Category Archives: Kayaking

Kayaking on Tomah Stream

Canada geese flying over Tomah Stream

The weather forecast looked good. Partly sunny, 60 degrees, a breeze. Steve loaded the kayaks-an Otter, a tandem Otter and a  (10 for ten foot), the life jackets and a small cooler for lunch. The bug spray and other necessities were stowed away in a waterproof box in the Vapor’s well. Vapor 10XT is a kayak made by Old Town Canoe.

Taylor, our youngest daughter, picked up her friend Felicia Vincent, and met us in Topsfield. When everyone arrived we’d met up with Tammy and Dennis, and Laura and Gilman.

Taylor, Laura, Felicia and Gilman have been hiking, camping and paddling the Waite and Talmadge area together for years.

The woods of Maine
Lakes, streams, bogs, moose, bear, deer, fox, coyote, raccoon and more live out here. People? Not many of us.

“For years” isn’t very descriptive or impressive until you know that the oldest of them is only 21. They’re old hands at loading up the canoes and kayaks and paddling several miles across a lake to camp on a beach overnight. They’re part of a larger group of outdoors kids who grew up to become outdoors adults, and who make me proud on a regular basis.

Tammy and Dennis started planning this trip six months ago; about the time they started planning their long-term future together. They made many trips down dirt roads along Route 6 in Topsfield and Codyville, looking for a place to put a canoe in and later take out. They invited us to go along. Steve’s plans to canoe the Machias River with friends changed and he was able to make the trip. I’m grateful he was there, and you’ll see why later.

We reached our destination and unloaded three kayaks and two canoes. While the men shuffled vehicles to the place we’d be taking out, the women put the water crafts in the stream and paddled around a little. It was my first day in the kayak this year and needed a few minutes to get comfortable again. It’s like riding a bicycle, only wetter.

Steve, Dennis and Gilman returned and the trip began. We didn’t know what to expect. Would there be a beaver dam to get over? I hadn’t thought of sand bars to get lodged on. Smelly things hadn’t occurred to me.

The day was uneventful, which is nice but not exciting. Nobody flipped, there was only one mild water fight between Steve and Taylor that got Felicia damp, and nobody had any problems. Well, Gilman and Laura’s canoe has a small leak so Gilman did a little bailing, but they weren’t any danger of sinking or even really even getting very wet. I think I heard Laura say “we could have taken my canoe” once.

 

beaver lodge

One of at least a dozen beaver lodges on the banks.

Tomah Stream runs through a huge meadow. Trees along the bank are few and far between. We disturbed a few Canada geese along the way. I think I found paths to nests but I’m not sure. The vegetation was worn down and there were small feathers in the grass but I couldn’t see any nests or geese. Two American Bald Eagles soared in the updraft high over head, almost out of sight. A muskrat quickly disappeared out of sight along the bank. Taylor and I stopped to wait for it to reappear but wherever it resurfaced, we couldn’t find it.

tomah stream meadow

There aren’t many trees in a meadow.

The sun was warm while it was out, and we shed our jackets early. The breeze was chilly when the sun was blocked by clouds but paddling was enough to keep us from being cold. Thanks to the breeze, black flies weren’t an issue while we were on the water.

There are a lot of beaver lodges along the portion of the stream we paddled. None seemed to be active. There were no new sticks added and no activity in the stream. The only beaver I saw was on the bank, long dead. The stench was overwhelming, enough to bring me close to gagging. I picked up the pace, moving past it as fast as I could.

We looked for Tomah Mayflies along the way. There was a hatch but they weren’t Tomahs, and that was a little disappointing.

tomah tammy dennis trees

I spent most of my time behind everyone else. I headed toward the bank or turned with the current while taking pictures. When you’re the only person paddling you have nobody to keep you on course, and this made pictures a bit of a challenge. To get more than the backs of everyone’s heads I needed to get ahead of everyone.

“I’m on a mission,” I told Dennis and Tammy as I dipped and swished past them.

“You’re on a mission,” Dennis asked.

“To get pictures of everyone head on rather than back to.”

I paddled ahead and was almost ready to spin my kayak around when I heard Tammy laugh and yell, “She’s definitely your daughter.” I turned my head to see that Taylor, who heard me tell them what I was doing, turned her yak around and was paddling backward along side Tammy in the canoe. Smartass! Unfortunately I didn’t get that picture. By the time I turned my yak, she was facing me again.

She turned her kayak around before I had the camera ready.

She turned her kayak around before I had the camera ready.

Notice the orange sticker on Taylor’s kayak? We have them on all three of our yaks. These stickers list the owner’s name and two telephone numbers. If a craft is found without a person this sticker makes it easy to get in touch with the owner. If the craft drifted away a search can be avoided. If the person has turned the craft over, rescuers have a better idea of who they’re looking for. These stickers are free and are the responsible thing to do. Send an email to cgpaddlesmart@comcast.net to request yours.

