Map of our route. Casco Bay on the left and Penobscot Bay on the right.

Middle Chapter

Thomaston to Muscongus Bay

Foggy morning on Hungry island. Sean Carapella photo

We almost camped right there, as it had been a long day and that portage nearly killed us. We would have had to wait until dark to pitch our tents and worried that we might get rousted by fishermen at first light. As we thought about it and planned it out, our strength returned and we set off into Goose River. Once again, we were blessed with a high-tide departure. Paddling across what looked like a pond, it would have been tough to fathom the outlet without both a map and a compass. The “river” is a maze of coves, islands and inlets, and the route out is a tortuous one. I loved it. As we gained more open water, a medium fog rolled in and we could only rely on nearby landmarks. For the final crossing, I took a bearing but really, we could just nicely make out the island. We made it to Hungry Island in about an hour, shopped for the nicest campsite and fell to “cooking” a freeze-dried dinner and setting up camp. Nice island.

In Defiance of Onions: the Pemaquid Portage.

Damariscotta Lake Route or Pemaquid Portage? Map by Mike Krepner, Native Trails Inc.

We finished packing, looked, and found the onion washed up on the shore. It turned out that the onion’s advice was to take a wind day, but we elected to continue our journey. And so, I cast my sensitive snout into the salt air, felt the wind in my hair, studied the clouds and finally watched a pinch of sand as it cascaded from my fingers. While I was doing that, Sean suggested we head for Pemaquid, as I had mentioned HOT SHOWERS at Pemaquid Beach. “Good idea!”

Sean sets out sailing. Photo by Tommy Taylor

And we set off to cross twelve miles of open water to New Harbor, the start of the ancient portage trail across the neck. We stuck to the east side of Bremen Island, then set sail and made one long reach that took us through the gap between Hog and Louds and almost to Round Pond on the shore of Pemaquid Neck. After a few futile tacks, we dropped sail and hunkered into the strong headwind.

We came upon a group of girls from some summer camp. They were out for a camping adventure. We had to paddle darn hard to keep up with the lily-dipping fifteen year-olds in their tandem kayaks. They too were headed for Round Pond to have a little lunch out of the wind, after which they planned to camp on Bar Island in the bay before attempting a paddle around Pemaquid Point the next day. Our plan was to head for the portage at New Harbor.

Well-fed, we pulled out into the open water and paddled hard into the strong headwind and building swell, the final 5 miles to New Harbor. The swells were immense; we paddled into the strong wind for hours, pulling against the paddle, creeping down the bay. I looked over to see Sean’s grinning face high atop a swell. Moments later he was hidden beneath the swell. I love this stuff. Finally, we crept past Long Cove Point and New Harbor came into view. We crawled over the watery hills past the next bay and tucked into New Harbor. It is amazing how calm a harbor can be. Entering a harbor is like walking into your home. You step over the threshold into the warm, welcoming peacefulness of shelter. You relax and notice the sun is shining. The roar of wind in your ears is replaced by birds’ songs and all is well.

The Pemaquid Portage starts in New Harbor

New Harbor is a long, narrow cove, packed with docks, piers and lobster boats. The docks are stacked high with lobster pots and the piers loom overhead, seeming ready to topple onto me. Some piers sport houses right there on top. This is a workingman’s harbor. With growing anxiety, we paddle deep into the maze, wondering how on earth we will find a spot to actually touch shore and get out. Sure enough though, there at the very end of the cove is a small public boat ramp.

Finally, we were about to enjoy our first documented ancient ahwangan. This time, however, we were smart enough to dump our water. And of course after that last 9 mile portage, a mere 1.2 would be a breeze. And it was. The roads are named things like “Indian Trail” and “Pemaquid Trail”, no doubt commemorating the ancient path under the asphalt. The put-in was in the form of another boat ramp on the grounds of the old fort. The fort was built to prevent the unobserved comings and goings of the natives. We refilled our water jugs in the museum shop restrooms and asked about the beach, where we looked forward to those hot showers. They told us the only way to get there was to follow the road back the way we came. Apparently, the beach can’t be reached by boat, only by car. How American. However, here is my advice to you, in case you ever decide to “ah” your “wangan” across Pemaquid: After you pass the entrance road to Pemaquid Beach, take your next left onto Beach Loop Road and left again onto Fish Point Road. You will come to a nice little sand beach on your right where you can swim, put-in, have lunch. There is a way to sneak in to Pemaquid too, but it was just recently posted.

We stopped at this beach, respected the signs, then jumped in our boats and headed out around Fish Point. There is nothing covert about sneaking into a public beach by doing a surf landing in a canoe. “La la la, we’re just paddling around outside the surf zone. Hum tee tum…” Bang zoom, I turned and surfed in. I began to broach and did a high-side brace over the wave, like I learned in my sea kayak. But I had a hard time even reaching the water with my paddle and it was the lean that saved me. I hit the beach and hopped out, grabbed the bow and ran up as far as I could before the next wave hit. Carp was right behind me, and I grabbed his bow too and helped him run it up. We looked around; the beach was fairly well deserted. Baywatch was not on duty.

We grabbed our toiletries and towels and hiked up to the bathhouse. Shock and horror, it was past five and the thing was locked up tight. Well I needed a shower and found the foot wash station around the corner, stripped down to my boxers and took an invigorating cold shower. Hot would have been great, but fresh water and soap felt grand enough.

A quick trudge back to the boats and we prepared to pioneer a new technique, for I have never seen anyone launch a fully loaded tripping canoe into surf, solo. And just to add to the fun, we rigged our sails for the occasion. It wasn’t so bad, as the full load kept some stability to the boats and they plunged through the waves. A quick hop in, grab a paddle, and keep that thing pointed straight out. Done.

We hoisted sails and sailed off into the sunset. Literally. It was after seven and we still had 7 miles to cover before we would reach camp. We sailed through shoals and reefs that no real sailboat would have attempted. Past John’s Island then Witch on another long reach before we dropped sails and paddled south to The Gut in South Bristol. I remember paddling under a brilliant orange and red sky streaked with long yellow horsetails. Activity in The Gut was winding down for the day, lobstermen coiling rope, pleasure boaters buttoning up before stepping into the dinghy. Dusk was upon us when we had to unstep our masts to get under the bridge and into the Damariscotta River.

With several upstream miles to go, I was happy to read in the guide that there exists a very long eddy along the eastern shore all the way up to Fort Island. It also warned of the ferocious currents between the eddy and the island, which we would have to cross. Up went the sails and we glided up the Damariscotta. As a fair wind will, it petered out soon after sunset. The mosquitoes came out to greet us from the marshes near Jones Point. I had forgot about those little buggers. They were a minor nuisance and I paddled along, thinking my own thoughts, and let the dark ether of night hypnotize me.

After what seemed like no time at all, we reached the burbling top end of the eddy. At Ledge Point, the descending current is sent out in a jet, straight toward Fort Island. We could make out the silhouette but could not tell how far away it was or the strength of the current. I went first, plunged into the jet and paddled hard. The outward current faded and the full brunt of the tidal river was upon me. I picked an angle and made for the far shore. Sean later told me he spotted lobster buoys pulled right under by the current. I heard the gurgling out there and wondered how there could be rocks. We pulled into a cove, set up camp and ate in the dark. Sean crashed, I stayed up late drinking the beer I had bought in Pemaquid and wrote in my journal. Whew! Long day. Maybe we should have listened to that damn onion after all.