The Graves—A Kayaking Adventure to Boston Harbor's Island Wilderness
By Todd Callaghan, CZM

When I stopped to think about what I was doing, I realized that it was too late to turn back—I was already committed. It was 4:30 a.m. and pitch black at the end of a dead-end street somewhere in Winthrop. I was lost. I could see the glint of Boston Harbor by starlight, so I knew I was close to the public parking lot on Deer Island where I had agreed to meet my friend Andrew for an early morning kayak trip. As I made my way out of the cul-de-sac, I wondered if I should have slept in instead—Would Andrew even be there this early? I navigated to the agreed-upon meeting place, to find that Andrew had made it and was charging up with coffee and a peanut butter sandwich.

The Graves lighthouse at low tide.

Our plan was to paddle from Deer Island across the Boston Harbor shipping channels and beyond the Boston Harbor Islands, past such foreboding features as The Devil’s Back, Hypocrite Channel, the Roaring Bulls, and ultimately, out to The Graves—a cluster of small islands and rocky ledges about four nautical miles east of Deer Island.(See map below.) We wanted both the thrill of paddling beyond the Harbor Islands and to see the 98-foot lighthouse that guides mariners as they approach Boston Harbor from the southeast. There is only one wreck marked in the area of The Graves on National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) chart 13270, but there are about a dozen around the outer Harbor Islands, testament to the amount of maritime traffic and the difficulty of navigating among its sand bars and ledges.

The Graves held an allure for us since the summer of 2004, when we kayaked to Boston Harbor Light on Little Brewster Island and walked up the spiraling steps to see its Fresnel lens. Having seen The Graves in the distance had only raised more questions for us. What does the lighthouse look like up close? How long would it take to paddle out there? Were the waves big? What would happen if we got swallowed in fog?

It was now almost 5 a.m. and the sky was just starting to lighten. Andrew and I walked along the public access way and across the cobbles to the beach. The ocean was mostly glass, with just a few ripples from the westerly gusts that topped the dunes. We could see the flashing red lights that demarcated North Channel like a runway. Beyond that, we could see the double white flash of The Graves lighthouse.

We had intentionally chosen such an early hour because we wanted to avoid the abundant boat traffic into and out of Boston Harbor. During weekends and prime times, the number of tankers, ferries, and lobster boats can be overwhelming. Choosing this early morning weekday time seemed the safest bet. Since I was on vacation, I wasn't feeling rushed, but we did keep an eye on the clock since Andrew was due at the Hancock Tower for an 11 a.m. work meeting.We pulled on our wetsuits and loaded our boats with the requisite safety gear: first aid kit, waterproof “spray tops,” a shirt and fleece stowed in a dry bag, charts, smallcraft NAV-AID (a flexible, transparent compass), extra paddles, a paddle float and water pump for self rescue, water, and peanut butter sandwiches. We fixed our charts to our decks, checked our deck compasses against each other, and paddled out into the rising sun.

In less than a mile we reached an exposed cobble bar known as the Great Faun and got our bearings for our course. While our planned route was obvious on our charts, islands and navigation aids look very different at sea level, so we made sure to identify a point that was close to us and paddled toward it, all the while evaluating the current and waves, and scoping out potential hazards. Rather than consider our charted course a fixed entity, we considered it more of a theme—a general way to connect the dots from the shore to The Graves—and were open to safety and curiosity-related changes along the way. The tide was ebbing and moving at a considerable rate, so we were going to begin to paddle directly across North Channel at a 90 degree angle and let the outgoing tide ferry us to the other side of the channel to the flashing navigational buoy about half a mile downstream of us. We were amazed at how quickly the current pulled us out toward sea. Most of the shipping channel is kept at a depth of 40-45 feet, and the surrounding depth is 20-35 feet, so the water really moves through the channel. Once we reached the buoy known as “green number 5” on the chart, we headed for buoy number 6 at the edge of South Channel.