Tomah Stream, Steve Follette, Felicia Vincent

Steve and Felicia

We spotted a red Chevy truck parked at the edge of the stream and for a moment I was disappointed to be at the end, then realized it wasn’t one of our trucks.  A man and woman were fishing just down stream. She caught a chub as I rounded the corner and said nothing else was biting. Steve didn’t have any bites.

This was an easy stream to paddle. The water moves slowly. There are a few sand bars you can get caught up on if you’re looking at something else but they’re easy to move off. When the water drops they’ll be obvious. Paddling felt a little bit like work for about 30 minutes when we paddled into the wind but it’s otherwise a relaxing trip.

We pulled out at the end of a dirt road that runs past “Croman’s Camp.” Locals will know where that is but I couldn’t point it out on a map.  Laura and I seriously considered moving further down stream to an easier place to get out. This spot involved walking through a marshy area. She wore hiking boots and I had just Keen sandals on my feet. I wished for my tall Muck boots. I’m completely grossed out by walking in mud and muck. I really….really didn’t want to get out of the kayak, fall in the muck, walk through the mess and possibly sink thigh deep the way Steve was sinking. I’m not usually spleeny about stuff but this is off my acceptability scale.

tomah gilman laura

Steve came to our rescue (He’s great about rescuing me.). He grabbed our bows and pulled us past the gross part, into solid footing. The water was cold but it wasn’t muddy or mucky. As it turns out, if Laura and I had continued further downstream, we’d have made it to the old Tomah Dam site in 30 minutes. I think we’ll do that next time.

picnic lunch on the banks of Tomah Stream

Lunch after paddling

We had lunch on the bank before Taylor and the men drove back to the beginning to get the rest of the vehicles we left there. An uneventful trip down Tomah Stream with good friends was the perfect start to our paddling season.

tomah stream

Small mouth bass caught on Spednic Lake

31 Tips for Happiness & Success – F

F.

Fishing, of course. I grew up with a fishing pole in my hand. Fishing is an exercise in patience. “Fifteen more minutes,” Dad would say, a reference to how long we’d have to wait until the fish started biting. We waited. Kids fidgeted, reeled their lines in, inspected the hook to be sure it was still baited, and clicked the button to release the line, sending the worm back to the water. Fifteen minutes has no definite set amount of time.

Small mouth bass caught on Spednic Lake

Steve caught this small mouth bass on Spednic Lake.

Fishing takes a certain degree of skill if you’re an active participant. I really did grow up with a pole in the my hand. I had a rubber weight tied to my line and hula hoops in varying sizes. I cast again and again until I landed my weight/lure in the hoop. I backed up to increase my accuracy from longer distances and moved to smaller targets. I can land a lure just about anywhere now. Accuracy combined with the knowledge of where bass are likely to be and what bait they’re probably going to take gives you the key to success.Not biting? Match your lure to what the fish are eating, sky (sunny, cloudy), water color (murky, clear) and figure out the depth the fish are while you’re out, and you’ve probably got a good chance of putting supper on the table.

It’s a challenge. Challenge is good. It keeps us on our toes and pushes us to do better.

A day outdoors is never wasted. Soak up some vitamin D, get some exercise or even read a book. When my shoulder gets sore from hours of casting, I get a cold drink from the cooler and pick up my book while Steve continues to cast along the shoreline. I keep the camera close at hand for the often-seen American bald eagles, loons and ducks. Occasionally a beaver will keep me entertained.

Want to add a new element to fishing? Add a kayak. More exercise, different skills and more excitement as the big one pulls you across the surface while you reel.

Robin’s Outdoors at Bangor Daily News

Have you looked at the Outdoors section of Bangor Daily News? I enjoy it a lot. John Holyoke tells some of the funniest stories there. He’s not afraid to share his antics and let us laugh with or at him. Aislinn’s hikes and tips are great. Erin writes about hunting with her dad. Jim is kayaking from Kittery to Fort Kent. It’s a great section. My blog, Robin’s Outdoors, started last Friday.

It’s a great opportunity to reach more readers. The new blog won’t replace this in any way. I’ll still be writing more personal things here. I’ve been quiet this week while I met more deadlines than I’m used to having, not because I’ll be writing less here.

Coming up: I’m visiting Frost Pond Camps on Friday and hope to come back with an announcement. I’ll be kayaking on the St. Croix river between Maine and New Brunswick, CA on Saturday. I’m meeting Melissa (sister) Sunday morning to drive to western Maine for my first and her second whitewater rafting trip. We’re rafting Monday morning. I’m trying to not think too much about the whitewater part of this adventure. I desperately want to stay in the raft. In between, I have stories to write for a guest appearance on Writers Forum on WERU with Ellie O’Leary this fall. I’m wicked excited about meeting my co-guest John Ford, author of Suddenly, The Cider Didn’t Taste So Good. I’ll have a review about the book soon.

