Awe

Keeping it Humble on the Bold Coast

A journey of the spirit along Maine’s most rugged shoreline

Good adventure, it can be said, exists in a narrow zone between security and risk. If so, then we found that sweet spot last August while paddling the easternmost section of Maine’s Bold Coast.

Take the dramatic tides, the high cliffs, the dense fog, the strong currents, the cold water — plus the beauty and sea life — found in the more southern parts of the Maine coast, double them, mix vigorously, add a copious amount of remoteness, and the Bold Coast is what you get.

Setting Out

As my partner, Leslie, and I set out from the boat landing at Bailey’s Mistake (named for an infamous maritime mishap) and rounded the cliffs that marked the entrance to more open water, I took a deep breath.

The boldest section of the Bold Coast — nine miles of relentless cliffs and steep cobble beaches — stretched between us and our planned destination of West Quoddy Head.

The sky was blue. Sunlight sparkled on the water. Swells eased gently against the cliffs. The air was almost windless. Conditions were so benign as to be anticlimactic. The day we had long dreamt of was before us. Fully appreciating this stretch of coast is about paddling at the base of the deeply fractured hundred-foot cliffs — and the current weather conditions would allow us to do just that.

We timed our launch so that we’d be aided by the tidal push as we moved to the northeast. Near high tide, we’d lunch at the cove just west of West Quoddy Head, and then we’d ride the outgoing tide back to the southeast in the afternoon. That was the plan.

Our excitement was tempered by caution, however. That the gentle conditions would change was certainty. The tide that was now sucking us north toward the Bay of Fundy would intensify. Toward high tide, the winds would increase. Even the most benign projection suggested we would face a headwind and choppier seas on our return.

Even in that moment of serenity, vigilance was crucial. It would only take a moment of inattention and a rogue wave to push our kayaks against the cliffs splintering them into colorful shards of fiberglass.

Misgivings and questions

Once underway along the Bold Coast, there is little chance to go ashore. This should give any paddler reason for pause. Especially if the tide is high, landing places are few — and none of them are soft. The rebounding action of the waves coming off the cliffs could force us to look for calmer waters farther from shore. We could find ourselves paddling a quarter mile offshore, with our only reference point being the booming surf on distant, fog-obscured cliffs.

Why go at all? Why leave the comforts of home? Why not travel a safer more familiar route? These are questions, whether spoken or unspoken, that underlie every ambitious trip. The answer, I believe, has to do with the need to challenge myself in body, mind, and spirit. The answer has to do with my need not to be psychologically stuck — in a kind of comfortable numbness. I’m not a master of the universe with complete control over my life and fate, and, like most people, I need to be reminded of that. The answer has to do — although I don’t often think about it directly — with my need for spiritual growth.

If leaving our comfort zones and taking on new challenges is good for us, the problem comes when we take on risks that are too large, when we put ourselves in situations we can’t extricate ourselves from, and when the situation becomes a cyclone that draws in others and unfairly subjects them to stress or risk.

Why go at all? Why leave the comforts of home? Why not travel a safer more familiar route? These are questions, whether spoken or unspoken, that underlie every ambitious trip.

Precautions

A Bold Coast trip embracing the sweet spot required careful planning and monitoring of weather conditions. We chose to go in August when the water is warmest (though still in the 50s) and there is less chance of continuous dense fog. As kayak guides with years of paddling experience, we believed we knew what to expect. If we got into trouble, we wouldn’t be able to rely on outside rescue and couldn’t count on having cell phone service. We were careful to bring sea kayaks equipped with bulkheads and safety lines, tow ropes, spare paddles, bilge pumps, paddle floats, emergency flares, VHF radios, spare clothing, and extra food.

Along the way, some answers

Paddling along the base of those ancient cliffs, surrounded by seabirds whose forebears nested there ten thousand years ago, on a day when the sea itself seemed to be holding its breath was a humbling experience.

A challenge that demands my full attention provokes me to reflect on how fragmented my attention has been — right up until that moment. Amidst the blur of daily life, I can become blind to the grandeur that surrounds me. My thoughts and worries take on outsize proportions; they become window coverings that obscure my view. Paddling a tiny boat out into a vast sea restores my vision. At last, I see things as they are. I’m small — and the world is large. Yet loneliness is no longer possible. I’m filled with gratitude and love for all that’s around me. I’m made of the same stuff as the sea stars and sea birds. We have the same will to thrive; we share the same sea.

Everything in that landscape conspired to catch and hold my attention. The vast stretch of open water to the south. The pungent briny smell of the seaweed. The low boom of the swells rolling into rock. The cooing of the newly-fledged-from-the-nest razorbills who drifted in family groups. The eagles perched in fir trees a the tops of the cliffs high overhead. The unending procession of high cliffs, each rock face turned at a different angle to the sun and the sea, each cracked, lined, weathered in a unique way. Each an ancient visage with a distinct personality and wordless truth.

There were moments when a great hush settled over everything. The place is timeless — has looked much the same for a thousand years and will look the same a thousand years hence. One feels speechless, wordless, stunned to silence in the presence of magnificence.

Paddling a tiny boat out into a vast sea restores my vision. At last, I see things as they are. I’m small — and the world is large . . . I’m filled with gratitude and love for all that’s around me. I’m made of the same stuff as the sea stars and sea birds. We have the same will to thrive; we share the same sea.

Moments passed to minutes and minutes to hours. We took untold numbers of photographs and paddled into shadowed crevasses. We pondered the forces that carved the rock. The tide turned before we were ready, so — after discussing it — we went ashore for lunch two miles short of West Quoddy Head. Savoring the moment had taken priority over “bagging” West Quoddy Head and being able to say we had achieved our goal. In so doing, we chose flexibility over the fixed plan, spontaneity over ambition, and the present moment over the abstract goal.

On our return trip, the sky became overcast, and headwinds stirred but remained relatively calm. Our decision to shorten the trip allowed us to go ashore in sea caves that had newly opened up as the tide went out — and to savor even more. We continued to bask in the beauty without feeling the need to push our pace.

The grandeur of the world is always with us, as sure as the stars are overhead. The variable is whether we take the time to notice it. If, “Why go at all?” is the question, increased attention to the world around us is the answer.

The Bold Coast is complete unto itself. It’s the same as it was and will be. It’s me that’s changed. It’s me who remembers and longs to return.

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