Along The Way

BBB Coastal Leadership Class

2011-09-15T22:50:00.011-05:00

In September I went out to the five day Body Boat Blade Coastal Leadership Training class in the San Juans. Leon and Shawna offer their BCU 4 star training in two flavors. The 5 day version is in the inner islands of the San Juans in the fall, with the focus on leadership skills and navigation. The 3 day version is on the open coast in the spring, with more of an emphasis on surf and rough water.

As I've gone through my notes from the course, I'm amazed at how much we packed into 5 days.

The emphasis on leadership started from the beginning as we discussed the higher standard of care and responsibility entailed by the 4 star award. The focus of the course was learning and practicing being an effective leader. Which not only includes bringing everyone back (hopefully in one piece), but also creating a positive experience such that everyone wants to come and do it again.

CLAP was the core of what we practiced. Communication (if you can't converse, you're not in communication), Line of sight (if you can't see someone, assume something horrible has happened), Avoidance over cure, Position of maximum usefulness (either keep them away from the danger, or be where you can pick up the pieces.)

All of those things take paying attention. And they take a group. Another focus of discussion was what a competent member of a group is. A 3 star paddler is supposed to be just that -- a competent member of the group. The "simple" act of being part of a group also requires paying attention. Staying in close so you can hear. Making it easy for the leader to see you. Supporting the leader. Making it easier for other mariners to see us and know what we we're doing. Practicing paddling as a tight group in no conditions so we can do it in conditions.

There were 5 students in the class, and each of us would lead one of the days. The leader was given the day's destination and some basic parameters (e.g., get us to point A at high tide, taking maximum advantage of the current). We had to figure out when we needed to start in the morning and how to get the group there as efficiently and safely as possible, based on tides, current and weather.

Levi was our leader on the first day. We started by doing a risk assessment as a group, which we did every day. Great tool. Not only does it ensure that the risk assessment is performed, but it ensures that the entire group participates and understands. If a decision has to be made to change the day's plans, everyone is in from the beginning. If there's a concern about something like worsening weather, or a headland that has to be rounded, the entire group understands the risks and concerns.

It was my turn to lead the second day, with Levi as my co-leader. We took the group down between Lopez and San Juan Islands to Cattle Point. When we got down to Cattle Point, we stopped for lunch, then paddled on and around a couple of points. The first one we rounded as a group. The second was closer to an eddy line and opposing current, and before we rounded, Leon asked "what would happen if you had multiple capsizes here?" Hmmm. That wouldn't be so good. So Levi rounded first and we sent the group around one at a time while I stayed down current to pick up anyone if needed.

When it came time to return, I foolishly let myself drift across the eddy line while I was maneuvering around another paddler. I got caught in the current and pulled away from the group. I knew right away that Leon or Shawna would seize the opportunity and sure enough – as soon as I looked back I saw Leon telling Dick to capsize.   There was a sea lion hanging about, and he barked at us as soon as Dick went into the water.

I was getting my boat turned around, but the current was rapidly carrying me away from my swimmer. Fortunately, Levi was there and got Dick back into his boat. Unfortunately, he decided that Dick could paddle with a boat full of water (which he could), and chose not to empty the boat until back across the eddy line. Not the answer Leon was looking for. "If you can't get the water out and the swimmer back in their boat, you're probably out of your remit."    Poor Dick was asked to capsize again. By then I was back from my little side trip and was able to get his boat emptied and Dick back into it.   Good lesson on keeping self and group safely tucked in out of the way of wind, waves, and current.

We spent a while working on the eddy line, doing rescues, towing, rolling, contact tows, tossing our paddles away and pulling out our spares. (The sea lion continued to provide intermittent commentary when people were in the water or making too much noise.)   We crossed over to Lopez while the current was flooding north between San Juan Island and Lopez Island, doing a mass breakout across the eddy line so we stayed close together, picking a course that allowed for the current, and trying to stay together through the boils and turbulent water. We crossed back again to find our campsite on San Juan Island.

By the end of Day 2 we had settled into a routine. We debriefed in the evenings. Mornings we covered weather, navigation, towing, and other topics. Subject areas I'd been introduced to before (or even taught before) became clearer.

On the longer stretches of paddling, we played games that tested our skills, or worked on linking strokes, or towing, or paddling backwards. Stern tapping. Rescues. A demonstration of how quickly a boat blows away from a swimmer. Constantly checking our position, against the chart and against ranges ahead and to the side.   Rocky landings.

Each day had different challenges for the leader. On Day 3, Dick had the biggest weather challenge, and wisely came up with a plan A (the assignment he'd been given) as well as a plan B (a safer plan).   I was Dick's assistant leader, bringing up the rear. At one point I heard Shawna ask another student to capsize if Dick lost sight of him, but Dick never let that happen.

On Day 4 we did a planned exercise of parking behind a buoy with a knot or two of current flowing by. It got a lot more exciting than planned when a ferry that we weren't expecting appeared and we didn't know what its course would be.

Night 4 was on Jones Island. Fabulous campsite looking out over the water. The island has a bumper crop of raccoons, though. After dinner, we put our food in our boats and secured the hatches. As we were sitting around and talking after dark, we heard something and went and checked the boats. One of the little bandits had found a forgotten bag of food and was running off with it. We shined a light up into a tree and saw at least a dozen pairs of glowing raccoon eyes staring down at us.

As we headed for home on Day 5 we did a towing exercise that involved 4 towers, capsizes, and rescues. And Leon helpfully adding stress, just in case it was needed. If there was any remaining doubt, it brought home the fact that towing and loose ropes are dangerous.

It truly was an outstanding course. The San Juans themselves become one of the participants, with the dynamic water, the ferries and other boat traffic, the marine life, the wind and sun and currents. Having the group together all day provided ample time to talk and learn and ask questions and reflect. Each of the participants had different experience and leadership styles and we could all learn from each other. Plenty of unscripted events provided teachable/learnable moments. Generous and inventive and fiercely committed teachers provided a safety net but let us push our limits. Oh, and did I mention fun?

Looking forward to the 3 day version of this class!

Photos are here (mine and Steve's).

Alaska: Whittier to Seward

2011-06-30T21:16:00.012-05:00

I'd had my eye on GKC's Alaska trip all winter, but I kept being sensible – it was too much on top of all of the other things I was doing this year. But sometime in April I just had to ask Ryan "Are there any spaces left?" The answer was yes, there was a space left.

It also turned out that the trip had changed. Instead of staying in the relatively protected Prince William Sound, the group would paddle south as fast as possible to get to the Gulf of Alaska. If the weather window permitted, we would turn the corner at Cape Puget and paddle west along the Gulf of Alaska to Resurrection Bay. If the weather was not favorable, we'd spend a little time playing in the bigger water, then head back towards Whittier and probably take a water taxi back at some point.

Sea kayaking along the exposed coast of the Gulf of Alaska is riskier than staying in the sound. Once we started across Puget Bay, it would be 22 nautical miles to the next reliable place to land if the conditions were unfavorable. Winds of more than 30 knots can blow for days, and even the big boats don't venture out. There are no roads into the coast, so if you're out there in your kayak, you wait it out.

Which is a bit of a concern when you have a flight reservation, a job you hope to return to, and only the food you're carrying.

We were renting our boats from Tom Pogson of Alaska Kayak School, and he had been reluctant to let us make the attempt to go to Seward. Rumor had it that of the last 4 groups that had tried it, two had ended up calling in the Coast Guard. One was apparently due to a damaged boat and one was due to a need to get out according to a pre-determined schedule. So one of our group's ground rules for making the attempt for Seward was that Tom had to approve it. (We carried a satellite phone for that reason as well as for emergencies.) Another was that if we went, we wouldn't take unsafe chances just to make it back in time to catch a flight.

In May, we had a training weekend on the Menominee River. I missed the first day due a far more important event (my wonderful niece's wedding to a wonderful man), but I joined in on the second day. The expectations were a lot higher with the Alaska trip as our goal, and the training turned into more of a mental challenge for me than a physical one, as I started the day off badly and was feeling a day late and a dollar short all day. It was a perfect opportunity to put some of the mental game aspects that had come up in the San Juan Currents course into play. Ryan had some good coaching as well, and I managed to turn the day around eventually, but it was hard work.

After that, it was less than a month before we would meet in Alaska, and the time went too fast. We were all responsible for our own charts and current information and planning and research. We also watched the weather to get a sense of what the patterns were and what the range of conditions might be.

Training/paddling was also essential, as we would be paddling up to 30 nautical miles a day. I ended up testing the theory that paddling 8 – 10 miles 3 – 4 days a week would be enough; it was the best I could do.

On June 18, Tony and I flew out together, and Ryan met us at the airport in Anchorage. The rest of the group had arrived the night before and were picking up last minute items from REI. Our group of seven finally met at Humpy's restaurant in Anchorage for lunch. We all knew most of the group. I'd met Tony in our first sea kayaking class in 2008, and we've been paddling buddies ever since. I'd taken other GKC classes with Ryan, Mark, Sarah and Paul. I hadn't met Rich before, but he knew all the other folks. This was Mark's fifth Alaska trip, Paul had led the prior year's trip, and Ryan had paddled extensively in Alaska, so we had a lot of experience amongst us.

At lunch, Tony told the group about a couple calls he had made to get some local knowledge before the trip. One charter boat captain had been very helpful with information about currents in the channels we would be paddling through and where the whales were hanging out.

The sticking point, though, was clearly the part of the trip along the Gulf of Alaska. Another charter captain had left Tony a voice mail saying "You don't know how dangerous what you're talking about doing is. Please call me back so that I can talk to you about this. You really don't want to do it." (Tony hadn't called back.) Rich said that his Dad was familiar with the Gulf of Alaska and had said "Don't go."

(It did cross my mind that it was technically still possible to hop on a plane and head home at that point...)

After lunch, we headed to Whittier. We packed the group gear that afternoon, then went to the Swiftwater Seafood Café for the best fish and chips we'd ever had.

Day 1: (Days are hyperlinked to the GPS track/map for that day.) Next morning we were off. It was overcast, with the clouds settling lower down the mountains as the day went on. Whittier sits on the southern shore of the western end of Passage Canal, and we were headed east. We crossed over to the north side to see the kittiwake colony and thoroughly enjoyed watching them wheel and swirl overhead, then continued paddling east. We got the first of several interesting responses to our proposed destination when Ryan chatted briefly with a guide who was taking some folks out on a day trip. When he heard we were going to Seward, he said "Wow!"

We stopped at Decision Point for lunch. There was a splendid kitchen made of downed trees for Ryan to make lunch on, but the group proved to be quite slow at finding the lunch fixings in the group gear bags that had been hurriedly stashed and stuffed away into whatever nooks and crannies were available. You'd think nobody was hungry. I wouldn't go so far as to say that Ryan was getting a little testy about the lack of effort and progress, but he certainly appeared to be moving in that direction. The feta cheese didn't turn up for several days, but we eventually found the critical ingredients for the meal.

After lunch fog was lurking about, so instead of a direct crossing towards Culross Passage, we headed towards Blackstone Point, then over to Culross.

Culross Passage is about 10 miles long, and we wanted to reach it at the beginning of the ebb tide to get whatever assist was available heading south. There wasn't a lot of tidal current, but as Ryan pointed out, after a long day, even half a knot was welcome. We definitely wanted to get to the end before the flood tide.

Towards the end of the passage we started looking for a campsite, and we spent more time looking that night than any other. It had been a long day (about 25 nautical miles), and we explored several locations before we found a viable site. We also searched unsuccessfully for a cabin that was marked on the Trials Illustrated map. (A later search of the park websites didn't turn up any cabins at that location.) Our eventual campsite was the northernmost of the two kayak landing beaches marked on the Trails Illustrated map on the west side of the south end of Cullross Passage. Phantom cabins notwithstanding, the kayak landing beaches marked on the map seemed to be reliable kayak campsites. And throughout the trip, the long days of the Alaskan summer were handy when it came to late arrivals. There was at least one night when we didn't finish dinner and cleanup until after midnight.

On Day 2, we paddled past several fishing fleets. Mark explained how they worked and how to stay out of their way, and what to do if they offered us a fish (don't drop it!).

One of the captains who was working alone yelled at us for paddling over his net ("If you'd asked I would have said yes, but you can't paddle over someone's nets without asking!") A bit later, a friendlier fisherman called us over and offered us a fish. Sarah paddled up and took it and put it in her cockpit. Fish was not dropped. Way to go, Sarah.

We stopped for lunch at Eshamy Bay. Lovely bay, hordes of mosquitoes. Our lunch spot was chosen based on the need to find fresh water (we were looking for streams on the map and charts), so we filtered water while fending off the mosquitoes. (Note to self: bug shirts don't work at lunch stops while wearing a dry suit. Get a bug hat and keep in day hatch.). Our splendid fish was placed in an Ikea bag and weighted down in the water to chill while we lunched by the pretty waterfall and fed the bugs.

As we paddled away after lunch, we chatted with some fishermen who encouraged us to stop and check out the nearby Eshamy Bay Lodge. We didn't take the time to do that, but it seemed like a good destination if you ever wanted to visit Prince William Sound but not camp, or to break up a camping trip.

As we headed out of the bay, we had one of our many lessons on reading tides and currents. We paddled by an area where an island was blocking the current and Ryan played twenty questions as he tried to draw out how to read the current by the differences in wind against waves as opposed to wind with waves. When paddling on inland lakes, if one sees a patch of water where the waves look different, it's probably due to the wind being different. On the ocean, it's likely due to the interaction of wind and current -- wind with current smoothing the waves out and wind against current standing the waves up. Wouldn't it be clever to learn to read the water to paddle where the current is most in your favor? While one is working on that, turns out that it's helpful to pay attention if Ryan is paddling a very different route than everyone else.

Our second night's destination was Ewan Bay, where some of our group had camped before, though they didn't remember exactly where. The previous night we had more or less bonked when it came time to find a campsite, and Ryan ended up doing the scouting while we drifted rather aimlessly. Tonight we tried a different tactic ... everyone scattered in different directions looking for a campsite. Good idea to share the scouting, but a wee bit of planning about how to communicate might have been in order. We all eventually converged and found a nice site about halfway up the cove on the west side.

I took our water filter and walked the shore looking for a stream, but didn't find one. Paul ended up finding water farther into the woods. Another lesson learned … the wet spots by the shore may be tidal, or they may be fresh water streams that petered out before reaching the shore, with viable water sources a bit inland.

Red salmon for dinner. Yum!

On Day 3 we paddled to the head of the bay looking for an overfall where a lagoon separated from the bay continued to pour out long after low tide. No overfall, but there was a waterfall and an eddy line, and we spent half an hour or so playing in the current, which reminded us of the Menominee River.

After our play time, we split into two groups. Mark had picked up a bug that left him feeling pretty lousy the first half of the trip, and he and Ryan headed off to find a campsite at our evening's destination at Dual Head.

Paul led Sarah, Rich, Tony and me to Nassau Glacier and then to Dual Head. We had lunch on Jackpot Island, in the mouth of Jackpot Bay The island had lovely sheltered landing sites on either side, so it would be a good place to stop in more than one wind direction.

As we approached Icy Bay, we started to see bits of brash ice. (Brash ice is less than 6 feet across). We were paddling into a decent headwind, so it was slower going. As we got closer, we could hear the ice tinkling as bits bumped into each other, and occasionally the scary sound made when a boat crunches against a bit of ice -- sounds much worse than it is. The water was noticeably colder as we approached the glacier.

Finally we turned the corner to see Nassau Glacier, a tidewater glacier that comes all the way down to the water. Well worth the paddle.

It would have been a long paddle to get appreciably closer to the glacier, so we turned around and headed back to Dual Head, a headland south of Icy Bay and north of Whale Bay. We were now paddling with the wind, which speeded up our progress. We passed a campsite or two before we found Ryan and Mark. Another group was in the process of landing on one of the sites. They asked where we were headed and again we got that pause/double take when we told them Seward.

Eventually we reached Dual Head. Nice site, though no water source. We ended up putting our kitchen sink bucket in a cave to catch drips over night, and had enough water in the morning to start out.

That evening, on our kitchen/dining room rock, Tony and I were talking when I heard something that sounded like a whale's spout that seemed very close by. We finally spotted the whales a mile or so away … it was such a quiet evening that the sound carried clearly across the water. We could see the spouts and sometimes the flukes as the whales dove.

Day 4: Next morning as we headed for Bainbridge Passage, we could still see the whales. As Tony said, "Whales for dinner and whales for breakfast!"

We pushed on to get through Bainbridge Passage before losing the ebb tide, then across Port Bainbridge. We paddled into and through a fog bank, and another bit of fog came down from our right before we stopped for lunch in a shallow bay just north of Auk Bay . We were pretty low on water at that point, and the chart showed a lake inland of us. Tony and I headed off up a dry creek bed (with lots of "hey bears" along the way) to look for it, but the creek bed was soon blocked by fallen trees, and bushwhacking soon proved untenable as we reached a ravine. We could hear water in the distance; we just couldn't see a way to get to it.

Back at camp, Rich and Paul tried another route and were again the heroes, bringing back fresh water. We all dozed after lunch as the water filtered.

Then we paddled around Cape Puget to camp on the gravel beach by East Lagoon, south of Goat Harbor in Puget Bay. The next day would be decision day on whether to head for Seward or not.

Paddling into Puget Bay was a great idea for a couple of reasons. First, it got us closer to our destination. Second, rounding Cape Puget gave us a feel for what paddling along the headlands would be like. With all the comments and reactions and everything we had read about how dangerous this stretch could be, it was easy to build it up as bigger than it really was when the weather was as calm as it was.

Dinner was grilled pizza. Good paddling food.

Day 5: Next morning the weather window continued to look good, so we were off to Seward. Not without a little drama, though. There were a couple of stuck skegs, and Tony pulled out his knife to clear them. In the process, he got a bad cut. Rich the surgeon saved the day with super glue.

We started the journey we had been anticipating for so long in fog. It was frustrating to be on a stretch of dramatic coastline that very few people ever get a chance to paddle and not be able to see it, but the weather slowly cleared.

We passed a couple of rock gardens, and at first we all circled wide around them. Midwestern flat water paddlers, rented boats, a long way from help if we damaged anything – playing it safe made sense. But Ryan said "get in there!" Cape Resolution would be bigger than these headlands, and we needed to be comfortable in them. And ... we really were comfortable in them once we got in.

We also saw seals and sea otters. Also whales -- first in the distance, then a pair of humpbacks came along and swam near us.

I glanced to the right as we approached one of the headlands and was surprised to see two sea lions swimming along less than a boat length away from me. They seemed just as surprised to see me, and quickly dove. Soon we came to the headland and as we paddled by a rock, saw at least a dozen sea lions on the far side.

With the favorable conditions, we were able to land for lunch in Johnstone Bay. We checked the mileage to our destination and realized it was farther than we had been thinking, and considered our options. Paddling all the way to Day Harbor was more than we wanted to do, given that the weather forecast was stable and we weren't running out of time. We came up with a couple options for places to camp for the night and headed on.

With one last headland to round before our night's destination in Horsehead Bay, we found ourselves paddling hard but making no progress against the current. This was another point Ryan kept driving home: constantly using the shore to gauge your progress. Our options now were 1) paddle harder (could we? for long enough?), 2) turn around and backtrack, 3) keep doing what we were doing and hope something changed for the better, 4) look for an eddy.

Tony and I tried for the eddy line. It was there, and once we tucked in it became an easy paddle, but it took everything we had to get past the worst of the current into the eddy. Ryan and Sarah kept paddling the original course, and the current eased off.

The campsite at Horsehead Bay was delightful, and even had a lake to bathe near – coldish water, but being clean was a treat. And the mosquitoes had disappeared when we reached the open coast.

Day 6: We paddled across Day Harbor to Driftwood Bay, which set us up to round Cape Resurrection. We stopped for lunch and a break. Our plan was to round the cape at the slack water before the flood, so we had a chance to relax for a bit while we waited. Tony had heard that if one got trapped in Day Harbor in weather too bad to round the Cape, there was a portage across. We saw no sign of any portage; just high, steep cliffs, and there was no appetite for portaging once we saw them.

As we paddled south to the cape, we paddled by another kittiwake colony, even bigger than the one near Whittier, and we sat in our boats with silly grins on our faces as they flew about overhead.

Ryan and Mark saw a large, high ceilinged cave and backed in, and we all followed. A swell started to fill the cave, lifting our boats towards ceiling. Someone behind me said "Out!" and we were out of there.

Cape Resurrection itself was beautiful, though a little anticlimactic. We'd been prepared to battle our way around white knuckled through fierce winds and pounding, surging waves, but it was an easy rounding. And then we turned the corner and Resolution Bay opened up in front of us. We finally saw puffins, and more sea lions.

We paddled past Rugged and Hive Islands. Rich, Sarah and I stopped for water at a waterfall, then we camped on the sandspit on Fox.

Tony's phone worked from the campsite, and we made a couple of quick phone calls to the few who knew what we were actually doing (we're around the Cape!).

We took a rest day on Day 7, with nothing more adventurous than making a water run to Kayakers Cove, which would be another possible base camp.

Had we started our journey in Resurrection Bay, it would have felt delightfully remote. Coming from the open coast, though, it felt practically urban. As soon as we rounded the cape, we started running into a parade of sightseeing boats, fishing boats, and sailboats. In the quiet of the night, we could hear thundering booms that came from deep within Bear Glacier, one bay over and around Callisto Point.

Day 8 we headed on to Bear Glacier with Paul. Ryan wasn't coming. We had been a bit surprised – not see Bear Glacier? But he said "My work is done." Puzzlingly, he asked for the potatoes before we split up. The plan was that he would claim a campsite by Caines Head, and would pitch his tent to mark the camp if he wasn't there when we arrived.

The rest of us paddled around Callisto Point. There was another rock garden, though this one was not so friendly as some of the others. Paul taught us to avoid the spots where the white water was moving sideways, vs. the places where the water was moving up and down.

After lunch, we returned around the point and back into Resurrection Bay. We were once again in need of water, and stopped by another waterfall where Mark and Rich landed to fill up our dromedaries.