We made our way as quickly as we could, because we knew the increase in sunlight would bring an increase in traffic and it had now been light for close to an hour. As we got to the edge of the channel, I noticed what appeared to be a gull standing on the water. A small wave drew the water away from the gull’s feet and I could see that it was standing on a ledge. Suddenly the wave broke and there was a surge of white water—we were on the Devil’s Back! Luckily, our kayaks were able to slide over the submerged rocks unscathed, but one could imagine the past damages done to deeper-draft vessels, earning this ledge its demonic moniker.

As we paddled through Hypocrite Channel between Green and Calf Islands, we saw a number of Ruddy Turnstones, a type of sandpiper, on their migration from the Arctic to the southern United States and South America. We then passed the Roaring Bulls, several large rocks that explode in a spray of seawater when exposed to an open ocean surge, but right now were not living up to their name. Around 7:30 a.m. we reached The Graves. It was only two hours after low tide, so many of the ledges fringing the islets were exposed and rose up above us 10 to 15 feet. Waves surged but did not prevent us from cutting between the rock towers and poking into the little inlets for a closer look. The lighthouse itself looked to be in pretty good shape considering the poundings it must take during nor’easter storms. It was similar to Halfway Light in Casco Bay, but there were not as many seals. In fact there were no seals. This made me think about great white sharks and the reported siting of one eating a seal off of Chatham during the summer. I hoped this wasn't why there were no seals to see, but realized there was nothing I could do about it either way, so I continued paddling. After making our way around the very eastern-most rock in the ledge, with all of its swirling and surging water giving us the feeling of being really exposed and alone out there, we decided to ride the tide back to Winthrop. In the distance we could just make out the 100-foot, egg-shaped digesters at the Massachusetts Water Resource Authority Deer Island treatment plant, five miles away. And somewhere beyond that was the hazy Boston skyline with its pronounced glassy towers. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting up there?” I asked, pointing toward the Boston skyline. “Not for another three hours,” Andrew said with a bit of a smile, both of us knowing he had never intended to make it.

On our way back, we landed on Green Island and saw more Ruddy Turnstones and a reclusive American Oystercatcher, amid the usual cacophony of gulls. The small pebbles on the beach and their constant rolling were perfect for burnishing sea glass, and I stooped to pick up a few pieces for the collection I keep on my desk at work. The remains of a wrecked barge emerged from the ocean like a giant rust-colored crocodile. We paddled over the submerged section to see what might be inside, because in other areas I had seen wrecks serve as planting beds for eelgrass. This one was covered in kelp—even seemed to be a little haven for the kelp, but there was no eelgrass to be found. As we had anticipated, the wind had picked up considerably in the three hours that we had been paddling. We both had noticed that the marine forecast had called for 15-20 knot winds later in the day, so we wanted to be closer to shore before the weather realized its full potential. Luckily, we had planned our trip to coincide with the tides so we were now riding the incoming tide back to Deer Island. When we were just off of the beach, we turned to see a large tanker exiting the harbor. There were also many smaller boats moving between their favorite fishing spots and the occasional commuter ferry racing to get commuters wherever they were going on time.

By 9:30 a.m. we were back on shore and decided to take a swim after we had loaded our boats back on our cars. The public lot was now full and people were walking, running, and rollerblading around Deer Island. We saw another kayaker (with his fishing gear) and a few beachgoers. Our trip had been adventurous and successful, but most of all safe, due to our planning and preparation. We had avoided being a nuisance to the working boats by crossing the channels when there was the least amount of traffic, and in the quickest way possible. We had planned for the increasing wind and the swift currents and were able to make it back to the beach in a reasonable time.

As we bobbed in the refreshing water, I looked in the direction of the Hancock Tower, “Shouldn’t you be heading to your meeting now?” I asked Andrew. Smiling, he answered, “I’ll read the memo tomorrow."

Photographs by Andrew Rockefeller