Sea Kayak Georgia Skills Symposium and BCU Week 2009

Five days of paddling on the ocean off Tybee Island, Georgia with some of the best coaches in the world.  Perfect weather.  Good friends.  Lovely cottage to stay in.  I suppose it could get better than this, but wanting more would just seem greedy.

The Symposium offered 10 or more classes each day to choose from.  My goals (above and beyond general development) were to get more comfortable and skilled "in conditions" and to take a shot at the BCU 3 Star award.  BCU is the British Canoe Union;  a 3 Star Paddler is a confident and strong paddler in Force 4 conditions (one meter seas, up to 18 mph/16 knot winds). 

My first two days of classes were 3 Star Training with Steve Maynard as the instructor, 6 students, and an assistant instructor.  The very first thing we did was to head out into the Triangle, a shoal/sandbar that the incoming swells were wrapping around and breaking across.  The waves were coming from different directions as they rolled over the shoal.  It was a confused mass of moving water and "haystacks" (where two waves combined) and troughs.  Sometimes two waves would approach from opposite sides and break on top of your head;  sometimes you would get past one and another would immediately come from another side.  Definitely not Lake Calhoun. 

We all stayed upright as we paddled through the Triangle twice, and then we headed off for other adventures.  Over the course of the next two days, we played beach tag (see how close in to shore you can ride the waves, then back out and do it again) and school of fish (whilst paddling forward, travel as a school of fish:  keep changing position every 30 seconds).  We worked on forward strokes (keep the top hand moving in a horizontal plane;  get the blade planted before you unwind;  keep the stroke short).  We did some more surfing and this time I capsized (first time in the surf).  I thought about rolling for all of 2 seconds, but I was on my off side, and it felt too shallow to get to the other side, so I bailed.  Winter project:  get my offside roll!

We played a rescue game – two groups of 3, each with one victim, one towing, and one supporting the victim.  Trade places so everyone tows 2 times, and see which group goes farthest/fastest taking 50 strokes each time.  We did T-rescues while someone was towing the rescuer (a great way to practice against a current and make sure you hold on to your boat).  Steve taught us a hanging draw started with a forward stroke that gracefully turned to a draw.  We worked on bow and stern rudders in a more vertical orientation (alas, I never got the stern rudder working, and managed to "break" my old stern rudder technique, so that didn’t go well on the assessment.)

Friday was Rough Water Discovery with Nigel Foster.  We did some warm up surfing on a calmer area, then headed out to the Zipper and Nigel offered each of us the option of going in and trying it.  Similar to the Triangle, the Zipper is a long, narrow shoal perpendicular to the swells.  Ignorance being bliss, I went in a couple times.  Fortunately, my balance made up for my still developing bracing skills, and I stayed upright. 

From there we spent more time working on surfing.  I've got a long ways to go, but every bit of practice helps. Over the course of the day I capsized 4 times and managed to roll up twice, which I counted as a minor triumph.  These were the first two times I'd rolled up after capsizing accidentally.

At the end of the day, Nigel's parting words were to encourage us to be as efficient as possible;  we waste a lot of strength and energy in our inexperience.

Saturday was Intermediate Surfing with Danny Mongno.  We talked about launching and surf safety, then paddled out beyond the break.  We ended up riding the swells and waiting for half an hour with the assistant instructor while Danny sorted out someone in a wooden Betsy Bay who had gone over on the way out and had a hatch cover pop off.  The swells were pretty big, and to be honest, I was a bit spooked at looking at half a mile of breaking waves coming in to shore.  

After Danny joined us, we headed back to shore (I chose the easier route) and gathered up again.  There were a few challenges in finding the right place to practice (bigger swells than expected, a surf competition going on, lots of swimmers and kite surfers, and a variety of skill levels), so after lunch we ended up working fairly close to shore.  Goal was to paddle out a hundred yards or so, do a few 360s out in the breaking waves, then ride the waves in.  I usually ended up capsizing before I got in, but had fun.  I bagged it about 3:00 and watched the others until the end of the class, trying to save some energy for the next day.

Sunday was my 3 Star assessment.  It was pretty clear as the day progressed that I wasn't yet a 3 Star paddler.  Some of the gaps were in basic skills;  some were in ocean paddling.  But it was a good learning experience. 

Four of our group were trying to get BCU certifications, and none of us passed, though all were close.  On our way out of town, we stopped by the Sea Kayak Georgia store and ran into a man who had just gotten his 3 Star.  He was 70 years old, and had tried once before.  He had also done some 4 Star training.  This week he done his 3 Star assessment on Saturday with Jeff Allen.  Jeff had his group out in conditions for their entire assessment, including for skills that you normally aren't required to do in conditions.  He also had them do a re-enter and roll, then paddle in to shore in rough water (performing several skills while their boats were full of water), then paddle back out backwards, boats still full of water.  It's clear that there are variations in how the assessments actually proceed.  We figured that the passing rate for 3 Star was 20 to 30 percent.  As my assessor said, it's a big award.

But … it was a great week.  I can't even say I'm disappointed about not getting the 3 Star.  I can see the progress I've made since I got my boat last fall.  One more year and I'll be ready.  In the meantime, it's all fun.