Just before Caines Head, we spotted the tent Ryan had left, and landed to make camp. By this time the group was a finely tuned machine, as we got the water filtering, wood gathered, a tarp pitched, and the bear hang ready to go. Still no Ryan. Eventually we decided some sort of food was in order, and started some chili. Still no Ryan. Mark and Paul told us he that he'd planned to paddle in to Seward to bring back some sort of treat, but we were still becoming somewhat concerned as it grew later and later. Finally Ryan appeared around the corner of the bay, surfed up on to the beach, and leapt out of his kayak with great panache. He proceeded to pull one tasty item after another out his hatches: Shrimp. Salmon. Eggs. Oranges. Beer. Ice. We were all put to work peeling shrimp and potatoes, finding skewers and making a brick oven. Dinner was late, but well worth the wait.

Day 9: Next morning was our final stretch to Seward. We met Tom Pogson by Lowell Point, emptied the boats, loaded them on his trailer, and piled into a taxi we had called. We were eager for the showers we had been anticipating in Seward, but the power was out in the entire town. We found a place with a gas grill and got lunch, then waited for our pickup to get back to Anchorage.

We dropped our luggage at the airport and a few of us took a taxi to the Alaska Club for showers. We all gathered at Humpy's in the airport for one last dinner, and then we split up for various gates and flights home.

Nine magical days, and then it was over. How to sum it up? I definitely had some apprehension going into the trip. Any other set of conditions would have been an entirely different trip – who's to say whether better or worse. Learned a bunch; lots more to learn.

If there was anything to change, it would have been better preparation. Start earlier, do more.

No question, though -- I'm very glad and very fortunate that I was able to do this wonderful trip.

Photos are here.

San Juan Currents

2011-05-20T07:35:00.006-05:00

Too busy having fun; the adventures are stacking up waiting to be put up for cold winter nights. I don't THINK it's possible to have too many kayaking adventures, but I may have come close to that point the last month or so.

Catching up in adventure order: in May I headed back out to Body Boat Blade for their San Juan Currents course. The course description is ”Learn the skills and strategies for dealing with the powerful currents, tidal races, and over falls that run through the San Juan Islands. We will explore ferry gliding, how to read water, crossing strategies, and how to predict the time, speed, and direction of currents. These are the skills you need to plan an easy, fun, and safe trip. We start by refreshing your skills, and then we enter these races and build your confidence as the currents increase. This is a great class to start building your rough water skills and broaden your knowledge of the sea. Come to this class with play in mind!" Prerequisites are BCU 3 Star Skills, Ocean Currents Class, confident rescue skills and a solid roll.

Said differently, the class provided a chance to experience a wide range of the conditions found in the San Juans, with a couple of coaches/5 star paddlers guiding the way and providing a safety net. Held on May 18 and 19th this year, this course is scheduled to coincide with the maximum tidal range and difference in speed between flood and ebb currents. All of the varying conditions were available between the southwest corner of Lopez Island and across to San Juan Island.

The adventure began with a little logistical mess up on my part. I thought I had scheduled a flight at 9:50 AM the day before the class, giving me ample time to get to Seattle, pick up a car, drive up to the ferry in Anacortes, get to Lopez Island, and find the little one room/off season cabin in the woods that I'd rented. I tried to check in for the flight the night before, and was informed that it was not within 24 hours of my flight. After a bit of concerned head scratching, I realized that I'd made my reservation for 9:50 PM. Ooops. It all worked out, and I got an extra day of work in, but ended up just a wee bit short of sleep.

The six students met Leon and Shawna at Holly B's bakery in Lopez village. It only seemed polite to buy a bakery treat while we were waiting for all the students to arrive. Said bakery treat was justified as being for lunch. It did not survive that long.

Our classmates included 3 young men from Iceland who had met Leon and Shawna during their Iceland circumnavigation in 2003 and were visiting the west coast.

Once we were all gathered we did some on land work, including discussing tidal races, then drove around to Mackaye Harbor on the south end of the island to launch. The plan for Day 1 was to play in the tidal race and standing waves off Davis Point. Both days of the class proved to be unexpectedly sunny and warm (contrary to the weather reports and prior days' weather). Clouds and rain would have worked, but the bright sun and blue skies were a treat.

We paddled out to Davis Point as the flood current was building. This Midwestern paddler was delighted with the purple sea stars clinging to the rocky shores.

The first day's focus was the standing waves. I proved to be a slow learner. The green waves (easy to surf) were in the front. A wave or two back, things quickly turned into a confused mess. I suppose I gained a certain comfort level in paddling in a confused mess, but it took me quite a while to integrate and act on the idea that instead of thrashing around in the confusion, one should try to stay in the front, and if you drifted back (where the current was taking you), simply paddle over to the eddy and get in front again.

I also worked a lot on my stern draw. Works okay in calm water; not so reliable on a wave. Need to get the blade in the water better. We did some rescues in the rough water. One person capsized unintentionally and it was impressive how quickly he was carried up the San Juan Channel. Learned a new paddle signal on that one -- come to me (paddle up), then point to the paddler in the water (receding into the distance).

After lunch and some more play time, we headed back to Mackaye harbor, but the day wasn't done yet. We stopped on some rocks by a low cliff and landed one at a time, leaving our boat adrift. After climbing up the cliff, we jumped off, and climbed back in to our boats. Most of us jumped forward from the low spot. One of the Iceland guys climbed to the higher spot; another one did a back flip.

We had dinner together, then off to a good night's sleep.

The next day we started at Holly B's again and discussed a range of topics. The white board had some points from a prior class, which we discussed briefly (submerge your blade; get your skeleton behind your blade; keep your blade away from your body; hook your blade and move your boat past it). We discussed catastrophe theory (roll in anger!) and the Inner Game of Tennis. Owning your paddling. Watch me … I'm going to be great!

After a while we turned to the day's paddle. How were folks doing on a scale of 1 to 10? (If not so good, maybe we'd avoid the max current.)

Our goal for the day was to paddle over to the lighthouse on San Juan Island, doing the one mile crossing near max flood (over 4 knots). We had a Plan A, a Plan B, and a Plan C. Plan A was that we would hit our ferry angle and make it directly to the lighthouse and return to Mackaye Harbor. Plan B was that we would be carried too far north, but would be able to paddle up in the eddy and still get to the lighthouse and return to Mackaye. Plan C involved leaving a car at a point farther north in case we couldn't get back to Mackaye Harbor due to the current carrying us north. Good lesson on real world examples of having backups to your backups.

We played assorted balance games after we launched (jousting, paddling with feet out, turning around on the back deck, down dog yoga, standing in our boats. (How far up does a paddler have to get to call it "standing"?) Many swims occurred during this period.

Then we worked on a number of navigation exercises while we waited for max flood. Set a ferry angle allowing for the current to get that island. Calculate the course from the chart, allow for variation, and set a range to hold the course to get to that island. We landed on a little rock while the tide was racing by (Shawna stayed in her boat to catch any stray equipment or paddlers). Paddling figure eights between rocks in the tidal current.

Eventually it was time to head across to Cattle Point. We followed Leon, while Shawna nipped at our heels. There were boils (upwellings or bulges where the water pushes up from the bottom and flows away from the center) and other interesting features in the water. We missed our Plan A target, but tucked in before Goose Island (Plan B) and paddled most of the way back to the lighthouse. After a break, we headed back across the channel to Lopez. Following Leon felt like we were playing crack the whip, as we wound our way across the dynamic water. It was clear that boat control, ability to paddle in a tight group, and paddling speed/fitness expectations rise with the BCU star levels.

We had several people who had to catch the evening ferry, so we ended up going with Plan C, enhanced by having the one of the Iceland guys who wasn't paddling drive a car up to the Plan C landing site.

After we landed, fetched remaining cars and loaded the boats, my friends of the past two days headed off to catch the evening ferry. I found a yummy dinner at the Love Dog Café, then it was off to pack and sleep before another early ferry the next morning. The return from Lopez to Anacortes was beautiful. It's easy to see how people fall in love with the San Juans.

Photos are here.

Deception Pass with Body Boat Blade

2011-04-02T13:06:00.060-05:00

At the end of March, I was lucky enough to be able to head out to the Seattle area to take a class with Leon and Shawna at Body Boat Blade. I've been able to paddle in some pretty wonderful places and get some great coaching the past couple years, but that didn't stop me from being pretty excited about this trip. The Pacific Northwest is a completely different environment than inland lakes or Lake Superior or Georgia. Shawna and Leon have a reputation as great coaches, and this class would be in Deception Pass, a narrow strait that the tide squeezes through at 5 and 6 knots (sometimes over 8 knots), creating eddy lines and whirlpools and standing waves. I'd seen video of kayakers in Deception Pass. It can become a pretty wild place, although it was relatively tame when I was there.

Our class was made up of 6 students in addition to Shawna and Leon. We gathered at noon at Bowman Bay on Thursday. We started with some on-land discussion, including getting on the same page with rescues: let Leon and Shawna handle the rescues, and don't try to help; that becomes a distraction. If you go over, flip your boat and move towards the bow but not all the way up. Transfer to the rescuer's boat. Don't hand them your paddle until asked.

We ran through their risk assessment method, where you plot potential risks as red, yellow, or green, and make a conscious effort to change the situation to move reds and yellows towards green. And we were reminded that risk assessment isn't a one time task; you're doing it all day long.

Max flood that day was about noon, with slack around 3:00 and the max ebb of 6.6 knots just before 6:00. The day was calm when the group arrived, but by the time we were ready to launch shortly after 1:00, the wind had picked up and there were frequent whitecaps in the bay.

We had to paddle out of the bay and south around the headland to get into the pass. The waves were decent sized and reflecting off the cliffs of the headland, and we were paddling parallel to them. At one point I found myself on the side of a wave looking down to my left and thinking "That's a long way down to the bottom of the trough."   An instant later, I was on top of the next wave.

Some of our group were not comfortable in the conditions, so Leon and Shawna decided to forego rounding the headland. We turned around and paddled back to the bay and portaged across to the pass, which was a short walk.

The pass itself is a narrow channel with steep, rocky cliffs. Pass Island conveniently splits the pass in two at the narrowest part, supporting a high bridge with two arches, one on either side the island.   Being there feels much like being on a river with a deep gorge, except that sometimes the current flows one way and sometimes it flows the other way, and sometimes there's no current at all.

We started by paddling around Pass island, after learning that the more islands you circumnavigate, the more likely you are to go to heaven. Or was it the more islands you get to paddle around after you get to heaven? I forget. In any case, the north side of Pass Island was where we would do most of our work (play?) over the next two days. It has good eddy lines when a current is flowing, no matter whether ebb or flood.

I'd taken a couple classes with Geneva Kayak Center last summer on the Menominee River in sea kayaks, learning to handle eddy line crossings and dynamic water.  The eddy lines in Deception Pass seemed bigger/longer and at times were faster, but the skills carried over from the river very well, and I was glad of the prior teaching and experience with Scott and Ryan.

DP also has whirlpools. I'd seen them on the video and asked about them at the beginning of the class. No, they don't suck you down. (At least not this size.) Good to know. It is, however, a good idea to pick which side you paddle across them on, as they can slingshot you forward or pull you in towards the center.

Conditions changed constantly as the current moved from flood to slack to ebb over the course of the day. We got some nice standing waves as the swells coming in from the west ran into the ebbing current heading out in the afternoon. When we paddled back around the headland at the end of the day, there was a beautiful seascape of waves and breaking waves off in the distance.

Friday was rainy and we started much earlier (8:30) to catch beginning of the flood current. Our first assignment was to launch some way we didn't normally launch. Leon had showed me a speed launch the previous day (bow in the water, grab the stern toggle, run the boat into the water and launch yourself belly first onto the back deck, then cowboy up into the cockpit.). First time I tried it I went for a swim, but by the end of the class, it was working pretty well.

After a backwards paddling warmup, we headed over to a dock that was a couple feet high. We got out and pulled our boats up and across the dock, then shoved them over the other side and jumped in after them (holding onto them the whole time), and re-entered from the water. (Much easier to do a cowboy re-entry if you start horizontal on the water, not vertical. Thank you, Leon.)

After paddling around the headland, the next destination was the Room of Doom. This is an area on the far side of the pass, just to the left of the bridge pier. There's a back eddy there during a flood current, with a sharp eddy line and whirlpools and boils. (Throughout the class, Leon kept wanting to lead us to the Valley of Sunshine, or so he claimed. Shawna was more apt to take us to places like the Room of Doom. Should we make that mean something?)

Shawna had asked me to lead the group over across the pass. After a period of trial and error and some helpful leading questions from Shawna, I stumbled across the idea that if I was to one side of the group, I could see everyone without craning my neck, and set a pace that was good for the group.

In an example of how our minds play tricks on us (or at least mine does), the Room of Doom had originally been described to me as "behind the bridge pier." (Or at least that's what I heard.) Perhaps because I knew that Shawna and Leon had once been at the University of Minnesota, the image that I created in my mind was based on the the I 94 and Franklin Avenue bridge piers on the Mississippi, and I expected the Room of Doom to be between the pier and the shore. I kept looking for the openings on either side of the pier that would allow us to get behind it. This was despite the fact that we had paddled by the Room on the previous day, and the fact that it was pretty obvious that the pier was solidly on land as we approached it. Sigh.

As with the Pass itself, the Room was fairly mellow that day. It was fun to play in, but fortunately didn't live up to its name.

Back at our now familiar playground by Pass Island, Shawna started throwing tennis balls out into the current for us to rescue. Next came rescuing each other. The plan was for the first person to paddle out across the eddy line, and capsize as soon as we were in the green (smooth) water in the main current. Our partner would be right behind us and come up for a T rescue.

I jumped the gun and capsized and exited a little too close to the eddy line. A couple seconds later I was in a whirlpool. Boat was going one way and I was going another. I remember ducking under it and switching sides, and then I was out and back in the main current. Interesting experience.

We also did self rescues out in the current, and learned other assorted new tricks, including a dynamic leg drop for edging our boats. At one point I was supposed to be watching Leon show me something to try next, and a seal popped its head up right behind Leon. I watched the seal. Sorry, Leon.

By mid afternoon folks were running out of gas and the flood was nearly done, so we headed back around the headland. We found a narrow V in the cliff and took turns moving up to it and paddling forward and back to hold position as we were washed up and down and in and out by the swells. My initial concern was the image of getting my (borrowed) bow caught on the rocks at the top of a swell as the water drained away beneath me, but Leon helpfully pointed out the possibility of getting the bow stuck at the bottom as the water surged up. Good reasons not to get stuck.

We had an early dinner at the Deception Pass Café, and called it a day. Great two days, and a great warmup for the San Juan Currents class in May.

Photos are here.

Kayak Camp with Ben and John

2011-03-12T07:58:00.012-06:00

When I told people I was going south at the beginning of March, there were some assumptions about what I would be doing. Walks on the beach. Swimming pools. Relaxing. Adult beverages. Dining out. Sleeping in.

When I explained I was going to Ben Lawry's kayak camp, I got a range of responses. Polite puzzlement was fairly common from my non-kayaking friends. I think that even of a few of my kayaking friends may have thought this was a little over the top.

But for me, it was perfect. Four days packed full of learning and fun with two terrific coaches. Eight similarly kayaking-obsessed participants who quickly became friends. Water that wasn't frozen solid. A color palette that wasn't black, gray and white. A great start to the paddling season in terms of getting into shape and getting focused on areas to develop.

We gathered in Tybee, GA on Thursday night. The other participants were from Nova Scotia, New Jersey, Virginia, South Carolina, and New York. The coaches were Ben Lawry and John Carmody. Ben and John are aligned in coaching philosophy, but not identical. They complemented each other very well, not only in terms of facial hair and height, but also in terms of communication style and approach. If you get a chance to work with either of them, grab it.

Kayak camp has no set agenda. On the first night, the group comes up with goals. Over the next four days, the coaches work with the conditions and the goals to deliver the best learning opportunities possible. Each night we had a chance to revisit our goals in light of what we had done that day.

Day One was very windy with confused seas and most of us hadn't been on the water for months, so we headed to an inland lake to work on core skills. Lots of edging. Paddling with eyes closed. Theory of turning the boat in wind. Paddling on one side. It always amazes me how much there is to learn about basic skills. And warm ups on all 4 days were always a treat, as we coaxed our somewhat older than 40-something bodies into motion. (Where does Ben think these things up? Frogs and crabs and cats and dogs and paddles and twists…?)

Day Two was windy again, and we launched on the south channel of the Savannah River and headed east, an area of Tybee I'd never visited. Paddling with ranges, starting to work with currents, navigation, surf landings, trip leadership, rescues, a visit out to Cockspur Lighthouse.

Day Three started on the dining room table with a discussion of currents while we waited for a cold front to pass through, then we worked on taking advantage of the currents and spinning on the eddy lines of the back channels. Hip snaps on paddle floats. Towing. More navigation.

Day Four was more trip leadership and piloting, as we took turns leading the group through Jack's Cut around Little Tybee. Funny thing how when you're piloting, you need to pay attention for more than the first five minutes.

We stopped for lunch, after which Ben drew a series of diagrams in the sand and we paired up to explain them. Then a bit of surf practice. Use your balance, not your paddle to stay upright. If you're going to crash, crash big.

Then it was over, and how did it end so quickly? We had a group debrief, then met one at a time with John and Ben to get some feedback on things to keep practicing. Then dinner, and crash, and the next morning headed for home.

What made the camp so special? A shared philosophy that it was better to learn it right than jump ahead on shaky foundations. (Better to learn to surf well on baby waves than to survive on 3 foot waves without knowing what you're doing.) Being able to devote the time that each different topic needed, and keep revisiting things over the four days to take them deeper and understand them better and look at them in different contexts. Superb coaches, and a great ratio of coaches to students, so there was regular feedback. Everything was taught with an enormous amount of inventiveness and creativity and fun and enthusiasm. We all had a chance to help each other. Wonderful organization from Elizabeth (Ben's wife), as well as some great cooking that was much appreciated after long days. Pelicans and gulls and the whole seascape that's such a treat to a Midwesterner, especially when the snow drifts at home were still over my head in places.

Gosh darn it, we may all be suffering from a big fat mid life crisis, but who cares. This kayaking stuff sure is fun.

Photos are here.

Clean the House or One Last Paddle?

2010-11-30T21:54:00.012-06:00

Friends were getting together up in Grand Marais over Thanksgiving weekend and I was invited to join them.

I'd been looking forward to spending Thanksgiving with my family, and after that had been making virtuous and productive plans for the rest of the long weekend, most of which were variations on the theme of getting caught up with just about everything after a self indulgent spring, summer and fall of paddling.   Cleaning the house was a prominent item on the to do list. But if you dangle a chance to go kayaking in front of me, I have a hard time turning it down. And hanging out with good friends is always a treat. So it wasn't long before the house cleaning was blown off and the departure planning was underway.

Tony and I ended up driving up together on Friday morning, and we both felt just a wee bit silly loading up our boats with the temperature in the teens, snow on the ground, and ice on the lakes.   Just in case the weather precluded paddling, we also packed up cross country skis and snow shoes, which ended up making us feel even more foolish when we looked at the sheer volume of gear we had along. But ... in for a penny, in for a pound, and we were soon headed north.

In Duluth, Tony introduced me to the Lake Avenue Café, a little restaurant in Canal Park with an inventive menu ranging from pulled bison to falafel to pheasant and rabbit ravioli. It was vastly better fare than McDonalds or Subway.

We arrived in Grand Marais late Friday afternoon, just as Jeff and David were heading out for a paddle in the harbor. Tempting though it was to join them, there just wasn't enough daylight left, so we saw them off, then unloaded our gear and settled in to our respective lodgings. Post paddling and unpacking, all of us gathered in the townhouse and enjoyed a second round of Thanksgiving dinner with leftovers from Michelle's feast from the previous day.

Saturday's weather forecast was looking likely for kayaking, so after dinner the discussion turned to where. A suggestion was made that we drive up the Gunflint Trail to Lake Saganaga.   We discussed it, but with the early winter sunset limiting our daylight, an additional 120 miles of driving, and ice along the shore that would be a bit of challenge to launch on and an even greater challenge to land on, we decided that it wasn't feasible on this visit.

This time we decided we would stay on Lake Superior and head to the Susie Islands, an archipelago a few miles from Grand Portage, just south of the Canadian border. Susie Island is the largest of the islands and is owned by the Nature Conservancy. The remaining dozen islands are owned by the Grand Portage Band of Ojibwe. Landing on the islands is prohibited without prior permission from the respective owners.

The Nature Conservancy website describes the Susies as "both young and old. The bedrock is slightly metamorphosed sedimentary rock, deposited in a sea over one billion years ago. These rocks were later intruded by molten magma to form resistant dikes. Glaciers of the Great Ice Age scoured the rocks many times over the last two million years, but the Susie Islands only emerged about 5,000 years ago.

"In this isolation, a pioneering community of plants continues to thrive. Species that disappeared from the rest of Minnesota after the glaciers receded northward still survive here. Today, many of these plants are more typically found in Arctic and sub-Arctic regions."

On Saturday the weather cooperated with our plans, with sun and a temperature in the 20s. We drove up to Grand Portage and started looking for a launch site. Ice coated rocky shores and roads that were either closed or ice covered limited our options and reminded us that winter paddling requires more than just open water.

We finally found a viable place to launch from, and it was about 12:30 when we got on the water.   Round trip around the outside of the Susies is a little under 15 miles, and sunset would be about 4:15. We decided to paddle out until 2:00 and return, however far we'd gotten at that point.

We paddled northeast towards Hat Point. I initially thought the white stuff atop the rocks was guano, but then realized it was bright white ice. The waves from the high winds of the previous few days must have crashed on the rocky shore, creating "flung spray and blown spume" that built up and froze into a brilliant white coating on the rocks and trees and grasses.

The Susies came into view as we rounded Hat Point. The featureless two dimensional green blobs on the map became intriguing islands of varying sizes and shapes. A couple of rock outcroppings and small cliffs were coated in the same white ice as the mainland and were highlighted by the sun behind us.   The most distant island seemed to be floating free atop the lake surface.

But alas, as our turnaround time approached, it became clear that we weren't going to make the Susies this time. We reluctantly turned around and headed back to pay our respects to the Witch Tree. This iconic cyprus clinging to solid rock is sacred to the Ojibwe, who name it the Spirit Little Cedar Tree. Small and gnarled, the tree stands alone between the lake and the cliffs. It was first mentioned in historical documents in 1731, and was a mature tree at that time, making it at least 300 years old. Seeing it on a quiet afternoon, it was hard to imagine the violent storms and bitter cold it has seen and endured. Respect is indeed due to this survivor, holding fast against the odds.

