If you watched from space with a time lapse camera, you could see the broad band of fall foliage — the brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows — move southward down the east coast like a wave. That wave crested over the midcoast sometime last week and has now moved on more than 200 miles to the south. Credit for this calculation goes to the Fall Color Guy, who states, “fall colors tend to move south at rates between 28 and 47 miles per day, depending on longitude.”
The 2.5 inches of rain that fell on the midcoast eight days ago brought local rivers to their own peak. The Ducktrap River crested at 4.5 feet and 400 cfs, the highest levels since last spring.
The confluence of these two “peaks” made for some great paddling and leaf-peeping on local rivers. Canoeists and kayakers were out on the St. George and the Passagassawakeag last weekend — and we were among them. I also paddled the Little River (rain-swollen and newly wild) on Friday.
I know some 14-year old boys who would have made fun of us, but it would not be overstatement to say we were “agog” — awestruck, enthralled — as we paddled the St. George River south from Searsmont in the brilliant sunshine last Sunday. The video below is an attempt to capture some of that beauty.
By the way, do any of you readers out there know the origin of the name for “Magog Falls”? Magog is a city in southern Quebec. The Magog Smelt is an old-time fly developed to fish for landlocked salmon. And Magog (of the Gog and Magog tradition) is also a powerful nation/king/prince/giant who fights on the side of Satan in a war against God. For which, if any of these, was the Magog Falls on Maine’s St. George River named?
Halfway between Camden and North Haven is a rock that serves as a landmark and hazard for boaters. On the chart, it appears as a squiggle – and it’s not really much more than that. It would never do for human habitation. The biggest storms of winter nearly wash over it. You could never grow anything there or build anything permanent. It’s just a waypoint on the way to somewhere else.
It likely gets only a handful of visitors each year, if that. It does have unsurpassed views of the Camden Hills and Penobscot Bay. It’s a place that looks little different than it did 100 years ago – or 1,000. It’s not even part of the Maine Island trail. The guidebooks don’t touch it, as if it is too small and inconsequential to mention. Google knows about it, but it doesn’t know much. No evidence of humans or of human visits is easily found. If you arrive there, it is probably by accident.
1.9 acre Robinson Rock is 4 nautical miles southeast of Camden Harbor and a little less than a mile south of Mark Island. It has a couple of rough gravel beaches tucked between rocky headlands. It has tide pools more than adequate for an afternoon’s contemplation. It has a soft peaty soils and a rough green meadow of raspberry, burdock, and wild rose. Harbor seals, sea gulls, cormorants, and nesting black guillemots call it (and its surrounding ledges) home. Eagles, who frequently nest on nearby Mark Island, can be seen overhead. Far off, the Camden Hills rise up like a distant country. It’s a wilder place than we are accustomed to seeing this far up the bay. The mighty Atlantic comes to call – and has left its mark – on the bedrock and in the beaches.. It feels more akin to the open ocean than it does to most of the other islands of our bay, which tend to be wooded and garden-like in comparison.
As an IFW (Inland Fisheries and Wildlife) bird nesting island, it is closed to the public during nesting season, which extends from April 1 to the end of August. Given the remoteness from the mainland, the exposure to open water, and the inadvisability of embarking on long crossings once ocean temperatures drop, this leaves only a short window for visits. Finding a day in September where conditions permit a crossing is not easy. Combine that with work and household schedules, and pulling off a trip to Robinson Rock is a rare feat and much treasured opportunity.
We had such a day a few weeks ago. The bay was windless and glassy as we set out of Camden Harbor. Even so, the wind came up during the day and by the time we headed back across on our return crossing, we had to battle a difficult beam seas during our entire trip. The wind generally blows north or south (straight up or down) Penobscot Bay, making any east west crossing in a a kayak dicey – and potentially dangerous. I do not recommend taking the trip unless you are have been sea kayaking for a number of years, have made shorter crossings (such as Saturday Cove to Islesboro) in a variety of conditions, and are equipped with full safety gear including vhf radio, flares, extra clothing, and at least one partner with whom you have practiced various re-entry rescues. A tent and a sleeping bag (in case of being stranded on the island due to a change in weather) would not be a bad idea.
If ashore on a fair day in September, with late summer sunlight spilling over the water, the rock , and the beaches, with a salt breeze coming up the bay and the cry of gulls and the boom of surf in the air, you will fully appreciate Robinson Rock is much more than a rock. If caught up in the spirit of the place, you might even feel for a while that you could abandon all ties to the mainland and just live there like the seals and the guillemots. But you know that as the nights get cooler and the sunlight wanes, the seals and “guilleys” will leave. As you know you must.
For those of you out there contemplating a visit, just remember that the trip is difficult and a little risky. Anyway, you probably have a lawn to mow or firewood to stack. After all, Robinson Rock is just a rock. It is four long miles from Camden Harbor, and all that raw beauty is almost too much to bear.