Hermit Island

By GARY HAWKINS, Staff Writer

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Paddle name: Hermit Island Nearest town: Georgetown Region: Midcoast Water type: Ocean Difficulty: Intermediate (with guide) Put-in: Head Beach on the east side of the island. Take-out: Same as put-in. Other: This sea kayak trip was a sunset/full moon paddle sponsored by the Seaspray Kayaking, an outfit out of the New Meadows River in Brunswick and Sebasco Harbor Resort. Maps: Get driving directions from MapQuest. View a topo map from Maptech MapServer.

My history with water craft is spotty at best.

 Having spent summers on Cobbossee Lake for the better part of my irresponsible 20s and working at a couple of ocean resorts in my teens, I've gained at least an average Mainer's exposure to boats and the water. Some of it's been downright ugly.

 I've been caught more than once in the middle of the lake in an aluminum canoe during a lightning storm, ruined the engine in a friend's ski boat I borrowed for the weekend, and stranded myself and another friend on a rock in the middle of the lake after capsizing a sailboat.

 My oceangoing adventures have often involved seasickness. While jigging for fish amidst 10-foot swells on a small lobster boat I once watched a prize rock cod swim harmlessly away, too sick to get it into the boat. Another time, I failed to complete my dish and pot washing duties during an evening supper sail, leaving the galley to go topside to settle my churning stomach.

 I've had a lot of fun around the water, too.

 With both thoughts in mind I recently headed to Hermit Island, along with my wife Railynn, to try some sea kayaking.

Introductions

 We arrived at Hermit Island on Small Point in Phippsburg around 7 p.m., for a sunset/full moon paddle. Hermit Island shares the same peninsula with Popham Beach, a place I've been to dozens of times, but I'd never been to this island. It's privately owned, by a man named Ned Sewall I was told, but open to campers and a few beachgoers.

 The trip was sponsored by Seaspray Kayaking, an outfit out of the New Meadows River in Brunswick and Sebasco Harbor Resort. It's run by Scott Shea and employs about 25.

 Including my wife and myself, 12 people showed up for the trip at Head Beach on the east side of the island. We introduced ourselves individually, briefly detailing any kayak experience we've had. Two people, a lady from Vermont and a man from Pittsburgh, were on their third leg of three-day trip offered by Seaspray that included overnight stays on an island and a bed and breakfast.

 Of the 12, eight were women, and ranged from as far away as St. Louis and Montreal and as close as Auburn and Livermore Falls.

 We got a 15-minute primer on the sea kayaks, most of which were two-seaters. A sea kayak is distinguished from its inland sister primarily by length. They're at least 15 feet long with bulkheads at either end for storage and buoyancy. Shea and his two assistant guides, April and Andrew, helped everyone with their lifejackets, paddles and spray skirts for those who wanted them. Because the combination of water and air temperature exceeded 120, wet suits were not required.

 The two-seaters are steered by a rudder, operated by foot pedals by the person in the rear of the boat. The pedals operate in sync — when one goes up, the other goes down — and pushing the right one takes you to the right, the left to the left. They had to be adjusted to leg length.

Getting under way

 Everyone grabbed their kayaks and headed toward the beach, about 100 yards away. Unlike the 9-foot, 25-pound recreational kayaks I own, these things are heavy, somewhere around 100 pounds. Once at the beach, April took over and gave us instructions on paddling —feet to seat, she said, with shallow strokes that use the torso instead of the arms.

 "It's 70 percent push and 30 percent pull," she said, demonstrating in the air.

 We also got instructions from Scott on what to do if we flipped over. Hug the boat, hit the sides to alert others and slither out of the hole while holding onto the boat. Then there were emergency instructions. One blow on his whistle meant to group together, two — move to the right because a boat was approaching and three — someone had capsized.

 My wife opted for the spray skirt, which is supposed to keep you dry but kind of backfired as she got soaked breaking the first wave. Personally, I have a problem wearing a skirt of any sort, and it worked out well as I stayed dry without one.

 We paddled out to a rock a few hundred yards away and then turned toward the sunset. I had a problem getting used to the pedals, a situation exacerbated by my other half who did a little back-seat driving from the front seat.

