the path is grim.
The seawall has crumbled completely. We pick our way through the rubble.
The path is whole again behind Balance Rock.
We're in time for sunset when we get to the pier.
I remember when these trees at the edge of Sheep Porcupine Island were looking healthy.
We start walking towards town.
Frank asks me, "McKays?" I've been wanting to go there. That seems to be where we're headed, but then Frank and Glen turn onto Cottage Street. The rest of us follow. They're looking at the menu at Atlantic Brewing. They decide that's where we're eating. There's no sour beer available here.
Continuing our ice cream fact-finding mission, we stop at Ben and Bills Chocolate Emporium.
I aim my phone camera north, toward the water.
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