The icebreakers
For generations, a vessel named the Sunbeam has roved Penobscot Bay, bringing supplies and spiritual counseling to residents of remote Maine islands. But on a recent night, Sunbeam V had a different mission: Coax taciturn islanders onto the stage to perform comedy.
ISLE AU HAUT, Maine -- The Rev. Rob Benson had taken risks before, but this time he wondered if his gamble would pay off.
Benson looked nervously around the large main cabin of the Sunbeam V, the boat that carries his ''floating ministry" to five sparsely populated islands off the Maine coast. On this cold, clear February night, the boat was tied up at the dock on Isle au Haut. The cabin was packed with year-round islanders. Two guests from the mainland stood expectantly at the front of the room. Benson had brought them here, in a daring bid to liven up the long, dark winter.
It was time to answer the question that loomed over the room: Would these offshore Mainers, famed for their reserve, rise from their seats, let down their guard, and stage an evening of improv?
As he was quick to admit, Benson wasn't sure. Neither were Jennifer Shepard and Larrance Fingerhut, the owners of an improvisational comedy club in Bar Harbor, who had made the three-hour, 28-mile trek from Northeast Harbor on the Sunbeam with no guarantee that the experiment would work.
Benson, 37, a former hospital chaplain who began roving the coast on the Sunbeam three years ago, had delivered musicians and storytellers to the islands before, but he had never asked the islanders to stand in the spotlight themselves. If they rose to the occasion, Benson thought, they would learn a new way to entertain themselves. In the process, he imagined, these fiercely independent people, who tend to keep to themselves, might learn to better understand each other.
''That's the theory, anyway," the pastor said. ''But whenever you bring people from away, you don't know how [the islanders] are going to react."
On Isle au Haut (pronounced ''aisle-a-ho"), seven miles off Stonington in Penobscot Bay, entertainment is limited. There are no shops or restaurants, no movie theater, and barely any paved roads. More than half the rocky, wooded island is national park land. Only about 50 people, including fishermen, caretakers, writers, and retirees, live here year-round. In winter, when seasonal residents and day-tripping tourists disappear, a deep quiet settles in. Church services are suspended -- the only church is unheated -- and the general store cuts its hours, opening at 11 a.m. and closing at 1 p.m.
Trips to Stonington on the mail boat, the only way to get off the island, are canceled often in bad weather, and when ice builds up in the harbor, travel to the mainland may stop altogether.
''It's hard," said Justina Barter, 13, an eighth-grader and one of a dozen students at the one-room island school. ''We don't have what other kids have, like sports and shopping and friends. We hear about things going on off-island, but the boat gets canceled a lot. We love each other, but sometimes we just need to see other people."
Several islanders said they rarely socialize in winter -- except the two or three times a month when the Sunbeam moors overnight in the harbor and welcomes them aboard like a floating community center. ''Even if it's below zero, you dig out for that," said Lisa Turner, 41, a teaching assistant at the island school.
A familiar, welcome visitor to the island, the big green boat is operated by the Maine Sea Coast Mission, a nondenominational, nonprofit organization with a 100-year history of helping Maine's most isolated residents. Founded in 1905 and based in Bar Harbor, the coastal outreach operation sends clothes, food, and Christmas presents to the islands with a roving minister and nurse. With its sturdy steel bow, the 75-foot Sunbeam also keeps boat routes open by breaking the ice that forms in the calmer island harbors.
The ministry boat makes its rounds in every season, visiting five islands -- Isle au Haut, Outer Long Island, Great Cranberry Island, Matinicus, and Monhegan -- each home to just a few dozen permanent residents. The atmosphere on the boat is laid-back: ''People know they're not going to get preached at," Benson said. The baked goods, especially the homemade cream puffs, are a leading attraction, supplied by the boat's beloved steward, Betty Allen.
On that cold night earlier this month, though, there was tension in the air. Some islanders looked wary as Benson introduced his guests.
Shepard, 35, had prepared for this moment. An experienced actor, she first toured with a theater company as a teenager in rural Nebraska, before moving on to the Chicago improv scene. Two years ago, Shepard and Fingerhut, 50, a musician and composer, opened their own Bar Harbor club, ImprovAcadia, where they perform nightly with a rotating cast of visiting actors from May to October. Actors use input from the audience to invent a new show every night.
Shepard had never taught improv on a Maine island before, but she expected resistance, and she had a plan. Eyeing the crowd, she gestured at her secret weapon: a row of giggling, eager island children, trained in basic improvisation earlier that day at school.
Now, she could see, they were ready to show off. ''Can we start now?" asked Caleb Mao, 7, hopping up and down.
Three young people stood and linked arms for a game called ''Dr.-Know-It-All." Together, acting as one ''three-headed expert," they answered questions volunteered by adults in the audience, each child contributing one word in rapid sequence. Their improvised answers flowed like something scripted, taking wild turns that made the adults laugh.
''Why do dogs bark at people?" one of their classmates asked.
''Dogs -- bark -- at -- people -- because -- they -- can't -- talk," the young performers answered to loud applause.
The atmosphere warmed. The boat windows fogged. The children began to chant: ''Adults! Adults! Get the adults to play!"
Several islanders slouched on their stools and shook their heads. Then Kathie Fiveash, 58, a part-time teacher, stood up.
The young people cheered. They turned to Dianne Barter, 42, a wryly funny woman who works as a caretaker. ''Dianne! Dianne!" they yelled.
Barter resisted, ducking her head. Then she stood up. So did Ellard Taylor, 63, a carpenter clad in plaid flannel. They linked arms with Fingerhut.
''Why do people need air conditioners?" someone called out.
''People -- need -- to -- feel -- as -- cool -- as -- butterflies -- flying -- in -- the -- wind," improvised the new experts.
''So poetic! I love it!" Shepard exclaimed. The children roared approval. Benson beamed.
Based on the night's success, he said, he plans to take the improv workshop to other Maine islands.
It was just as the performers had said it could be earlier that day, as the Sunbeam cruised toward Isle au Haut through blue Penobscot Bay, and they wondered whether the islanders would play. To succeed, Shepard said, they would have to do two things -- accept unexpected ideas, and dare to add their own.
Then differences would blur and distances collapse. ''Even the wildest idea can find a foothold," Shepard said. ''It looks like magic, but it's not."
Jenna Russell can be reached at jrussell@globe.com. 