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Kayaking on Moosehead Lake July 30nd - August 2nd, 2021 |
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 Friday, July 30th, 2021 It is a long ways to Moosehead Lake.
I left Hanover early, but it was two thirty before the kayak tasted lake water. On the drive up I had encountered a number of showers, in fact the week has been wet. But Lily Cove State Park, right now, is dry and with blue skies. But it is still very Windy! Even crossing Rowell Cove, about 500 meters, is a bit of a challenge. And of course a loon is bobing up and down in the chop and makes it look so easy. My plan is to cross to Sugar Island and then spend a leisurely afternoon paddling up its west side, heading north. But the wind is going to make that a challenge; it's coming from the north, and with a long reach - Moosehead is a very big lake - the waves mid lake are white capped. I am sure they would wash over my deck. I am convinced that if I was hit broadside I would be rolled. I would like to cross them at about 45-degrees, but a kayak is like a weathervane and if I show a bit of my bow to the wind I will be twisted around until I'm broadside and rolled. So, instead, when crossing the narrows to Sugar Island I pick a bearing dead into the teeth of the wind, but that is at least a semi-stable solution. Semi-stable means every few strokes I am correcting and re-pointing the bow. With a determined head wind, and the continuous adjustment to keep the bow into the wave, it was a slow crossing, but eventually I ducked into the lee of Sugar Island, pushed the nose of the kayak into a shallow, muddy cove, and rested. That was a hard fought half mile. The first mile, along the leeward shore of Sugar Island, is a meander among bays, coves, channels, small islands and a few cottages. But as I rounded the end of the island and started heading north-by-northwest I leave cabins behind and again I meet the wind. Today's challenge will be to chart a course which tucks behind head lands when possibles, then sprints around exposed points. Last week I stitched myself a spay-skirt and it is proving very useful! I am surprised how well it works; white caps are breaking on the kayaks fore deck and rolling up to the cockpit's conning. Most of the wave is shunted by the conning. But some of it sloshes over the top and would fill the kayak in five minutes if it wasn't for the spray skirt. There were a few times I had to land, just because I was exhausted fighting the waves. But landing is not simple. Waves catch me broadside as I turn into the cobbled shore and once I was particularly rolled in the surf, leaving me very wet! I'm glad I am in Kristina's fiberglass boat instead of my "skin-n-frame" (cloth and wood) kayak. I had expected to paddle further, I've only traveled five and a half miles, but by the time I reach "Kayak Ledge" campsite I am exhausted and ready to stop for the day. Kayak Ledge is a nice site and looks like somebody has put time and effort into it very recently. There are two tent platforms (the ground is rocky and well pitched), a picnic table, a fire ring and a latrine. And much of the site is covered with straw and new grass seed. The State of Maine maintains over forty "primitive" campsite on Moosehead lake. Primitive means that they are not accessible from road. But in my view they are luxurious! And free! But it is still windy! So I rig my tarp as a wind break, tuck myself into the corner and cook tea and then supper. After dinner I rig the bear bag and explore in-land a bit. As I write this it is 10:00 and still very windy - but I'm heading to bed. Saturday, July 31th, 2021 It was still windy this morning, so I delayed my start a few hours. A leisurely breakfast and then a walk inland until I came upon a network of logging roads. But by 10:00 I was itching to get back out on the water.