Voyageurs: Summer to Fall in Four Days

Ten ISK members met half way to Duluth at Tobies last Thursday, en route to four days in Voyageurs National Park. Larry had proposed the trip at the club's planning meeting in January, and had offered to lead it. The trip's initial maximum of 6 had quickly been filled, and a second leader was identified (John) and the second 6 slots also filled promptly. Clearly, this was a popular trip. It had been a long wait since the trip had been planned, but Sept. 22 had finally arrived, and fortified with Tobies food and coffee, we were finally under way.

Voyageurs is in northern Minnesota, west of the BWCA and adjacent to the Canadian border. It's an ancient land, located on the Canadian Shield, with rocks between 1 and 3 billion years old. The sandstone formations in the Apostles evoke a sense of awe at the thought of paddling through caves carved into rock laid down a billion years ago; in Voyageurs, one paddles by outcrops of rock up to 3 times as old. According to the park's website, this was an area where volcanoes once erupted beneath an ocean that no longer exists. Much more recently, glaciers advanced and retreated, carving and grinding, leaving behind glacial till and ice that would become kettle lakes.

Humankind arrived about 10,000 years ago. European fur traders arrived in the late 1600s, and loggers in the late 1800s. There was even a mini gold rush on Rainy Lake at about the same time, before the small mines failed around the turn of the century.

The park was created in 1975, and is only accessible by water. It's made up of four main lakes (Kabetogama, Namakan, Sand Point, and Rainy), as well as numerous smaller ones. Kayaks, canoes, houseboats, and fishing boats coexist in reasonable peace. The US/Canadian border actually cuts across some of the bigger lakes, so this would end up being an international trip.

After leaving two cars at Crane Lake for a post trip shuttle, we gathered at Ash River Visitor Center on the eastern side of Kabetogama and loaded our boats, then launched. We had great opportunities to work on our piloting skills as we wound our way east through the islands and channels between Kabetogama and Namakan and and then north on the way to Kettle Falls. A few motorboats buzzed past, but they weren't overly intrusive.

Upon arriving at Kettle Falls we found the two campsites we were hoping for were both available, and we moved in. Jeff spent some time rolling, while the rest of us focused on getting our gear unloaded and our tents set up. Part of the group decided to paddle across the lake to the Kettle Falls Hotel for dinner. The rest of us opted to dine in camp and then crash.

The hotel was built in 1910 by a timber baron; it's still in use and is accessible only by water. It was dark when our Kettle Falls adventurers returned, so they had a magical paddle across the lake with a quarter moon lighting their way back to the campsites.

Next morning we re-grouped and retraced part of the previous day's route, then opted to explore a different path to the Wolf Pack islands. As we paddled up to what the map showed as a channel between two islands, we realized that it had filled in. Jeff and Doug got out and did some exploring and discovered that if they pulled our boats over a downed log at the near edge, we could paddle through the grasses to the other side.

Soon we reached Wolf Pack Islands, which are two smallish adjacent islands with three campsites between them. Two sites were available, and we established Wolf Pack East and Wolf Pack West camps. This was our earliest afternoon arrival, so we enjoyed lunch, then took our time setting up camp and going for swims, which included an island circumnavigation by Doug and a special performance by the ISK synchronized swimming team. Doug, John and Peggy did some more exploring by boat, while Jeff took a nap and then went fishing.

Dave was the most ambitious camp cook of the group, having brought steak and chicken, and he cooked up steak and potatoes that night. The chicken needed to be eaten that night as well, so Deb accepted the challenge and prepared it. The rest of us made the best of our variations on dehydrated food.

The weather couldn't have been better for the first two days of the trip – warm and sunny, with a light wind at our backs. The leaves had scarcely started changing, so it felt as if we had caught the tail end of summer, albeit with much earlier sunsets. We even had the mosquitoes of summer, a decidedly unwelcome surprise.

Saturday (Day 3) was a bit cooler and cloudy, but still dry as we headed east towards Blind Pig Channel. Jeff caught a 20 inch Northern Pike along the way. Mike had offered to clean any fish that Jeff caught, but they agreed that this particular fish was too small, so it was returned to the lake to grow, contemplate the nature of lures, and dream fishy dreams under the ice during the long northern winter nights.

As we neared the channel and started looking for the path south, we learned to watch for the appearance and disappearance of motorboats through the apparently impassable walls of trees to locate the hard-to-see openings. Some of the narrow channels were only a hundred feet across, and mindful of the monster houseboats that periodically churned through, we scooted around the corners one after another like little ducklings.

Wind and rain were due to arrive Saturday night, so we went a bit farther than originally planned to shorten our route for Sunday. It took a few tries to find a free campsite, and the radios proved helpful as we sent out scouts looking for options. We ended up all fitting into one site on the final night, which was a nice way to end the trip.

We put Dave's big tarp up over the picnic table before it got dark, and sure enough, the rain and lightning and thunder started overnight. A gap in the clouds provided a glimpse of the northern lights for late night wanderers, though.

In the morning, we waited until the lightning stopped, then headed out. Fall had clearly arrived, and although it was much cooler, rained intermittently and was breezy, the downpours and high winds held off until we made it back to the takeout point. After going to get the cars at Ash River, we tossed in our wet gear and loaded the boats in record time, and headed for home.

It was a very full four days. I was pleasantly surprised at how quickly the park claimed our attention, and how easily we shed our city lives and created a group of fellow paddlers in tune with each other and with the rhythms of the water and boats, the daylight the sun gave us, and the sights and sounds of eagles and loons. Of course, the city bided its time and patiently awaited our return, and no tasks or assignments completed themselves while we were gone. But the memories and pictures of the trip and the new and deepened friendships remain. Note to self: do this again!