Then we paddled back around Hat Point, past Grand Portage Island, and back to our launch site. We landed well before dark and loaded up the boats to return to Grand Marais.

It was a fitting final paddle of the year. The chill in the air, the low sun and its faded light, and the snow and ice starting to claim their sovereignty over the land were all signs that winter had arrived. Getting to the Susies and Sag will have to wait for next year, but it was a treat to have one last chance to appreciate the lake with my friends.

On Sunday we headed for home, with a stop for a short hike in Split Rock state park.

And the house cleaning did just fine waiting one more week.

What a Difference A Year Makes

2010-11-04T07:21:00.016-05:00

Last year I went to the BCU week/Skills Symposium at Sea Kayak Georgia and had a great time and learned a lot. But I really hadn't had much experience in big water, and it showed – I was able to paddle in the bigger conditions, but it was a bit forced. And skills that I'd only been working on for a year were decent, but there were definitely some rough spots.

This year everything was easier. Did the 3 star assessment the first day with Lamar Hudgens and another candidate and it went well. The main feedback was more edging in the surf and conditions, which I worked on the rest of the week. And a good comment: a good trip leader doesn't get the group out of trouble; he/she keeps the group from getting into trouble in the first place.

Day 2 was Rescues and Incident Management with Jeff Allen. Great teacher, nice guy. The course could have been a 5 day course (and is in Cornwall), and was packed with information. Lots of acronyms: CLAP (communication, line of sight, avoidance, position), HEET (Human, Equipment, Environmental, Time), SAFE-R (Stop, assess, formulate a plan, execute the plan, re-evaluate). Leading from the front, looking back. Shepherding and linked chains. Learning one rescue method that always works, and doing it fast from any position, since you may only have a small window of time to get someone out of there. Some good towing tips. The difference between a casualty (someone who is actively involved in the rescue) and a victim (someone who is not). Jeff F. and another paddler were going for 4 star so they were our leaders; the rest of us had fun being victims and casualties. Note to self: never again get so carried away in the role of being a victim and throw expensive paddle away in front of the surf. (Fortunately, Brad retrieved it.)

Jeff F. was shepherding someone in through the surf and she capsized and came out of her boat (not a drill). Jeff pulled up to do a rescue and her tow rope had come out of the bag and was wrapped twice around the boat. Like they keep saying: ropes in surf are dangerous.

But as Jeff Allen reminded us, the sea isn't cruel or out to get us, it just is.

Day 3 was with Gordon Brown. Funny how you need to learn things more than once. I know I've heard "when turning in high wind from a beam to the wind position, paddle on the downwind side – forward sweep to turn upwind, reverse sweep to turn downwind" before, but it hadn't sunk in until this time.

I bailed after one capsize and tried to do a cowboy re-entry; it didn't work, and afterward Gordon reminded me about staying low and keeping legs and arms out. You can get away with things in flat water that you can't get away with in the surf. We also heard there was one dislocated shoulder that day in another class.

Day 4 was with Hadas Feldman, working on linking strokes. And of course edging. At the end of the course, everyone did a "dance" with their boat (extra points of you could narrate it; I did not), and then we paddled back along the edge of the marsh, using our newly learned stroke combinations to hug the shoreline as it wound about.

Day 5 was Intermediate Surf with Dale Williams and Tom Bergh. I'd gotten a few good rides in Gordon's class, but they felt like blind dumb luck.   During the surf class, I had a breakthrough in feeling comfortable in the surf. It wasn't huge surf – probably 4 footers, but it was great fun. Dale reminded us that we can have influence in the surf, but we can never control it. I tried surfing backwards -- it was interesting to see what's going on on the wave side of the boat. Learned that in the surf, you edge towards the direction you want to turn, not away (no wonder edging never worked to turn my boat before). I'm still a newbie and have lots to learn in the surf, but definitely making progress.

And of course all the rest of the week was great too. Good friends, good weather, seeing folks that I'd met before, making new friends. Sometimes on the water I'd just sit there for a few minutes and soak in the pure enjoyment of being on the sea, riding the swells, watching flights of pelicans wing their way across the water and flocks of gulls wheel and turn, spotting the occasional dolphin. Starting to read the surf and tides better.

The week gave me some great feedback on how much I've learned, but it also opened up how much more there is to learn. 4 star once seemed completely inaccessible. Now it seems like a lot of work, but within the realm of the achievable. Definitely ready to take the next step and see where it goes.

GKC L4 Weekend: Train High, Assess Low

2010-10-06T08:13:00.003-05:00

Train high, assess low was the theme of the Level 4 – Open Water Sea Kayak Training weekend with Geneva Kayak Center last weekend. The plan was to spend one day on the Menominee River working on skills in moving water (crossing eddy lines, etc.), and two days on Lake Superior working on open water coastal kayaking and leadership skills. Conditions in both venues "over delivered".

Jeff and I traveled together. We showed up bright and early on Friday morning at Piers Gorge on the Menominee River. Ryan and Paul were the instructors; Sarah and Mary were our fellow students, with Aaron joining us on Saturday

The water had been around 1000 CFS when I'd been there in early June; now it was around 3000 CFS (based on USGS info). As Ryan said, it was "kind of pushy." According to the Wisconsin Paddle Guide, Piers Gorge "is a high adrenaline action run that features Missicot Falls in Piers Gorge, a class 4+ drop that should only be attempted by advanced and expert kayakers, or on a guided rafting trip. The run through Piers Gorge is comparable to many of the big action rivers out west, though it may not have the huge drops, the sheer volume and velocity of the water flow raises the hazard level considerably." It goes on to say "Kayakers should not attempt at high water levels. When river levels rise above 3000 cfs, some of the holes below Missicot Falls become quite powerful and have been known to "de-boat" paddlers into an unpleasant half mile swim." More on that later.

On Friday, we spent the day at "Terminal Surfer", if I got the name right. We were at the bottom end of the rapids and worked on the eddy lines. In June we had few or no capsizes; this time they were pretty regular. We learned to be much more aggressive at getting to capsized boats for rescues, and how to roll in the bumpy water (interesting to find your set up position when the surface is uneven and constantly moving.) Having the swimmer flip their boat and move to the bow was a big help in getting our rescue times down.

While we were on our lunch break, Jeff and I both had our keys and key fobs sitting in the car while we were getting our stuff out, and one of the "lock car" buttons must have gotten accidentally pushed, because when we closed the doors, the car locked itself. Our great trip mates had an AAA card (I'm a member, but didn't have my card with me), a cell phone (Jeff's and mine were in the car) and a GPS unit, and AAA came through with a free unlock service. Wish I could go back to a regular, non-chipset key!

At the end of the day on Friday we drove up to Marquette, MI. The forecast for Saturday was "North winds to 25 knots, waves 7 – 11 feet." That would exceed Level 4 conditions, which are 3 – 5 foot seas, 15 – 20 knots of wind. Clearly we had no worries about lack of conditions.

Dinner was at L'Attitude, which we closed down about 8:30.

Saturday morning it was clear that the forecast was spot on. Our planned launch site had steady lines of surf across the entire beach. We headed over to a marina and a protected boat launch. As we paddled out towards the breakwater, we could see the spray from the waves on the far side flying up 20 feet and more. Ryan and Paul paddled around the breakwater to check things out, but decided the winds were pretty high for making any progress, so we proceeded to paddle for about a mile down wind/down wave towards the beach. Jeff and Aaron were our trip leaders (since this was a leadership class). The waves were definitely bigger than anything I'd been on before, but it was all doable. Ryan went in first to land folks with paddle signals. I followed him in, and surfed in to a gentle landing. Learnings on that beach: let the big sets go by, and surf in on a small wave. The big waves were about 6 feet on a fairly steep beach and not really surfable.

When everyone had landed, we were supposed to work on surf launches and landings. Most of us did not do well on that exercise. I never got off the beach. Need to be more aggressive.

Next up was paddling over to a group of islands that would provide some protection from the open waves and give us a place to work. Sarah and I were trip leaders for this stretch. We carried the boats down the beach to where the surf was a bit less exciting. The plan was to have people wait out in "the gathering zone" after they launched until the entire group was on the water, but it quickly became apparent that this provided its own set of challenges in big conditions, as the paddlers who launched first had to hold position in the high wind and big waves. Once you start launching your group, the faster you can get everyone launched, the better.

Once on the water, we headed for the islands and Sarah and I scouted for the best place to land. Did I mention that there was no beach on the islands? We ended up paddling to the lee side of one of the islands, getting out in the water, and hauling the boats up onto the rocks. Then we happily settled down for lunch.

After 10 minutes or so, Jeff said "I hear a fire engine." Soon it came into sight, and pulled into the park on the shore about 300 yards across from the island. We wondered what was going on. Then another engine showed up, then one or two more emergency vehicles and even a TV truck. We were beginning to wonder if we could possibly be the objects of all this attention, and when the Coast Guard boat came around the point from Marquette, we realized we must be. Ryan launched to have a chat with them. The Coast Guard must have called the fire folks on their radio after that, because the fire and TV trucks left moments later.

After lunch, we did some rescues on the far side of the island (out of sight of shore!), where there was an area partially surrounded by other islands. It was protected from the full open water, but still pretty bouncy as the water surged about. One of the big learnings was situational awareness for a leader … keeping your group away from hazards and tucked into calm areas whenever possible.

Our final exercise was for Sarah, Mary and me to tow "injured" Jeff and Aaron (rafted up) through the surf and land them. I'd never done such a thing, but our initial attempt was to have Sarah and Mary in an in line tandem tow and me as the drogue paddler. Mary's rope (borrowed) turned out to be too short to be safe, so we tried to reconfigure … I moved up to the lead position. But by then we had drifted too far and were in conditions and we called off the exercise and debriefed on shore. The consensus was that a) two inline paddlers and a drogue paddler were too big a connected system in this situation and b) a single tow-er would have been plenty given the short distance and gentle surf on this beach and c) coming in at an angle to the surf would have eliminated the need for a drogue paddler.

Tonight dinner was at Coco's, with live music from a couple of singers/guitar players. It dates both the performers and me to say that I knew all the songs.

On Sunday, Lake Superior had done a presto chango, and there were no conditions to play in. We decided to head back to the Menominee River. We launched from the top of the gorge this time. We paddled down to the island and picked our way down the first set of rough water into an eddy, then down about half a mile where we landed for lunch. Ryan took one of the boats and ran the drop, then walked back up to join us. After lunch, those who wanted to had a chance to run the drop. Mary, Jeff and I carried our boats down and settled in to watch and video. Soon Aaron appeared, and was over and out of his boat before the drop. Paul did the same thing. Then Ryan and Sarah appeared. Sarah also capsized before the drop and Ryan tried to rescue her, but she too came out of her boat. They both went over the edge; Sarah went into the hole but came out quickly (holding onto your boat is a good thing!) Ryan capsized as he went over the drop, but rolled.

Net score: 4 paddlers capsized, 3 came out their boats, 2 paddles lost.

Jeff, Mary and I paddled down to join the others. We played a bit at Terminal Surfer, but all were ready to call it a day before long.

All in all, a great weekend with good folks and another step in the kayaking journey.

Silver Islet to Rossport

2010-07-16T12:14:00.045-05:00

Just got back from paddling from Silver Islet to Rossport with 5 friends. Our route was about 80 miles along the northern shore of Lake Superior in Ontario. It's a well known kayaking destination among Lake Superior paddlers, though perhaps not so well known to paddlers farther afield. Numerous islands along the route add interest and variety, as well as providing safe harbors and options for finding protected water in different wind conditions. The islands and peninsulas are mostly undeveloped crown land.

Six of us met up in Grand Marais and then transferred boats, trailer, people and gear to Dave's truck for the last stretch of the trip so that we would only have to pay to shuttle one vehicle from our launch point to Rossport.   At Canadian customs, the border officer examined our passports and asked routine questions. Then he said "The only one I have any concerns about is Jeffrey." Long pause. "His birthday is next Saturday." Border officer humor?

We stayed at the Grann Motel in Pass Lake on Friday night, met Alfred, the proprietor and master of dry humor, and enjoyed two meals of splendid truck stop food before leaving the next morning.

Day 1: The final leg of our land journey took us down the Sibley Peninsula to our launch point in the town of Silver Islet. It seemed like a sleepy town … mostly vacation homes these days, and the restored general store didn't open until noon. A few people launched motor boats and went fishing while we were loading up our boats.

Silver Islet is also the name of a small island just offshore, where a vein of almost pure silver was "found" in 1868 (the Ojibwe had known of the silver all along). A lucrative commercial mining operation ensued, and a great deal of engineering effort went into holding back the lake waters as they dug deeper and deeper, ultimately over 1,100 feet down.   Pumps kept the mine from flooding until year that the expected shipment of coal to fuel the pumps failed to arrive before winter closed in. When the coal ran out and the pumps stopped in 1884, the mine flooded and was never re-opened.

The only other kayaker we saw the entire trip landed while we were getting ready and introduced himself as Glen Smith from Saskatchewan. He was paddling along the watershed from Alberta east in stages. This year he was going from Thunder Bay to Sault Ste. Marie on the east side of Lake Superior. He had left from Thunder Bay the previous day and was stopping to use the phone at the general store.

We set off around 10:00, and paddled east along the southern tip of the peninsula, then had a 4 mile crossing to Porphyry Island. Looking behind us, the Sleeping Giant shape of the mesas on the land mass became apparent as we gained the perspective of a few miles. One of the stories is that the giant form lying on his back is Nanabijou, the Ojibwe spirit who was turned to stone when the secret of the silver mine was disclosed to white men.

To our right across the lake to the south we could see Isle Royale, and in the far southeast the Porcupine Mountains in Michigan. Ahead of us was the lighthouse on the southern tip of Porphyry. We headed north of Hardscrabble Island to paddle between Porphyry and Edward Islands. The weather couldn't have been better, and we enjoyed the blue skies, the rock formations, the boreal forests, and the calm water.

After lunch we paddled on to Magnet Island and continued north, with a tail wind behind us. We stopped at a campsite on an island east of the Black Bay peninsula where Jeff and Michelle had camped previously. In a vivid example of how much and how quickly the lake can change its surroundings, the large beach had washed away, leaving a much smaller scrap of beach to camp in. It was getting close to 3:00 in the afternoon, and we listened to the weather and discussed how to proceed. If the winds from the south picked up as forecasted, the low site on the southern end of the island was exposed. If we continued north, we would eventually find a campsite big enough to pitch 5 tents, but there was no guarantee how soon. Most of the islands we had passed had rocky shores, and we hadn't seen many cobble and gravel beaches so far (though they appeared to be more common as we continued north). The next known campsite we were absolutely sure of finding was Swede Island, 8 nautical miles away.

We finally decided to backtrack to a small cove on Magnet Island, which would provide more protection from the wind. As was typical, the site was a narrow beach, backed by forest. There were fairly fresh moose tracks along the shore, birds calling from the woods, and a few mergansers swimming along the shore. Looking out from the little bay, we could see the Number 10 light house, where we would head the next day.

Tony's boat valets must have gotten his order confused, because they didn't show up that night or any other night. But we managed to set up camp without them, followed by happy hour, dinner, slingshot games, and finding Wilson, after which we turned in. That far north and on the western edge of the eastern time zone, it was light until after 10:00, but that proved no barrier to falling sleep.

Day 2: In the morning I managed to lose one of my contact lenses, which probably wasn't a bad thing, as switching to glasses simplified the morning routine immensely. Once underway, we headed towards the lighthouse on Number 10 Island, west of Shaganash Island. The weather was good, though there were some interesting swells coming from the south. Farther to the south were some dark storm clouds that we watched closely as we started a two mile crossing, but they didn't come our way.

We landed on Number 10 and explored. The lighthouse itself was locked so we couldn't go inside, but there was a foundation from a house nearby that might have been the keeper's home. There were plenty of campsite options in the vicinity.

We continued northeast to Swede Island, home of the famous sauna. Roger Bailey and friends had built a cabin, sauna, picnic table, outhouse, and dock on the island in the 1960s. The cabin had burned in the 1970s and had been rebuilt. It was aging, but functional. We decided to stop for the evening, even though it was still early.

Wilson had come along with us from Magnet Island, and we found a companion for him under the cabin after we set up camp, whom we named Harriet.

There was a log book with several years of visitor entries, including previous ISK trips. Tony updated it with an entry for our group. Glen, the paddler we had met in Silver Islet, had stopped in earlier that day, signed the log, and continued on. There seemed to be fewer than a dozen log entries each year. And as the days passed, we were surprised at just how few people traveled the area, having seen only a handful of sailboats, cruisers, and fishing boats.

After dinner we discussed our route and destination for the next day. Jeff had hoped to explore Sheesheeb Bay, about 4 nautical miles deep. We were about 55 nautical miles from our destination at that point, having backtracked to camp the first night and stopped early to take advantage of the Swede Island camp and sauna the second night. We wanted to be landing in Rossport by Saturday morning, and the group agreed that we would like to be in the vicinity of the Rossport by Thursday night. If all went well, we would paddle around the Ross islands on Friday. It was now Sunday night, so allowing for sightseeing, we needed to travel about 15 nautical miles each of the next 4 days; more if we wanted to allow for a wind day.

Adding 10 nautical miles to get to Shesheeb Bay seemed like a long detour, and the group eventually agreed to plan a long day the next day and try to get to CPR Slip on St. Ignace, 25 statute miles away. The slip is a former executive retreat, and trip members who had been there on previous visits told of well built facilities open to all and a friendly camaraderie among the power boaters and kayakers who stayed there.

Next up that evening was a sauna for the guys, while Michelle and I watched the evening darken and the sun set from the beach on the other side of the camp.

Day 3: In the morning (another beautiful day) we paddled northeast between Spain and Borden islands, spotting the sauna on the east side of Spain. Farther along we passed some mine ruins. Eventually a channel opened out into Loon Harbor, which has the appearance of a lake bounded by Spain, Borden, and Lasher Islands. We spotted an otter, and listened to a very vocal loon in the protected water. The last time Jeff and Michelle had been here, it had been foggy and quite mystical, in contrast to the calm water and sparkling sunlight we enjoyed this time.

Heading north out of Loon harbor, we continued up the channel past Pugsley and Coutlee Islands, stopping on the north point of Broudeur Island for a break. There was a huge variety of geology and rock formations on the different islands, and looking down into the clear water near a shoreline was almost as interesting as looking up at the rocky shores.

Once again we had a tailwind and swells coming from the stern as we got out into the open water, and we made steady progress to St. Ignace, though it was a long day. We could see the Canadian flag flying as we approached the bay where CPR Slip was located, and turned the corner into the protected harbor to see 2 big power cruisers at a well built, well maintained dock. There were several buildings, in much better shape than those on Swede Island. We landed and Jeff walked up to the folks who were sitting around a table, enjoying wine and other treats. No plastic mugs or tin cups for this group … it was crystal stemware all around.

Nobody had gotten up to acknowledge us other than the dog. I didn't hear the entire conversation, but there was a discussion of the site being open to all except for outfitters. We told them we were a private group, and one of the folks asked "is that what they tell you to say?" It quickly became apparent that we weren't welcome. Did they really think we were with an outfitter and lying about it? Did they not like our looks, all geared up with knives and assorted goofy hats? Were we simply not their kind of people? Who knows.

We ended up paddling over to Agate Island and camping on the northern shore, where we had both eastern and western sun and a far more pleasant campsite than if we had stayed at CPR Slip. There was a nagging feeling that we should have stayed at the slip on principle, since the sauna was advertised as open to all, but it wouldn't have been a congenial evening. We enjoyed our own private little corner of paradise while we ate dinner and watched the sun set. In the calm water of the evening, we saw the lake rise and fall by 2-3 inches due to small seiches, covering and uncovering a small rock just off shore several times. After dinner we discussed the next day's route, and decided to make for McCay Cove, another improved campsite with a picnic table and tent platform. As we had come to expect, loons called across the lake as we fell asleep.

Day 4: In the morning we paddled to Bowman Island, where there's an old fishing camp and also the grave of Thomas Lamphier. He was the second of three lighthouse keepers on Talbot Island who died in the course of their duties. Thomas and his wife were spending the winter on the island in 1869 when he fell ill and died. His wife couldn't get off the island, and couldn't even bury his body on the solid rock. In the spring, she flagged down a passing boat and they brought his body to Bowman and buried it. The story goes that the wife's black hair turned white that winter. The white cross that currently marks the grave, using the spelling Lampshire, was placed more recently.

Leaving Bowman, we crossed to Armour Harbor. This brought us within the territory of Nirivia. A group of folks had declared the 40 plus islands in Nipigon Bay to be a sovereign nation in 1979. It was not so much a militant assertion of statehood as a means of drawing attention to the pristine nature of this area and the need to protect it. There were no full time residents, but over the years some docks, cabins, and saunas were built, and visitors were invited to come and stay and appreciate the natural beauty of the place. The latest edition of Bonnie Dahl's Superior Way says that the nation is no longer a going concern. But apparently you become a citizen when you enter Nirivia, and though we didn't land, we decided that we had entered their national waters and had earned citizenship.

More tail winds pushed us along to McCay Cove, where we slipped into protected water through gaps between rocky islands. We could see a tarp up on the campsite as we approached, but when we landed, we found no signs of boats or gear. Eventually we pulled out the camp's log book and learned that a couple of people had been by recently to set up the tarp, and were planning on returning in a few days to spend a week there. In the meantime, we were happy to stay and set up camp along with the local bunny population. We made cheesecake after dinner and celebrated Jeff's birthday a few days early that night.

Then it was time to listen to the weather and plan the next day. It seemed that our run of ideal weather was about to end. The next day's route would be straight east along the southern shores of St. Ignace and Simpson Islands. The winds were forecast as 10 knots from the southeast in the morning, building to 15 knots by noon, and 20 in the afternoon. The wind would be blowing across a long fetch, and had the potential to get interesting. After passing Simpson Island, we would turn north through Wilson Channel. A southeast wind approaching 20 knots and funnelling up the channel could get particularly interesting. Thursday's forecast was a slightly windier version of Wednesday's, and Friday was even windier.

We decided to get up early and head for Rossport. We could have taken a wind day and stayed put, but with steadily increasing winds forecast over the next few days, a day wasn't buying us much.