 "Where are you going?" she said. "We're supposed to be going right. What's the matter?"

 Once we got the captain's and first mate's status sorted out, I began to get the hand of steering. We paddled toward the sunset on this crisp night and on a calm sea. We were headed clockwise around the island, a distance of about three-and-a-half miles. There's a feeling of freedom and serenity in a kayak you don't quite get in a canoe. It's quieter and closer to the water. I dipped my hand into the ocean, guessing it colder than the 63 degrees we were told.

 We stopped to watch the sunset, a mixture of pink, yellow and blue intermingled with a few low-lying clouds. I'm not usually too big on these but given the circumstances it was pretty neat.

 As we headed around the island, a large striper broke water and one guy in a single kayak immediately produced a fishing rod. I'm not sure what would've happened had he hooked this 2 1/2 footer, especially on a 4-pound test line, but the big guy wasn't biting. We caught the smell of campfires burning on the shore and as the sun went down we paddled to a small cove — never would have seen it if Scott hadn't directed us there — with a hundred foot beach. We'd stay here for about an hour until the moon came up.

Campfire stories

 Scott and his crew helped pull the kayaks ashore as we arrived and had already built a small campfire. Juices, candy bars and assorted snacks were available along with marshmallows for toasting. Although everyone had introduced themselves before we got under way, this provided an opportunity to get to know one another better.

 Scott helped break the ice by asking everyone to think of a memorable place they had been and to talk about it a few minutes later. In the meantime, we toasted a few marshmallows and made small talk. Andrew, one of the guides, I learned was a recent graduate of Wiscasset High School where he swam and played lacrosse.

 By this time the temperature had dipped into the 50s and the warmth of the campfire felt good. I realized what an eclectic group this was when we began telling stories of memorable places. A man there with his wife told how they had waltzed to the Vienna orchestra in Vienna on New Year's Eve, another of her trip to Mongolia, still others of secluded beaches in the Bahamas or Costa Rica.

 The funniest story came from Cliff, the guy from Pittsburgh, who went on a canoe trip along the Magnito River (not sure of the place or the spelling). Little had gone right and the more he told the story the worse it got. They got sick of portaging around rapids so they decided to paddle up them. This quickly backfired as the canoes all flipped over and they lost their gear, including most of their food, along with a cook stove. It got worse as a lightning storm hit after they came ashore to dry out.

 "We realized why it was called Magnito," he said. "The rocks were filled with iron ore and every time lightning hit, it went right through us. We all had to put on rubber boots and stand up for most of the night."

 I was tempted to tell a magnificent lie, perhaps a motorcycle trip up the side of one of the Pyramids, but settled for a pond I used to go to as a kid located on Western Avenue. Like just about everything else on Augusta's ugliest street, it's no longer there. The Edmund S. Muskie Federal Building stands where Haines Pond once did but so much for nostalgia, it was time to go.

Moonlight return

 We embarked again just before the full moon rose above the pines along the shore. It was around 10 and quite dark. We lit small lights on the front of each kayak lest anyone take a wrong turn and end up in the south of France. Scott instituted a numbering system and called for each boat to count off from time to time. There appeared little danger of getting lost as the guides surrounded us like border collies herding meandering sheep.

 The moon peaked through the pines and about 10 minutes out came into full view. The water was as calm as it could be and we glided along with scarcely any resistance on the incoming tide. We came to the far side of the island and headed for home through a narrow channel with fishing boats on one side and a lobster pound on the other.

 The smell of the ocean had been pleasant and quite intoxicating until we happened by a fishing boat. Like encountering a dead skunk along the roadway, it dissipated quickly. I spotted two men silently fishing on one dock, thinking the boats, now all dark except for those of the guides, must have looked a sight gliding through the channel. The group split as the channel divided into two separate channels with all meeting in a marsh at the end of the line. As luck would have it, a small channel just the width of one boat, allowed us to paddle right up to the shore and avoid another hundred yards of kayak hauling.

 We said our good byes and headed to the parking lot, back to civilization.

Gary Hawkins — 621-5638

 ghawkins@centralmaine.com