Well, it took fifty-six years, but I finally did it!
No. I didn’t suddenly become a more desirable husband after a lifetime of deep introspection—though I’m certain my wife would have preferred that.
Instead, I explored the lower reaches of the Kennebec River by boat.
“Big whoop,” you say?
Well, yeah, I thought so.
Anyhow, after decades of viewing the river from afar, I resolved to launch from Augusta and motor all the way to Bath and return alive, and after a couple of aborted trips, my wife and I did so during the latter part of June 2021.
It was a sultry day, and the heat shimmered above the asphalt as we traveled south on Interstate 95. Our destination was a boat launch on the eastern shore just north of the Memorial Bridge. Since we didn’t have to compete with other boaters, we took our time and admired the view of the Augusta cityscape across the way. The tide was high, and the languid currents swirled. Unlike the Penobscot River, I was unfamiliar with this waterway, but I had studied satellite views on Google Maps, and I had confidence with my GPS, navigational maps, and fish finder. However, rivers are especially fickle, so I relied on years of outdoor experience and read the waters, searching for eddies and riffles where rocks and ledges lurked under brackish waters. Flotsam was ever present on the surface, ready to ding my hull and ensnare my prop. The greatest hazards were other boaters, including jet skiers, so my wife and I kept close track of their bearing and speed.
Below Memorial Bridge, I hugged the western shore, staying within a narrow boundary marking the channel. Gray granite buildings loomed from the far shore, which once housed the Kennebec Arsenal and Maine State Hospital for the mentally ill. Now empty, I’m certain that ghosts haunt the old structures, and I longed to explore the buildings’ moldering interiors. Not to say, I wouldn’t soil myself and run screaming if I ever met a ghost, but a supernatural encounter would bolster the concept of consciousness beyond death. Anyhow, I digress from my little travelogue. However, it’s a damn shame someone hasn’t yet renovated these historic buildings.
Navigational aids marked the channel. I piloted downriver with the green can buoys on the right and the red nun buoys on the left. An abundance of ringlets and swirls signaled fish below the surface. I considered reaching for a rod and reel when a massive creature erupted from the brackish water twenty-feet off my port-side. For the briefest moment, my feeble mind cataloged a freakish beast with a large flat head, tipped with a sloped snout, fringed underneath with barbels. Spiked ridges ran the length of its grayish back and sides, ending at a swept tail like that of a shark. At least six feet long, an Atlantic Sturgeon somersaulted and returned to the river with a tremendous splash. On rare occasions, I had observed the backs of sturgeons breaking the surface of the Penobscot River, but I had never spotted one midair.
Until Bath Iron Works came into view, we witnessed dozens more breaching the murky waters. From a half-mile away, elongated forms rocketed through the air, and seconds later, we would hear the percussion of armored bodies smacking the water.
Evidenced by their prehistoric appearance, Atlantic Sturgeon have changed little in the past 120 million years. Growing up to twelve-feet in length and weighing as much as eight-hundred pounds, this impressive species can live upwards of fifty-years. During June and July, sturgeon have been returning to the Kennebec River in growing numbers to spawn. It’s said that they breach the surface to make their presence known to potential mates, which seems a likely explanation given the large expanse of river bottom between Bath and Augusta. Around the early 1900s, sturgeon were almost extinct along the Eastern Seaboard because of overfishing and habitat loss, but dam removal and improved water quality programs have contributed to returning populations of anadromous fish, including alewives, salmon, shad, and other species. Atlantic Sturgeon are still listed as Endangered, and we must continue efforts to protect their fragile existence.
Fringed by woods and fields and flowing past bucolic towns like Hallowell and Gardiner, the Kennebec River continued seventeen miles south. I lost count of bald eagles and great blue heron stalking from blue skies and along muddy shores. Occasionally, I had to slow near boat marinas to minimize my wake, but I maintained good speed.
Near Richmond, the river diverged around Swan Island, a four-mile long stretch of forest and farmland. Now overseen by the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife (MDIFW), the island is accessible to boaters and campers. My wife and I discussed returning with our bikes to fully explore. I steered toward the river’s eastern shore and intended to return along the opposite side.
Not long after, Merrymeeting Bay came into view where the Androscoggin River entered from the southwest near Brunswick, and the Kennebec exited to the southeast toward Bath. The bay was a long and wide stretch of shallow estuary and mudflats that harbored productive habitat for seabirds and migrating fish. Here, the goliaths were especially active, and silent boats drifted in the current to watch the giant fish breach. We passed an impressive electrical transmission line crossing near Abagadasset Point, and we turned east at The Chops Passage where the Kennebec funneled through a series of islands. My boat fought the tidal currents churning through this strait.
Soon, we passed under the Sagadahoc Bridge in Bath. Three U.S. Navy ships were docked to the right. Marker buoys posed an invisible barrier against curiosity seekers. A paramilitary craft guarded the perimeter of the shipyard, so I maintained a prudent distance. Based upon personal experience, I avoid being stopped by the Coast Guard and other maritime law enforcement agencies for “safety” checks. I’m very aware of boating requirements for my sixteen and a half foot Alumacraft. Unless there’s just cause, I prefer to be left alone by persons with badges and guns.
With the tide changing course, and winds blowing from the south, we detoured to the east under Preble Point Bridge and up the Sasanoa River. Truthfully, I couldn’t tell if we were traveling up or down river. The coast from Harpswell to Owls Head is a convergence of jagged capes and winding rivers, intermixed with islands and coastal towns, so even with modern navigational aids, it’s easy to get turned around. We motored another six miles through narrow channels and around nameless islands until we piloted through an imposing strait called Lower Hell Gate. Following a meandering path, we avoided thousands of lobster pot buoys of all colors. Forty miles and half a tank later, we anchored and enjoyed lunch while watching the myriad boats moored at Riggs Cove.
During the return trip, my wife piloted the boat while I snapped hundreds of digital photos. At Merrymeeting Bay, I wanted to trek up the Androscoggin River toward Brunswick. Alas, the way appeared laden with shallow, twisting channels and sandbars, and I vowed to return another season. Regrettably, we followed the breadcrumb trail left on the GPS map, and we missed the western channel past Swan Island. Again, the serene river shores were picturesque. The skies and waters were teaming with wildlife. My only critique was a lack of sandy shorelines to pull onto and stretch our legs, except for Sands Island below South Gardiner, which attracted numerous boaters and jet skiers. Otherwise, most shoreline approaches were shallow and rocky and offered little privacy.
Nearing Augusta, the intertidal zone was much lower. A gray rocky plain stretched from the deeper channel to the far shore. A slight sulfur scent, not uncommon for Maine rivers, wafted in the humid air. With some time to spare, my wife and I motored to the rapids below the Maine Central Railroad Bridge where sturgeon breached, and their sounds reverberated throughout the river corridor.
So, if you’re looking for a new boating adventure, I highly recommend the Kennebec River between Augusta and Bath where river and sea merge. During summer, you’ll enjoy an abundance of flora and fauna, including the goliath of river estuaries.
Regards until our next adventure,
John and Heidi Cobb