Day 5: We were on the water by 7:30 in the morning and paddled east into a headwind, maybe Force 3 building to Force 4. We passed the Battle Island Lighthouse complex, with several white buildings. The light is automated now, but the last keeper still lives there.

Past Simpson Island, we turned the corner to head north. After about a mile, we paddled through a narrow opening between Harry and Minnie Islands, and the transition into calm and silence was almost startling after pushing through the wind and waves. We paddled on to a campsite on the northwest corner of Minnie and took a break. At that point we were about 4 miles from Rossport. We discussed camping at Minnie and heading in Thursday morning. Even though the winds were forecast to be higher the next day, if we started out first thing in the morning, the conditions should be comparable to the current conditions.

But rain, wind, and possible thunderstorms were forecast that afternoon and evening, and the winds forecast for the next two days sounded as if they would preclude exploring the Rossport Islands as we had hoped. Camping Wednesday night in the wind and rain simply in order to get up early the next morning to paddle the last 4 miles didn't muster enough interest to make it a plan, so we continued on.

Back out in the channel, tail winds pushed us north to Rossport. We could see the white buildings from afar, and then the red roofs. We landed and were pleased to find the truck and trailer there, so we packed up and headed for home. Crossing back into the States has become much more serious in recent years, but our re-entry was uneventful, and by mid afternoon we were back in Grand Marais.

Ending the trip on Wednesday instead of Saturday as originally planned was unexpected, but the strong winds that we heard forecast on Wednesday did materialize as I watched the weather on Thursday and Friday. We didn't do as much exploring as we might have hoped, but had we still been 2 full days out from Rossport on Wednesday night, the conditions for the final stretch would have been more challenging through Friday evening.

All in all, it was a splendid trip with wonderful weather, gorgeous scenery, and good friends. Doesn't get much better than that. Photos are here.

Apostles over Independence Day Weekend

2010-07-05T09:33:00.011-05:00

Deb and Michelle led a trip to the Apostles over the Independence Day weekend.    The plan was to base camp on Stockton on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, returning on Sunday.

After a team picture, thirteen of us launched from the Red Cliff marina beach shortly after 10 on Thursday morning. As we were paddling out towards the pier, we saw a couple of young critters swimming in the water, with Mom following along behind. Weasels? Otters?   Jeff waited till they got out of the water and confirmed that they were weasels.

We paddled over to the Fedora before crossing over to Basswood. There was a group of folks happily ensconced on the preferred landing beach on the northwest corner of Basswood, so we kept going to a less desirable landing area. We had a quick break, though there was really no beach, then got some snacks and headed over to Hermit.   Hermit is closed to all visitor use due to bear activity, so we paddled along the eastern edge, then over to Stockton, making it a long paddle without a break.

On Stockton we were able to get the 3 sites farthest from the visitor center, and we settled in. Very nice sites, though the nearest vault toilet was closed, as the low lake level was preventing the park service from being able to get a boat in to empty it out. That made for a long walk to the next available toilet.

Stockton is the largest of the islands in the park, at 10,000 acres. There are several hiking options and an abandoned quarry on the island, though I've never had a chance to explore them. There are a dock and visitor center and 19 campsites along the eastern shore of Presque Isle Bay. The long, spread out line of campsites has both advantages and disadvantages.   Each site is nestled in the trees, separated from its neighbors, and has a great view of the water. From a kayaker's perspective, it's easy to land on the beach below your campsite and carry your gear up a short bank. The sites are in prime black bear habitat, though, and being so spread out, there's an increased risk of bear/human interactions. And when bears get habituated to humans, either the bears or the humans have to be removed. There are also concerns about bank erosion. The park service has proposed a plan to move the Stockton campsites to the tombolo between Presque Isle Bay and Julian Bay, likely making it a longer walk from landing to campsites.   Another concern of the new location would be ensuring a safe landing option when there's a southwest wind. With the existing sites, the landing is a sand beach, so if you dump in the surf, you can wade your boat in to shore.

On Friday, the group decided to paddle over to Michigan Island. We looked at the lighthouses (two), had lunch, and talked to the park service volunteers who showed us around.

After lunch, part of the group headed back to Stockton, while Jeff, Tony, Dave and I paddled up the eastern shore of Michigan. On the northeast point, just off shore we could see Gull Island, the smallest of the Apostles. It looks like a sand bar, though it's actually rock. You can't approach it or land on it during the summer, so we simply paddled by.

After rounding Michigan, the wind and waves had picked up for our crossing back to Stockton. We wanted to visit the Noquebay wreck before returning to camp, so we headed for Julian Bay.   In the bay, we searched the area of the GPS coordinates, but couldn't find anything in the rough water. The wreckage is 8 - 12 feet under water and scattered along the bottom. The group that had crossed straight back to Stockton did find it, but they had the eagle eyed Michelle along with them.

Rounding the tombolo back to Presque Isle Bay was a bit bouncy, and paddling back into the bay provided some good practice in a following sea. The waves weren't quite big enough to surf on, so we landed and moved on to dinner. Turns out that Stockton has good cell phone reception, and in one of the few moments of the trip that my phone was turned on and nearby, I got a happy birthday call from a friend.

Our site had pasta for dinner that night. Tony made fresh pasta with dehydrated red sauce and tortellini. Joan had brought pre-made pasta frozen in a bag that simply had to be re-heated. I made my dehydrated Sierra Spaghetti, and Fred had a couple of freeze dried entrees. We tried them all, and all were pronounced good.

The weather outlook for Sunday had been less than ideal all along, and the details were getting filled in as Sunday drew nearer. A low pressure system was heading our way from Montana. We agreed to gather at 8:00 on Saturday morning to decide what to do. If we were able to stick with our original plan, several folks wanted to hike on the island, and some wanted to paddle up the eastern shore of Stockton along the sea stacks and sea caves and then over to Outer Island for the day.

Come morning, though, it was an easy decision. A lot of rain was forecast on Sunday, as well as extensive thunderstorms. So we decided to cut the trip short, strike camp, and return a day early.

On our way home, we wanted to take a break before leaving Stockton to avoid the long slog from our camp site to Basswood, especially since we were paddling into wind and waves.

Three of us were 90 percent sure there was a landing option on the southwest corner of Stockton (does that make it a 270 percent likelihood?) As we approached, I scouted ahead to make sure that the somewhat marginal beach we could see was in fact the best option available, and it was.

With the lake level lower and a southwest wind blowing up the North and West Channels, there were 1 foot plus waves coming in at an angle, and it was a trickier site to land on than it had been in calm water the previous year. The shore was rocky, and there were rocks on the way in to be avoided.

Jeff landed while the main group waited off shore. I scooted in as I returned from my scouting mission. We had several people on the trip who had never landed in this kind of conditions. Jeff guided the group in one at a time, avoiding the rocks in the water and making sure there was space on the shore to land on, and we got each person out of their boat. I hadn't initially picked up on the fact that the waves were coming in at an angle, and had to adjust my position to stay "up-wave" of the boats as they got bounced about at the water's edge. Michelle was watching the landing process from the water, and moved the group waiting to land farther over to improve the angle they were coming in on.

After lunch, we reversed the process and got everyone launched one at a time. We picked up each boat, turned it around, put it in the water, steadied it, got the paddler in and spray skirt on and pushed them off. As the person holding the sterns, I had two observations: first, that boats without solid decklines are a pain (bungy cords are useless for steadying a boat), and second, when you're straddling the deck behind the cockpit to steady it and then shoving the boat out in the waves, attentiveness to the pointy end of the stern (and rudder, for boats with rudders) is essential until you're clear of the boat.

Most of us had a good bit of water to be bailed out before continuing on to Hermit. Deb tried out her new automatic bilge pump. Works great, although it needs a mounting system. The rough water launch also provided a good lesson in why you don't want to store gear in your cockpit. Once the boat gets water in it, that gear starts sloshing around, getting in your way as you try to get back in.

We crossed to Hermit, then to Basswood, where we had an easy landing. After lunch, we headed to the Basswood dock, then crossed the channel back to Red Cliff. The Red Cliff Ojibwe band was hosting a Pow Wow over the 4th, so we could hear drums as we approached, and the beach that had been empty when we launched was packed.

We quickly got our boats and gear loaded up and headed for home. The "shower at the rec center" plan didn't work as the rec center was closed.

After I got home, I kept an eye on the Weather Channel on Sunday morning, and there was one good sized storm that crossed the Apostles (lots of dark green and some orange on the weather map), followed by an area of heavy rain. Good decision to leave early!

Rough Water, Zen, and Poise

2010-06-08T22:18:00.005-05:00

Last weekend I took a Rough Water class with Geneva Kayak Center. The goal of the course is to gain experience for tidal conditions. Since tidal conditions are rather scarce in the upper Midwest, GKC uses rivers to provide eddy lines, moving water, and standing waves.

There were four students in the class: Brook and John, a couple from the Chicago area; Mark, also from Chicago; and me. We met on the Menominee River in Michigan. Scott Fairty was our instructor.

On Saturday, we worked on ferrying across currents, crossing eddy lines, cutting in and out, S turns, and jet ferries. We discussed SPANGLE (speed, position, and angle) when crossing eddy lines. We played on a standing wave that didn't look very big, but which we could paddle up to and surf. That was helpful for me, because in the rare (once every 6 months) opportunities when I have a chance to play in the surf, being on a wave is a BIG EVENT, and there isn't a whole lot of room for noticing where I am on the wave, working on balance, or taking time to think about where I want to be or how to get there. Sitting on a surfable wave and playing with rudders and edging and having time to just relax and be on the wave was great.

At the end of the first day, we gathered in the light rain by the GKC trailer to discuss evening plans and the next day's schedule. Scott said "there's one extra boat on the trailer." Brook then handed John a beautifully written note acknowledging the difference he had made as a science teacher for the past two years in a challenging school, and explaining that the splendid new NDK high volume Explorer sitting on the trailer was a gift for him. There were moist eyes all around after that. And Mark said it best: "Well done, Brook." And well done, John, for making a difference to your students.

Ryan had been ready to take the fall to keep the boat a surprise. It seems that a number of purchases had been made on Brook's and John's credit card in a short period of time, and an overzealous automated fraud alert had kicked in. The bank had called John about a large dollar amount purchase, which of course was for the boat. Brook had gotten wind of it before disaster struck, and the story was concocted that Ryan had fat fingered the decimal point for a paddle float purchase and multiplied the charge by 100. Fortunately, the gift was given before the bank statement arrived.

Mark had to head back to Chicago Saturday night, so the rest of us found a Chinese restaurant, had a beer and dinner, and split up to crash early.

Next morning we launched farther up river. We had an easy paddle to an island, working on hanging draws and linking strokes and other odds and ends along the way (Scott was willing to teach whatever we wanted to work on). We landed on the upriver point of the island to have lunch and scout the rapids and falls on the next stretch of river.

This was the section of river that the local whitewater rafting company used. They launched two rafts for each group of 6-8 paddlers and came down to this point. Each group would run the brief class IV fall and a longer stretch of smaller rapids with the first raft, then land, walk back up, and run them again with the second raft.

We knew we weren't going to kayak the first drop, so we carried the boats down the trail that overlooked the river before stopping for lunch.

There was a surprising number of hikers wandering up and down the trail, and we and our boats must have been an incongruous sight. Four brightly colored plastic kayaks, lying along the side of a forest trail, high above the water. Four drysuit clad paddlers seated nearby, eating lunch and pondering the river. One man stopped and said "You're not like the rafters. They never stop moving. You guys just sit here, very zen master like." I'm sure most of the difference had to do with the average age of our group vs. the rafters, and the fact that we were hungry and lunch was at hand. And perhaps a bit of our attention was focused on the water that we would soon be paddling.

After lunch, it was time to decide where to launch. Scott might have run the class IV drop had he been with experienced whitewater kayakers, but with a bunch of newbies, if anything went wrong, he was essentially on his own.

Below the class IV drop, the island offered a middle point launch and a lower launch option. Brook and John opted for the lower point. I was on the verge of going for the middle launch, but finally decided not to.

We carried our three boats to the lower point, and then Scott launched from the middle point. I definitely learned more watching Scott paddle that stretch of water than I would have had I paddled it myself. When we scouted the river, the only path I could visualize was straight through, right down the middle, and hoping to miss the big rocks whose positions I would never remember once I was underway.

Watching Scott pick his way from eddy to eddy, I could see how the bits and pieces we had been practicing over the weekend could be put together to paddle down a river or (one day) to cross a tidal race with a great deal of control. If I take the course again, I'll definitely launch from the middle point.

But this time, Brook, John and I launched farther down and had an uneventful trip through the next stretch of rapids. We worked on more eddy crossings, ferries, and eventually on rescues. I did a couple of rolls in the current which, like the final trips through the rapids, were very anticlimactic. When rolling becomes anticlimactic, that's probably a good thing.

By the end of the day, I certainly hadn't mastered all the nuances of ferrying and whitewater kayaking, but I was a lot more comfortable with moving water. Between my own experience and watching Scott look like he had all the time in the world, I seem to have acquired a bit more poise and confidence. Of course, the big question is how much of that will still be around the next time I'm playing in surf.

Dancing with Mr. D

2010-05-31T13:34:00.010-05:00

Over Memorial Day weekend, our club has an annual "rendezvous" in the Apostle Islands. We stay at a campground on Little Sand Bay and take day paddles to various destinations.

Last year was the first year I attended, and on the first day we paddled around Sand Island. The second day we split into different groups. One group paddled to Raspberry Island, one drove to Meyers Beach and paddled to the mainland sea caves, and the third paddled from Little Sand Bay to the sea caves. I was in the third group, and was delighted to be out paddling in my new boat on the big lake sharing a splendid adventure with Dan, Pete and Jeff. The sea caves were spectacular, and the day was one of my favorite paddles of the year.

This year we again paddled to Sand Island on Saturday, making it out to the lighthouse and back (returning is always a good idea). In the evening we had a potluck with lots of yummy food, and then gathered around the fire as it got dark. It cools off fast up there, and the fleeces and down jackets came out with the setting sun.

Eventually the conversation turned to what to do on Sunday. We had several paddling options: the estuary, Raspberry, the two approaches to the mainland sea caves. I casually mentioned that Devils Island was only 25 miles round trip, but those who bothered to respond were clear and definite in their lack of interest in that idea.

Then we went around the group and everyone said what they'd like to do. Raspberry seemed to be the favorite destination. When it was Jeff's turn, he said quietly "I'd like to dance with Mr. D." Sam was next, and said he would like to as well, but that we probably needed a third to make it a safe group. I confessed that I had been the instigator of the trip. (I'd planted the Devils Island seed a few weeks ago by email, and Jeff has a rubber arm for ideas like that. Or maybe he'd been planning on it all along.) At any rate, we had our three. Nobody else signed on, but later on that evening, I stopped by Pete's (he was camping with his family), and he was in too.

We weren't a 100% go yet, though. Jeff and Michelle had been volunteering for the past week at Wilderness Canoe Base, and had just joined us that evening. Jeff wanted to get a good night's sleep before committing to the trip.

In the morning we checked the weather, and the front that had been on its way from South Dakota was still on its way, expected to cross our area in the afternoon. Sam and I were thinking the conservative thing to do was skip the Devils paddle, but then Jeff joined us, coffee in hand, and said he was in. So we decided to go.   (There was more than one rubber arm in the group.)

We launched a few minutes after 9:00 and headed for the east side of York Island. After a quick break there and a weather radio check (no change), we were off to Bear Island. The wind was northeast, 10 to 15 knots, so we were paddling mostly straight into it. The waves were under two feet, but there were some whitecaps and there were definitely some good sized waves that the boats would ride up and pound down over. Definitely not Lake Calhoun, and it was a good day to work on forward stroke efficiency.

We landed on a rocky beach towards the north end of the west side of Bear.   It was about noon, and we listened to the weather again while we ate lunch. The details were getting filled in a bit more as the front got closer. Forty percent chance of severe thunderstorms; most likely in north western Wisconsin. Time frame was between 2:00 and 8:00. Where storms occurred, expect winds of up to 40 miles an hour, lightning, and dime sized hail. The storms wouldn't last long in the locations where they occurred … "only two to three hours."

It was time to decide whether to continue on to Devils or return. We all had gear with us to sit out a storm or even to spend the night on an island if needed, but we still had two open water crossings of a mile and a half each before getting back to the mainland.   The western sky was clouding up, though there was nothing alarming in sight yet. It would be 1:00 by the time we launched after lunch. The longer we continued to paddle forward, the more time we would spend on the water in the 2:00 to 8:00 window of possible storm formation, and the closer to dark our return would be if we had to sit out a storm. Continuing on to Devils would add another 3 hours to the trip. But … we all wanted to go on, and knew that at any given place, the chance of a storm was quite low. We had a good view of horizon, and should be able to see signs of a storm before it hit, and there was shelter on Devils and Raspberry if needed.

In the end we decided to turn back. Being caught on a crossing in a severe storm would not be a good thing. We re-visited the decision more than once, but turning back was the conservative thing to do, and the right thing to do.

So back we went. This time we paddled south along Bear, then crossed to Raspberry. (I've added one more island to my count now (16?) although the lighthouse tour will have to wait for another visit.) The western sky was getting darker, and there was rain in the distance. As we started the second crossing from Raspberry west to Point Detour, the north wind coming from our right was noticeably stronger, with frequent whitecaps. I was paddling behind Pete, and there were several times when his head was nearly hidden by the waves, which meant that they were approaching 3 feet. (A kayaker's head is about 3 feet off the water, so looking at another kayaker as you and he/she bob over the waves and observing "under 3 feet, 3 feet, or over 3 feet" are the only wave height measurements that don't involve guessing.) My rough water skills have definitely improved in the past year, which was nice to see.

A fog bank had developed north of the islands, closing off the view of North Shore. There was no lightning in sight, but we were all eager to get across to the mainland, and we spread out more than we should have as we all focused on getting across. I had been able to see the paddler behind me out of the corner of my eye most of the way across, but about three quarters of the way across, I lost him and we stopped and re-grouped. Our lead paddler set a good pace and it was easy to fix on him and paddle hard, and it probably got the group as a whole across in the least amount of time, but it was definitely an undisciplined crossing; we should have stayed together. We were too far apart to help each other if needed, and too far apart to communicate if a change in plans was needed. Lesson learned – don't let adrenalin override group cohesiveness.

With the last crossing completed and still no sign of inclement weather, we enjoyed an easy paddle back to Little Sand Bay and landed about 3:45.

In the end, on this particular day we would have been able to go to Devils without getting caught in a big storm (though we might have been caught in a fog bank – looking behind us, Devils could no longer be seen), but I think everyone was comfortable with our decision. Another day could have turned out differently. Dave O. had looked at weather radar in the ranger station, and while we were loading boats onto our cars after the paddle, he told us the storm cells had gone north and south of the Apostles.

But joining three other paddlers on a 17 mile paddle (14.8 nautical miles) in the Apostles through a variety of conditions can be considered nothing less than a treat. Devils Island is a magnificent destination, though its location on the outer edge of the archipelago, exposed to the big lake's wind and waves, make it an elusive goal. We often try to dance with Mr. D, but he can be a fickle partner, and the big lake always calls the shots in the end.

Weekend at Sea Kayak Georgia, April 3-4

2010-05-02T08:46:00.016-05:00

If you're going to be in Georgia for something that ends on a Thursday, it would be silly not to stop by Sea Kayak Georgia and take a class over the weekend, right? Well, actually that's probably what a friend of mine would call "vacation logic" (i.e., the logic may be suspect), but that's what I did.

SKG offers classes most weekends, and it turned out that this weekend, there was a BCU 3 Star training on Saturday and Sunday. Perfect! Ronnie was teaching it.

3 Star trainings don't follow a set curriculum, and you can't assume that if you go to the training you're ready for the assessment. The trainings are really just a chance to work with a coach on whatever he or she chooses to teach. At another training I did with a different coach, we spent most of the time working on towing.

Since I arrived on Thursday afternoon, I had a couple of chances to chat with Ronnie before the class started on Saturday, and at one point we talked about Cumberland Island, which I had just returned from. Ronnie said that once he had been leading a group across Cumberland Sound towards Fort Clinch, and after they landed a fisherman on shore called him over and said "See that great big shark out there? It followed you guys all the way across." Okay, right, processing that. I decided I was quite happy that we didn't see any great big sharks on our trip, thank you very much. Of course, later on I realized that none of us had been looking over our shoulders as we crossed...

On Saturday morning I met the other student in the class, a woman from Canada. Siobhan and I were well matched in terms of skill level. For the next two days, we worked our way through various skills, starting in calm water and then moving out. It was a neap tide, so the conditions weren't as big as at the symposium last fall.

Ronnie puts a big emphasis on skills, but not for the sake of the skill. His focus is really owning your boat and paddle, so that you can move the boat exactly where you want to, rapidly and efficiently, no matter what the conditions. Perfecting your technique is simply the means to that end.

After lunch on Little Tybee Island on Saturday, we were standing on the beach talking about towing. Suddenly Ronnie said "Is that guy out of his boat?" We turned around and I couldn't see anything definitive, but there had been a guy surfing in a kayak and we couldn't see him anymore. We decided to go out and check. I got launched first and was in the lead (I think Ronnie was intentionally letting us handle the rescue). Soon I could see that the guy was indeed out of his boat. When I pulled up next to him, I could see that he had an old style surf kayak with no bulkheads and no flotation. He was wearing a PFD, but no wet suit, and the water was about 58 degrees. We were easily half a mile from shore, and he was trying to swim his boat full of water in. He might have made it, but he might not.

Siobhan rafted up next to me and it took two of us to empty his boat out (we had to pull it across our decks and rock it, and it had no deck lines). I think Ronnie was helping on Siobhan's other side. We got the swimmer back in and, of course, as soon as his butt was in the seat he said "Okay, thanks, I'm good." Not. We stayed rafted up until he was sorted out with his spray skirt on, and then sent him on his way. He made a bee line for shore.

It was a good example of paying attention that Ronnie even saw the guy in the water, and when we debriefed after the rescue, Ronnie had also been watching how close we were getting to the surf. The offshore wind was blowing us out towards the breaking waves, and if we had gotten closer, he would have towed us back. I hadn't even been paying attention to the surf line, so lots of lessons to learn on that one.

