A Week Under the Stars - Paddling/Camping the Islands of Maine

 A Collaborative Report

Introduction

Saturday

Sunday

Monday

Tuesday

Wednesday

Thursday

Friday

Reflections

Photo Gallery

Video Gallery

Wild Turkey Paddlers

 * CLICK IMAGES TO ENLARGE

 MONDAY

[Nelson]  “I slept much better my first night at Hell's Half Acre. I awoke in the morning to the sound of clanking pots. After a few minutes I rose up on my elbow and looked out the window of my tent in the direction of the noise but saw no one, so I lay back down. A little while later I heard some low voices in the same direction. I waited to see if the voices would continue, but they didn't. I looked out the window again but still saw nothing. It was cold out this morning and I was feeling pretty cozy in my bag so I wasn't in a huge hurry to get up,  but I didn't want to miss out on anything either. After about 5 more minutes I said the hell with it and got up, dressing in my fleece pants, pullover and beenie. I rolled out of my tent into the pine covered mist but no one was around. No water boiling, no food preparation... I was already getting used to this. Maybe they're checking out the sunrise, I thought to myself.  So, I picked a direction and started walking. I came out on the South side of the island to find everyone but John gathered around a huge granite table. It was sunny and warm out here and there was hot coffee and the apple cobbler was just about ready to eat. Whew! I thought I missed it.

John, who was usually the last one up finally found his way to the breakfast table. With sleep in his eyes and a ski cap on his head I couldn't help but think of Randy Quaid from the Vacation movies.

We enjoyed our cobbler in the warm sun before getting ready for another day of paddling.”

[Chip] “I got up saw Doug heading over the eastern side of the island. It was the first great sunrise of the week. It quickly warmed up the beach. The hot tea and apple cobbler finished the job. I want that cobbler recipe.”

[John]  “Beach front property is sweet, especially when you might have had a few beers that day, maybe a few more with dinner, and need to take a quick trip to the inter-tidal zone, and attend to a little business. I had awoken sometime in the night, needing to attend to said business, and heard the waves seemingly crashing right outside my tent door, and feared my tent might be in danger of floating out to sea. Peaking out from my tent, there were only small waves, gently breaking in the limited moon light. What a nice way to wake up, even if it is only to go back to sleep again.

Waking this time in daylight, I decided to get a little bit of John time in, and walked to the end of the island, to check out the rising sun and what not. Bored with this, and feeling a little hungry, I returned to the circus tent to find the crew and maybe some breakfeast, but neither were anywhere to be found. I listened attentively, but couldn't come up with any idea on where they might have gone. All the boats were around, as is all their gear. The island isn't that big, where could they have gone? Finally I found them enjoying warm drinks, waiting for an apple crisp type breakfeast to finish up. Seems I had arrived just in time to get breakfeast.”

[Steven] “This was one of the memorable points of the trip for me.  Until now, it seemed we were always in some sort of transition.  Monday morning was the first time I felt like we were finally settling in.  There was no need to rush as we each crawled out of our tents and straggled down to the beach for breakfast.  After the dishes had been cleaned, I found a secluded lounge chair shaped rock on the west end of the island and managed to sneak in an hour of reading (Reflections from the North Country  by Sigurd F. Olson)”

[Nelson]  “The first paddle from our base camp at Hell's Half Acre was a tour of some of the islands Northeast of our camp and to check out a couple of them for future camping spots. Our first major crossing had us downwind and we were able to catch a few waves for some short rides. But before long we turned to the right and now had the wind on our rear quarter and trying to toss my playful Sirius with its feather-light paddler all over the place. I had experienced a fair number of different conditions during the summer and felt I had good control of my new boat... obviously not. I felt my grip get tighter and tighter with the anticipation of the next wave, wondering which way it wanted me to go this time. I was on full alert and paddled with determination to reach the end of this game that Mother Nature seemed to be enjoying way more than I was.

Eventually we paddled into a cove and found a place to have lunch where we all discussed the crossing. Evidentially none of the others had the same experience as I did and I left the cove that day with the nickname "twitchy hips".

[Steven]  “I have a particular fondness for dragonflies.  Therefore, I was pleased to see swarms of them hovering over the shoreline grasses at our lunch stop in a little cove in Saddleback Island .”

Once back at Hell’s Half-Acre, it didn’t take long before the need for more beer was discussed.  It so happened that, in our effort to minimize gear, we had left a 12-pack back in the van at Old Ocean Quarry.  A small expedition party was quickly organized and Doug, Nelson, John, and Steven made the 1.5 mile crossing back to the mainland for the much-desired provision.

While we were away, a gentleman (later to be referred to as “The Pajama Bottom Looney” and the “Painting Gnome”) had also setup camp on Hell’s Half- Acre .  Apparently, he paddles out once each season and camps for a few days.  There was a mutual respect for privacy as our camps were at opposite ends of the island.  However, we thought it best to move our “privy” to a less obvious location.  That is, less obvious to our new guest, but more obvious to us (read: next to Steven’s tent)

This would be an appropriate place to mention the required “privy” routine.  Some things are best left to the imagination.  However, since it was a major topic of jokes and conversations all week, it seems remise not to at least give the 1000 foot version.  One thing we found out was that the "Leave no trace" rules are a little different in Maine than they are in Nova Scotia . Many of us had brought our trowels and lighters for potty time in Nova Scotia but in Maine , things got a little more interesting.  In Maine you have to carry out all your waste which means doing your business in a bag and taking it back with you to dispose of on the mainland. The way it worked was that we each had our own personal bag.  We would pick out a nice quiet spot to do our business, leave our deposit in the bag and cover it with some kitty litter. Afterward the bag would be tied and hung on a tree.  Before long the privy area began to look like it was being decorated for Halloween with the many white ghosts hanging from the trees.  There was quite a bit of anticipation as to who was going to be the first one to break the ice.  But, soon we were all veterans of “the bag”.  However, John must have been left off the instructional memo… particularly the part about each having our own bag... Chip was not pleased and opted for a “fresh” one.

Dinner that evening consisted on Portabella Mushroom Burgers and a Veggie Mix had under the Circus Fly.  The after-dinner mood was one of a group that had paddled all day in the sun… probably the most subdued we would be all week.

TUESDAY ->