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My first sea kayaking adventure this year was off Deer Isle, near the location of a recent tragedy. Just a couple of weeks prior, a man had drowned after his kayak capsized off Little Deer Isle. He’d been paddling solo, and he hadn’t been wearing a life jacket.
“Be careful out there,” a local resident said to me over breakfast as I told him of our plans. “Did you hear about the recent accident?”
I had heard about it. My partner and I had read newspaper articles about the horrible event, and I’d frowned in disapproval at some of the hard-hearted reader comments. Yes, not wearing a life jacket while sea kayaking was a huge mistake — but I wish some people would show more compassion. We all make mistakes.
I’ve made a lot of mistakes while exploring the outdoors, but I’m learning to make fewer, to exercise more care. It helps that I’ve read some sobering statistics: Over 85% of boating fatalities in the U.S. involve boaters not wearing life jackets. Furthermore, about half of Maine’s boating deaths involve non-motorized watercraft such as kayaks with the paddler not wearing a life jacket.
What’s so great about a life jacket? It keeps you afloat when you lose the ability to swim, which can happen shockingly fast in Maine’s frigid water. It gives you more time, and in that time, help might arrive.
So, when we set out to paddle later that morning, my partner and I buckled and zipped our life jackets before clumsily cramming into the tiny cockpits of our boats — and we didn’t take off those life-saving flotation devices until we touched dry land. This is something we always do, but that day, I felt the importance of it in a new way.
While I was excited to get out and enjoy the beauty of the Deer Isle archipelago, I kept in mind that the water was especially cold in May, the forecast called for increasing wind, and the changing tide would create strong currents. By paddling as a pair — and truly sticking together — we increased our safety. If one person flipped, the other could help them get back in their boat or tow them to land. We also carried safety gear like paddle floats, tow ropes, bilge pumps and dry clothes.
Cautiously paddling along the shoreline, our skinny boats slicing through waves, we constantly checked in with each other and consulted our weather apps and maps. Crossing to a small island, we climbed out of our boats and sat on the warm sand.
Originally, our plan was to visit an island much farther out, to spend the entire day searching for seals and seabirds and quiet coves. We’d packed lunch and extra snacks, anticipating hours on the ocean. But it was time to reassess whether or not that was safe.
Forecast gusts could whip the water into whitecaps. When sea kayaking, there’s a thin line between annoying and alarming wind. It was time for us to turn back. That day, I learned that it’s OK to cut a kayak trip short. Furthermore, it didn’t need to ruin our fun.
Hugging the shoreline, we returned to the boat launch without incident, secured the kayaks to the top of the car, and drove to the nearby Shore Acres Preserve to explore the wilderness by foot. In the mossy forest, I photographed tiny white goldthread flowers and the big green leaves of skunk cabbage. Standing on the shore, we looked out over the choppy water and knew we’d made the right decision.
It was my birthday weekend, so as a special treat, we’d rented a cabin in nearby Brooksville. Hoping to paddle our kayaks one last time during our mini staycation, we went to bed early that night, then rose with the sun. Often, the water is calmest in the early morning, with wind speeds picking up throughout the day.
That morning, we were in luck. The water was so glassy that, in the shallows, I could look down from my kayak and see clusters of sea urchins clinging to rocks and hermit crabs scuttling over the ocean floor — so many it looked like a crustacean army assembling.
We circled Pumpkin Island Light, a lovely white lighthouse established in 1854 to mark Eggemoggin Reach. Scanning the waveless water, we spied the shiny dark head of a swimming harbor seal, then the triangular fin of a porpoise. We also came across a flock of a few hundred sea ducks called black scoters and surf scoters. As I watched the birds try to impress each other (it’s mating season after all), I felt any lingering stress from the day before melt away.
I’d learned another lesson: Sea kayaking on a wind-free morning is 100% worth the yucky, groggy feeling that usually tempts me to stay in bed for “just five more minutes.” Weather conditions make a huge difference when paddling, and a few hours can change everything.