I’m enjoying a rainy day today. We need the rain. It’s starting to clear off in spite of my pleas for more rain for the garden and well. June was very wet, July was very dry. I’m crossing my fingers for an August that’s just right.

Kayaking on Upper Sysladobsis Lake

Upper Sysladobsis Lake, or Upper Dobsis (dob-see) as it’s commonly known, is the lake I grew up on. My maternal grandparents built the camp I grew up going to, then sold it outside the family. <insert grumble here>  My mother’s grandfather, my Great Grampa John Veazie, built his camp a half mile away. I’ve been there every summer of my life. My parents bought it about 25 years ago, and it’s the camp we own now.

Upper Sysladobsis (Dobsis) Lake in Penonbscot County, Maine.

Lombard Lake empties into Upper Dobsis to the right of Pyramid Rock. We’ve spent a lot of time sitting in a boat at the inlet, waiting for a bite. We usually catch bass but an occasional white perch swims by. Perch fishing is an occasion! Back when Mum and my aunt and uncle were alive we’d hook our boats bow to stern in a big circle at the inlet from Pug Lake. My cousins and great uncle were part of the fun too. We fished in the middle. Being a family of practical jokers and smart asses (which is much more fun than dumb asses), you never know what might happen. Mimi once three a three ounce sinker into our aluminum boat, startling very jumpy Steve. When he recovered from the near heart attack he swiftly cut her line and kept the sinker. I don’t think we ever established the reason for having a sinker that big. Stinking fish guts showed up under truck hoods, under campers and behind camps. Lots of fun and (mis)adventure happens on our lake. Nana and Grampy, Grampa John and Grammie Rita, Mum, Aunt Betty and Uncle Bobby have passed on but they’re still alive and well in our memories of camp.

Anyway! I’ve sidetracked myself.

We took the kayaks to camp with us on July 4. I hoped Donna, my step-mom, would go for a ride. Kayaking was on her bucket list and she said during a previous trip to camp that she’d go next time. It was next time. Steve assured her he didn’t want to get wet on a cool, damp day any more than she did and promised to not flip it on purpose. She climbed in and away we went. I took my Vapor and they went in the tandem Loon. The trip to Pyramid Rock on the far side of the lake is .85 miles.

Donna enjoyed herself so much that she’s thinking about buying a kayak. I hope she does and will join us when we paddle nearby lakes and ponds.  Jenn watched us get in and out decided she wouldn’t be able to do it with a bad knee. She’d changed her mind by the time we got back and gave it a try. She was in and out much easier than expected and loved it.

The island in the upper portion of Upper Dobsis.

We paddled part of East Musquash this week but I’ll save that for another time. I’d like to have photos and something more than “we paddled part of East Musquash this week” to write.

Kayaking on Patten Pond

I finally took my Vapor 10XT kayak from Old Town Canoe on its maiden paddle yesterday. We went to Patten Pond. The kayak is very comfortable and I felt secure in it even as a new fairly new paddler. I’m 5′ 4″ and the yak is wide so it’s a little awkward for me to carry. I’ll do some paddling on remote ponds where I’ll have to carry it over narrow trails through the woods, and with experience, I’ll figure out the best way.

I live in the middle of no where. Our town has two dead end paved roads and one Yield sign. We have a lot of lakes to fish, paddle and swim.

We loaded the kayaks onto the truck at the first glimpse of blue sky around 4:30 pm. We ice fished on Patten Pond last winter and have been looking forward to paddling it this summer. We followed the dirt road to a narrow, grassy, wet, sometimes muddy road that cuts through the woods. You can drive within 150 yards of the water. I dragged my yak to the pond on a soft path.

I was a little nervous about getting in without something sturdy to wedge my paddle into for stability the way I do the dock at camp. It wasn’t difficult. I stepped into the water, into the kayak, sunk into my seat and dipped the paddle into the water. Easy enough. Steve followed a few minutes behind me. He was on the water quickly but stopped paddling to get his lure in the water. He fished most of the time we were on the pond.

