Birch Point through Muscle Ridge: Third Time's Rather Charming

On the beach, Muscle Ridge Islands in the distance

It was a surprisingly benign and bright day at Birch Point State Park.  A weekday, just before the 9AM opening time, but the gates were open.  We weren't alone in the park, a couple was out for a morning walk, another exploring the beach.  Mark and I were heading for Two Bush Light beyond the Muscle Ridge Islands.  (Muscle is a variant of mussel, the ridge is named for the blue mussels found there.)

It's a 1.5- 2 mile crossing to the Muscle Ridge Islands.  In the morning, our main issue was paddling almost directly into the sun.   But soon enough there were islands to distract us.   There were several granite quarries on the various islands of Muscle Ridge, and the scars of those activities are evident along the shoreline.

Also evident, is that on High Island there's someone with some real stone masonry skills.

Every time we've been to Muscle Ridge a strong current  runs northeast-southwest through the islands.  This day was no different.  So our travel from High to Pleasant was fairly swift.  We crossed under a bridge mid Hewett Island.  It was close to high as we passed under, and the water was about as high as would allow passage.

Behind the bridge was a quiet harbor.

 The seas were quiet, so we decided to look at Two Bush Light.

 The bushes which gave the isle its name are gone.  There's a fair amount of brush though.  Two Bush Island is a bird sanctuary, with no good beaches. Out on the edge of Muscle Ridge, Two Bush Light is a lonely light on a small island.  When it was manned, winters there must have been rough.  The lighthouse has been automated since 1964.  A large lighthouse keeper's home was demolished by Green Berets in 1970.   You can see a picture of the lighthouse keepers house at Wikipedia.  Demonstrating it's dual function as a bird sanctuary, this eagle posed for us on Two Bush Light.

Mark getting another photo

After looking at the light, we headed back through the islands.  That's where we found some of the nicest views of the trip.  Many  islands have houses or work structures.

Flag Island has an array of structures

 The small islands with Camden's hills behind were quite scenic.

Ducking between Andrews Island and the Neck was like finding ourselves in a bog.  An unexpected treat three miles off shore.  We tended to stick close to Hewett, Andrew and the Neck as we paddled, and did not find the current too stressful, other than on the eastern side of the Neck.

Behind The neck

There are two MITA islands in Muscle Ridge, we stopped at one for lunch and a break before heading in.

The current followed us most of the way across, we used a twenty degree ferry angle from Otter to Otter Ledge, and even beyond a bit.  But mostly is was just a simple paddle back, to a beach now filled with a lunchtime crowd.

Muscle Ridge is known as good place for wildlife, we did see several flocks of scoters and mergansers.  Not many seals though, although a couple trailed us to Otter Ledge. 

Seals which did not follow us

We'd been through Muscle Ridge twice before, but never noticed the lovely views we saw on this trip.  The first time storms were pending later in the day. We glided through the islands, headed in by Sprucehead Point and Waterman Beach and paddled back along the shoreline.  Sticking close to shore made sense in light of the pending storms, and it was a different area to explore, but it meant we never saw the backdrop of the Camden Mountains.
   Our second visit was on a beautiful clear-sky day, but the seas were rough and while we were out there the wind picked up.  We cut our tour short.  The views must have been there, but I didn't notice them. We worked our way across the channel from lobster buoy to lobster buoy, grateful for evidence of  progress.  As we were heading in, it seemed like every sailboat in the area was headed out to play.  We struggled forward, would see a sailboat heading through, stop to give them right of way, and blew backwards out to the islands.  Then, after the sailboat passed by gleefully, we'd begin our slog forward again.  I think it took us an hour to make the crossing.  I was so grateful to arrive at Birch Point Beach that I decided to do a roll to celebrate.  Even better,  with the loaded boat and tired arms, my roll worked perfectly.  As I was researching the area, I came across this tale of a kayak group similarly stressed by building winds. (http://trekalong.com/chaseoutdoors/2011/07/17/blustery-misadventures-in-the-muscle-ridge-islands-7/)  

Summary:  Launch 9AM Birch Point State Park.  $2 entrance fee.  Pit toilets, parking for about 20-30 cars.  Finish about 1PM.  One stop.  High Noon.  13.8 miles 

As I was looking up things before the trip I came across an article about a new quarry being started on tiny High Island to mine granite for Wannamakers.  I can't seem to find it now, but this is a similar article about  
An old article about Dix Island, a granite graveyard http://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=1930&dat=19170922&id=DAwgAAAAIBAJ&sjid=S2UFAAAAIBAJ&pg=2107,1697720

Lessons Learned at Owls Head State Park

Basics:  Launch Owls Head State Park, free entry, sufficient parking, outhouse, long walk to launch.  Launch 9:30, finish noon, low 11:30.

