Here was the plan -- there was no plan other than to camp on Southport Island, ME, and paddle. With that said, we all set out on friday night. It was dark by the time all of those who were camping friday night arrived, but we all made it without getting lost. Considering it was a 4 to 5 hour drive depending on where you were coming from, we done good.

Ray had an accident at work that morning, and had a concussion. So, we had to be on our guard for him losing his equilibrium, or not waking up from a nap. We figured a few beers would cure his ills, and proceeded to toast the beginning of the weekend. Which brings me to an important point about setting up camp --- set up your tent on level ground, especially if you're going to have a few. Alison had set her tent up on a sloping area. Well, put a person who has had a few on a therma-rest on a slope in a new tent, and you have a recipe for comedy. All I heard for about a half hour was sliding and giggling coming out of her tent, and the occasional expletive.

Saturday - We make breakfast, and take our kayaks to the launch. The campground we were staying at (Gray Homestead Campground) has it's own beach and is very kayaker-friendly. We launched, and set out into Booth Bay. We were waiting for two more people to show up, so we paddled across the bay, and around squirrel island, with the plan to swing back by the campground at about the time they said they'd be there.

Very windy, and the wind waves were 3-4 feet in a couple of spots. Bobby decided it was time to roll, and missed his first attempt. He tried again, and missed again. I knew just how cold the water was, so I went in to offer him my bow just as he tried one more time. Oops! He wet-exited, and let us know in no uncertain terms just how cold the water was. We proceeded to paddle about for about 2 hours, and waited for Carleen and Kevin to show. I spotted two kayaks launching, one yellow, one green. Both appeared to be Neckys, so we assumed it was them. It was. We all hooked up, and headed towards Boothbay Harbor.

We landed in the center of town behind a restauraunt (With the manager's permission), and went in search of ice cream.  Now imagine this - you're in a tourist town on a holiday weekend, and you see eight people in wetsuits and drysuits casually walking down the street window shopping. One lady looked a little too much, and Ray looked at her and said "Navy Seals". Believe me, none of us fit that bill. It was funny, though. The women folk kept shopping, and the guys headed back for the boats. I was getting a little hot, so I got in my boat, and started sculling to cool off. There was a guy in a boat on the dock next to me watching who seemed fascinated by what I was doing, so I struck up a conversation with him. Turns out he's the Harbormaster. He asked where we were going, and I said "Southport Island". He warned me that the tide was heading out, and that it would "get kinda bumpy" on the way back. I assured him that we'd be OK, but would be sure to let him know if we weren't. He said he'd buzz by to make sure later. Nice guy.

We all went out for dinner in town later, and then sat around the campfire until we all drifed off to our respective tents. Had to have a lobster. Just isn't Maine unless you do. Had to have some local beer, too. Geary's London Porter. Yummy.

Sunday - Circumnavigate Southport Island. The tide was almost at high when we launched, so I recommended we head out of the bay towards Newagen Light, and then go up the Sheepscot River to Townsend Gut. By the time we got there, the tide would be heading out, and it would carry us through the gut to Boothbay. We paddled out to the lighthouse, just off Southport Island, and took a few photos, then headed towards the river. We went up the west side of the island, and took in the sights, stopping twice for a break. Paula had spotted a harbor seal playing with a lobster buoy, so we stopped for a couple of minutes and watched that. When we stopped for lunch just about at the northern end of the island, we got to watch a family of ospreys flying around.

We went through the gut at what is the kayak equivalent of warp speed. Well, maybe not quite that fast, but you didn't have to work too hard. We went under the drawbridges, and came across a number of other kayakers, some who were unfortunate enough to be paddling against the current. We got to a rip just before the entrance to the harbor, and there was a seal playing in a standing wave. He kind of reminded me of a whitewater boater surfing it. Cute. We sprinted down the east side of the island, back to camp. I decided I'd go fishing for a while, and maybe catch dinner. Nope. Not this day. I hadn't fished in a while, so it was relaxing. A group of us went for a walk after that, but the skeeters were getting thick already.

Mike, Alison, and I went for a sunset paddle over to Squirrel Island and back. I figure it must be named so for one of two reasons:

 1. The water around it gets a little squirrely when the wind is blowing.
 2. Moose Island is right near it, and the people who named them were
     "Rocky and Bullwinkle" fans.
     Or, I could be way off in the ether on this one -- possibility three.

Anyway, it got dark, so we all grabbed our lights for a safe crossing of the main channel on the way back. About halfway across, the water got big. 3 foot swells coming into the harbor. Not really big in the daytime, but big enough for after dark. All the more reason to have lights. There was a power boat coming up the channel, so I picked up my deck light, and shone it at them. They changed course away from us. Good thing, because the batteries in my light were dying. Not a good time for this. I also noticed that Alison was heading away from us, and towards the ocean end of the bay, and cursing at her boat all the way. Her skeg had popped out of it's track, and was causing the boat to veer left. We got back to shore, and Ray fixed her skeg.

Monday - Up early, and head for Ipswich, MA. Paula had been reading Sea Kayaking the New England Coast, by Tamsin Venn the night before, and read up on paddling around the Ipswich area. Sounded good. We got there, and Ray didn't feel too good, so he said he'd stay on shore. Alison was just getting over a problem with neck spasms, and she stayed behind as well, because she was sore from the previous 2 days. They weren't the only hurting units: I had partially dislocated my right shoulder the previous fall, and it had just gotten to be pain-free, but was as yet untested in any really big conditions. Paula had hurt her back recently, and Mike's left shoulder was the equivalent of a train wreck on a bad day. But, this was supposed to be an easy paddle if properly timed.

It was a nice, calm paddle through marshes, and behind Crane's beach. We went through the breach into the ocean, and paddled down the beach towards the gut by Plum Island. There was some surf breaking on a shoal offshore, and Bobby, Paula, and I decided to surf for a bit. Mike acted as spotter, as he had never surfed before, and his shoulder was acting up. We had a blast. Bobby capsized, and Paula got him back in his boat. While they were doing that, the waves started getting bigger, up to 7 feet or so as they approached the shoal. Time to get away from the break. Just then, Mike got hit by a big wave, and was forced to surf it. He did good until he broached, and then he high-braced over the crest, and got onto the backside of the wave just before it broke. Not too shabby for a first-timer.

The tide was running out of the gut now as fast as I've ever seen anywhere. We stayed out of the channel, which turned out to be a mistake -- we ended up paddling into what was rapidly becoming a mud flat. Literally paddling upstream in whitewater. We ended up towing our boats for the better part of a half mile until we found water deep enough to paddle in. Bobby picked the best route across of all of us, and made it back to the beach with no problems. Paula missed an eddy, and got pinned against a concrete channel marker. Her skeg was jammed up, and she didn't have a whole lot of control. She was blowing her storm whistle to beat the band, and I sped up to try to get to her. By the time I got there, she had gotten herself off the marker, and been swept into a huge tide rip, still signaling for help. I shot across the eddy into the rip, and got to her just as Mike did from the opposite direction. I held her boat, he fixed her skeg. Then I fixed Mike's skeg, which was also jammed, but was halfway down, so he had some control. We got back to the beach exhausted, and it was then that I noticed that the Coast Guard was towing power boats through what we had just paddled through. And had it not been for two finicky skegs, we wouldn't have had much in the way of trouble, just hard work. Not bad at all. We ended the weekend at a local clam shack, and all headed home.