I turned to the east, into the breeze with the thought that if the wind picked up again I’d be paddling into it while I had the most energy, and with it on the way back if I were tired. The American bald eagles we left pickerel on the ice for last winter came to mind. I looked up into the tall pine tree where they spent most of their time and was happy to see one of them perched there. I paddled over, careful to not get so close that I made the bird nervous. Closer. It glanced at me and continued to survey the ground and water. I paddled almost to shore, stopping before I had to crane my neck to see him or her. High bush blueberry plants hang out over the water as Nature’s drive-thru snack bar. Not wanting to over stay my welcome and disturb the big eagle, I paddled on. A lone loon popped up nearby and stayed with me for five or six minutes before disappearing beneath the surface. I’m intrigued by their…I don’t know if friendliness is the right word…by the way loons seem to be attracted to us when we’re kayaking. A male at camp stayed with us each time we were out while his mate was on the nest. We give them a respectable distance but they don’t hesitate to come close to us.

Patten Pond, Washington County, Maine

The shoreline is pretty. From a distance I tried to turn big, dark root masses of fallen trees into moose along the shore but no, no moose yesterday. At the far end of the pond, I turned right to head back along the opposite shore. There were two loons together.  think there are two loons on the pond, and that it was the male that we saw so often. I looked carefully on their backs for chicks. None. And none in the water, or so I thought. The third look revealed a chick bobbing along side its mother. It’s the first loon chick I’ve seen in years. We have so many bald eagles now that the chicks are often picked off as food before they get to be very old. Watching and listening to the screaming, diving loons while a bald eagle dive bombs them, trying to steal the chick, is sickening. I veered away from shore to avoid getting close to the chick but they also moved away from shore. By the time I passed them I was almost to the  middle of the pond. I think I made them nervous and don’t understand why she slowed when I did and moved away from shore with me. She constantly turned her head back and forth to watch me and look for other threats until I passed.

I crossed the opening to a cove and headed back toward our landing spot. Steve was still fishing so I drifted into the cove on the west end of the pond (bottom of picture), rested the paddle in its built-in spot and watched a field for deer. It was too early to expect deer to step out into the clearing but hey, you never know. I didn’t expect two bull moose in the middle of Sandy Stream Pond at 2 pm last summer.

Steve yelled across the water to ask if I was ready to go home. Not even close. We paddled half the length of the pond while fished jumped close to shore. He started to cast in a small cove while I paddled back to see the eagle again, turned back, and paddled enough to pick up speed. My paddle went to rest across the yak as I drifted back to the cove. I stayed far enough back to not disturb the fish as Steve cast to shore, reeled in, cast again. A loon popped up 20′ from his kayak, seemingly surprised to see us there and immediately dove. He reappeared behind me and stayed nearby. Fish continued to jump for bugs on the water. I giggled when a big bass jumped a few feet from Steve, startling him. We should have had fly rods. Next time.

It was good to sit and drift, giving my biceps a break. When Steve asked if I wanted to paddle across to the last cove (right side of picture) I said yes in spite of knowing it was going to hurt. I spotted two Canada geese swimming along the shore toward the center of the pond. I shifted direction to get closer. A little extra paddling to see them probably wouldn’t extend the ache I knew I’d be feeling today. When they changed directions to swim away from me I changed my direction to move away from them. Unlike the loons, 300 feet was too close for their comfort. I wondered why they don’t have offspring. I was almost to shore, paddling over rocks on a sand bar and underwater grasses (which freaks me out a little, what if I flip and get tangled in it), when I realized I didn’t hear Steve’s paddle cutting into the water. He’d turned back. Being a glutton for pain and punishment, I turned and raced to catch up to him, biceps screaming and a twinge starting in my ribs. We spent another 15 minutes drifting, taking in the scenery and waiting for deer in that field again.

We were getting hungry and the sun was getting low. Time to go home. I hated for it to end and can’t wait to get back there again.

Memorial Day Upta Camp

We are going upta camp today to spend time with our veteran, Dad, and our future veteran Rob. Dad served in the Air Force and Rob will enlist in the Army later this summer. My brother Rick and his wife Robin met while serving in the Army. My grandfather Red Woods served in WWII, great grandfather John Veazie in WWI and WWII, great uncle Fred Treadwell in WWI, and many times great grandfathers served in the Armed Forces as far back as General Samuel Veazie. This is our family tradition. I am grateful to my family and all veterans.

It’s overcast today and will probably rain but we’re not letting that slow us. The tandem kayak is already at camp and we’ll take the Otter with us. I’m planning to do a little fishing from the kayak. In spite of the iceberg I’m sure I saw on the other side of the lake while putting the dock in a few days ago, Tammy’s kids will swim. They’re tough! I’ll bring Rummikub to go with the cribbage boards. I might even bring a book. I’m going to print out the first chapter in the novel I’m reading to take to Donna. None of our plans are earth shatteringly big but rain or shine, it’s a good day when we’re with family.

A Kayaker is Born

Melissa went kayaking for the first time yesterday. We’re going to Bangor so she can buy a kayak today. Taylor is a great a teacher and was sure to throw in a spontaneous tip (not over!) before they left shore.

A kayaker is born. Melissa went for her first paddle yesterday!