Alaska: Whittier to Seward

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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.