The rest of the weekend we worked on more skills – figure eights, towing, a bit of surfing. Once after I capsized Ronnie asked "Nice roll, but what did you do before you rolled?" I mumbled something, and Ronnie said "You had time to take a breath and set up for your roll; why didn't you brace?" Hmmm. Good question.

At the end of the day on Sunday we did some out of boat work. Between the week on Cumberland and the two days of classes catching up to me, and the cold-ish water (even with a wet suit) and being in swells that I wasn't used to, I was surprised at how quickly I tired. I've never missed a re-enter and roll, and I missed three in a row. Also muffed a cowboy rescue. Oh, well. That's why we practice, right?

All in all, we learned a lot. Ronnie did a great job of teaching us where we were. If only I could do that every weekend.

Cumberland Island, March 27 - April 1

2010-05-02T08:39:00.016-05:00

Cumberland Island is a national seashore on a barrier island off the coast of Georgia, and until a few months ago, I'd never heard of it.

I had my eyes on Baja for a winter/spring kayaking trip. But Mike M. mentioned a Geneva Kayak Center trip to Cumberland in an email and a seed was planted. I took a look at the trip description, and it was more affordable than Baja. I talked to Ryan at GKC, and he said the Cumberland trip normally has a bigger range of conditions than Baja ("conditions" are kayak speak for wind and waves). It's got salt marshes on the west, live oaks and Spanish moss in the middle, and a 17 mile beach along the eastern shore, facing the open Atlantic. Wildlife includes feral horses, armadillos, and alligators. The trip would spend 5 days paddling around the island.

Before long, Cumberland Island had become my spring paddling destination. And at the end of March, seven of us gathered at the hotel in St. Mary's where we would spend the first night of the trip. Ryan from GKC was the trip leader. Mike was the assistant trip leader. Scott, Chris and Aaron were all affiliated with GKC in one way or another. Geoff was from the Philadelphia area. And me.

After boat packing and dinner, we gathered to talk tides and charts. I have a basic understanding of navigation and had collected tide and current information for each day of the trip, but it's a lot more real when you get down to day to day paddling details. How early do you need to get up in the morning to get to the launch site and be ready to launch just as the tide is turning so that you can catch the ebb tide as you paddle down the river? If you want to take a shortcut through the creek, and you know what the creek depth is, and you know that low tide is too low to travel the creek, when do you need to start (allowing for the effect of the tide on your rate of travel) to get there with enough water to get through?

We managed to hit the trifecta for early morning starts on the trip, getting up between 4 and 6 every day to get to where we needed to be with the tides and currents with us. I had noticed the tide schedule would favor early starts before the trip, but found myself thinking "we won't really have to start that early; we're on vacation!" But tides don't follow vacation schedules, so we were early risers.

On Day 1 of the paddling portion of the trip, we arrived at Crooked River State Park in plenty of time and got our boats and gear ready. As soon as the tide turned, we set off down the Crooked River. We crossed Cumberland Sound (part of the Intracoastal waterway), then paddled into the Brickhill River and stopped for lunch at Plum Orchard, which was the first of the three mansions we would see.

Thomas Carnegie (brother of Andrew) and his wife Lucy bought property on Cumberland Island in the 1880s, and built the family mansion (Dungeness) on the southern part of the island. Thomas died relatively young, and Lucy became the matriarch of a large clan and the social center of the island. As her children came of age and married, she built several of them mansions of their own. (Bachelor sons, however, did not get mansions.) Plum Orchard was the mansion built for son George. A volunteer park ranger gave us a tour. It was impressive, with cutting edge amenities for the turn of the century: refrigeration, electricity with DC current inside of wooden conduits, indoor plumbing that wouldn't look out of place today, indoor pool, squash tennis court. There were buttons to summon the servants, and of course, separate stairways for the servants. What really made the enormity of the family wealth sink in was realizing that this was a secondary residence, used only a few months a year.

After lunch and tour, we paddled on to our first campsite at Brickhill Bluff. It's interesting how names conjure up images in our minds. The bluff I imagined was much grander than the actual bluff, but it was still a fine campsite. We took a walk through the live oak woods before dinner. A grape vine was spotted and 3 of the guys jumped from a tree a la Tarzan to swing on it. At dinner we enjoyed the first of the delicious meals prepared by chef Ryan … fish and shrimp.

We put the tarp up over the "kitchen" before we went to bed, and the rain started during the night. Fortunately it had just about quit by the time we got up the next morning, and the rest of the trip was good weather.

Day 2 required an early start to get through Christmas Creek at high water and on the flood tide, so we were up at 4 and launched at 7. We took a shortcut through Mumford Creek, then were back on the Brickhill river.

The entrance to Christmas Creek was not obvious … we made our way through some reeds and eventually got to the point where the creek became well defined. The creek provided a shortcut to the Atlantic side of the island, allowing us to avoid paddling all the way north around the tip of Little Cumberland Island. With few landmarks to use to find our position in the salt water marsh, we used the hammocks (areas of high ground with trees growing on them) that were marked on the charts.

Just before Christmas Creek opened up into the Atlantic, we landed to take a break and hike over the dunes to scout our exit route. The creek was flowing out, the tide was ebbing, and there was an off shore wind, so creek, tide and wind were all moving east. The swells were coming from the east and pilling up on the sand shoal that stretched out from the creek entrance. The result was surf that seemed pretty big in a little kayak. We needed to turn south (right) as soon as we reached the Atlantic, and the main shoal was dead center as we left the creek, so the plan was to keep to the right to avoid the worst of the surf.

But things didn't go quite according to plan. With the current, tide, and wind all moving us east, the group unintentionally ended up in the center of the shoal, and paddling into the biggest breaking waves. You also want to hit the waves more or less head on, increasing the tendency to stay in the center.

I was towards the rear, with Ryan behind us, and he told those of us who were close to him to move right, which we did. It's always hard to estimate heights after the fact, but I think we were paddling up and over 5 foot waves where I was, and they were probably higher to my left. I made it out with a bit of an adrenalin rush but no other problems. Two of the folks who had moved farther to the center capsized. One rolled and the other was rescued. The good thing about the rescue situation was that wind, current and tide were carrying the rescuer and swimmer out, so by the time the swimmer was back in his boat, they were in calmer conditions. It would have been trickier if they had been carried into worsening conditions during the rescue. Mike had done the rescue, and mentioned that in the conditions, he would have liked someone to raft up next to him to help stabilize. Another lesson was that you need to be paying attention to the big picture, including the landmarks behind you, to know whether you're where you intended to be.

Regrouped and glad to be past the shoal, we paddled south, made our way through a second shoal, then stopped for lunch. Back on the water, we crossed a third shoal and stopped while those who wanted to spent some time surfing. It was perfect conditions … lots of green water, meaning the waves were big enough to surf on, but not breaking. Three of us opted not to surf, and hung out in the swells waiting.

Back underway, we proceeded to our Stafford Beach campsite. As we paddled, several of us struck firm but movable objects with our paddles, which we later learned were probably cannonball jellyfish. We saw pelicans gliding above the waves, the tips of the "wings" of numerous stingrays on the surface of the water, and several dolphins.

This was our longest day at 18 nautical miles (20.7 statute miles), and we were nicely tired by the time we landed. Some folks did a bit more surfing, but I was ready to call it a day (this was my second day on the water for the season), so enjoyed watching. Mike did an endo over one of the waves that was very impressive, though perhaps not intentional.

We had to carry our gear a good half mile to the camp area, but it was worth it. The campsite was lovely, nestled in a clearing in the live oaks which we promptly hung with drying gear. (When returning to the campsite after dark, it was easy to spot our camp with all its reflective tape.) And there were cold showers, which were most welcome.

That night we walked back down to the beach and watched the nearly full moon rising. The moon lit up a brilliant path straight towards us. It was also bright enough that the rest of the ocean was bathed in silver. As the swells approached the shore and started to pile up, the front of the waves were dark bands against the silver background of the ocean. When a wave would start to break, you would see the white foam on the top edge, and you could even see the white spray being blown back off the top of the wave by the wind and backlit by the moon.

And if that wasn't magical enough, on our left 3 horses appeared -- two adults and a foal. They wanted to cross to our right, and started walking along the beach in front of us. Just as they passed us, they got spooked and started running, and we could feel their hooves pounding on the sand.

It was hard to leave the beach that night.

Day 3 was a play/rest/wander day at Stafford Beach. In the morning we took a final opportunity to surf before the swells died away. This time I joined in and got some good coaching from Ryan. Try to keep your butt at the top of the wave so you have control. You want to avoid moving so far down the wave that your bow gets locked in, but stay far enough forward to remain on the wave. Steer away from the breaking wave and towards the green water. If you get caught in the break, you really have to commit to your brace. I was bracing the right way, but not hard enough, and eventually would get knocked over by a stray bounce (fortunately, I rolled every time). I still find it all much easier said than done, especially when I only do it once every 6 months.

Apres surf was a yummy brunch (individual omelets, fried potatoes and fresh fruit), then we split up for afternoon adventures. Geoff, Scott and I walked inland and took a look at Stafford House, a mansion that is still in use.

Dinner was individual pizzas with crusts made from yeast dough. That evening was the official full moon, and we went down to the beach again. We didn't see the moon at first since there was haze on the horizon. As an astronomy major, I was starting to feel personally responsible for the absence of the moon. Eventually we saw a lighter spot in the haze, and the moon suddenly appeared as a horizontal orange slice, with top and bottom still obscured by haze and clouds. As it rose above the haze, it whitened up. The surf was minimal at that point, so it was a lovely evening but not quite as magical as the previous night.

Day 4 we launched at 8 to get to the south end of the island by high tide. We had to cross a jetty, and needed high water to do so. We paddled easily along miles of sand beach, enjoying the day and the sun and the water and the dolphins and the birds.

I wasn't quite sure what the jetty would be like. Turned out to be a line of big, sharp, black rocks that didn't seem to be at all friendly to kayaks. We found a low spot and crossed one at a time, waiting for a swell to ride over the rocks. In between swells, the rocks were uncovered and looked eager to take a large bite out of a kayak.

Ryan tried a more challenging spot to cross and didn't quite make it. We were focused on our spot and heard a crunch to our right and saw his bow sitting up on a rock. We landed on the other side of the jetty to put a patch on his bow, but Explorers are tough boats and the damage looked superficial..

Then we crossed Cumberland Sound to the Florida side (half a mile or so) and landed below Fort Clinch, a brick fortress built before and during the Civil War. It was obsolete before it was completed. Preserved and renovated by the CCC during the 1930s, it's now a state park.

After eating lunch on the ramparts among the cannons and exploring the fort, it was time to cross back to Cumberland Island. This would be a trickier crossing. Coming over we were near slack tide. Going back, we were facing a 3 knot current from our left. Once we crossed the sound and started to head up the west side of the island, the ebb current would be directly against us, though it would be slowing as the afternoon went on.

We started trying to ferry across, but half way there we decided to accept the drift, get to the far side, and eddy hop against the current.

Working our way up the west side of the island, we stopped at Dungeness Mansion. It had burned in a huge fire in 1959, but even the ruins were impressive.

Then it was on to Sea Camp, where we would stay on our final night. We hung out while Ryan made sure there was a campsite available, then landed on the dock and carried our gear up. Like Stafford Beach, Sea Camp has a long walk between dock and campsites, but they had carts we could load our gear on.

Ryan prepared another yummy dinner, and for dessert an instant cheese cake that disappeared in less than 2 minutes after it was pronounced ready to eat. No plates were dirtied in the consumption of that cheesecake.

The morning of Day 5 we headed back up Cumberland Sound to the Crooked River park where we had started. At one point we watched a flock of birds (pelicans?) fly past us in a line. The bird in front stopped flapping its winds and started gliding, then the next bird, then the next bird, one after another. Then the lead bird started flapping its wings again, and the others followed one at a time just like fans in a stadium doing the wave.

And then … we were back at the launch site. We loaded the trailer, stopped for showers, and went out for lunch. Mike and Scott were kind enough to drop me at the Savannah airport on their way home.

There's always that moment at the beginning of a trip when you cross the line from anticipation into commitment to the adventure and whatever it brings. And there's always that moment of sadness at the end when you and your companions are saying goodbye and parting ways, and the adventure turns into memories. But memories and new friends are both good things. Until the next adventure…

Pictures are here

Sea Kayak Georgia Skills Symposium and BCU Week 2009

2009-10-29T08:09:00.017-05:00

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

2009-10-01T07:36:00.021-05:00

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!

2009-09-15T21:55:00.009-05:00

(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

2009-09-15T21:41:00.025-05:00

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

2009-08-10T08:32:00.034-05:00

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

2009-07-24T20:19:00.030-05:00

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

2009-07-13T20:12:00.015-05:00

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

2009-06-29T20:09:00.014-05:00

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

2009-06-28T20:07:00.012-05:00

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.

Windy City Symposium

2009-06-08T20:02:00.011-05:00

The Windy City Symposium was the first of 4 symposia I planned to go to over the summer, in Chicago IL, Washburn WI, Door County MI, and Grand Marais MI. Way too much driving, way too much carbon contribution, but the options to improve one's kayaking skills are few and far between, so you go where the opportunities are.

Windy City had almost been canceled due to low enrollment, but when all was said and done, they ended up offering all the classes I was most interested in, so I went ahead with the trip east.

The symposium started Friday morning, and I arrived at the Illinois Beach State Park campground Thursday evening. After setting up my tent, I went for a walk to unwind and spotted a brightly lit commercial building which I initially took to be the conference center that was located nearby, and later discovered that it was a retired nuclear plant. Odd, to say the least, to be camping near the foot of a nuclear power plant, retired or not. Down at the beach, I looked across the water in the haze, and it seemed as if the far side of the lake was just a couple miles away, but that was just an illusion. To the south the lights of Chicago lit up the sky. During the night, sounds of boats, trains, airplanes and highways drifted across the campground, making it an oasis in the midst of a very large urban area.

Friday was a day of forward strokes and boat control. We worked with Ben Lawry and Pete Tibenski in the morning, and added Pete Jones in the afternoon. I found that I was ever so slowly starting to get the torso rotation thing that they had been trying to explain at the IDW, as well as getting a somewhat more solid lean. Our first exercise was getting our legs out of our cockpits and pivoting around our boats, and the capsizes commenced almost immediately (I was fortunate enough to stay upright for this exercise).

Saturday was the BCU 3 Star training day. The BCU is the British Canoe Union, and they have 5 levels, denoted by stars. I had hopes and dreams of earning a 3 star award the next day. We spent Saturday working on towing and other skills in fairly rough water (2-3 foot seas).

Sunday morning we worked on rescue scenarios. Pete (the coach from Wales) had been the main instructor on Saturday, and was part of the instructor team on Sunday. When the plan was that we would work on towing again, he offered to work on bracing with me. We started with low braces, and I immediately noticed that his brace was relaxed and not rushed at all, while mine was a jerky slap. Unfortunately, before I got much farther I capsized (again, we were in 2-3 foot waves). After we got me back in my boat, we headed in to shore and Pete pulled my boat up on the sand and dug a hole that shaped the path the paddle was supposed to follow, and had me do my low brace into the hole and back out. Nice learning aid that he thought up on the spot.

At that point, I was pretty sure that I wasn't ready to do the BCU 3 Star assessment, and after our lunch break I headed up to tell the instructor that I was not going to participate. However, it appeared that there was only one other student, and you need 2 to run an assessment. So I decided to go ahead … that I would learn something no matter what, and it would be worth it to let the other student proceed. At the last minute the 3rd student showed up.

About half an hour into the assessment, the instructor said that none of us were ready for the assessment and offered us options: proceed with the assessment, switch to a training format, or hang it up. We opted to switch to a training format, and had a chance to learn some stuff in the wind and waves.

When the class ended, we packed up our boats and I headed home. I drove for a couple hours then stopped at a hotel for the night. I was one tired puppy, but I had learned lots and made several new friends. All in all, it was a great weekend.

Back to the Apostles over Labor Day

2008-09-03T22:07:00.019-05:00

On Friday morning, just a week after my first Apostle Islands trip, I had the wild and crazy idea of going back again this summer. I looked at the LAI schedule and saw that they had a 5 day/4 night trip over Labor Day that would head to Outer Island. Purely as a matter of curiosity, I sent an email off to find out whether there were any spaces left. (This was a bit like saying "Could I just look at the dessert tray?" I hadn't jumped in, but I was definitely sidling up to the water…)

The prompt reply came back that the 5 day trip had been cancelled, but that there was a 4 day trip with one space available over the same weekend.

I thought about it for the next day. The weather was supposed to be good, and I had really, really enjoyed the first trip. I was nicely in shape and ready to go. On the other hand, going back just two weeks later seemed extravagant. I had a long list of projects and tasks that needed doing. And most importantly, I wondered if a second trip could possibly be as wonderful as the first.

But as my brother pointed out, we usually regret the things we don't do, not the things we do, so the next day I called to sign up for the Labor Day trip. At that time, the planned itinerary was Oak, Otter, and Stockton. Not my first choices, as I had already been to two of those islands, but on the other hand, the Apostles are a place to return to over and over. As I registered I put in a plug for getting to Devils, and then spent the next week managing my eagerness to be under way.

Day 1
Labor Day weekend finally arrived. Everything about getting ready and getting up to Bayfield was much easier the second time around. I pulled into Bayfield on Thursday night with time to spare to listen to Obama's acceptance speech. The next morning, I felt like a regular at the Egg Toss café when I showed up for breakfast.

I headed off to LAI and was the first one from our trip to arrive. (Did I mention that I was pretty excited about this trip?) Met our guide, Joe Ko, who was the guide that Tom and Colin had on their trip in June. Also met the other participants as they arrived … a couple from Minneapolis who were avid outdoors folks and 3 young men from the Philadelphia area, where I had lived for many years. The three had been friends since middle school and high school, and had read about the Apostles in a National Geographic article a few years ago, and had decided they had to come. Marina and Adam (from Minneapolis) had been on a trip with Hovas (the guide from my previous trip), so there were lots of connections between us all from the beginning.

I was delighted to hear that our itinerary had changed since I had registered. Due to the fact that the Outer Island trip had been canceled and its campsites were available, Joe had cherry picked the best sites from those available for the two trips. We would now be going to Sand, then Devils, then back to York.

We packed up our gear (took me about a tenth of the time it had the first time), then headed off in the van to Little Sand Bay. We took the boats out to practice our wet exits, came back for lunch, loaded all of our gear, and were off.

We headed straight across to Sand Island, then paddled up the east side, Made a brief visit to the caves, though we would have a longer visit the next morning. Paddled around the lighthouse on the northeast corner, then around into Lighthouse Bay which faced north. Our campsite was on the west edge of the half moon bay. This may be my favorite campsite of all I've been to so far in the Apostles. The bay is much like the bay on York, although there is definitely a sense of being on a bigger island (on York, you can hear the waves on the shore of the far side of the island…) There's only one campsite on the bay, and there was only one sailboat anchored in the bay overnight, so it had a quieter feel to it. Joe, Adam and Marina and I pitched our tents right on the beach, while the other folks camped in the campsite in the trees.

As the sun set, we enjoyed the quintessential northern view of dark pine trees along the shore silhouetted against the darkening sky. The previous trip had been over a full moon. This time, two weeks later, there was no moon up, and we were treated to a sky full of stars that slowly appeared, starting in the east and then overhead and in the west as the sky darkened. I sat out each night of the trip and watched the sky before going to bed. No mosquitoes, perfect temperature. Saw one shooting star, and of course the Milky Way. From Sand, we could see lights of towns on the North Shore in the far distance.

In the morning, I got up early and walked to the east end of the beach and partway up the trail to the lighthouse. Turned around in time to get back for breakfast.

Day 2
On the second day we paddled back past the lighthouse, where we paused for a trip member to make a cell phone call in one of the few places in the islands with reception. Adam the polar bear went swimming. Back underway, we saw a pair of eagles, one immature, in a tree. We made another visit to the Swallow Point sea caves, and then crossed over to York. We had lunch on the beach there, then headed for Bear, saying hello to Raspberry as we passed it.

It was about 6 miles to Bear. When we got there we wanted to stop to get out and stretch our legs, but the west side of Bear proved to have limited landing sites. Most of the shore was steep bluffs, with rocky shores. As the bluffs slowly erode from the wind and waves, tall trees lose their footings and topple down the cliffs and into the lake.

We eventually found a spot where we could land, and enjoyed a break before heading on. The northern part of Bear has some thickly bedded sandstone, and while there were no caves big enough to paddle into, there were arches and massive slabs of rock that had fallen every which way, some on land, some which we could see in the shallow water.

From the northern edge of Bear we crossed over to Devils, where we landed in the small harbor. There was only one campsite up in the woods (ours), but there were several yachts moored in the harbor. We did a bit of good natured grumbling about the music coming from the yachts, but they quieted down before dark.

After setting up camp and having another splendid dinner cooked by chef Joe, we hiked up the trail to the north end of the island to look up at the lighthouse and down at the sea caves we would visit the next day. The friendly volunteer lighthouse keeper came down and chatted with us for a few minutes. He quickly put the kibosh on any thoughts of cliff jumping when Adam innocently asked a question about it.

We listened to a couple of owls call as we settled in for the night, and heard a loon in the morning.

Day 3
In the morning, we set off up the east side of Devils. There are sea caves all along the shore of the northern end of the island. From a paddler's point of view, it looks like there was a wedge of sandstone shoved over the northern end. As you paddle north, you start seeing a wider and wider band of sandstone emerging from the water. In some places, you can see a gray layer of sandstone over a reddish layer, representing two geological formations with very different characteristics. The gray sandstone is thickly layered; the red is finely grained and thinly layered. The intricate sea caves are carved into the red sandstone by the erosion of wind and waves and ice. During our visit the wind was calm, and we were able to paddle into and through the many of the caves. In one, all of us were able to gather with room to spare to listen to Joe's talk about geology.

Around Devils and back to the south end, we picked up our trip member who had chosen to skip the circumnavigation. Then it was back to Bear. We landed on a stone ledge where we had lunch, then headed on to York. A headwind picked up soon after we left Bear, and we definitely earned our dinner during the crossing through waves up to 3 feet high.

York was becoming fairly familiar by now (my third visit). While Joe started dinner, Adam and I practiced self rescues. After dark, we could see the red light from the Devils Island lighthouse flashing in the distance. There was another group of paddlers at the next campsite. They did a night paddle around the island and we saw them come back. Something to look forward to for another trip, after one knows the islands better.

