November 4, 2000

The Crossing

15.3 miles

MAP

Up early, but problems getting my GPS to accept a route from Street Atlas, I don't get to Westmoreland State Park until 9:30. A pleasent ride through Virginia seeing the leaves in full color. I unstrap the kayak and walk down to the bathrooms only to find them locked up for the winter. My only choice is to tie the kayak back down and backtrack to the campground. By the time I'm on the water it is 10:15.

I have an ambitious mission today. A little over seven and a half miles away, on a course of 80 degrees, is St Clements Island. The thick haze prevents me from seeing my destination, so I'll get to use my compass. The river is only 5 miles wide here, and only 3 miles wide near St Clements, but the angle that I need to paddle to get there will make it seem like a much further crossing than it really is.

The wind is out of the West, with the prediction that it will turn northwest by late morning - early afternoon. I'll need to hustle to make sure I'm back before dark and I'm thankful for the tailwind to start off my journey. The swirls flowing by the first line of crab pots tells me I'm riding with the tide as well. With any luck maybe I can catch it going the other way for the return trip.

There are no boats on the south half of the river, but I can hear and see them scurrying about on the other side. I'll have to deal with them soon enough, but for now I'm focusing on holding my direction of travel on course. I trimmed the bow too heavy and now I have to pay for it by the skeg not being able to fully compensate. A lot of sweep strokes on my left will leave my left arm needing a rest by the time I hit the island. I force myself to stop every half-hour to drink water, even if I don't want it. It is a hot paddle, but an occasional soaking of my hat in the cool Potomac waters is usually all it takes to cool me down.

From a distance I can finally see the large stone cross on the island. The sunlight reflecting off the white stone now gives me a solid marker to paddle towards. As I approach the island, a sailboat under power approaches from the port side. It stays at the same angle for a long period of time and I see he is following the channel. Once we get fairly close to each other I stop to let him pass, and I cross the channel behind him with no other traffic with which to contend. The crab pots on this side of the channel now show the current going in the opposite direction. A small sand beach near the stone cross is where I land on the island. It is now 12:15 - 2 hours to make the crossing. If I leave by 1:00, I should be back by 3:00 - 2 hours before dark.

I take my lunch with me as I walk around the island reading the historical markers. The island used to cater to serving beer and food to the steamboat tourists chugging down the Potomac from DC. The leaves on the scrubby plants haven't yet changed colors. Back in my kayak I take a time hack: 1:00 on the dot.

I have a head wind, but not a strong one. The cool breeze is welcome in my face. I won't need to stop to cool down or dip my hat but I still stop ever half-hour to drink water. The current should help me make good time on the way back.

About an hour into the return trip my left bicep has started to cramp up. I've been trying to make sure I use my back to paddle, but between having not made a long trip in a while, and paddling hard to beat the sun, I suspect I was bending my arms more than I should. I was coming up on a 30-minute water break - should I stop, and risk the cramp settling in, or paddle through it? I stop and drink and the cramp is about the same when I start back. It eventually subsides and I paddle on.

Somewhere near the middle of the river, the water lost its dull color and started to get shiny. The small waves went away and the water became calm. I realized at some point that *I* was the loudest thing on the water. No boats, no wind. I stopped paddling just to listen to the silence.

Then it happened. Loons - I didn't know that is what they were by just looking - but their calls were unmistakable. One is calling on my left, another on my right. From where I sat they were black specks on the water, but in the silence they were loud. I sat for a few minutes just enjoying the moment.

The wind began to blow again, this time out of the north west, so I paddled on. I can see the cold front moving across from the west - southwest. The solid gray clouds remind me winter will soon be here. But on the leading edge of the front there is a band of brown clouds. At first I thought it might be the way the light is reflecting off them, but later surmised this was picked up when the front moved across the large forest fires to the west.

My progress seemed slow, and as I approach the next set of crab pots I see the current is now against me! On one side of the channel the current was flowing upriver, while on this side it is flowing down river. It isn't a big surprise, but the first time I've experienced this.

The last 45 minutes of the trip my arm begins to hurt again. I know this time it won't go away and I slack up on my speed. I won't make it back till 3:30 and will need to apply a deep heating ointment liberally when I get home.

This is the largest crossing I've undertaken to date. Somewhere between 3-5 miles across and much less boat traffic than I've ever experienced out at Annapolis. The long fetch of open water could make this more hazardous if the wind were to catch you out there, especially when the prevailing winds are out of the northeast. When the wind shifted it didn't take long for the waves to start building and begin to get organized although the wind wasn't blowing hard.

I land and pack up for the 2 1/2 hour journey home.