The first mile or so was shelters by a peninsula, up past Sunset Cove camp site. But beyond that point I was very exposed; the wind has a clear eight mile reach in which to pile up the waves. I rounded the point and fought, valiantly, for fifteen minutes. But was only able to claw out another hundred meters. Turning around is not so simple, it can't be done without taking a few waves on the beam. But somehow I do the 180, avoid the boulders which appear between waves, and return to the lee of that last headland. In defeat I return to Sunset Cove to consider my options. Once on land I discover that I have just enough cellular coverage to pull up the forecast of the national wether service. It tells me that winds have been 10-12 mph, with gust up to 23! Somehow that make my defeat feel a bit better. It also says that wind should die off some mid afternoon. I find a hollow, slightly sheltered from the wind and slip into my sleeping bag and bivy sack to wait out the wind. It is a nice sunny day and I have a book to keep me company. At 3:00 I made another attempt to round the northwest point of Sugar Island. I fought my way about half a mile beyond the mornings turning point. I now need to turn cross wind and waves. Yet each wave is still its own battle. When I am on top of a wave, the stem and stern of my kayak are out of the water, which make it easy to pivot, and the wind has its own notion of what direction I should pivot towards. The zephyrs suggest that I would like to head towards the boulders and cliffs. I am disinclined to this suggestion and work to persuade my kayak to avoid Scylla and Charybdis. As the wave roll past me my kayak dives into the trough, the bow vanishing beneath the next wave, the tail wagging in the breeze. But you can't keep a kayak down, the nose floats up, the tail settles and when in the trough the horizon is much nearer. But no resting in the trough; the bow continues to rise and is soon pointing over the next wave. And of course all the time I am paddling feverishly, my heart pounding like I was in the midst of a tempo run. And then I am back on top of a wave with half a moment for a quick starboard paddle to offset the wind and the cycle starts all over again. The effort was unsustainable and I could see no shelter up the coast, only white caps rolling down the length of Moosehead. Defeated, once again I turned and headed south. Running before the waves - surfing - is its own special challenge. The waves are over two feet high so when one catches up with you, your bow is down and you sled forwards for four or five seconds. Then the wave passes under, lifting you two feet. Then it out paces you and you slid down the other side - backwards. Actually I can keep the backsliding in check be paddling hard. It seems like downwind should be easy. But I need to keep paddling to maintain steerage. Without steerage the kayak would rotate to be cross wind and life could become damp. I don't think I would necessarily be rolled if caught a bit on the side because I can compensate by activity, aggressively, shifting my weight. Leaning forward, backwards and side-to-side as the wave roll under the kayak eventually becomes second nature - like riding a bicycle. But a moment of in-attention can still lead to a lot of lake in the spay-skirt. Two foot wave may not seem like too much until you recall that my conning, the lip of my cockpit, is only six inches above water level. Running before the wind and wave is fast! What took hours of grinding yesterday and earlier today glide by in minutes. The farther I go, the more in the lee of Sugar Island I am, such that when I round the south tip and head into Lily Bay the lake is smooth and it is hard to believe that the north shore is still being thrashed. I am at Birch Path Campsite tonight. I got here a bit before 6:00. Between setting up the tarp, collecting fire wood, filtering water, cooking dinner, cleaning up afterwards and hanging a bear bag, I am kept pretty busy. It is a now little after 9:00 in the evening and I have a nice fire. But I am tired, and so will let it burn down now - and then to bed. Saturday-Sunday Last night was a night designed for a bivy sack. There were no bugs and no rain, so I could lay in my bag with my head uncovered. Light pollution? There are a very few cottages two miles away, across the lake. Is that Saturn to the south? Even its reflection in the lake is brilliant. And in the early part of the night the Milky Way arched from horizon to horizon as clear as I have ever seen it. I slept for a few hours, but was awaken at midnight by the rising of the moon. Its reflection in the water is like the beam from a lighthouse! At 5:00 it was the sun's turn. But before that the eastern sky had all the purples, indigo and then golden oranges one could hope for. I still slept in until 6:30 Sunday, August, 2021