Day 4
In the morning, Joe gave us a short lesson on J leans and braces after breakfast, then we headed back to the mainland and Little Sand Bay. Boats were unpacked, rinsed out, and loaded on the trailer. We had lunch at a picnic table at Living Adventure, then headed home.

And while the second trip was very different from the first, it was just as wonderful. Hopefully there are many more visits to come.

Addendum: I am officially hooked on the sport now, and have gotten a kayak of my own.

Apostle Islands Day 4: Sand Island and Home

2008-08-21T21:23:00.020-05:00

Sunday morning I watched the sky lighten from my tent and the sun rise. We got up early to break camp, and in the sand we saw the tracks of deer that had come down to the water during the night. Fortunately, though, no bear tracks.

Our morning plan was to paddle to Sand, see the sea caves, and then land on Justice Bay and have breakfast. We headed off, once again into a wind, once again getting bounced around a bit by the waves until we got into Sand's wind shadow.

A geologist is probably going to cringe at what I'm about to write, but here goes. The Apostles are made up of and shaped by 3 different forces. Sand and gravel laid down by ancient rivers a billion years ago has turned into sandstone. The glaciers that last receded 10,000 years ago carved the northern part of the continent over millennia and left behind the glacial till that makes up most of the surface of the islands, including the hills and bluffs. And the waves and ice and wind and rain and plants continually carve and erode and collapse and construct what remains.

A billion years ago, when the sandstone was laid down, life on earth did not include land plants.

There are a few places in the Apostles where the sandstone emerges and can be found on the surface. Where the sandstone lies at the edge of an island (most spectacularly on Sand, Devils, and a stretch of mainland), sea caves have formed as the waves and ice cut into that ancient rock, and many of the caves are large enough to paddle through. Having read about these caves before the trip, I was really looking forward to seeing them. I wanted to paddle through them and listen to the sound of the waves gurgling and slapping and echoing against the walls and rocks. To look out into the bright sunlight, surrounded by rock that had once been sand deposited on a river bottom a billion years ago. To look up at ripple marks on the ceilings that captured a moment of time on a long gone river. To wonder at the patterns of light and dark rock laid down by those rivers.

A bit of luck is required to get a close look at the caves, as you don't want to be in them with an onshore wind, but we were in the lee of the island, and I was delighted that we had the chance to see them.

After paddling through the caves, we headed around the corner to Justice Bay, landed, and had breakfast. The coffee was welcome, to say nothing of the world's most stick-to-your-ribs helping of oatmeal. We hiked to the Sand Island light house, walking through woods of silver birch, cyprus, and other trees. Along the way, we saw a couple of bald eagles soaring off the northern point of the island.

After returning to our kayaks, we launched to cross to Little Sand Bay back on the mainland. This time the wind was blowing across our beam, creating a different rhythm to paddle in than the headwinds we had previously faced. It picked up as we left Sand's wind shadow, and once again we got tossed around a bit more than one is used to paddling on Lake Calhoun, but the previous 3 days had sharpened our skills, and we were comfortable and confident in the waves.

We landed on the mainland, cleaned out our kayaks, and carried the boats and our gear up to the parking lot. Our guide had a conversation with a couple of folks who wanted to take their recreational sit on top kayaks out to "Sandy Island". She convinced them that this would be a really bad idea in the rough water, and persuaded them to head to the eastern side of the Bayfield peninsula, which was sheltered from the day's winds.

The Living Adventure trailer pulled up, and we and our boats and gear returned to our starting point. We unpacked, showered at the Rec Center in Bayfield, and re-grouped at Maggie's Restaurant for lunch. And then it was time to split up and head home.

Driving back to Minneapolis, missing the group I had bonded with for the last 4 days, I found the details and demands of my "normal" life slowly popping up and re-asserting their claims on my attention. Where a few days ago I could lose myself in the wonder of a bay on Rocky Island, I now found myself juggling what I had to deal with the next day and what could be postponed. Where I had been able to simply watch an eagle fly, or listen to a loon, or watch the waves as my kayak climbed over and through them, or revel in the joy of having been able to paddle for 4 days with ease, now I was remembering details I had left behind and putting them back into place.

But the Apostles will be there when I return. In the meantime, I've added the beaches on Rocky and York, the dock on Oak, and the sea caves on Sand to the places I take out and hold in my memory. I wonder if anyone is doing a night paddle in the Apostles tonight, and what direction the wind is coming from. I remember the lighthouses flashing in the dark, and I imagine the sun coming up on another group's kayaks. I wonder what the sea caves look like in winter, and what the bears and the eagles and the loons do when the people are gone. There are special places all over the world, but this one has touched my heart, and I will return.

Apostle Islands Day 3: To Sand?

2008-08-21T21:12:00.008-05:00

Overnight, the hissing and sighing of the waves on the sandy beach was replaced by the rush of wind blowing through the trees. In the morning, there was a high wind and weather passing by to the north and south. Although a more experienced group could have handled the wind, our decision was made for us – we weren't going anywhere until the wind eased up.

We went for walks and took pictures, We played cards … killer and spoons. Hovas let me try her boat, a Greenland kayak. We watched one of the sail boaters launch a small skiff with an outboard motor. We couldn't figure out why he kept zooming up and down the shore, but then we saw his dog running up and down the beach with him. Guess that's one way to exercise your dog. We were visited by a lone Canada goose who seemed to want to befriend us. We listened to the weather forecast on the radio (several times) and watched a storm pass over Bayfield to the south. I enjoyed just being there, on that island, with our group, on that day.

In the late afternoon the wind eased off. We quickly made and ate dinner, packed up, and started off to Sand about 6:30 PM. We stopped at Bear Island for a short break, then paddled on. We were traveling west into the setting sun, with the full moon rising behind us and Jupiter high in the eastern sky behind our left shoulders. First a yacht, then the schooner Zeto sailed across our path in front of the sun as it sank towards the horizon. To the south we could see heat lightning over the mainland. Shortly after the sun set, we passed Raspberry Island, and looked back at the lighthouse on its western shore flashing in the night.

Approaching York, we all put on our headlamps. It was wonderful to be in a group of 5 kayaks moving together in the dark, with the paddles steadily rising and falling, pushing on ever closer to York. Eventually the Sand Island light house came into view behind the far side of York. I thought I heard the call of a loon from across the water, though it could have been a gull.

There was some speculation that someone was pulling the island away from us as we approached it, but eventually we reached York. We were running out of gas and decided not to press on to Sand. We headed into the half moon bay, and a couple of kayakers who were camped on the beach apparently saw our headlamps bobbing in the waves and wondered what the heck we were. They were kind enough to shine a light at us, which helped guide us in.

It felt good to step out of our boats after the long paddle. Our campsite reservation was on Sand, so on York we ended up camping right on the beach. We built a small charcoal fire and made smores. Looking out from the bay, we could see the Devils Island light house flashing every 10 seconds about 8 miles to the northeast. I hadn't expected to see any lighthouses at night, based on our original itinerary, so seeing three in one night was quite a treat.

Apostle Islands Day 2: On to Rocky

2008-08-21T07:25:00.008-05:00

After our breakfast of eggs and fruit (and more pesto tortillas), we headed up the western shore of Oak, rounded the northwest corner, and landed on a beach for a short break before heading off to Otter. We saw a juvenile bald eagle (all gray) and then a mature one with its distinctive white head perched in a tree, and then as I walked up the beach, another eagle launched out of a tree right above my head and flew powerfully off.

The crossing to Otter was a fun and playful paddle in the light air. Near shore we could look 20 to 30 feet down, sometimes at underwater boulder fields, other times at sand with ripple patterns from the waves. Our guide instigated a squirt gun fight with our bilge pumps.

On Otter, we pulled into the beach, swam (briefly – the water was chilly, though not as cold as it was between the islands), and had lunch, then continued on to Rocky, where we landed on another beach. Dinner was burritos (with pesto tortillas, of course). (We had barely made a dent yet in our tortilla supply at this point, and were trying to give them away to other campers. They were perfectly fine tortillas -- it's just that there were about 60 of them, and 7 of us, and we found a half tortilla per meal to be ample. At that rate, we had a lot of tortillas to go.)

There was no bear box to store our food on Rocky, so we had to hang our food and other smelly items like toothpaste in a tree. "Where food lockers are not provided, hang the food cache in a tree away from the tent and at least 12 feet from the ground and five feet from the trunk." Doesn't sound hard, does it? Well, it didn't help that we had way too much food (Living Adventure made sure we and several of our closest friends weren't going to go hungry). We looped together all the dry bags containing food and toiletries, and with half of us pushing up the unwieldy bundle and half of us pulling the rope, we hoisted away. It didn't help that the only likely tree we could find was barely big enough to hold the weight. We nearly snapped it in two before we got the food up. It didn't help that we had somehow left the fruit bag hanging down 4 feet below the rest of the bags, and when we got the rest of the stash up into the tree, the fruit was swinging slowly back and forth at a prefect height for a hungry bear. It definitely didn't help when half of us collapsed in laughter, or when Sally started taking pictures. But we persevered, and while we wouldn't have gotten an A on our result, our food cache was technically hanging from a tree, if nowhere near 12 feet up. In the morning, it was still there, unscathed and uneaten.

There were 3 sailboats moored in the bay that night. They all had lights on at the top of their masts after dark, and as we looked across to other islands at night throughout the trip we could clusters of mast lights atop boats anchored in the bays and on lee shores.

That night we had a discussion about what to do the next day. Our next night's campsite permit was on Sand, several islands away. We could either go straight there (13 miles) or go there via the sea caves on Devils Island (20 miles). We didn't make a final decision, but agreed to get up early the next morning and see how the weather was.

Apostle Islands Day 1: Off to Oak Island

2008-08-20T21:54:00.010-05:00

The Apostle Islands are a group (or archipelago) of 22 islands on Lake Superior, just offshore from Bayfield, Wisconsin, and about 90 miles east of Duluth. I was about to begin a 4 day/3 night camping/kayaking trip, paddling from island to island. My brother and nephew had been up in the Apostles in June with their boy scout troop, and it sounded quite wonderful. My brother recommended the outfitter (Living Adventure), and I signed up for a trip shortly after they returned. I had looked for a 4 day trip over the a full moon in August, which just happened to coincide with Living Adventure's women only "Archipelago" trip. Fortunately, I qualified.

On the morning the trip started, I was excited and a bit apprehensive. I had been preparing for the trip for the last two months. Reading about the lake, the geology, the history. Building up my paddling. Tracing a map of the islands without the names to learn them. And yet ... I had been avoiding camping for a couple decades. How was that going to go? Would my 54 year old body that spent 5 days a week sitting at a desk hold up physically? Had I trained enough? Would that minor elbow pain get worse? What would the weather be like?

But the first day was gorgeous, and was an auspicious start to what turned out to be a truly magical trip.

We gathered at the Living Adventure facility just north of Bayfield at 8:30 on Thursday morning. There was Hovas, our guide. Mother and daughter Melissa and Becca. Friends Julie and Jodi. Sally from Milwaukee, and me. We collected our wet suits, life jackets and dry bags, packed our gear, and then headed out onto the water to practice our wet exits. After that we had lunch, and then we were off. The seven of us would be on our own for the next 4 days in two tandems and 3 single kayaks. We planned to spend the first night on Oak Island, the second on Rocky, and the third on Sand.

The first day's paddle was rough and mostly into the wind. I remembered how tired I had felt the first time I had been out kayaking this year, and was grateful that I wasn't tackling this paddle 3 months earlier.

We headed north along the coast of the mainland, into the wind and waves, ducking behind a dock to rest for a bit, and then later on making a landing on a beach for another short break. This was our roughest landing and launching of the trip, with an on-shore wind, and we picked up quite a bit of water just getting our spray skirts on and getting off the beach.

We paddled by the wreck of the Fedora, a 282 foot long wooden steam freighter that went down in 1901 after a kerosene lamp tipped over in its engine room. The entire engine room was soon engulfed in flames, while the ship continued to run at full throttle. With few choices, the captain headed the ship to shore and ran it aground. We could see the outline of the ship under the waves and a few places where it broke the surface.

At the closest point to Oak Island, we left the mainland and headed out into the lake. The north wind finally eased off when we got into the lee of the island, and we paddled up the west shore to Campsite 2 by the dock. We learned the drill of carrying our kayaks up, unloading them and securing them for the night, then carrying all the gear to our campsite.

Our splendid guide soon had a fire going and baked whitefish under way, and we had a lovely dinner of fish tacos. The pesto tortillas, in what would become a standing joke, would be with us for several more meals. In fact, I think the wraps we had for lunch were pesto tortillas.

We went to sleep listening to the waves slosh and gurgle against the rocks just below our campsite. The next morning was another beautiful day, this time with little wind, and we stretched on the dock and picked thimble berries before heading off to Rocky via Otter.

Valparaiso

2008-03-16T14:57:00.004-05:00

On Thursday, Becky, Janet and I took the public bus to the port city of Valparaiso.

Valparaiso is a tangle of houses and stairs and alleys and streets and "ascensors" (funiculars) that spread from the narrow stretch of flat land along the coast up the steep hills. There are some magnificent stone and wood mansions built by old money, and lots more modest houses covered with corrugated metal and (if recently renovated) painted in a variety of colors. Lots of dogs, lots of graffiti.

The hosts of Janet's and Becky's bed and breakfast recommended a Valparaisan guide named Michael. He is originally from Germany, but has lived in Valparaiso for 3 or 4 years. If ever there was a city where you needed a guide, it is Valparaiso. Michael took us over and around the hills and in and out of buildings and through narrow alley ways and up and down stairs. He took us into the British volunteer fire company, and the German club (where there was a bust of Kaiser Wilhelm!), and into a building that was being renovated and provided a glimpse into the life of a wealthy family in an era long gone, and into a local pub for lunch and dozens of other places, pulling out black and white photographs showing what things looked like 50 or 100 years ago.

Like Punta Arenas, Valparaiso benefited from the California Gold Rush and was hurt badly by the Panama Canal. And like San Francisco, there was an earthquake here in 1906. Today the place is a UNESCO World Heritage site. There has been a lot of development and renovation in the past 12-15 years, and as is not at all surprising, those who have benefited by the tourism and renovation boom are pleased with it, while those who have not don't like it.

The municipal infrastructure was never well built and is showing its age. Michael said that were were house fires (often started by electrical problems) almost every week, and a gas main had exploded in the last few months.

Alas, this was where Becky's camera got stolen by a pair of smooth pick pockets, along with all her trip pictures.

After a long day of tramping the hills of Valparaiso, we headed back to Santiago on the bus and had dinner at a lovely tapas bar/restaurant.

Back to Santiago

2008-03-13T06:10:00.008-05:00

We left Puerto Varas early in the morning to drive to the airport in Puerto Montt, which was a good thing because the main road was closed due to a wild fire and we had to take a stop and go alternative route. Apparently there have been a lot of fires lately due to an unusually dry summer.

We said goodbye to our wonderful guide at the airport, then had a leisurely cup of tea as our flight to Santiago was delayed for an hour due to bad weather in the previous stop.

After leaving, we had a stop in Concepcion, so we ended up getting fed twice on two short hops. The first time was tasty butter cookies with orange juice, and the second time was 3 tiny bite-sized sandwiches with toppings, with a truffle for dessert. Airline food is not particularly noteworthy, except that I'm always amused by the contrasts with the $5 box of stale cheese and crackers that you have the option of buying in the States if you aren't on a flight that serves a meal.

We were flying up the coast with the Andes Cordillera on the right and the ocean on the left. The mountains seem to go on forever. Most are "typical" mountains, but there are quite a few distinctive volcano cones scattered about.

It occurred to me as we landed in Concepcion (banking tightly in over the airport and stopping very quickly on what must have been a short runway) that it's probably more "interesting" to be a pilot in this area than in the States.

After landing in Santiago, we headed to our hotels. After settling in, I wandered to a park that had a number of very interesting sculptures and was also used by people of different ages and backgrounds for different purposes. The younger set was there with their mothers and having a grand time climbing trees and playing in sand areas and such. The adolescent set was seriously making out. The older couples were walking and talking. The tourists were taking pictures. Something for everyone.

Santiago has a Mediterranean climate (hot dry summers, cool wet winters) and is tucked in between the mountains and the sea. It's one of the smoggiest cities in the world because the smog gets trapped in front of the mountains. There is enough money to generate a lot of pollution but apparently not enough to do much with catalytic converters and such.

The areas we have visited have gotten progressively more prosperous and "modern" as we have headed north, perhaps partly because of the increasing level of natural resources available. I picked up an interesting book on Patagonian history and read that it took 300 years for successful settlements to start taking root because the land and climate were so harsh. The book also had an interesting comment on Spain and how it used the gold from the new world: "The affluence of gold could also be appreciated in commercial exchanges between countries: for example, Spain purchasing manufactured goods from Holland, France, England and Italy. These countries furnished Spain with all sorts of merchandise, and strengthened their manufacturing industries in exchange for the gold which Spain thought would last forever. Thus, Spain chose good living and luxury while the other countries emphasized their working abilities and production." Wonder how the history of the U.S. and the world will be told a hundred years from now...

Was people watching as I was having dinner. In a land that is supposedly very macho, there are probably more women drivers than men (at least on one street at one hour in Santiago) Very few American cars, and those pretty much all trucks. Mostly small cars.

We've had 2 women guides and 1 male guides, and all were non-Chileans - one from Peru, one from Turkey, one from Canada. Cynthia (our main guide) said that there weren't that many young people from this area who could guide and speak English well.

Tomorrow (Thursday), Becky, Janet and I head to Valparaiso on the bus.

Hiking on Volcan Osorno

2008-03-12T08:45:00.004-05:00

The Osorno Volcano is an immense, perfect cone shaped mountain rising up from the lake across from our cabanas. The top is snow-covered at this point (early fall), and is part ice field and part glacier. After looking at this behemoth towering over us for 3 days, we finally got a chance to climb up it.

Climb shouldn't be taken too literally, though. We took a van up to a ski resort and then started hiking. It was a short hike (only 3 hours), but we went up about 1500 feet or so, and were high enough to see the ranges of mountains stretching away into the distance. The lake the cabanas were on was covered in fog and clouds, and there were clouds over a lot of the valleys, but the peaks were clear and the sky was blue. Clouds were curling over the top of Osorno in quite a magical way. The last time Osorno erupted was in the 1820's, although it is definitely still active, as are the other 2 volcanoes in the area. The trail, such as it was, was over loose volcanic scree. It was a great chance to get a sense of how mountainous the area is.

After coming back down, we left our cabanas and drove back along the lake to Puerto Varas, about 15 km away. This is another heavily German influenced town. We wandered around the town for a few hours, then had our last dinner together. In the morning we return to Santiago. By chance, 3 of us are staying in the same area in Santiago after the trip. Sounds as if two of the other folks will join me in an expedition to Valparaiso on Thursday.

Sea kayaking on Relonkavi Fjord

2008-03-12T08:42:00.011-05:00

The group cooked a fabulous barbecue last night (steak with a wonderful marinade, roasted potatoes, salad, and home-made from scratch brownies). My stomach was still not happy, so I had mostly potatoes, but it was still good. We had a "parrot flyover" while eating dinner, as about 4 green parrots buzzed us while heading into the trees.

Today (Monday) we went sea kayaking on Relonkavi Fjord. It was warm and sunny and calm. We paddled about 15 kilometers in single kayaks, with the tide, with a stop for lunch mid way. As one would expect (given that fjords are carved by glaciers), we were in a steep valley with a series of forested hills and peaks rising on either side. It was amazingly quiet. We could hear roosters crowing up and down the valley, as well as other strange and wonderful birds, and if a car went by on the road you could hear it.

This is a good place for salmon farms (if any place can be said to be a good place for salmon farms, given their environmental impact) because the temperature is apparently ideal. Chile is the number 2 salmon farming country in the world, behind Norway, and will probably overtake Norway in a few years. Also lots of mussel farms, which don't have such a negative impact.

We are now back at our cabins and have started tonight's barbecue. One of our trip members is an amazing cook. We're having brined, marinated, baked, and then roasted chicken, roasted potatoes, a Chilean corn and cheese dish, a raspberry sauce he is making from black raspberries we picked at lunch, and smores. I think there was some salad mentioned too. I'm not completely over my stomach ailment, but am better.

Haven't decided what to do about tomorrow's hike. My right knee is definitely bothering me, but I don't have to decide until tomorrow.

Rafting in Ensenada

2008-03-12T08:41:00.006-05:00

Today is Sunday and it's a beautiful sunny day with hardly a cloud in the sky. I'm sitting in my cabin looking out at Osorno Volcano, a perfect cone shaped mountain topped with snow. The cabins are on a large lake called Lago Llanquihue (sounds somewhat like Yankee Way). It's a huge lake -- about 330 square miles. It's the end of the tourist season here, with fall approaching and school starting, so it's quiet, but normally these cabins are packed and there are kids playing soccer on the home made soccer field and swinging on the wooden swings. Temperature today is in the mid to high 60s.

The rest of the group went for a bicycle ride today, but I passed. Wasn't sure whether I'd go because of my knee, although I probably would have started in any case and just switched to the truck that was trailing the group if my knee was too bad. However, I ended up with a rather unhappy stomach last night and it has persisted into today, and I thought I should not stray too far from a bathroom.

Yesterday we flew up from Puerto Arenas to Puerto Montt, then drove to Ensenada. We dropped our things and headed off for our raft trip down the river. First step was the safety briefing. We learned what to do if we got knocked out of the boat and what to do if the boat tipped over. For some reason, the group was very quiet after that. I was wondering if I really wanted to do this. But the trip was actually quite tame. The rapids were theoretically Class 3, but the water level was low and they were barely that, according to someone who had done some rafting before. However, the chance to spend the time on the Petrohue river was wonderful. It was cloudy and misty and the river cut through black volcanic rocky soil of the Vicente Perez Rosales national park, winding through volcanoes and mountains amid a beautiful forest. The rocks on shore were covered with moss in different colors. The tops of the mountains were covered with clouds, and it was a bit like a Japanese wood cut print. The water was gray green glacier water. It was raining/misting, which didn't really matter since we were wearing wet suits, and two of us jumped into the water anyway. All in all it was a wonderful chance to see the countryside.