The Kayakers are Coming!

(Convoluted nod to Tolkein there.)

Pete, Mike and I stayed overnight Sunday instead of driving home after the ICE. Weather permitting, we had decided to head to Meyers Beach and paddle along the mainland sea caves.

The weather was great the next morning. While en route to the beach, I called my brother to file a float plan for the sea caves, and added that we might also paddle out to Eagle Island. We had contemplated doing that over Memorial Day weekend, but hadn't said anything about Eagle when we left our float plan, and for that reason as well as others, we had decided to skip the trip to the island that time. But I had learned from that experience, and wanted to keep our options open this time around.

We got to the beach, launched, and paddled east. About a mile along the caves, Mike proposed heading out to Eagle. Having just finished our ICE, we dutifully performed a risk assessment, and while we were talking, a bald eagle flew out from the shore, circled overhead, and winged back to shore. Clearly a sign that we should make the trip, so we headed out.

Eagle is the westernmost island in the archipelago, and the second smallest at less than half a mile long and a quarter mile wide. It's closed to visitors from May 15 to September 1st to provide a safe haven for several types of nesting birds, including Great Blue Herons, Double Crested Cormorants, and Herring Gulls. We were fortunate to be in the Apostles after Sept. 1st, and to find a perfect day for a paddle out to the island. There was very little wind, and the predicted dense fog advisory had been lifted. The weather was a bit hazy, but clear.

As we approached the island, we paddled over the Eagle Island shoal, a shallow area to the south of the island. For us kayakers, the shoal added interest as we looked down at the rocks in the clear water. To sailors, clearly a different story.

Nearing the southern shore, we could see a sea stack that had separated from the rest of the island in a vivid example of how these islands exist in a geological blink of an eye. What was left behind by the glaciers is being worried and eroded away by freezing and thawing, tenacious roots of vegetation, wind and water.

The island itself was more interesting than I had imagined. I was expecting more of the eroding bluffs one sees on the western side of Sand, but there were numerous rock formations. After returning home, I read about the various waterbirds that nest in the trees, and I mentally kicked myself for not looking for the nests, but c'est la vie.

After rounding the island, we stopped for lunch on some flat rocks in the gap by the sea stack on the southwest corner, then headed for home. The day continued to be a bit hazy, and Pete the poet noted that it seemed like we were paddling through molten silver.

We reached the mainland, then headed west to our launch site. About half way back, I noticed a tandem kayak approaching but didn't pay much attention to it. Then I heard someone say "Hi, Peggy", and realized that the intrepid Brian was in the tandem, along with his mom. I'd met Brian when he was our guide on the Outer Islands trip earlier in the summer. His mom had never been paddling with Brian, so she was getting a great introduction to the Apostles by seeing the mainland sea caves on a calm day. Brian had circumnavigated Lake Superior the previous year, and his mom had provided logistical support on part of the route. She told us that it had been quite a challenge each day to find where the heck Brian and his paddling partner had stopped for the night.

Our next paddling encounter was with a woman who had a border collie sharing her kayak. The dog was sitting up in the front of the cockpit and having a wonderful time, although she started barking when I came up to chat and got inside the perimeter she considered her territory.

Back at the beach, we landed, carried the boats up the stairs, loaded them on the cars, and then headed for home. It was a little gem of a paddle to cap the ICE weekend.

ICE

No, not Immigration and Customs Enforcement. The ICE is the American Canoe Association's Instructor Certification Exam. And no, it's not about canoeing, it's about kayaking.

At the end of May, six Inland Sea Kayakers club members and seven other folks took the Instructor Development Workshop for sea kayaking up at Living Adventure in Bayfield, WI. The IDW is the first step to being certified by the American Canoe Association to teach. We survived some very cold water and learned a lot, and then had the summer to sharpen skills and enhance our knowledge of kayaking.

Fast forward to the end of the summer and it was time for the evaluation weekend, where we would all find out whether we would be certified as ACA instructors, and if so, at what level. My goal was to be certified at Level 3. The next level up is an Open Water certification, and I knew that I didn't have enough open water experience to teach at that level.

Team ISK arrived in Bayfield on Thursday evening. The course didn't start until Saturday, so we had one day to ourselves. While enjoying a tasty breakfast at the Egg Toss Cafe, we decided to head out to Basswood Island. After crossing the channel, we landed on the south end of Basswood, took a short walk to the old brownstone quarry, and returned. A nice paddle, and it gave me an opportunity to get over my big lake jitters (paddling on Lake Superior is NOT the same as paddling on Lake Calhoun!)

I spent the rest of the afternoon working on my presentation for the ICE. We had each been assigned a topic to present in a classroom format, and mine was Weather Theory. That was the topic I really, really, really didn't want. My idea of weather was reading the forecasts on Weather.com. One of my brothers still teases me about the time I needed to know the wind speed and direction and headed to the computer instead of opening the door. (In my own defense, it WAS winter, and my deck is protected from the wind…)

With such an open ended subject, most of the two weeks between getting my assigned topic and the beginning of the course were spent learning something about weather. That left Friday afternoon and evening to pull it together into a coherent presentation. It all worked out fine, even if it was a bit of a late night.

