In the dregs of winter, 6 miles can seem so much farther. About 30 people tough out winters on Isle au Haut, a small island off the Maine coast in Penobscot Bay.

In the summer, this outpost of Acadia National Park is bustling as hundreds of people from across the country come to enjoy the warm weather, sea breeze, beaches, trails and slow pace of life.

When snow and ice become a threat, most of the island’s homes and camps are abandoned. Quiet sets in, and only the year-rounders remain.

These dedicated few are fishermen, mechanics, shopkeepers, beekeepers, town officials, retirees and, in many cases, several of these things. The quiet and simplicity of island life keeps them here.

But the trials and isolation of island winters can wear on anyone, and the struggle to keep year-round island communities alive persists.

In the dregs of winter, 6 miles can seem so much farther. About 30 people tough out winters on Isle au Haut, a small island off the Maine coast in Penobscot Bay.

In the summer, this outpost of Acadia National Park is bustling as hundreds of people from across the country come to enjoy the warm weather, sea breeze, beaches, trails and slow pace of life.

When snow and ice become a threat, most of the island’s homes and camps are abandoned. Quiet sets in, and only the year-rounders remain.

These dedicated few are fishermen, mechanics, shopkeepers, beekeepers, town officials, retirees and, in many cases, several of these things. The quiet and simplicity of island life keeps them here.

But the trials and isolation of island winters can wear on anyone, and the struggle to keep year-round island communities alive persists.

In the dregs of winter, 6 miles can seem so much farther. About 30 people tough out winters on Isle au Haut, a small island off the Maine coast in Penobscot Bay.

In the summer, this outpost of Acadia National Park is bustling as hundreds of people from across the country come to enjoy the warm weather, sea breeze, beaches, trails and slow pace of life.

When snow and ice become a threat, most of the island’s homes and camps are abandoned. Quiet sets in, and only the year-rounders remain.

These dedicated few are fishermen, mechanics, shopkeepers, beekeepers, town officials, retirees and, in many cases, several of these things. The quiet and simplicity of island life keeps them here.

But the trials and isolation of island winters can wear on anyone, and the struggle to keep year-round island communities alive persists.

Billy Barter, 76, was born on this island and he plans to die here.He and his wife, Bernadine, are affectionately referred to as the king and queen of Isle au Haut. They shake their heads at the titles and say, “not really,” but the label persists.

The Barters have a long line of ancestry on the island. Pelatiah Barter settled on Isle au Haut around 1792 and was among the residents who petitioned the government of Massachusetts to hand ownership of the island over to the settlers in the early 1800s.

More than two centuries later, Billy Barter is the patriarch of four generations of islanders. Most Barters are fishermen, and even the youngest, 13-year-old Michael, helps out. Billy Barter still fishes 330 lobster traps alongside his son and doesn’t plan to retire. He said the lobstering over the past 15 years has been the best he has seen around the island.

He started his fishing career on an oar-powered skiff before purchasing a motor from a catalog for $39.95 in 1949, he said during a recent interview on the island.

His wife, Bernie, also a lifelong resident, plays a mean accordion and boisterously organizes weekly volleyball games for residents inside the Town Hall, which doubles as the library and gym.

Growing up on Isle au Haut, Billy Barter had 13 classmates, but all the children he grew up with on the island have “long since moved away,” he said.

“It’s hard to keep these small islands going,” he said.

Bernadine Barter chats with other islanders during Tuesday's Table, a free dinner served on Isle au Haut as a way for residents to enjoy the company of others during the winter months.

People realized more than two centuries ago that Isle au Haut, like many of Maine’s 15 year-round inhabited islands, would be a good place to settle and make their livelihoods, mostly by fishing the waters that surround it.

About 200 years after explorer Samuel de Champlain charted the island in 1604, giving it the name “High Island” because it was the tallest, hilliest island in the bay, the Barters and a few dozen other settlers planted roots.

Billy Barter remembers when every cove and inlet around Isle au Haut was filled with fishing boats throughout the year. Today, there are just a few moored around the town landing.

The population of the island has steadily declined since at least the 1880s, when it was home to an estimated 275 year-round residents.

