The sky merged with the sea in a vastness of gray on this particular July morning. A cool, crisp breeze was just beginning to pick up off the North Atlantic. Despite the somewhat gloomy conditions, the seas were still calm, and the trip to the island was on. Our boat motored out of the small harbor at Jonesport, soon to be engulfed in the thick fog that surrounded us, and welcomed by the rolling waves of the ocean.

You couldn't see much of the scenic Maine coastline, only the small rocky islands that sometimes appeared through the mist. "Sooty Shearwater!" Captain John Norton would call out, pointing to the small seabird flying across his bow. Then again, "Leach's Storm Petrel!" pointing to another species for the birders on board to catch a quick glimpse of before they vanished into the gray. Sightings of these birds were like appetizers for the main course waiting for us at Machias.

After about and hour and a half at sea, we started seeing signs we were close. Atlantic Puffins floating on and cruising over the frigid ocean surface began to appear one by one. There was no mistaking them for anything else, with their comical appearance and awkward flight, these were the birds we had come for. The island only revealed itself to us when it was a mere 100 yards off our port side, with pounding waves crashing over a rocky shoreline. Occasionally we would see a flash in the gray sky from the lighthouse off in the distance, but no sign of the structure itself.

Our means of getting to this intimidating shoreline was a small, motor powered rowboat that we pulled up next to for offloading. By carefully timing the surf, Captain Norton maneuvered the small craft up to a makeshift landing site nestled in the rocks. Clearly he was a pro at getting his passengers to shore safely, and mostly dry.