Saturday morning, ten candidate instructors gathered at Living Adventure for the ICE. Bonnie was our instructor trainer and Gail was her mentor and co-trainer. We spent the morning with half of the group giving their classroom presentations. Over the lunch hour, we were assigned the on-water skill we would teach, and in the afternoon we headed out onto the water. After each skill was taught, we all demonstrated it and were checked off by the instructors, after which they threw in more coaching.

We would have liked enough wind to get some rougher water practice in, but if one was willing to give that up, the setting and weather couldn't have been more perfect, including a pair of kingfishers who performed a noisy flyover and provided intermittent commentary from the shore.

One of the skills to be checked off was doing 3 rolls in one minute. My roll had gotten a bit iffy in the last few weeks, and Tony and then Tom helped straighten it out. I was exceedingly pleased when my rolls were successful and I got that one checked off the list.

When we were working on high braces, Bonnie said "You're all doing the beginner's brace just fine; how about a real brace?" We all looked at her blankly. She demonstrated, rolling over until her torso hit the water, then high bracing up. That's actually supposed to be easier than an in between brace, where you roll to a 45 degree angle and brace up. By falling all the way to the side, your body stops your fall as it hits the water, and then all you have to do is get up with your brace and hip snap. I tried it unsuccessfully, capsized, then attempted to roll back up and ended up doing a wet exit. Fortunately they didn't take back one of my rolls due to the failed attempt.

At the end of the day it was wonderful to head back to the hotel with half the exam completed and my presentation over with. Yummy dinner at Maggie's and I crashed early. Next day we had a fascinating presentation by Gail on liability, including spirited game of Liability Jeopardy. (What is Assumption of Risk?) (Team Superior Trio did not do well.) Continuing in the serious vein, Bonnie talked about instructor judgment.

After the Sunday morning student presentations, we each met with Gail or Bonnie and answered questions about charts and navigation. I seem to have gotten the easy instructor on that one (Gail). Bonnie asked her students to calculate the current magnetic variation if the annual increase was 6 degrees and the chart was 7 years old. Much mocking occurred on the water afterwards when nobody had been able to multiply 6 times 7.

The afternoon was devoted to rescues with some incident scenarios thrown in. Did I mention the gleeful laughs from Gail and Bonnie when they were about to hand us something particularly "interesting"? And there were a few decidedly non-pastoral "Sucks to be you!" comments tossed in as well.

When I had to do a wet exit in order to be the victim for Tony's demo of the T rescue, I couldn't resist trying a "real" high brace first. Figured if I was going over anyway, I might as well capsize while attempting to do something useful. Turns out that there's something about having nothing to lose that must have made me more relaxed, because the high brace worked this time. Bonnie was right ... it was easier than a half way over brace.

Rescues went fine, though we had one bonked head (skin was not broken), one case of incipient hypothermia, one lost evaluation sheet (we could see it on the bottom but nobody wanted to swim down there), one lengthy discussion of how to do a rescue while the victim was "unconscious" and under water, and one lost tow rope.

The final presentation was how to do a self rescue in a tandem. Gail and Bonnie were the rescuees (they'd gone back to get into the boat while the rest of us did an unsuccessful sweep for the lost tow rope). They paddled out and did a splendid low brace turn, then a roll. Before capsizing to set up their rescue, they also modeled the classic "divorce boat" behavior with style and enthusiasm, if not grace.

And then it was time to get the boats loaded up and wait for our evaluations. Bonnie and Gail holed up for a while to compare notes, before coming back and being kind enough to tell us we had all passed at either a level 2 or 3. We then met with them individually for our personal evaluations. Bonnie was my evaluator, and we talked about the need to get the experience to teach things many different ways.

It was a tiring but a great weekend. All of the ISK folks were certified at Level 3. My main piece of feedback to Bonnie was that I wished it had been a 3 day format. The mechanics of doing the exam took most of 2 days, but the teaching that Gail and Bonnie were able to offer in the interludes was fabulous, and a reminder of how much more there is to learn. It's clear that kayaking isn't going to get boring for a very long time. I feel rather self indulgent for all the fun I've had kayaking this summer, but I'm well and truly hooked.

Two Harbors Kayak Festival

Two Harbors Kayak Festival. Hmmm. That would conjure up images of sun and colorful kayaks and warm weather and playing with boats on the water, yes? Well, turns out that one can play on the water in fog and mist, and have a great time.

I headed up to Two Harbors planning to race in the kayak marathon (18 miles) on Saturday, then paddle with some folks on Sunday.

Got up there Friday night only to discover that the race had been postponed until Sunday due to bad weather. To paraphrase Thomi Keller, though, kayaking is an outdoor sport. You get what you get as far as weather goes and make the best of it.

The festival had a number of classes running on Saturday, but most were fairly introductory. And I had been fighting a lurking sore throat and cold since Friday, so I decided not to take the rolling class, which otherwise would have been fun to do. Instead I went up to Gooseberry Falls and Split Rock Lighthouse. I don't remember seeing either of them before, though it's likely that my parents took my brothers and me there when we were kids, and the family trip may have simply become part of the conglomerate of early memories of joyful adventures, perhaps no more exceptional at the time than finding worms on the sidewalk after the rain or going sliding on the neighborhood hill.

In any event, this time around the view from the lighthouse was limited in the fog, but you got a real sense of how important the lighthouses were in the days before radar and GPS. The only whining I heard all day was from an adult, complaining that it was too foggy to take pictures.