The lake is a glassy mirror this morning. I knew that I should have been out on the waters in these early hours while the wind gods slept. But I brewed more coffee and stared at the world for awhile. I also had to take apart and clean the stove - it has been sputtering recently. If every day could have a few golden hours like this! I launch the kayak into this sheet of glass, and with my mug of coffee (decadent!) I glide across Lily Bay. Three miles per hour by gently dipping the paddle occasionally into the mirror. One section of the shore is a cliff face and I paddle only a few meters from the rocks. An eagle circles over head. An hour of this gliding brings me into Spencer Bay, and a bit over an hour later I land at Fox Island. Up to that moment I had Grand Ideas about paddling 15-20 miles today and maybe still getting to Mt. Kineo; perhaps even touching the north end of Moosehead Lake. But all of a sudden a great weariness descended upon me. I think the battle with the wind and waves of the of the previous two days has taken its toll. My legs are amazingly sore, I think from tensing the knees, bracing them against the deck hour after hour. And my arms and abs are tired; you need to be in an upright - even forward - position to paddle aggressively. But what I think I am chiefly feeling is a mental exhaustion. When any wave could roll you, you need to pay attention to everything, all the time. And I did this for a lot of hours on Friday and Saturday. So I took a long lunch break on Fox island. The morning has been perfect, but the forecast tells me not to expect this to last. The sky is blue and someone has laid a plank between two rocks near the campsite, to form a bench. Bagels and cheese (as usual) for lunch. After leaving Fox Island I circled the bottom of Spencer Bay. Within an hour the weather is changing. I lose the blue skies and the wind comes up again. By the time I leave the foot of the bay I am facing a 6-8 inch chop. It is nothing compared to yesterday, but I am tired of it. At about 3:00 I land at Lucky's Point. Like most of Moosehead lake, it is a cobbled shore with the campsite just up the embankment. A flatish opening, a picnic table, a fire ring and an outhouse! I've seen a dozen sites like this while paddling, but only one in use. They really are nice. I walked across the peninsula to a little marsh, about 50 meters west of my site. Here I found some very old bear scat, and much newer moose droppings. That side of the peninsula is a lot more exposed to the wind, and I am glad I picked the spot I did. A few inactive hours are good for body and sole and I had a pleasant camp fire that evening.
Sunday - Monday Night The forecast had said there was a chance of rain, but when I went to sleep it was dry. So, like last night, I slept with my head outside of my bivy sack. Sometime in the middle of the night it started to rain, so I zipped up the rain flap of the sack. And then it started pouring! I could feel the rain pelting the sack, and a fine mist penetrate the gore-tex. And when I am completely zipped in, the atmosphere becomes a bit stifling. So I unzip a short section of the flap and find a balance between water and air getting in. A bivy sack is a great solution for nights like last time. It is even a good solution with mosquito netting and light rain. But for a hard rain it is not so comfortable - but it works. Monday, August 2nd, 2021
I'm up early, about 5:30. It is still raining and blowing and the puddles around the campsite are deep - a testament to the intensity of the rain. The stove continues to work like a charm, and I pack and eat at the same time - it is too blustery to sit and enjoy the morning. I leave up my big tarp until everything else is in dry bags, and most of it stowed below the kayak's deck. I'm on the water by 7:00. About a mile and a half west of here is "The Narrows", which mark the mouth of Spencer Bay. I have decided that the narrows is my decision point; if the day is clearing up, I'll continue on the north shore, explore and spend one more night. If the day doesn't clear, I'll head back south to my launch point. When I started the rain was moderate. But as I approached The Narrows the rain got harder and the wind (now out of the East) became more intense! The waves are getting higher and starting to break in open water - whitecaps. I take this as a sign to head south. Even though The Narrows is narrow (about a kilometer) I am cutting on the diagonal, to keep the wind off my port beam. I am happy to duck into the shelter the south pincer of The Narrows. After an hour or more of hard paddling I pulled into the North Point campsite. It is a cobbly beach. When I was getting back into the kayak, with waves pitching the boat, I slipped on the algae on the cobbles and fell into the lake. I am a bit banged up and wobbly, but carefully I get myself back into the kayak and head south. The rest of the trip is eventless. Yesterday's eagle accompanies me into Lily Bay, and then disappears into the mist and rain. Lily Bay itself is three shades of gray - the distance shore also lost in the mist and rain. It is raining very hard when I land, which is a comforting conformation that my decision to pull out was right. There are dry cloths waiting for me - and then a long drive home. In reflection this trip had three distinct phases. First the battle with the wind of day one and two. Then the perfect blue of day three. And finally the pouring rain of the last day. But I have come to think that perfect hours in the wilderness - times when you sit on sheets of glass, watch eagles overhead, and are the only human for miles - needs those bookend to guard and protect it. I don't begrudge the lake for tossing up a few obstacles, for they made the apex more precious. |
