“You must love that boat,” a South Blue Hill lobsterman said to me Sunday afternoon as he checked out my kayak as I was getting ready to unload it from the car.

“I do,” I said, “but the shorter days and dropping temperatures are testing that relationship.”

He chuckled and walked off toward his pickup, finished for his day on the water and heading home.

For me and paddling friend Karen Francoeur, it was the beginning of a day’s outing. We had come to Blue Hill to paddle the bay and circumnavigate Long Island. The weather was OK (which lately means the wind was under gale force and there was evidence of breaks in the clouds). The temperature was above freezing, maybe into the 40s.

At Francoeur’s suggestion and without a lot of thought, I had signed onto this little journey, ignorant of the fact that it wasn’t called L-o-n-g Island for nothing. I did remember it’s the one where buffalo used to roam. Whether they still do is a mystery to me.

We outfitted our boats, stowed snacks and warm drinks, donned our drysuits, and headed down the launch ramp to water’s edge. What I thought was a light breeze was blowing over our right shoulders as we headed south to begin our counterclockwise route around the island.

You know how you always start off a hike or an adventure, right? You’re all fired up and the miles seem to melt. We crossed the bay and hit the southwestern Jim’s Point (1.8 miles, give or take) and scooted along to Duffy Point (2.4 miles) and sighted in on Long Island Hub, a little bit of an island off the southern end of Long Island.

We stopped paddling a few times along the way to sight our binoculars on long tails, surf scoters, grebes, and loons as well as a few guillemots in their winter grays. As we got about a quarter of a mile from Long Island Hub, an eagle took flight and entertained us for a few minutes as it sought out a tree on Long Island. Only minutes later as we passed between Long Island and the Hub, a second eagle took wing only to land a few hundred yards away.

Rounding the southern end of the island, we spotted the second eagle again, this time sitting in a spruce tree not very far from the water. A long sand and gravel beach next to the eagle’s perch invited us ashore for lunch. The south-facing beach provided us views down the bay past Tinker and Bar islands to Swans Island and to the east to Hardwood Island. We’d gone about 4.5 miles.

Had it not threatened to rain (actually there was a passing mist) and we’d had more time, this would have been an ideal spot to relax.

But a quick glance at the chart (I didn’t have one, but Francoeur did) opened my eyes to the fact we were not even halfway around this chunk of land. We resumed our journey.

Remember the wind that was over my shoulder (out of the northwest)? I stupidly figured we’d be in the lee all the way up the eastern shore. Not so, Batman.

We’d no sooner resumed our paddle and the wind was blowing in our faces. And it stayed there pretty much for the rest of the trip. I’m still trying to figure out how the wind always seemed to be in my face. Francoeur offered that it was wrapping around the island.

I huffed and puffed keeping up for another four miles at which point we saw a waterfall cascading down to the sea. It was about the fourth one we’d seen. I figured all that rain we had last week was still running off the island. It would make a good picture (at least it was a good excuse to land again and rest).

Indeed it was. And we decided to do some exploring. Up the brook we walked until we figured we were at the height of land. I checked the topo later and found it to be some 380-plus-feet high. Our goal was to find the source of the brook, but thickets, likely near the impoundment/pond, halted our progress. Besides, time was burning and daylight was in short supply. Partway back to shore we paused to take in the views of western Bartlett Island and Mount Desert Island and the southern tip of Newbury Neck to the northeast.

If I’d have known that we were still five miles from wrapping up this trip, I’d have been less likely to spend as much time exploring as we did. The sun was settling under the horizon as we rounded the northern end of the island (10 miles into our trip). Across the bay, somewhere in Blue Hill, we saw what appeared to be a house afire. It wasn’t a fire, there was no smoke. But the brilliant light coming from a building made it appear as if the structure was ablaze. The sun was behind the structure, so it couldn’t have been reflection. Maybe it was a building with a lot of glass and the sunlight was coming through the back of the building. Whatever, it kept us guessing for the rest of the three-plus miles back to the boat ramp.

A little after 4:30 p.m. we hit shore. Nobody was there to welcome us, can you believe it? The temperature was back in the 30s and it was dark. It’s the shortness of daylight this time of year that really gets me. Yuck! Packing up in the dark means you have to be really organized so as not to misplace gear. And cold temperatures mean you have to get out of wet stuff and into dry clothes so you don’t chill through evaporation. Just trying to get the tie-down straps through the cam buckles can be a challenge with cold hands.

Another factor in salt-water paddling this time of year is rinsing gear when you get back home. Everything has to be run under fresh water, and most of us, by mid- to late November, have shut off the hose. Piece by piece I rinsed off gear in the kitchen sink and hung it on the clothesline or in the back porch to dry. By Wednesday I had most of my gear repacked and ready for the next outing – hopefully on a warm, sunny day.

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.

BANGOR DAILY NEWS PHOTO BY JEFF STROUT

A brook falls over boulders on the northeastern side of Long Island in Blue Hill Bay, freshened by the rains of November.