Saturday night was a dinner under a big tent, followed by a large number of silent auction and door prize drawings. I won a shirt and a forward stroke DVD; both good things (as opposed to the plastic battery powered mug with blinking lights, which I fortunately did not win). After dinner I was very chilled and took a walk through town trying to get warmed up, as well as looking for a breakfast place that opened by 6:00 AM (found it) and generally exploring. Got down to the harbor and saw the massive infrastructure for loading cargo vessels. (Sometime I'll have to come back and take a closer look so that I know what I'm seeing and can describe it.) Back at the campground, talked with old and new friends by the beach and by the campfire until the rain started and it was time to call it a night.

Got up bright and early Sunday morning and had breakfast at Judy's Cafe, which had a definite local ambiance. There was a table of retired gentlemen who appeared to be regulars, who had all hung their caps on pegs on the wall by the door before sitting down. An older fellow sat at the counter and rambled on at the waitress, who answered politely but distractedly. The pancakes and eggs were tasty, and proved to be good pre-race food.

The pre-race meeting was at 8:15, where we learned they had changed the course, apparently due to the fog that limited visibility to a hundred feet or so. For the past several years, the marathon race course has been 9 miles up the shore, turning around Encampment Island, and returning to the start on Burlington Bay. The new plan was to go up about 4 and a half miles and return, then do that again. They only had the turnaround marks in (one for the 5 mile race and one for the marathon), so the race directions were simply to round the marks and stay within 150 feet of the shore.

There were 15 - 20 sea kayakers in the marathon, four of whom were women. Several competitors had had to cancel when the race was moved to Sunday instead of Saturday.

I started at the back of the pack, since this was my first race and I wasn't sure what to expect. And I figured that an 18 mile race was not going to be won or lost in the first mile.

I had reeled in 3 racers by the halfway point (there and back again). After one more there and back again, I finished with a time of about 3 hours and 55 minutes. Unfortunately, nobody knows exactly how long the race was. The race director guessed it was between 16 and 18 miles. If it was 16 miles, I would be very pleased with my time and a race pace of 4 mph. If the course was 18 miles (which is what I measured on Gmaps Pedometer, assuming that's an accurate tool and that I correctly guessed where the finish was), or 18.9 miles (which someone measured with a GPS unit, which are not always reliable), then I would be delighted to have paddled the race at a 4.5 mph pace. I'm not planning on a kayak racing career, but the ability to hold a good pace can make a big difference when fighting headwinds and tides, and opens up opportunities to do longer paddles.

But regardless of pace, it was a fun day. The early morning fog was magical to paddle in. When the fog was densest, I could see the reflective tape of the paddles ahead of me flashing through the mist as brilliant points of light. The safety kayakers holding station just off the course were barely visible in the beginning of the race. They looked like ghostly sentries, and I kept thinking that it would be nice if one of them had been playing a bagpipe. Not sure whether stirring/rousing or eerie/soulful would have fit the day better.

The fog slowly burned off within the first hour after the start. The wind was nominally 5 to 15 knots. It shifted around from a variety of directions and speeds. The waves varied too, from swells to calm to about a foot, and were from assorted directions. The swells were interesting, as a few times they suddenly shifted me shore-ward 10 or 20 feet. This was the first time I'd run into waves doing anything other then lifting me up and down. But it was all manageable and good practice in bigger water than we get on inland lakes. I was definitely tired at the end of the race, and if the course was in fact only 16 miles, I would not have been eager to race another 2 miles.

When I landed, a friendly young volunteer came and held my boat as I got out . Normally I would have thought "Hah! I don't need anyone holding my boat as I get out!", but I have to say that I was pleased to have some stabilization assistance as I coaxed my legs back into being load carrying mechanisms capable of forward motion. The volunteer was collecting our bibs in exchange for a lovely, custom made ceramic participation medal. Not sure if there's a difference in the carbon footprint between these and a regular metal medal, but they are truly unique and hopefully made by a local artisan.

After the race I was tying my boat on my car and a gentleman from another country came up to help, telling me that I was doing a man's job. What do you say to a thing like that? In his world, yes. In my world, it was absurd. I took it as an honest, generous offer as he helped throw ropes back from the far side of the car, and thanked him for his assistance.

Thanks to Dave for the picture of the start.

Great Lakes Symposium

If I had realized how far Grand Marais, MI was, I might not have signed up for the symposium. 500 miles, and at the tip of the Upper Peninsula in Michigan. I left Wednesday afternoon in hopes of arriving in time for the surf class on Thursday and stopped for the night half way there.

I did arrive in time for the surf class (barely - forgot about the time change), but alas, there was neither wind nor surf. So I ended up pitching my tent before the campground filled up and before the rain started, both good things. My tent neighbor was a wonderful man from Winona, Minnesota, and we had several enjoyable conversations over the course of the weekend.

Friday morning was the intermediate/advanced tour day. I had signed up for my first Advanced tour, which was an 18 mile paddle from Miner's Castle along the Pictured Rocks. As a sign of how unreliable self rating of skill level is, the lead instructor for this tour started with some basic questions that he was clearly concerned about. Does everyone know how to do a wet exit? Who has paddled 18 miles (the length of trip) before? Who has padded in 2-3 foot seas before? We all replied that we had done those things, and he was hugely relieved, but I was still apprehensive about whether my skills were up to the trip.