We planned to launch from the ramp on Mechanic Street in Rockland and paddle over to Owls Head Lighthouse, then return back through the harbor. We planned to do this on Thursday, the one day in this two week period that we were both commitment free. However as the date grew closer, predicted weather grew worse. It went from being the warmest day of the week to expecting severe thunderstorms and hail. So Thursday morning when the weather report shifted again, delaying severe weather until afternoon, we decided to head out. But we changed our plans from one long paddle to two short ones, a short paddle out from Owls Head State Park, where there is a cobble beach allowing hand carried launches and a second short paddle through Rockland Harbor. We’d see the highlights, plus launching from the state park would allow us to test Mark’s kayak carts.

We arrived in Owl’s Head just after 9AM, when the park opened. The fog which had muted our drive was lifting and a clear blue sky peeking through. We hopped out of our car and discovered that the beach that we’d imagined we’d launch from was not accessible. Instead we’d be launching off the backside.

We headed down the trail to check out the beach, over 900 feet from the lot. The beach was a cobble beach, and with the outgoing tide it was apparent we’d need to wander through large seaweed and barnacle covered rocks to launch. Also, we picked up several hundred mosquitoes lingering in the calm of the beach who followed us back to the car and helped themselves as we loaded our boats and prepared for the drag down the hill.

Launching at the beach mid tide, seaweed and barnacles alreay exposed, I'm looking to see how many bugs I'll seal in with the skirt, and I'll take the net off shortly.

So you might not think we would be too fond of this launch, but it is an incredible site. Once on the water, the wind took care of our newly found buddies. In short order we were cruising by a lighthouse, and heading out to Monroe, a private island sprinkled with “Keep Off” signs. There we rode gentle ocean swells unimpeded since they’d passed Matinicus, while being cooled by a southeast breeze arriving over 50 degree water. Due south the islands of Muscle Ridge beckoned. Twice we’ve paddled to Muscle Ridge, both times the weather rapidly deteriorated and we struggled to get back against rising winds.

I love swell, but I have a great deal of trouble taking pictures in it. I have not mastered the one handed paddle brace that Mark uses and when if I’m focusing on the camera I don’t have feedback to help me balance my boat.

We were tempted to travel further south, but the chart we’d brought with us ended at Monroe, and perhaps because of our previous Muscle Ridge experiences we decided to stick with our initial plan. We headed to the shore and cruised through the calm waters of a private harbor used by several lobster boats.

And there in the middle of the harbor a guillemot (normally known as “a blurry black dots”) rested on a mooring.

Actually, there were quite a few birds about; laughing, herring and black backed gulls, eider, cormorants as well as osprey.

We headed back in to the beach, now filled with dozens of school children. They delightedly raced around the beach seeking treasures. My first thought was to remember how much fun I’d had when my fifth grade class walked to the beach for a memorable science lesson, and I could see these kids were having a similar experience. My second, and less honorable, was that we now had more targets for the mosquitoes.

The tide was lower, and there was no way to get to the beach without going through the barnacle and seaweed gauntlet. We got out of our boats in fairly deep water, attempting to save the hulls.

“Try not to flip,” Mark whispered to me. It’s no easy task to exit neatly into knee deep water, even using a paddle brace. I didn’t flip the boat, but on my first step I stumbled and wound up sliding my hand down a rock face. That pretty much sums up the process of carrying the kayaks to shore. My water shoes had a terrible time gripping, but though I had several missteps, I never actually fell on my face, which I count as a bonus. Though after crossing the beach, I looked down to see the bow of my boat splattered in red. That first slip had made several small cuts on my index finger, and the wet surface had kept the blood flowing.

There were no mosquitoes at the beach, I guess the army that had been there in the morning had retreated to shade as the sun grew stronger and the humidity dropped.

Another shot of the lighthouse

As we drove to Rockland for the second phase of the trip, the sky darkened, anvil headed clouds grew out of nothing and coalesced above us. Again our plans changed, rather than paddle in from the Mechanic Street launch we’d use the launch site in downtown Rockland.

It turns out Thursdays in downtown Rockland is a farmer’s market, with some amazing local soaps, and a portable brick bread oven as well as flowers and local produce. However, the sellers were filling much of the launch area parking. And it was far hotter than it had been out at Owl’s Head, mid 80's versus mid 60's. Worst of all, I couldn’t see the yellow buoy I’d admired so in the winter.


The fabled yellow buoy of Rockland as seen in December

We checked our chart, checked the water, and checked with some folkd wandering about the harbor. On our third try, we had success. A local sailor confirmed that there was a yellow buoy generally in the harbor, but it had just been recently removed.
Our arms exhausted from lugging the boats to and from the beach, looking at the crowded, hot still harbor, and with rain beginning to fall from those dark clouds overhead, we decided to call it a day.

Some boats near the launch

Those clouds cleared up on the way home, there was no thunder until much later.

We learned a lot that day. It really is a long haul to the beach at Owls Head, even with a kayak cart. Mark’s carts worked pretty well, though their small size did mean more weight on our hands. The beach at Owls Head State Park is not ideal for launching, especially on a falling tide, but very quickly it places you in some amazing scenery and water. When we launch there again, I’ll bring my sturdiest water shoes, and a more extensive chart. And, sadly, yellow buoy’s are rarer than ever on the Maine coast.