Ensenada seems a bit more prosperous than Punta Arenas or Puerto Natales. Fewer houses badly in need of paint; more houses having a sense of tidiness.

Tonight and tomorrow night we have a barbecue. Tomorrow is the kayak day and it's supposed to be another lovely day.

Torres del Paine National Park

2008-03-07T20:20:00.013-06:00

Wow. What an amazing week. Last Sunday our group met in the lobby of the hostel. Four women and one man make up the participants. Our guide is a delightful young woman from Peru.

While I was eating breakfast that morning I started talking to the only other person in the room, a man in his 30s who had just been in Torres del Paine park and was headed down to Tierra del Fuego. Taking the bus and camping. He was from Germany and was taking a month long vacation. Good role model for us Americans, both for taking an entire month of vacation and for hiking and busing.

Anyway, back to the trip. Luis (our driver for the trip to Torres del Paine) pulled up in a van shortly after we gathered and we all piled in to head north to Puerto Natales, the jumping off point for the Torres. We first headed off to the Sego Otway penguin colony. It was about 20 miles along the way to Puerto Natales, then about 15 miles along a dirt road. The countryside is relatively flat and dry, and not exactly what you would think of as penguin territory.

When we arrived to the penguin colony, we walked along a path for half a mile of more dry grass and low brush. We started to see lots of penguin burrows scattered about, and several penguin trails, and one can only imagine the number of short little penguin steps needed to waddle from sea to burrow and back to create these trails. The human path crossed one of the penguin trails on a bridge, and there was a sign saying don't loiter on the bridge since it will keep the penguins from returning to their burrows. Near the beach there was a wooden blind so that we could watch the penguins resting on the beach without disturbing them.

There were only a handful of penguins actually in their burrows, and maybe 30 or 40 on the beach, and the rest were at sea. The ideal time to visit a penguin colony is apparently either at dawn or at dusk, when the penguins are heading out to sea or returning, but that didn't work with our schedule. In any event, it was a treat to see them and I'm inspired to watch The March of the Penguins. This bunch was molting, so they were a bit scruffy and there were feathers all around.

After we left the penguin colony, we spotted lots of other wildlife, including nandu (an ostrich-like bird), guanaco (a wild animal related to the llama and alpaca), fox, flamingos, and skunk.

We got to Puerto Natales late Sunday afternoon. Puerto Natales is on Ultimo Esperanza Sound (Last Hope Sound, named when navigators looking for a passage tried one last sound.) The town was formerly focused on the sheep (mutton) industry and fishing, but now is also a tourist town, serving people visiting the Torres del Paine park and paddling the fjords. It's also the end point of cruises down the coast from Puerto Montt.

After a wonderful dinner of Chilean fare, we headed off to sleep to rest up for our big hike.

In the morning we met our local guide for the mountains, a young man from Turkey. Another wonderful guide, he spoke fluent Spanish and English and was more on top of English literature than I am.

We left everything we didn't need for the hike in the hotel, and the only thing I forgot was the spare battery for my camera, so I was somewhat sparing on pictures on the hike. More sparing than I needed to be, but c'est la vie. I'm sure the group will share.

After arriving in the park at mid morning we finally headed out on the first leg of the "W" hike. The term "W" comes from hiking up 3 valleys. The first day we hiked up to Refugio Chileno where we would spend the night. We dropped our packs in our room, and then headed up to the Torres, three granite spires that rise up out of a lake. (The picture at the top of the post is the Torres.) The final kilometer or so was up a boulder field, which was difficult walking and probably contributed to a very sore right knee by day four, but it was well worth it. We also saw a condor along the way, and he was actually underneath us so we could see the white feathers that are on the top of his wings. The first day's hike was about 14 K.

We learned that this area is not part of the Andes ... it's only about 13 million years old, compared to 50 - 80 million years old for the Andes. As was the case in North America, the whole southern part of South America was covered by glaciers during the last ice age that carved and shaped the terrain.

Day 2 we contoured around Lake Nordenskjol, with the changing lake opening up on our left and the mountain peaks on our right. Our destination was Refugio Los Cuernos, with a total hike of about 13 K. The lake was so big that it was sun dappled, as areas where the sun was shining through the clouds were a different color than where the clouds were hiding the sun. There were at least two levels of clouds ... a constantly moving low level that often scraped the mountain peaks and squeezed through the passes, and a high level that appeared motionless. We saw several local birds thanks to our alert trip members, including a Magellenic woodpecker tapping away on a dead tree. As we neared the end of the hike, we saw Los Cuernos, another amazing set of peaks. These are granite on the bottom with darker sedimentary rock on top, giving them a very distinctive and unique appearance.

Day 3 was a long hike, about 18 K. We headed up the French Valley to a lookout over a hanging glacier. We saw and heard pieces of the glacier break off and rumble down the mountainside. Then we headed back down the valley and on to Refugio Paine Grande, where we spent the third night of the hike.

We had fabulous weather all 4 days, but midday on day 3 the famous Patagonian winds started to blow. Easily up to 80 kilometers per hour. The wind would pick up the spray off the tops of the waves on the lake and swirl it around, or suddenly slam into a nearby tree. If you didn't want to use trekking poles to walk or to keep your balance crossing streams, there were still almost a necessity in the wind. On a previous trip, someone had actually gotten knocked over by the wind.

Day 4 we were supposed to hike up to Grey Glacier and take a ferry back. Unfortunately, when we were about 3/4 of the way there, we found out (via the guide's radio) that they had canceled the ferry due to the wind. My knee was quite sore by then and I would have been very pleased to take the ferry as opposed to backtracking (the planned 11 K hike turned into 15 K hike in a howling wind), but it all worked out.

The amazing thing about the park was that every direction you looked and every mountain and glacier you saw was different and unique and wonderful. I'm fading tonight, so am not doing this hike justice by any stretch of the imagination. But it's time for bed.

Just to bring things up to date, we got back to Puerto Natales last night. Spent this AM wandering around town (typical hardscrabble tourist town -- lots of hostels and outfitters and cyber cafes and entrepreneurs trying to make a living.) We then caught a public bus back to Punta Arenas, where we stayed in the same hotel. As we were leaving for dinner, the German tourist I had seen last Sunday arrived back at the hotel from Tierra del Fuego. Good to see him. Sounds like that's another great place to go.

Tomorrow we leave at 6:00 in the morning to catch a plane to Puerto Montt. We'll take a bus to our cabins in Ensenada, then go rafting. After that it's a day of biking, then kayaking, then a hike up the Osorno volcano, then back to Santiago on Wednesday.

Sorry for the rushed post; will try to be more coherent with the pictures.

Saturday in Punta Arenas

2008-03-01T17:16:00.004-06:00

Today wasn't quite what I'd planned, but then the entire trip hasn't started quite the way I'd planned. I had fantasies of having become far more fluent in Spanish, of having been reading the local news websites (in Spanish, of course), and being far more fit. But, while I hate to paraphrase Rumsfeld, you go on vacation as you are, and it all works out.

Today was a full day on my own in Punta Arenas. I had found a number of websites of local tour companies that offered day trips in the area, and thought that my biggest challenge would be deciding what to do (kayaking, visiting the island with more than 100,000 penguins, going to a national park with different terrain and history than we'll be seeing in Torres Del Paine, and a host of other options.) Most places require a minimum of two people, but I assumed I'd be able to tag along with SOME other group. When I checked earlier this week, there were no groups running. But I thought the public ferry to the penguin island would be a perfectly wonderful fall back option. Unfortunately, they canceled today's ferry trip to the island because it was too windy.

So I spent the day wandering around Punta Arenas. This is a city of about 116,000 on the Strait of Magellen, about 53 or 54 degrees south latitude. It relies on fishing, petroleum, shipping, duty free retail, and tourism. It was founded in the first half of the 19th century, in time to serve as a major shipping point during the California gold rush (as was Valparaiso, which I hope to visit when I'm in Santiago.)

One of the things I've noticed about the city is the dogs. A small thing, perhaps, but the dogs here are extremely self possessed. At home, a dog is on a leash, or in a yard, or, in rare cases, has escaped and seems to be aware of the short duration of his or her grand adventure. The dogs here seem to be full fledged citizens. They go where they wish and hang out where they wish, and to them, we're just another passerby.

I'm also finding myself very aware of what I'm eating and drinking. The travel clinic said "Drink only bottled water!" Active South America and the travel book I have both said that tap water was safe, so I decided to believe them, but it's a little nerve wracking. Getting sick in the mountains isn't appealing. But so far so good.

I met one of the people on the trip this evening. A woman from Boston named Margaret. She seemed to know all the people on the trip -- asked "Are you from Minnesota?" She said there were two other women and a man, for a total of 5 people. We join up tomorrow at 12:30. At that point we head off to a different penguin colony (only 15,000 penquins) and then to Puerto Natales, and Monday morning we start our 4 day hut to hut hike in Torres del Paine national park.

Arrived Safely in Punta Arenas

2008-02-29T17:20:00.002-06:00

It's Friday night and I arrived safely in Punta Arenas a couple of hours ago. It's dark, so I didn't do much sight seeing. I'm definitely finding that being in a country where you don't speak much of the language feels a lot more foreign than New Zealand or Norway did. But everyone is friendly, and between my Spanish and their English, we seem to get by just fine.

Carthew Alderson Hike

2007-09-07T23:31:00.000-05:00

We took an easy hike on Thursday (only about 5 km) to give our knees a break before Carthew Alderson. The weather had also been forecast for rain, and the shuttle that the local outfitter's store ran to the trailhead was cancelled. Thursday turned out to be gorgeous weather, but we needed the day off, so it was just as well we didn't do the big hike.

Friday was cloudy in the morning, but not raining. We took the shuttle with about 6 other people, and ended up hiking with a couple from British Columbia. The weather was fine for the first half of the hike, which is where all the views were. It started raining on our way down, but it was fine for hiking.

The hike was wonderful. 11.8 miles, 2,297 feet elevation gain and 3,150 feet loss. Lots of completely different types of terrain, from mature forest to sub alpine forest to lake shore walks to desolate summits to cirques, and views of entire horizons of mountains.

After returning to Waterton Lakes, we had dinner with our hiking friends and drove down to East Glacier. We haven't decided what to do on Saturday. Depends on the weather and how our knees feel.

Waterton Lakes

2007-09-05T22:49:00.000-05:00

Today we started with a trip from Waterton Lake in Canada down the lake to Goat Haunt in the US. Boat was built on the lake 80 years ago. They built it right on the lake, on the US side so that it could be registered as a US vessel. The boat was built at the same time as the great hotels served by the trains.

Goat Haunt can only be reached by boat or by hiking in.

After the boat trip and lunch we went to Cameron Lake and rented a kayak. Paddled to the headwall of the cirque (sp?) lake and saw a moose.

Then we drove to Red Rock Canyon. Saw a couple of black bears on the hills above the highway.

Was hoping to do a big hike tomorrow, but they're talking about a 70% chance of rain. We shall see. It's been good weather until now.

Days 3 and 4 - Many Glacier

2007-09-04T22:07:00.000-05:00

Monday we arrived in Many Glacier, where there's a wonderful old lodge built back when they tried to entice people out to the park on the train. We decided to give our knees/legs a break and went horseback riding instead of hiking.

Tuesday we hiked about 9 miles to Iceberg Lake, then headed up to Waterton Lakes.

Day 2 - Siyeh Pass

2007-09-03T08:13:00.001-05:00

On Sunday we hiked over Siyeh Pass.

"One of the best point to point hikes in the park. Over a high elevation saddle with glaciers and alpine tundra flowers, Siyeh Pass loops 10.5 miles from Siyeh Bend on Going-To-The-Sun Road to Baring Creek. The trail wanders through Preston Park, with one of the most colorful collections of wildflowers as it circumnavigates Going-To-The-Sun Mountain. Piegan and Old Sun Glaciers gleam in the sun, and bighorn sheep often browse in the upper slopes."

"Siyeh Pass is accessed via the Piegan Pass trailhead which is located at the Siyeh Bend on the Going-to-the-Sun Road - 15 miles west of St Mary and 3 miles east of Logan Pass. Of the more than 700 miles of trail in the park, few can beat the climb to Siyeh Pass, an area that boasts some of the Park's most dramatic mountain landscapes."

We saw a wolverine as we were approaching the pass. There was a couple hiking about a hundred yards ahead of us, and we saw them pointing at something, and we looked over and saw a big animal loping away from us. It was about two hundred yards away when we saw it, but the couple ahead of us saw it at much closer range, and clearly saw the racoon faced head. There are apparently about 45 wolverines in the park, and seeing one is very unusual.

We also saw mountain goats sunning on a ledge and a couple of birds -- maybe ptarmigans?

This was a "strenuous" hike. We were nicely tired at the end of the hike. The trekking poles are very nice on the downhills of the hikes (I'm not using them going up), and when the wind is howling and blowing hard enough to knock you over.

Arriving in Glacier and the Highline Trail

2007-09-01T23:11:00.000-05:00

Taking the train out to Glacier was quite fun. We popped for a "roomette", which was basically the size of two bunk beds. The lower bunk slides apart into two seats facing each other, while the upper bunk folds up and out of the way during the day. It was much smaller in person than it seemed on the Amtrak website, but it worked just fine, and even though we didn't sleep soundly, we were a whole lot more comfortable than the people we saw trying to find a way to sleep sitting up in the coach chairs. We also got 3 good meals and a free wine tasting as part of the deal. We had a great time talking to people, either in the club car or at the meals. And although we left Minneapolis an hour late, we arrived in East Glacier on time.

We drove up to St. Mary (40 miles, about one hour) the Friday night. Today (Saturday) we took the park shuttle along the Going to the Sun Road and hiked the Highline Trail. It was about 11.6 miles. In theory it was a moderate hike, without a lot of elevation change. We saw big horn sheep, deer, marmots and pikas. The park is beautiful, and we'll have good weather for at least a couple more days.

Arriving in Geilo, Norway

2007-06-29T10:08:00.000-05:00

We arrived in Geilo yesterday (Thursday) after flying to Chicago, then Stockholm, then Oslo, then taking a bus to Geilo. We're staying at the Dr. Holm's hotel, a wonderful 100 year old former sanitorium built by a doctor to allow TB and asthma patients to breathe the champagne mountain air. 127 rooms, pool, amazing book filled library, lots of art, wonderful food. Today we walked up to Geilo Toppen, which was a hike to the top of a ski hill and lunch. Then it turned out that the top of the ski hill opened up to an amazing plateau. There's still snow in a few patches, and in fact we won't know til tonight whether we will be able to do the planned hike due to snow.

Group is great and all are having a good time.

12/2/06: Hobart and Home

2006-12-02T04:11:00.000-06:00

Today I spent the day playing tourist in Hobart. In the morning I headed down to Salamanca Market, an open air market held every Saturday. Vendors were selling wood carvings, used books, jewelry, chess sets, meat pies, baked goods, T-shirts, children’s toys, plants, honey, jams, photography, felt hats, crocheted scarves, lead soldiers, woolen products, lavender products, wind chimes, fossils, glassworks, and lots more. Lots of musicians, including a group with someone juggling flaming torches. And lots of people to talk to. One vendor was probably in his mid 60s and had been born in England. Had strong feelings about war, Bush, Blair, and John Howard (Australia’s PM). About 30 years ago, he had set out in a truck from England and spent 3 years driving through Europe to the Middle East and Afghanistan and India and China and Burma and to Australia, and I don’t remember where else. That's definitely a journey you couldn't do today. I also met someone who was selling some beautiful photography of some of the areas I’d been (much better than mine), but it was a bit too expensive.

The day alternated between brief showers and sun, so it was put the sunglasses on, take the sunglasses off. Put the rain jacket on, take the rain jacket off. Typical Tassie weather.

I walked back up to my B&B after making a number of purchases and packed my gear, wanting to find out if I needed to purchase another bag. (No, everything fits.) Then I spent the rest of the day wandering around Hobart. Had a delicious dinner at a restaurant where the host came out to each table and guest and explained every item on the menu and how it was prepared. Everything sounded so good it was hard to decide what to pick!

And then it was back to the B&B for the evening, getting ready to leave tomorrow. What an incredible month this has been. New Zealand, with its mountains and kayaking, unique places to stay and a great group to travel with. The Overland Track in Tassie, which was an amazing journey in a time when most of us don’t have the chance to spend 6 days walking with another wonderful group of people. A week on my own wandering around a beautiful country with a lot of history. The weather wasn’t always cooperative, but that’s the way the weather is in this part of the world at this time of the year. They call it the Roaring Forties, for the latitude. (Head south towards the Antarctic and you'll find the Furious Fifties and Screaming Sixties.)

I have been impressed by the Kiwi and Tassie people I’ve met. They have been self reliant and good natured, and have a deep love for their respective islands. People on both islands seem from the outside to have a lower level of gratuitous consumption than the US, which is a good lesson for us. They’ve managed to avoid many of the more egregious habits of the US, such as billboards and (to a large extent) mega mansions. Although there are huge ongoing battles with respect to the environment in Tassie (and some of the battles have been lost, such as damming rivers and logging old growth forests), much has been protected. Both countries are proud of their environment and their high quality local produce and cheeses and wine and chocolates and other products, and love to introduce their guests to these items.

It has been a very special time, and I’m grateful that I had the opportunity to take a trip like this. As I’ve traveled, I’ve also pondered the environmental impact of traveling. One of the things we learned on the REI trip is that starting in 2007, REI is going to be carbon neutral. That means (among other things) buying carbon offsets for its Adventure travel. Given the high environmental impact of plane travel, that’s something I’m going to look into when I get home. I don't think carbon offsets will "solve the problem" of global warming, but they are part of the search for answers.

Thanks to anyone who’s still reading this for coming along. I’ve enjoyed sharing my journey with my family and friends. Here’s to sharing our many journeys yet to come. Cheers!

Today's pictures are here.

12/1/06: Hobart to Bruny Island

2006-12-01T04:58:00.000-06:00

With kayaking a no go due to the weather, I ended up going out to Bruny Island. On the way, I stopped by the Australian Antarctic Division Headquarters. The facility was mostly devoted to offices and research, but they had a few exhibits focused on the science they were doing. It was interesting to listen to video of several scientists talking about their work.

Then it was on to Kettering, a small marina with lots of sailboats and yachts, at which one gets on the ferry to Bruny Island. The island is quite rural and is made up of two big pieces of land joined by a very narrow isthmus. One side of the isthmus is a long curving white sand beach, on which there is a penguin rookery. Since the penguins are at sea during the day, there were no penguins to see while I was there.

The ferry lands on the north end of Bruny Island, and you drive around to the south end on paved and gravel roads, all narrow and winding. I went to Adventure Bay on the southeast corner of the island. Abel Tasman spotted this bay in 1642 but couldn’t land due to gale force winds. Captain Cook and Captain Forneaux left England in 1772 to explore the area and became separated in the southern seas. Forneaux found the bay again and named it Adventure Bay, after his ship. Cook returned in 1777 with William Bligh as his sailing master, and Bligh returned again in 1788. So there is a lot of documented history in this little bay, to say nothing of the unknown history we walk across unknowing wherever we travel.

Lots of whaling took place at the bay until the crash of the whale populations. It’s said that the ocean floor around the bay is littered with whale skeletons. (Not sure if that’s poetic license or not … don’t know how long a whale skeleton would last at the bottom of the ocean…)

From the south end of Adventure Bay I took a hike along the shore, then up to Fluted Cape. Beautiful sunny day, lovely hike. Fluted Cape has about 4 of the vertical columns that are similar to those on Tasman Peninsula. People fairly regularly climb the ones on Tasman, so I assume they climb these as well. After the hike I returned past Bligh's Creek, Captain Cook Creek, and a sign where Captain Cook's tree once stood (complete with his carved initials), then headed back to the ferry.

I had passed a chocolate factory on the way to Adventure Bay and thought I would stop on my return if I had time, but alas, when I returned the place was closed.

Back in Hobart, I headed down to Salamanca Street looking for dinner. Saturday morning there’s a huge market there, which I’ll go to tomorrow. But tonight only the restaurants were open, and I just wandered around and people watched. It’s nearly full summer here, so everyone was walking around in shirtsleeves, and it’s light until 8:30 or so. I listened to a bagpipe band that was fundraising. Seven pipers and two drummers, all in kilts, plus several people walking around selling raffle tickets for a bottle of scotch. (I didn't ask what kind of scotch...) The band was quite good, but I did a double take when they started playing Jingle Bells. Yes, it was nearly December, but on bagpipes? When it was summer and shirtsleeve weather?

One more full day, and then it’s time to go home. In some ways I’m looking forward to being home, and in other ways I’ll be very sad to leave. But there’s tomorrow to enjoy before thinking too hard about leaving. Cheers!

Today's pictures are here.

11/29/06: Tasman Peninsula from the Sea

2006-11-30T05:15:00.000-06:00

This morning I took a quick walk down to the beach below my hotel to see the Tesselated Pavement. The term tessellated means “interior or exterior floor covering composed of stone tesserae (Latin: “dice”), cubes, or other regular shapes closely fitted together in simple or complex designs with a durable and waterproof cement, mortar, clay, or grout.”

In this case, what appears to be a flat stretch of cobblestone or flagstone pavement is a purely natural phenomenon. The flat surface of what is now the beach is siltstone, laid down when the area was at the bottom of a sea. The siltstone cracked due to stresses in the earth’s crust, with the cracks occurring in three different alignments. The cracking was followed by erosion. Areas farther from the ocean tend to erode at the surface more quickly than the joints, so they look more like flat tiles. Areas closer to the water get more erosion at the joints due to the salt crystals and sand, and tend to form more pan shaped or brick shaped forms.

After checking out of my hotel, next up was a “Sealife Experience Tasmania” cruise in a former whale-watching boat, which would go from Eaglehawk Neck down the east coast and around Tasman Island at the tip of the peninsula, about 30 kilometers each way. Finding the jetty from which the cruise departed took a bit of doing, and when I thought I was in the right place I walked down to check it out before I gathered up my jacket and camera. Turns out I was indeed in the right spot. Two young men owned the boat and took turns piloting and providing commentary. After they confirmed that I had the right place, one of them asked me if I was going to “rug up a bit before the trip.” (I.e., dress more warmly. And yes, most assuredly I was.)