In 1890, the year-round population fell to 206. By World War I, it was down to 133. In 1935, it was at 75.

When motor vehicles gained popularity, it became more economical for most fishermen to work from the mainland because shipping fish was cheaper, easier and more efficient. The fishing population began to shift.

Barter worries that his family’s legacy on the island might not last long after he and his wife die.

“I don’t know if they’re going to stick around after I’m gone,” he said.

Dianne Bowen is leaving Isle au Haut after spending the past 25 years here and raising a son on the island.

She works at Black Dinah Chocolatiers, an 8-year-old business named after the peak it sits at the foot of. It’s one of the island’s largest employers, with one full-time and three part-time workers.

Before that job, Bowen cut and limbed trees on the island.

The owners of Black Dinah Chocolatiers, Steve and Kate Shaffer, recently announced plans to move chocolate production to the mainland — somewhere in the Portland area. Space is tight in their Isle au Haut base. Shipping is expensive. Pushing production on the mainland will allow them to expand and drastically cut costs.

Bowen will follow the company’s expansion to the mainland, while the Shaffers will stay at the headquarters on the island.

Bowen was raised in South Portland, so she knows the area well. She said she’s looking forward to getting off the island. Everything here is more difficult, more expensive.

Her pipes froze twice this winter, and getting a plumber — or any other sort of repairman or builder — onto the island means paying them for the hours they’re stuck waiting for a boat, not just the time spent fixing whatever’s broken.

Anything you bring on the island you have to carry yourself. Locals have nicknamed their home “Lug-A-Ho.”

Black Dinah Chocolatiers is one of the few businesses on the island. It will expand production to the Portland area. Dianne, who has lived on the island for 25 years, will move to work at the new factory there. Black Dinah Chocolatiers is one of the few businesses on the island. It will expand production to the Portland area. Dianne, who has lived on the island for 25 years, will move to work at the new factory there.

The isolation and trials of island life have driven many others away over the years, according to Bowen. Some people have fled the island and left homes and belongings behind — including fully stocked refrigerators.

Still, the challenges of island life today pale in comparison to what they were 40 years ago. The island didn’t get electricity until the 1970s. Residents couldn’t even have telephones until the 1990s. Until these technologies finally made it to the island, the few year-rounders relied on generators, wood heat and CB radio.

Bowen said another reason she’s moving away is so her son, who is preparing to graduate from college, won’t return to the island. She doesn’t want him to return to Isle au Haut and “get comfortable.”

After her move to the mainland she’ll have to start remembering to do a few new things, such as locking her door and taking the keys out of her truck. Few here bother to take the keys out of their vehicle. Who’s going to take it? And if they do, where are they going to go?

As far as her fellow islanders: “I’m going to miss them — well, most.”

Island life can be trying on relationships. Here you are, on a small patch of land surrounded by water and by the same small group of people for the coldest, gloomiest months of the year.

By the time March rolls around, people can be on edge.

John DeWitt runs Shore Shop Gifts with his wife, Kendra Chubbuck. He’s also a town selectman.

John DeWitt is a lobster fisherman and also helps run Shore Shop Gifts on Isle au Haut.

The annual town meeting is held on the last Monday in March and has been for decades. Meetings can get heated, DeWitt said, and include shouting, storming out and general discontent with decisions others might see as minor. Town officials know going into the meeting that they could be “in for it” even if the agenda seems benign, DeWitt said.

“I don’t know who thought it was a good idea to hold the meeting then,” he added.

In “Here on the Island,” a book written about the island in the 1970s, the author recounts one town meeting in which a resident who was asked to serve as the town’s wood surveyor responded, “You can go to hell — that is, I respectfully decline.”

Still, the island survives those scuffles. When push comes to shove and someone needs help, a neighbor always will step up, residents said. There’s a reliance on others here that supersedes personal differences.

While the quiet, closeness and isolation can wear patience thin in the dark months of Maine winters, those same qualities also are what many people love about this island.