I ended up giving a ride from the symposium to the launch beach to an experienced paddler from Portland, OR, who was visiting his brother from Iowa. They had just done a trip in the Apostle Islands, then come to the symposium. I learned a lot from Ken and had fun traveling with him. He commented on how much he had enjoyed the Apostles, yet how different they were from the ocean. Tides, marine life, birds, etc.

When we had all arrived at the departure point, we set off east from Miner's Beach with winds out of the northwest, 2 foot waves, and a lot of reflecting waves coming off the cliff face to our right. I saw my first vivid examples of clapotis when I saw thin vertical waves spike up fleetingly, twice the height of the surrounding waves.

I didn't feel confident enough to pull my camera out of my PFD pocket and take pictures, so I concentrated on staying upright and keeping up with the group. We were a bit over half way to the turn around point when we started seeing fog infiltrating over the tops of the cliffs. When we looked behind us, we saw that Grand Island had disappeared. About 2/3 along the planned route, we were fully fogged in and decided to turn around. We came back to Mosquito Beach, had lunch, then continued back to our launch site. The sun appeared briefly, then was lost again in the fog. At one point, we could see the tops of the cliff faces backlit by the sun, with the fog hiding the cliffs below, which was quite magical. We also saw an eagle soaring along the cliff face.

At trip's end, the instructors commented on how pleasantly surprised they were that all of the participants had lived up to the claims of experience they had made.

On Saturday, I had opted for a video session in the morning and a rescue scenarios class in the afternoon. As a last minute addition, they also offered wind and waves classes to take advantage of the steady winds blowing across a long fetch onto a sand beach, creating a safe place to work on surf skills. I was tempted to take those courses, but alas, one can't do everything.

Mike M was the instructor for both of my Saturday courses. I had met Mike at the Windy City Symposium in Chicago, though I hadn't taken any classes from him. Both of the Saturday classes were great. Sharpened a lot of skills in the morning (good prep for the ICE). In the afternoon, we had 4 students and 3 instructors for the rescue scenarios. I think the instructors dialed back the intensity of the course due to the skill level of the students, but it was still great fun and very good practice to be out in the 2-3 foot waves. The highlight was doing an All In rescue (where everyone is out of their boats) and succeeding in my first re-enter and roll attempt. My immediate thought after that (having seen that my paddling companions were in the process of rescuing themselves and closely watched by instructors) was to bail my boat, on the theory that a boat that was about to capsize again due the water sloshing around in it was not a good choice. Wrong answer! Right answer is to get over to your paddling buddies and jointly right the boats, raft up, and then bail. And one needs to add paddling a boat full of water to one's checklist of skills to practice.

As we returned to the beach after the rescue class, it turned out that the race was about to start. It was too windy to set race buoys out, so the course was 5 times around the moored sailboats in the harbor, which would be a 15 or 20 minute race. People were lining up for the start and suggested that I join in, so I figured what the heck. There were 8 racers and I started on the outside. I was last around the first turn. As the race went on I managed to move up to 4^th place. When my rescue class buddies arrived and saw us racing, they were cheering for me, which was a treat. The symposium had awards left over from previous year's races, so we each got a very impressive medal despite the low turnout and informal nature of the race.

Dinner that night was a fundraiser for the local school (with a total enrollment of 35 kids in grades K-12). Homemade pasties really hit the spot after a hard day's work. After dinner the township supervisor talked about the serious and urgent problem they are facing with the harbor becoming filled with sand. A breakwater was built over 100 years ago, but it's now deteriorating due to an inexcusable lack of maintenance. If nothing is done, the harbor will be completely filled in 5-10 years. The sand directly caused a completely preventable local tragedy a few years back when 4 men were out fishing in a small boat (they couldn't get their larger boat out of the harbor) and capsized. Nobody could launch a rescue boat from the harbor, so they had to wait for the Coast Guard to come. By that time, 3 of the men had died.

In addition to the local impact on the lives and families and livelihoods and economy, Grand Marais harbor is the only safe harbor on a long stretch of rugged coast. The next harbors are 45 miles in each direction, so if the Grand Marais harbor is lost, there will be a 90 mile stretch with no harbor. The standard is to have a safe harbor every 35 miles.

Plans are drawn up for repairing the breakwall and dredging, but the $6 million to pay for the work hasn't been found. You can learn more and find out how to help at http://www.saveyourharbor.com This is a quintessential no brainer; how can we not do this? But it takes action to do the right thing, so let's all do our part. Contacting congresspeople and senators is a great step.

Sunday morning was a bit anticlimactic. The highlight was watching Mike M. doing traditional rolls and having someone else describing what he was doing. For the first time I understood what a rich world traditional paddling offers. I'm going to go a little farther focusing on paddling with a Euro blade, but I can hear the traditional paddle calling. One of our club members has offered to help those of us with no woodworking skills get started on making a paddle, and I'm definitely going to take him up on that.

And then it was time to drive the 500 miles back home. Two thirds of the way home, walking back to my car at a gas station after getting a cup of coffee, I was pleasantly surprised to see the famous author of The Lake is the Boss blog filling up his car with gas. I introduced myself to Dave and his wife and we chatted for a while before getting back on the road.

Door County Symposium

It felt somewhat self indulgent to be heading off to yet another symposium this weekend. I had hoped to leave around noon on Thursday, but we had an external consultant in the office for a new project I'm on, and I needed to be there, so didn't get underway until about 5:30.

Nice drive, though. I often see the shadow of the kayak on my roof on the side of the road and think of the rowing shell that I once carried, and how that passion has turned into a newfound love of kayaking.

