A Hebertian Adventure in Kayaks

Todd and I met Dan and Liz Hebert early on during Todd’s first year of medical school in 1988.  When I threw a surprise party for Todd’s 26th birthday, I invited people from all parts of his life: his brother Mark, elementary and high school friends from Springfield, Virginia, folks from St. John’s College, and a few new military friends.  “Wow,” said Liz to me the next day.  “Todd has some…interesting?  buddies.” 

Todd in wilder days

Maybe it was the 6’5” guy dressed in all-black leather with studded bracelets that provoked this comment, or maybe the pal who ran around shouting and doing shots all night, but Dan and Liz hung in there as our friends, proving to be just as…interesting?  as Todd’s other friends.  

At the Hebert's Halloween party, circa 1990

Dan went on to become an orthopedic surgeon and big-game hunter, and Liz worked for the CIA (unbeknownst to us), showing up one year in her Christmas letter wearing camouflage and packing multiple weapons.  Their idea of an awesome vacation include dogsledding in the far north of Sweden breaking up sleddogfights and keeping an eye out for polar bears.

Does this look fun to you?

So when we learned that they were moving to Northport, Maine, the same small town where Suzi and Ethan had a house, we planned an adventure on kayaks, a paddle to the islands of Muscongus Bay.  Although there was a lodge on the island, Liz turned it down.  “No, no,”  she said.  “We sleep in tents.  With the bugs.  In the rain.  Otherwise it’s not a Hebertian adventure.”

Heading out

Rain was in the forecast for that weekend, along with dense fog and drizzle, perfect for making a dangerous channel crossing.  Suzi and Ethan wisely declined the invitation to join us, so it was just the four of us, plus their daughter Grace and boyfriend Tim.  Off we set into the foggy dew.

Wait for me!

It was classic Maine.  The shoreline rose, ghostly, off our bow, as our guide Emily prepped us to cross the channel.  “Stay together, not like ducklings,” she warned us.   “That way we’re less likely to get run over by a lobster boat.” 

Heading over

We made it across the channel and into the shallows between islands, where small barges piled high with lobster traps competed with countless buoys marking the set traps.  How people figure out whose is whose is beyond me.

Traps piled high

Lobstermen

On Gay Island (named for the original settler, Eleazer Gay, who first came here with his family in 1776), we unloaded our kayaks and pitched tents on recently-built platforms.  Rose, the caretaker, had weed-whacked a path, but still, I was on the lookout for ticks. 

Deep in the heart of Tickville

We tromped around the island while Emily prepared dinner on a butane stove.  Luckily she hung a tarp, as the rain started during dinner. But no matter, we were dry, the chicken-and-vegetable tortellini were delicious, and we all had enough DEET on to scare off the army of mosquitoes hovering. 

The only two houses on the island

Canoe vs. kayak

It rained all night, but we awoke to a crystal morning with a stiff breeze.  Off we went around the islands, headed towards the port of Friendship.   The weather was great, but the ocean tricky, with swells and chop.  Liz got the short end of the paddle when her kayak insisted on turning left continually after lunch, but we made it to Friendship with no mishaps.

Abandoned

Friends in fog

And so ended one adventure.  We’re looking forward to the next when we return in December:  an old Mainer sport called curling!

They can't wait for curling...