The Maine Island Trail snakes 375 miles along coastal inlets and islands on the Atlantic, from Portland up north toward the border with Canada. For paddler and coach Tim Gallaway, a Great Lakes local, the Maine Island Trail posed a major adjustment: tides.
Gallaway is an ACA instructor and Greenland rolling coach. His longest solo expedition was an 860-mile solo expedition from Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario to Quebec City. In 2018, he headed to Greenland to compete in the National Qajaq Championships. In 2021, Gallaway tackled a sea kayak expedition of the South Shore of Lake Superior, and in 2023 a backcountry canoe expedition in Missinabi Provincial Park. In summer 2024, Gallaway, a traditionally freshwater paddler, found himself out on the ocean for a three-week trek on the Maine Island Trail.
Challenging but forgiving: the key to growing skills
On the Great Lakes paddlers are primarily at the mercy of the wind. Out on the ocean in places like the Maine Island Trail paddlers at the mercy of the tides as well. The northern end of the Maine Island Trail approaches the edge of the Bay of Fundy, which sports the largest tidal range in the world with a maximum of 63 feet (16 meters).
“How the trip flowed with the tide was a big learning experience for me. There was very rarely a time that there wasn’t a current I could notice,” shared Gallaway.
While the Maine Island Trail never approaches the extremes of the Bay of Fundy, Gallaway reported working with a roughly 12-foot (3.6 meter) tidal range near Portland, and about a 14-foot (4.3 meter) tidal range the farther north he travelled, and up to an estimated 4-5 knot current on occasion.
Many coastal guidebooks are designed for yachts and sailboats, with shoals and dangers to larger boats marked, but with little thought given to the coastal paddler. Gallaway recommends paddlers headed out somewhere unfamiliar research beyond a google search and guidebooks.
“Find locals; I think that’s the real trick with everything. Talk to fishermen, talk to boaters, talk to sailors,” shared Gallaway. “The thing for learning an area… is to try and find a place that is challenging but also forgiving.”
Do paddlers need to get burned? Or is there a better way to learn?
Finding that sweet spot where the forgiving challenge lies— the surf break with a soft landing, the sea kayaking route with exposed conditions but ample bail out options— is often easier said than done, especially if you don’t know what you’re looking for, or what you’re looking at.
“I think the big thing with judgment is learning how to observe and learning what to look for. We always talk about the Dunning-Kruger effect: you don’t know what you don’t know,” explained Gallaway.
The Dunning-Kruger Effect is a cognitive bias that occurs when a person’s lack of knowledge or skill in a certain field leads to them overestimating their skill within their field. Put simply, we are ignorant of our own ignorance. For Gallaway, teaching good judgement begins on land.
“If I’m coaching someone I like to start off standing on the shore talking about what we can see. If you understand your environment it’s a lot easier to make good judgement calls,” Gallaway shared. “If you don’t know what you’re looking at… that’s how you can get into trouble.”
For paddlers, over estimating your own skill can be extremely consequential, and the easiest way over the beginner’s hubris hump is often getting tumbled and humbled— ideally, that happens somewhere with a soft landing.
“There’s ways that you can push people and get them not burnt, but singed in a controlled environment,” shared Gallaway. “But I don’t think anything really beats getting worked while you’re alone. If you’re with people you always have a safety net. If you’re alone it gets awfully scary very quickly.”
A brush with hands-on learning
Gallaway knows a thing or two about learning risk management through hands-on experience. In chilly, early May 2010, Gallaway paddled from Grand Marais, Michigan towards Sault Ste. Marie on the South Shore of Lake Superior.
“After three days of paddling into the wind I got out to Whitefish Point…I got around the point and started pushing south, and didn’t really think about the weather too much. It was an east wind that was building across the bay,” explained Gallaway. “All those waves were funneling up against that hard edge of the point straight in. I’d been paddling for a while, I was exhausted, I was getting kind of cold, and I drifted too close to shore. I had a wave break over my head, just totally dunk me… [I] lost my water bottle off the deck, and I basically got washed into shore.”
From here, Gallaway paddled between the breaking surf and the shore for a little, an area with few people, and few places to land and camp. Before long, Gallaway found what he was looking for: a friendly person who waved at him. He made contact, paddled in and borrowed a phone. A friend of his came and picked him up while the people he’d met fed him and let him dry out.
“I didn’t have it in my head that stopping at Whitefish Point was an option. I could’ve waited for a day and been fine, or if I’d gotten stuck out at Whitefish Point I could’ve just called and had someone pick me up, but I would have done it kind of in a dignified manner… instead of walking up like a drowned rat.”
On the Maine Island Trail, Gallaway defines his own trip
More than fifteen years and several coaching certifications later, Gallaway’s trips look a little different now. On the fourth day of his trip on the Maine Island Trail, Gallaway found himself camped on an island up a river listening to a foreboding weather forecast. The forecast called for thunderstorms overnight followed by big swell and wind out of the south. Taken with the six-mile exposed approach to the pinnacle headland, the tide, and that the headland and approach itself would be exposed to the south winds and swell off the open Atlantic, conditions for rounding the point were far from ideal.
Gallaway sat and asked himself if it was really important to his trip that he round that headland.
“The answer came pretty quick and it was no. The whole idea of this trip is to explore the shoreline. I don’t have any need to prove to myself to get around it,” said Gallaway. “So I called for help.”
Gallaway called up the crew at Maine Kayak and asked if they’d run a shuttle for him across the point. The owner picked him up and essentially portaged Gallaway to the other side.
“I had a great day. I got to meet some paddlers. I got to see some areas I wouldn’t have seen otherwise,” Gallaway shared. “It was a great experience because the point of the trip wasn’t to face the biggest conditions the Atlantic can give. The whole idea was to paddle.”
What are we working on today?
Many a paddler has fallen prey to the idea that a successful paddle means toughing it out through the gnarliest conditions. It can be hard to move past the idea that there is some sort of shame in waiting it out on land and glory in “sending it”, not realizing that often the mark of an experienced paddler is not just knowing when to paddle, but more importantly when not to.
“We need to do things for ourselves, that’s really what it comes down to,” shared Gallaway. “Not everyone wants to race. Not everyone wants to roll a dozen different ways. That’s kind of the wonder of the sport. We can go out and take photos of birds; we can go out fishing. We can go out and expedition for days at a time— none of that’s wrong, it’s just different.”
In a sport where it often seems like the peak of paddling is fastest known times and big ocean crossings, first descents and sufferfests, how can we as paddlers help each other define our own goals?
For Gallaway, it starts with him standing in the water next to his students and a simple question:
“What are we working on today?”
Gallaway will be speaking at the 2025 Canoecopia event in Madison, Wisconsin at 2:30 pm on Saturday, March 8 to share about solo kayaking the Maine Island Trail.