Anyway, I got to the hotel in Rowley's Bay, Door County around 1:00 in the morning. As always, the many cars in the parking lot with kayak racks on top and the kayaks laid out on the lawn were a welcome sight.

The resort isn't staffed 24 hours, so when the desk closes at 11:00 at night, they leave an envelope with the room key and a map for any late arrivals they are expecting. I walked into the silent lodge, found my envelope and looked on the map to find my room. It was kind of fun to be wandering down the quiet, dimly lit halls, passing by the rooms of sleeping guests, and navigating the twists and turns from the map. After finding my room, I went back outside to find my car and move it closer to my room. This time I looked for any familiar kayaks, but didn’t recognize any.

Friday morning I worked on Forward Stroke (it's getting better!) followed by a boat control class. There was a seminar at lunch to talk about repair kits. In the evening we listened to a boat designer talk about various hull shapes and how they affect paddling. Very interesting talk, but I was tired enough after my late night (early morning?) arrival that after 5 minutes I had to resort to the "stand in the back of the room to stay awake" trick.

Saturday I had signed up for a tour … "The Tip of the Door." It was advertised as "We'll begin at Garrett Bay and paddle the Tip of the Door, all the way home to Symposium Headquarters at Rowleys Bay. Along the way we'll pass bluffs, sea caves, beaches and views of many islands. This trip covers ~ 14 miles. This all-day adventure is designed for the Intermediate to Advanced paddler who wants to refine skills in a real world environment. While underway, we'll incorporate rescue scenarios, towing skills, boat control and more. If you're interested in BCU 3 Star Assessment in the future, this class will help you prepare."

Turned out to be a lovely paddle, though not the skill development course that was advertised. Winds were 15 gusting to 20 or so. Varied from tail to quartering tail, then we had some protected water as we rounded the northeast corner of the peninsula and headed south. We ended with a paddle across Rowley's Bay into a 20 mph plus headwind. The forward stroke class really helped, as I felt as if I was moving the boat well without straining.

On the trip we saw an immature eagle with mottled gray plumage (it was huge!), and landed on beach made entirely of shells. We paddled across several shoals where the water was very shallow. You can really feel the boat react differently when the water becomes shallow. The boat slows down and the swells are different.

This was the first symposium where I stayed in a hotel, and I found it quite a treat. There was a thunderstorm Saturday night and I slept right through it.

On Sunday morning I signed up for a skills session. I wasn't sure what to expect, but it turned out to be one of the highlights of the symposium. We had 2 instructors and 3 students, and did a lot of sharpening and tuning of skills.

And then it was time to head home again, with friends and skills acquired and enjoyed.

Outer Islands Trip

After the symposium, I joined 5 other folks for a 5 day trip with Living Adventure. I knew that Tony, a friend whom I had met at a kayaking class the previous summer, was going on the trip. He had also been at the symposium. Coincidentally, one of his friends, Bob, had also signed up for the trip, and was at the symposium with us. We met the last two trip members, Amy and Sue, the morning of the trip. Our guide was Brian, who had paddled around Lake Superior the previous summer.

Loading up the gear was a little more interesting than usual because we ended up taking only one tandem. We had to make some adjustments, including swapping out the two burner stove that they normally bring for two camp stoves. The first couple days I paddled with the cooking pots between my feet, but by the third day we had eaten enough food to make packing up much easier.

Our first day's paddle was to Oak Island, with our campsite being at Oak 4, two thirds of the way up the western side of the island. This was my first trip in June, and the mosquitoes that had been non-existent on my previous trips in mid-August were most definitely present. And mosquitoes do like me. I gradually gave up my disinclination to use nasty chemicals (I had initially hoped that a bug shirt with a hood might fend off the bugs, but such was not the case.) I considered staying in my tent each morning until the mosquitoes were gone, but decided that was not a sound strategy.

Day 2 we headed off to Rocky via Otter. We paddled around the north end of Oak and had time to investigate the rock formation on the northeast corner that I had only seen from a distance on a previous trip.

Fog rolled in before we started our crossing to Otter, and we started out with a compass heading. Our group had two deck mounted compasses and a hand held compass between us. It was eerie paddling through the fog. At one point we heard a boat's engine, and waited until we could see it.

There was a beam wind, and my learning on this crossing was that navigating by compass is not a good time to try to compensate for the wind without using your skeg, at least for me. Too many back and forth course corrections. Next time I'll use the skeg from the beginning.

The fog lifted half way across the channel, and we could see that we would have hit Otter, but our course was slightly off, so it was nice to be able to see where we were going once again.

After lunch on Otter and then paddling on to our campsite on Rocky, Tony tried a roll in the bay (way too cold for rolling practice), and then I paddled up the bay to see what was there. Rocky is one of the islands with private homes remaining, and north of the dock, the shoreline scenery changed from wilderness to lake homes/cabins and all of their accoutrements -- outbuildings, swingsets, gardens, boats, etc..

Day 3 we paddled to Devils, around it to see the caves on the north end (way cool! never get bored with them), had lunch at the dock, then headed back to Rocky. From Rocky, we island hopped to South Twin, then Ironwood, and finally crossed to our campsite on Cat. In my "island count", we added South Twin legitimately as we stopped for a break. We didn't stop on Ironwood, but I did touch it with my paddle.

