Fickle weather adds to outdoor experience Neither wind nor rain a deterrent

It seems the weather adage for some locales in the state this summer has been: “If you don’t like the weather, drive a couple of miles up the road!”

It’s the truth! Most notable is the difference between Bangor and Milbridge, and even within this small, seaside community. I’ve left Bangor in sweltering heat and humidity and by the time I get to the Gouldsboro area where I can see across Frenchman Bay toward Bar Harbor, the view varies from hazy to nonexistent.

In Milbridge, just a short hop down the coast, the view in town might be hazy to clear, but three or four miles down Tom Leighton Point or on Ray’s Point, visibility can be down to zero! And it just might remain that way for days thanks to southerly breezes pushing hot and humid air north across our chilly waters.

Last Friday night when areas around Bangor and The County were dodging hail, monstrous winds and drenching downpours, I was kept awake most of the night by continuous lightning, but there was very little rain.

While some of you were coping with high temperatures and sticky humidity Saturday, my wife and I were practically shivering as we sailed with cousin Fred Strout on Harrington Bay. We called him at the last minute half expecting he’d be busy, but he’d rather sail than eat, I think. The tide was right and he invited us down.

A light breeze carried us out of Getchell Cove, and when we cleared Blasket Point we caught a steady southerly breeze and had a ball. Fred handled the sheets and left the tiller to me. I managed to snag a few lobster buoys (there’s millions of them out there!), but they slipped off the rudder without incident.

I managed not to capsize, although my wife gave me a few hairy eyeballs as she sat on the lower rail wondering if the next wave might want to join us in the boat. After a while our tacking ballet was sterling – look out Dennis Connor!

We almost made it to Strout Island (yes, there is one, and no, I don’t own it) before deciding to turn downwind and make a run back to the cove. (There’s a two-hour window before and after high tide when there’s enough water to sail home. After that you’re literally stuck in the mud.) Our return was going flawlessly until we rounded Blasket Point and instantly became becalmed – actually we began to drift backward with the outgoing tide.

Now a good sailor would not be fazed by this at all, but I had a vision of us walking in knee-deep mud to get home. I goaded Fred into digging out the tiny, two-horsepower Honda he had stowed under the deck. He reluctantly bolted on the motor bracket and hefted the kicker into place. A few tugs on the starter rope and we again were under way. It was just enough to get us through a calm area and back into a slight breeze. We went back to sail power and I managed to put us close enough to the mooring for Fred to fetch the line and tie us up.

Ashore we toasted the good sailing in the gazebo and looked over family genealogy records until I got so chilled I had to head back home. Really! I had to turn on the car heater to take away the chill. And the trip through the grocery store nearly froze me to death! I couldn’t believe just the day before I had been so uncomfortably warm!

The cold air mass swept out the haziness. It left us with a view of the stars around midnight that would challenge your imagination. I pondered my tiny existence as I gazed through binoculars at the Milky Way and rising moon and all was right with the world.

Sunday morning’s crystal clear skies and lowered humidity levels left our ocean view inspiring. It finally was a day like a Maine day should be – breezy, crisp and clear – that one that you’ve hoped for all summer. It was worth the wait.

The drawback was having to do some household chores and helping with some tedious outdoor planting. Not that I wasn’t willing to help out, mind you, but that cooling northerly breeze and rising tide beckoned on every turn. Finally, I had to beg off to go paddling. The kayaks, too, could be heard crying for the taste of salt water. I headed back to Getchell Cove.

The gravel beach was nearly flooded when I launched. I figured I’d have two hours to explore. I faced into the northerly breezes and headed out. I passed the mouth of Mill River on this trip, figuring I’d come back another time and explore its upper reaches. I was determined to get to the head of the bay, up where Route 1A and the water coincide.

Along the way I hugged the western shore, watching terns and an osprey fish for their lunch. Both species made dramatic dives into the water and under the surface to emerge in a couple of seconds with lunch. At the northern end of the by I was watched closely by about 100 nervous Canada geese. Only a few flew just a few yards as I passed. I could hear I was the topic of discussion.

I found a nice sandy beach across the river where I could get out and stretch. Turned out it was a nice source for heather. I snipped a few sprigs here and there to bring home for decoration. Even as I rested on the beach in the late afternoon sun, I could see the water level dropping, so my lallygagging was cut short. I donned the spray skirt and life jacket and set course down wind for Fred’s beach a few miles distant.

The wind at my back made the trip home a quick one.

Wednesday after work I headed to Pushaw Lake to rinse off last weekend’s salt residue and the day’s stresses. Shortly after 7 p.m., I was on the water headed off the beach at Gould Landing when tiny raindrops began to spot the water. I back-paddled to the beach and dug out a spray jacket to put under the deck bungees in case the tiny drops turned into larger ones.

Inside of 10 minutes and a good distance from shore, the drops began to get larger and I stopped to pull on the jacket, finishing just in time to ward off a downpour. If you’ve never paddled in the rain, you should. Wrapped in your own cocoon and buttoned up against the weather, there’s something strangely rewarding, a sense of invincibility – you against nature and you winning, at least for a minute or two.

By the time I’d reached Dollar Island, the wind had picked up from the west and was blowing around 20 mph steady. I sought the shelter of the lee side to the east and was rousted from my reverie by what sounded like traffic on the Interstate at 4 p.m. It was a wind-driven rain squall coming over the island and pummeling the nearby trees. As I sat watching the spectacle a rainbow formed over the Orono side of the lake – awesome!

The rain let up and I hopped over to Harwood Island for a brief water stop before heading back into the wind for the return trip. About a half-mile from Gould Landing the wind and waves had kicked up enough to keep me on my best behavior as wave after wave smacked the starboard bow sending back a spray.

I had the beach to myself when I landed.

Jeff Strout’s column on outdoor recreation is published each Saturday. He can be reached at 990-8202 or by e-mail at jstrout@bangordailynews.net.