The only way off for most residents is the 40-minute ride to Stonington on the mail boat, which only leaves twice per day, except for Sunday when there is no mail. The only other way to get to and from the mainland is to have your own boat or a willing friend with one.

Garrett Aldrich (left), captain and manager of The Mink, and deckhand Pat Haskell take a trip to Isle au Haut from Stonington. The Mink makes trips to the island twice daily.

Garrett Aldrich (left), captain and manager of The Mink, and deckhand Pat Haskell take a trip to Isle au Haut from Stonington. The Mink makes trips to the island twice daily.

Isle au Haut residents pay half rates for tickets to ride the mail boat, but a round-trip ticket still costs $19. Residents plan their visits to the mainland carefully, coordinating shopping trips, doctor’s appointments and other errands to make the most of their trip and to ensure they don’t spend hours sitting on the dock in Stonington waiting for the afternoon boat.

Getting a vehicle on or off the island means hiring a barge.

In summer, things are easier, with The Mink making several more trips each day and a second boat taking tourists to Duck Harbor on the south end of the island, allowing tourists to get to the park-owned portion of the island without passing through town.

Aldrich says the boat has been put to unusual uses. One resident tried to transport a horse on The Mink, but the horse wouldn’t set hoof on the boat. The Mink also has taken a body off the island after the family of a resident decided they wanted to get their loved one to the mainland as soon as possible, according to Aldrich.

To make a living on an island, you need to be flexible. Many residents make the bulk of their livelihood on the water, plucking fish, lobster and other sea life from the bay.

Ed White is one of the island’s go-to mechanics and handles the inevitable breakdowns in its aging fleet of vehicles. He also does construction work for residents. He says he lived on a sailboat in the harbor for years — until the boat sank — and then moved into a house on the mainland. He spends a lot of his time in the library searching for obscure books, and residents say he’s probably one of the more well-read year-rounders.

Along with helping his wife run the gift shop and serving as town selectman, DeWitt is a lifelong fisherman and woodworker. His wife is also a beekeeper. When she moved here three years ago to be with DeWitt, a 45-year resident, she brought along a llama, a pair of geese, a duck and her dog, all on DeWitt’s fishing boat.

The Shaffers started Black Dinah and also run a seasonal cafe out of their home. The only other retail businesses on the island are Shore Shop Gifts, Isle au Haut’s general store, and a food truck that opens during busy summer months.

The cafe and food truck are the only “dining out” options on the island. The general store is only open for two hours per day in the winter, so even though there are only 30 people living here during those months, it’s not unusual to see a rush on supplies.

The world one finds when stepping onto the dock in February is a far cry from what one sees in July. In the summer, this island outpost of Acadia National Park is bustling, drawing hikers, campers and sightseekers. Acadia estimates about 7,000 day visitors — or people “from away,” as they’re called here — and 600 campers flock to Isle au Haut each year. At times, the population blossoms to more than 10 times what it is in the coldest stretches of the year.

In the winter, residents know the names of every other resident. And their pets. And the sounds their vehicles make. And their business. They like it this way.

The dwindling population, especially of children, on the island is a concern for those who want to see Isle au Haut — or any island community — survive.

In an effort to draw new families, the Isle au Haut Community Development Corp. recently built a pair of low-rent housing units in town. Early in February, the corporation approved a housing application from a family of six — two parents with four children (a girl and three boys) and another on the way.

Another family, this one with two parents and two children (both girls), has applied for a town rental property. Both families would move from Harpswell, probably in April, according to Megan Wibberly, a fellow with the Island Institute who is stationed on Isle au Haut for two years.

This is huge news for the island, which will nearly triple its number of year-round youth residents overnight. Not all the children are old enough to go to school, but most will be within the next couple of years. Most aren’t yet old enough to understand how important they could be to the survival of this community.

“This is a way of being that’s almost totally lost,” Steve Shaffer said of island life.

It involves deep reliance on those around you. It involves being friends with people you normally wouldn’t associate with — an “odd mix” of people with varied attitudes and belief systems.

That closeness and the quiet isolation it exists in make island communities such as this unique and their futures important, he said.

“The grass isn’t greener on the mainland,” Shaffer said.