It was interesting noticing the sounds of the islands on this trip. Different shorelines have different sounds … the gurgles of smaller caves, the deeper slaps and glugs and booms of larger caves. The hissing of waves on a sand beach. Sometimes the most noticeable sound is the sigh of wind through the trees.

On Cat, the campsite in the trees was brand new and still somewhat under construction. The mosquitoes were fierce, and we ended up carrying our dinner down to the sand spit. It was probably the nicest dinner I've had in the Apostles. There was a powerful awareness of being in an archipelago as we watched the setting sun and the many islands surrounding us as the sky slowly darkened. Several pairs of loons called across the water.

Day 4 we headed to Outer, where we stopped for lunch. An old fishing tug, the Faithful, had been scuttled on the sandspit in the fifties and the wooden hull remained, half buried in the sand.

After lunch, we crossed to Stockton and paddled along the same shore as on the Stockton tour at the symposium, though this time the sun was out.

Day 5 we headed back to LAI. We paddled around the south end of Stockton and stopped for an early lunch, then crossed to Hermit. No stop there, as there is a young bear who has learned to associate kayakers with food. Apparently he surprised some kayakers and they threw food at him in hopes that he would go away. (Bad idea!). Brian had had a run in with the bear on an earlier trip, and we paused off shore at the beach and he narrated the tale, pointing out exactly where all of the exciting moments occurred.

Arriving at Living Adventure, we learned that Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, and Ed McMahon had died while we were on the trip.

Inland Sea Symposium

The Inland Sea Symposium was special for me. Yes, I'm going to 4 symposia this summer, but the ISS is the one I heard about first, before I even knew what a kayak symposium was or that there was more than one symposium out there. I'd been checking their website all winter, waiting for the information about this year's event to appear. I may not have been the first person to register, but I was pretty darn early.

Friday morning was tour day. I had opted for the Stockton Island paddling trip. Bob was doing the Stockton hiking trip. Tony was off to York and Raspberry, while Chuck (whom I had met at the Windy City symposium) was off to Sand. I was envious of another trip with Nigel and Joe Ko, that was a dash out to Devils. However, I didn't see how I could justify calling myself an Advanced paddler, which was the requirement for the trip.

We Stockton Islanders loaded our kayaks on top of the boat that would take us to Stockton, then headed out. Looking behind us, we could see that the fog had rolled in across the Sand, York/Raspberry, and Devils tours by mid morning and was heading our way. Our tour was an island circumnavigation, so the fog was not an issue for us, but the other trips had one or more island crossings, so it appeared that they would have an opportunity to work on their ded reckoning and/or GPS skills.

Upon arriving on Stockton Island, the group of 6 advanced paddlers took off right away, as did the 5 people who had opted for the hiking trip. That left the 35 odd intermediate paddlers to get ready to head out. Of course, the bigger the group, the longer everything takes. We split into pods, and I was fortunate enough to join the fast pod. We promptly moved out to the front of the main group once we were underway and were able to experience a small group paddle vs. a massive group paddle.

We headed off around the island counter clockwise, rounding Presque Isle Point, then crossing Julian Bay. We looked for the wreck of the Noque Bay, which was supposed to be marked by a buoy. We saw neither the wreck nor the buoy. A project for a calmer day. http://www.wisconsinshipwrecks.org/explore_noquebay_intro.cfm

We stopped for lunch in a cozy bay with a big sea stack and pretty much filled the beach with our kayaks. After lunch, we continued on, passing more sea caves and sea stacks. Our pod was granted special dispensation to head out ahead of the group. By the time we needed to turn around, the fog had arrived. We kept the island in sight off our starboard bow as we returned. There were some interesting waves coming from the port side as we rounded some of the points, but it was generally an easy paddle and definitely a fun trip.

In the evening, I met Chan and his wife. Chan has been working with my brother Michael on the CODC building (another story altogether), and lives in Washburn. We walked from their house to dinner and the keynote speech that Nigel Dennis gave about his circumnavigation of South Georgia Island. Interesting trip to hear about, but I must admit that I've taken South Georgia off my fantasy wishlist of places to paddle. Something about having to fend off large agressive male seals in mating season with your kayak paddles, to say nothing about the frigid temperatures and high winds made me think there might be better places to dream about. At a weather class the next day the instructor provided guidelines for skills levels needed for paddling in various wind speeds, and the winds they encountered in South Georgia were in the "Crazy Brits" category.

The next morning I had signed up for a rolling class. For some reason, an 8:00 AM rolling class in Lake Superior didn't draw a lot of students. In fact, I ended up being the only one there. I worked with Pete for about an hour, and dramatically improved my roll. I can now find my setup position even if I don't start the roll already set up, and can try a second time if I miss it the first time. I learned to let myself settle before trying to roll up, and I also learned a nice trick of finishing the roll with a little sculling brace if needed. Still lots of work to do, but it's getting better.

Sunday morning was the making of the 350. 350 parts per million is the safe upper limit for carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. Unfortunately, we have already passed that limit. The goal of the "350.org" organization is to inspire the world to take action about global warming, and one of the ways they do this is encouraging ways to publicize the 350 target. So the symposium took on making a giant 350 on the water with kayaks. The organizing folks set some anchors and laid out (recycled) nylon webbing, and marshaled and cajoled 153 kayaks into position. Then an airplane flew overhead and took some pictures. Turned out pretty well: http://www.inlandsea.org/

All in all, a great weekend.