The cruise was a chance to see the wild and rugged cliffs and coastline from the sea. We were able to maneuver quite close to features such as rock arches and caves, and right up to seals sunning (well, clouding, I guess) on the rocks and splashing into the water. The seas were fairly rough (at least from my inland lake perspective), and I was glad that I had fortified myself with some Dramamine before we left. One of the participants was looking a bit glassy eyed towards the end of the trip.

This area of Tasmania has a hugely varied geology. Sedimentary siltstone, sandstone, igneous dolorite and granite rocks. A lot of the siltstone has been (and continues to be) eroded out by the surf and waves, creating arches, caves, and blowholes. The water is incredibly clear, and there’s great scuba diving. I was kicking myself for not getting some scuba diving in, despite the cold water, but then I realized that with the tail end of my cold still hanging on, it would not have been pleasant to try to equalize the pressure in my ears.

In addition to seals, amazing rock formations and cliffs, we saw albatrosses and other sea birds and jellyfish and kelp forests and sea eagles' nests. Towards the end of the trip we stopped in a sheltered bay for wine (I had orange juice since I would be driving soon) and smoked salmon and cheese and squid and tuna. Quite tasty, although I passed on the squid.

At the end of the cruise I headed for Hobart, my last destination before returning home. On the way I stopped at a berry farm and had a Devonshire tea. As I was paying for my tea, I spotted a box of cherries that had been picked that morning and couldn't resist purchasing them. When I got to my bed and breakfast place in Hobart, I started nibbling on them. They were fabulous, and I quickly scarfed down the entire box. I’m not sure if it was simply that they were picked at the peak of freshness or whether Tasmanian fruit really is better or whether the exhilaration of the tour along the coast had whetted my appetite, but they were delicious.

My bed and breakfast is in the Battery Point area of Hobart. Battery Point is made up of lots of colonial houses built in the 1800s, now serving as bed and breakfasts, private homes, restaurants, and the like. Very nice place to walk around. I had dinner at a curry restaurant where the Indian cricket team is rumored to eat when it vists town, and spotted lots of other candidate restaurants for the next couple days.

My original plan had been to go kayaking on Friday (tomorrow) and spend Saturday puttering around Hobart and visiting the big open air market. Unfortunately, the kayaking has been called off due to high winds. So I’m pondering options for tomorrow. Stay tuned!

Pictures from yesterday and today are here.

11/28/06: Tasman Peninsula: Devils, Convicts, and Hiking

2006-11-29T23:50:00.001-06:00

The Tasman Peninsula is on the southeast corner of Tasmania. It has 300 meter high cliffs, beautiful beaches, and a lot of history. During the 1800s, a place called Port Arthur was where convicts who had committed additional crimes after being transported to Australia were kept. The southern part of the peninsula was considered a natural penitentiary because its northern tip squeezes down to 100 meters at a place called Eaglehawk Neck, which was guarded by a line of chained dogs.

The place I ended up booking a hotel room was at Eaglehawk Neck, and when I drove around a corner and came to the overlook that looks down on the area, I was most impressed. Beautiful sunny day, huge half moon bay, white sands, tall cliffs. The hotel is right on the bay, and I can hear the surf pound all night long.

The day after I arrived I was quite tired. It felt like it did when I was rowing and had overtrained. Just going up a flight of stairs was tiring. So the first day here turned into a pure tourist day.

First stop was at the Tasmanian Devil Conservation Park. Tasmanian Devils are little black marsupials (maybe 2-3 feet long?). They’re slow and don’t see well and can’t hunt, but what they do very well is scavenge. They go after any dead meat they can come across. Their jaws are the strongest in the world for their size, and they eat anything they find, bones and all. They also love to fight, and they growl at each other ferociously. If one of them finds a lovely piece of road kill, the others will come up and try to take it away.

Unfortunately, the devils are being hit hard by a contagious cancerous disease that causes tumors to grow on their faces. Because they are always fighting, it seems to be spreading by the wounds they inflict on each other. Eventually the tumors get so big that they can’t eat and they end up starving to death. The conservation park is trying to keep a healthy breeding population alive, as well as assisting with efforts to find a cure.

In addition to the devils, the park had a variety of other birds and animals it has rescued, including kangaroos and wallabies and (hooray!) a 10 month old wombat.

After spending time at the park, I headed for Port Arthur, a former convict settlement, where I took the walking tour and the boat tour and later on the ghost tour. Interesting place, when you think of the lives that were spent there. The prison had some good intentions (teaching the convicts a trade, switching from corporal punishment to solitary confinement, caring for released prisoners who couldn’t function in the outer world and for people with mental illness.) But not all of its good intentions were achieved, and it was a harsh and sad place.

Next day my legs were back to normal, so I did a couple of hikes. The first was along the coast looking at arches and sea caves and waterfalls. After lunch, I headed for a cape walk. The first part of the hike was mostly climbing along the cliffs. Alas, just about the time I could see the tip of the cape I was heading to, I decided that it would be wise to turn back -- it was about 4:15 in the afternoon, it was my second hike of the day over rough ground, and although the guidebook said this was a heavily used trail, I had only seen one other person, and that had been quite a while ago. As a result, all I have is a picture of the final part of the hike.

Tomorrow, though, I’m taking a cruise out to the same cape, so will at least see it from the water. And after the cruise it’s on to Hobart.

Pictures from today and tomorrow are here.

11/26/06: Wineglass Bay and Hazards Beach

2006-11-29T23:42:00.000-06:00

After a lovely breakfast at the B&B, I headed off for my morning hike. I started at the upper end of the Freycinet peninsula and hiked over the Hazards and down to Wineglass Bay, a half moon shaped beach with white sand and crystal clear water. (All of the water here is amazingly clear. One of the reasons is that there is very little agricultural runoff.) Often when I’m on a hike I get a little too task focused, and feel compelled to keep moving. I don’t know whether I’m relaxing a bit or whether Wineglass Bay is that special, but I ended up sitting on the rocks for an hour and just taking it in.

Next the trail crossed back to the other side of the peninsula and came out to another beautiful beach, then climbed up and came back along the cliffs above the water. Periodically you could hear the waves pounding below. The day had started out cloudy and turned sunny and hot, and it was a delightful hike.

Lunch was a cheese and spinach pie. Both here and in New Zealand, meat and vegetable pies are quite popular. Another big item is a “slice”, which we would probably call a kind of bar. Two layers of a biscuit-y cake, caramel or jam or something sweet in between, and frosting on top. Quite decadent. I’ve been able to exert some restraint when I’ve been on my own, but when they were packed in our lunches on the New Zealand trip, I felt obligated to find a home for them. And I have a recipe for one that one of the New Zealand guides emailed to me, so we may have to try one when I get home.

After a short break back at the B&B it was time for the twilight kayaking trip. There were only 3 of us, so I ended up paddling with one of the guides (always a good deal; they’re the best paddlers and you get lots of extra information.) We got soaked heading out through the waves, but as long as we were moving it was reasonably warm. We paddled in and out of several bays (including Honeymoon Bay, where we saw a wedding party doing their wedding pictures) and spent a lot of time looking for stingrays and skates and squid in the clear water. We stopped for hot drinks and a muffin at another bay. Getting out of the kayaks in our wet clothes was a little cold, and we tried sitting on the granite rocks that were still warm from the sun, but the bit of sun warmth was more illusory than real. When we paddled back to our starting point and finished, I was glad to put on a warm fleece and turn the heater up full blast as I drove back to the B&B.

Tomorrow I head to the Tasman Peninsula, another peninsula off the southeast corner of the island.

Today's pictures are here.

11/25/06: On to the Freycinet Peninsula

2006-11-29T23:37:00.001-06:00

After getting back to the hotel in Launceston Friday night I had the happy task of doing laundry (it truly is a happy task when everything you have is dirty.) Saturday morning it was time to head off to Freycinet. And that meant it was to be my first day of driving on the left side of the road. I was a bit apprehensive about it, to be perfectly honest. All of my reflexes still expect to see cars keeping right, even after 3 weeks here.

As a result, and since I was still getting over my cold, I planned a very conservative day: just drive to the Freycinet Peninsula. In earlier plans I had considered heading an hour in the opposite direction to explore a very cool cave system, or going to a wonderful winery, but I kept it simple.

While I was waiting in line to get my rental car (or "hired car" as we say in Australia), the rental agent was warning the couple in front of me about how dangerous the roads were now that it was tourist season and there were so many people out on the roads who weren't used to driving on the left. More anxiousness ... I did NOT want to become a statistic! After complating the paperwork for the car, I went out to check it out, and immediately unlocked the left hand door to get in, which, of course, was the passenger’s side. Hoping this was not an omen of bad things to come, I loaded up the car and carefully headed off. Fortunately, other than the vigilance needed to make sure I don’t slip into a bad reflexive response, the driving has been fine, with the exception of the way I keep turning on the windshield wipers instead of using the turn signals. Roads are two lane, narrow, and winding. At one point I thought I might be able to test the hypothesis of whether you can get car sick if you’re driving, but I was fine.

I arrived safely in Cole’s Bay and found the Pelican Bay Bed and Breakfast. After a couple of lovely short walks that my host suggested followed by dinner, I’m now sitting in the living room with a wood stove crackling away while waiting for the sun to set.

Freycinet National Park is a southward extending peninsula on the east coast of Tasmania. At the upper end of the peninsula are several 300 meter high granite mountains known as The Hazards (the low mounds to the left of center in the picture at the beginning of this post). The area is well known for its beaches and rock formations. Tomorrow the plan is to do a day hike in the morning and a kayak paddle at 5:00 in the evening.

11/25/06: Overland Track/Cradle Huts

2006-11-29T23:30:00.001-06:00

It’s difficult to know what to say about this wonderful adventure. The link to pictures is at the bottom of this post, and they tell much of the story.

I guess the best way to try to tell the rest of the story is to start with the basics and at the beginning. The hike was a six day guided walk with a company called Cradle Huts. “Guided” meant we had two guides and that we stayed at private huts. We walked from Cradle Mountain to the top of Lake St. Clair. With side trips, it was about 75 kilometers.

We met at the appointed pick up spot (a hotel in Launceston) at 6:20 in the morning on the first day of the hike. There are up to 10 people on each hike, and if the hike is full, single travelers are assigned roommates, who could be male or female. Being a single traveler, I was curious to see who my hiking companions would be. The first group I met was seven women friends from Australia. They were hiking on the occasion of one of their 50th birthdays, and had been told that one of the people on their trip was "an international girl." (Me.) (Long time since I've thought of myself as a girl...) The other two members of our party showed up soon, and were a delightful couple from Australia (Neville and Jenny) celebrating Jenny’s 50th birthday. So we ended up with 9 women and one man, all by chance aged 48 to 52. The seven friends were exuberant and extroverted, generous and welcoming, and the group got on well together. Neville looked a bit stunned when he walked into the meeting place and saw that he would be hiking with nine women, but he coped very well. Fortunately one of the group of seven had had the thoughtfulness to request that Cradle Huts include at least one male guide, which they did, so at least he wasn’t completely on his own.

After we had all assembled, we boarded the bus and headed out to the Cradle Huts headquarters on a property called Pleasant Banks. In addition to serving as the jumping off point for the hikes, Pleasant Banks is an equestrian/dressage facility, so there were a number of curious horses looking at us with interest as we drove up.

Our first task was to pack our gear. Cradle Huts provided packs and lightweight Gortex rain jackets. We carried all of our clothing and personal gear, but no sleeping bags, tents, cooking equipment or food. Due to the unpredictable weather extremes, we were required to bring quite a bit of bad weather gear, so our packs were still in the 20 to 25 pound range.

After having our gear inspected, we headed off in the bus again. A couple of hours later, we were at Waldheim, the starting point of the hike.

Day One was the steepest hike, as we had to climb up onto the plateau. The Overland Track mountains are not particularly high. The tallest is Mt. Ossa, at about 1700 meters (5,200 feet), and once you're on the plateau, the trail crosses high plains and open moorland dotted with lakes, winds around craggy mountains, and dips into magical rain forests with tall trees, ferns, mosses, streams and waterfalls. There had been snow the previous week, and there were still patches of white here and there in the highlands. Many of the trees in the area are ancient varieties -- conifers and ferns unchanged from their ancestors that evolved during the days of the dinosaurs. The eucalypt trees (gum trees) were unfamiliar to me, and always seemed very other-worldly with their pastel colored, multi-hued barks and their foliage growing in tufts or bunches at the tops of the tree. They may have filmed Lord of the Rings in New Zealand, but the areas we walked through certainly looked quite eldritch.

At the first lake we stopped at, we learned about the Six Day Challenge, which is to go swimming once each day on the hike. I was a wimp and declined to participate (didn't even consider it!), but our female guide ended up successfully completing the challenge. Another of our party swam 5 out of 6 days, but skipped the day that was quite windy and cold.

At our first lunch, we got water out of the nearby stream and the guides made tea, coffee or milo (a chocolate drink). As someone who has a tendency to make my lunch stops on hikes a brief stop for an energy bar and a little water, I found it quite civilized to eat a proper lunch, wait for the water to boil, and brew and sip our tea. At first it was a little disconcerting to be drinking out of streams (that hadn’t turned out well the time I tried it in the Smokey Mountains with D'Na, Pam, and Rob), but this area is so pristine that you can pretty much drink out of any stream or lake. Of course, the downside to a lovely break at lunch is that you have to get completely warmed up again when you start hiking, but that's doable.

At the end of the first day we got our first look at the huts that would be our homes for the next five nights. They were marvels of cozy efficiency. Six small bedrooms (five for the guests, one for the guides), a big kitchen/dining room/living area, hot showers, and a drying room. Solar energy charged the batteries that powered the lights. Rainwater was collected for water. The gas stoves, range, oven, and water heaters were powered by liquid propane gas. The huts are stocked via helicopter with staples twice a season. Each hut has a different dinner menu that is cooked every night: lentils and sausages at the first hut, risotto with mushrooms and peas at another, pasta and red sauce at another, etc. Food scraps not taken along for lunch are composted; recycling and waste are removed by helicopter.

The huts had no refrigeration, so the guides carried some fresh food items to supplement the hut staples for the first few nights. Each day, one guide would go ahead in the early afternoon to get the next hut ready. By the time we arrived, there were snacks (sometimes muffins, sometimes scones, etc.) and beverages waiting to tide us over until dinner.

Dinner was soup, an entrée, and a desert, with Tasmanian wine. Each group got a quota of 3 bottles of red and 2 bottles of white each night. The guides baked bread every night, so we had fresh toast for breakfast and fresh bread to make sandwiches out of for lunch each day.

Needless to say, most people who do the Overland Track don’t do it in such a pampered fashion … they carry their food, cooking gear, sleeping bag and tent, they do without showers, they use smelly pit toilets at the public huts, and they certainly don’t have wine for dinner every night. As we hiked, I frequently thought about what I would think of people doing the track the way we were doing it if I were doing it on my own, and my thoughts weren’t particularly charitable. But leaving aside the "right" or "wrong" way of doing the trip, we definitely traded some independence and self sufficiency for security and creature comforts, and the peace and solitude of a small group or solo hiker for the conversation and opportunity to meet new friends in a large group.

Day Three was land leech day, as most of us managed to collect a leech during our hike. I had not been aware until I went to Tasmania that there were such things as land leaches, but I got a first hand acquaintance with the little critters. They drop right off when you pour a little salt on them, though. We took several side trips that, in addition to passing through low brush where the leeches lived, were “unimproved.” Most of the muddy portions of the main track were duckboarded (i.e., improved with wooden tracks.) This is a huge benefit for the walkers, but was probably done just as much for environmental reasons. When the top layer of vegetation is broken at that altitude, it doesn’t recover, and the ground underneath quickly starts eroding. When it’s wet, the eroded ground turns to mud. Left to their own devices, hikers will keep walking farther and farther around the muddy spots, creating more eroded ground and larger and larger mud holes. As a result, low impact hiking guidelines say that when you come to a mud hole, you go right through the center. The unimproved trails were full of mud holes. And being environmentally sensitive hikers, we resolutely (if somewhat gingerly) marched through the mud. Most of the time it was only 4-5 inches deep, but sometimes you’d hit a hole and go down a foot or more, making us appreciate our gaiters. We passed some independent hikers who obviously hadn’t been trained in the value of low impact hiking. As they walked by on the edge of the mud hole and stayed clean and dry, they must have thought we were absolute idiots for squelching through the mud.

The weather was good every day but Day Four, which was the day we would have climbed Mt. Ossa. We typically left our packs on the side of the trail when we took side trips, and without packs, Mt. Ossa is usually a 5 hour round trip hike, including lunch at the top. But it was cold and rainy and extremely windy that day, and we couldn’t even see the top of the mountain through the clouds, so we ended up not doing the Mt. Ossa side trip. Nobody was terribly disappointed at the time. Day Four/Day Five was also the day the cold I had been fighting finally hit.

On the fifth night (Thanksgiving Day in the states) we had a combined 50th birthday party for the two birthday girls, Thanksgiving dinner for the Yank, and farewell dinner for the group.

All of the 50-ish people whose day jobs involved working in offices held up very well on the trip. Several people had concerns (foot problems, fear of heights, knee problems, back issues), but there was never a serious whine or complaint (or whinge as we say in Australia), and although it was sometimes difficult to get the group into motion, we traveled well (if noisily) once we were underway.

On the sixth day, we hiked down off the plateau to the top of Lake St. Clair and took a ferry about 15 kilometers to the other end, cutting a day or so off what could be an even longer hike. There we met the bus and drove back to Pleasant Banks, our starting point. As we unloaded the packs we had carried for the past 6 days and transferred our gear into our travel luggage, cell phones come out and were turned on and chirped with voice mail messages. A few people wandered off to converse with the outer world. Hiking gear was replaced by jeans and other travel-wear, and our group transformed back to city dwellers.

In a philosophical moment, I asked someone if we had been changed by our journey. Her reply was “you don’t always have to be changed by a journey; it’s enough to simply appreciate it.”

Then it was time for a glass of champagne and one last trip in the bus. The seven friends were headed to the airport and back to Sydney for the 50th birthday party, while Jenny and Neville and I headed to hotels in Launceston.

It’s hard to sum up the trip in words. The Overland Track is a unique and beautiful area. The guides and private huts were superb. At first I felt a bit guilty to have had such a luxurious trip (i.e. guided, staying in huts), but after thinking about it, I came to the conclusion that huts are maintained with a high respect for the environment, and that these trips provide the opportunity for a lot of people to do the Overland Track (and support the park by paying fees) who wouldn’t otherwise do so. I feel privileged to have had the opportunity to have done the hike. If I have a wish for the next hike I take (and for life in general), it is to continue growing more present to each moment. There were too many times when I caught myself doing heads-down hiking, or thinking or talking about something totally trivial, and realized I was missing out on the amazing world in front of me. And at the end of the trip I found myself thinking "but wait ... I didn't pay enough attention to every moment." What do they say ... life is a matter of moments, not milestones? Ah, well. An opportunity for my ongoing journey...

Pictures are here.

11/18/06: On to Tasmania

2006-11-18T03:26:00.000-06:00

Leaving New Zealand involved lots of long lines (the wrong line, the right line, the pay-your-tax-to-leave-the-country line) and one short line (airport security is much simpler here). What seemed like a huge amount of time before my flight turned into just enough. Melbourne, Australia was the first stop, and even the light was different from New Zealand light ... drier, hazier and dustier. There's a drought going on in Australia, which may be contributing to the dust.

Tasmania is an island off the southeast coast of Australia. The plane from Melbourne to Launceston (LAWN-ces-ton; three syllables) was a turbo prop. We walked outside the terminal and climbed a ladder to board the plane. Kind of like George Bush does, I guess, although the ladder was much shorter, and we didn't turn around to wave at anyone.

On the plane I sat next to a gentleman from Launceston who had been working on the renovation of a gold mine in Papua New Guinea, and was home for a week. We talked about what it was like to work with such a different culture and how powerful the moments are when people from vastly different backgrounds can connect as just people. We also talked about Launceston and Tasmania and added items to my Tasmanian "to see" list, which is already too long.

Saturday I spent doing errands and laundry and going for a walk in the Cataract Gorge in Launceston. My airplane seat-mate loves to walk in the gorge, and we talked about how lucky a city is when it has a natural place for people to visit.

Tomorrow morning we start the Overland Track walk. The book says "The Overland Track is Tasmania's best known walk and has become a mecca for walkers from all parts of the globe. The track winds its way through Cradle Mountain - Lake St Clair National Park crossing exposed alpine plateaus, passing through dense forests and alongside tranquil lakes and tarns." It's about 65 kilometers, which we'll do in six days and five nights. I'll check in when I get back, which will be Friday night in Tasmania.

Cheers, and be well!

Pictures are here.

11/17/06: End of New Zealand Adventure

2006-11-17T14:26:00.000-06:00

Our final dinner was awesome. It was also a birthday dinner for one of our group, and we had salmon on mashed koumara (I think that was the name … sweet potatoes) with spinach and mushrooms and a side garnish of sun dried tomatoes and feta cheese and olives, along with some champagne we had collected along the way and a bottle of wine a couple trip members donated from their wine tasting tour. The dinner was fabulous, and made us appeciate how lucky we were when it came to guides on this trip.

We hung out in the living room after dinner and talked, and made a list of our New Zealand-isms. From the plane flight came “do up your seatbelts.” The appetizers that were put out to appease the hungry hikers while dinner was cooking were “wee nibblies.” Our guides often encouraged us to “go have a wander” along the beach or elsewhere. Good on you. No worries. Cheers.

Next morning we headed off for the airport. Along the way we stopped at the Cookie Time factory, which is where the largest cookie in the world was made. The walls of the buildings are painted with chocolate chip cookies. We didn’t get a tour, but if you buy a cookie in the show room they have a microwave to heat it up, so they clearly have the proper respect for a warm chocolate chip cookie.

Then it was time to say good bye, much as we all wanted to go around again. We had become a family over the past 11 days, and I will miss my new friends. Most of the group headed for the flight to Auckland and home. I headed for the international terminal to fly to Australia and the Tasmania portion of my trip, and the van drove off for the last time with our guides and one person who will spend one more day in Christchurch. It was a wonderful trip with a great group of people in a very special place, led by guides who truly wanted to share their country with us. The weather was sometimes uncooperative, but we were able to do nearly all that we set out to do.

Next stop, Tasmania. Cheers!