June 30, 2002

Illusions

29 June 2002

8.1 miles

I really need to take a pen with me so I can write down the name of this port. I shouldn't just keep calling it "the port north of Lake Ogawara."

In any event, I was launching from the south side of the port, and I wanted to go North. The problem was the fog. So thick I could just barely make out the boat anchored a few feet away at the green channel marker. I only had memory to tell me how far it was to the other side, and from memory I couldn't remember how far to the red channel marker.

I resigned myself to paddle around the inside of the port to get to the other side. It's just too foggy to risk a channel crossing. I can hear small fishing boats but I can't see them. I head west, deeper into the harbor crossing a tidal stream running fairly fast from a side creek. Ten or so strokes on the right side kept me running fairly straight across it. Floating barriers kept boats from entering this creek.

Not much further to the back side of the port. High concrete walls with people lining them fishing. I head north to the far side of the port before turning east to start making my way out. A small ship is being loaded with dirt. The water is dead calm - glassy.

At the mouth of the port on this north side is a seawall extending out past the breakers. Out seaward of this is a giant seawall across the mouth of the port, shielding it from the relentless swells. I only know it is there from memory since the fog is so thick to see it.

Outside the port I turn north on my planned course. The fog is a little unnerving. Sometimes unable to make out the beach, and other times I see it well. It gives the illusion that it is far one moment, and close the next. Long periods of flat, glassy water followed by large swells. I do my best to stay in sight of the beach, yet not close enough to get surprised by a breaking wave.

The waves are dumping hard on the beach. From my vantage point I can see foam run up the beach at a steep angle. And when it runs back to sea I see it collide with the next wave coming in, creating large haystacks right near shore.

This feeling of uneasiness continues until I finally decide to turn and head out to the sea wall. I'm curious to it's actual size. I head further off shore as I paddle south to make sure I intercept it. All the time listening and looking for anything that might be headed my way. At times the fog closes down so tight my only reference is my compass. During these periods I began to get a faint feeling of sea sickness. Nothing major - a slight disorientation. I wondered how I would handle something like this on a large crossing if fog bound. Would it get worse?

A few minutes later the sea wall appeared. I've come in on the protected side so I turn to head out around the end. A few boats are anchored here fishing. The wall is lined with fisherman, who I assume have gotten a ride over by boat. I don't recall seeing any good places to climb up, but the fog kept me from seeing the entire structure. I guess there could be a tunnel out to here from the port. The wall is a solid 20 feet high above the water. Men look tiny leaning their poles over the edge. On the seaward side things get much rougher. Rebounding swells hitting incoming swells. Nothing scary - just enough to finally add some excitement to the ride. This continues along the whole length. Later, when dumping my track log to the computer, I measured the seawall to be 1.1 statute miles in length.

Rounding again to the back side, I begin looking for a place to cross back to the port. The southern sea wall extending out from the port would be the shortest path across, but the fog is so thick I can't tell where it is.

I continue north a bit, listening for the faint sound of what little swell made it through hitting the break. I think I hear it, so I start across, straining to listen or see anything else coming my way. There are a lot of floats in the water marking fish traps, so I'm hoping nothing will be coming through here at high speed. Before long I see the break and duck in behind it.

Inside this area I soon learn I'm in an area a little too far south to take me back to my launch. I'll need to come back out of the port and head north a little, and go into the next inlet. As I'm doing this I hear a loud fog horn, then a minute later the sound of large diesel engines. It's a ship I can't see, so I move in close to the wall next to me. A few moments later I can just make out the outline of the ship I saw loading dirt earlier. Like a ghost ship passing in the fog. The ship is going through the area I just crossed about 20 minutes before.

Entering the next inlet it is only minutes before I'm back to the launch. A few bow rudders to get through the oyster beds that lay exposed at low tide. There are some old men here putting on waders. One says something to me in Japanese and makes a paddling motion with his arms. I acknowledge him, but I'm clueless what he actually asked me, or what I acknowledged.

I pack for home and wonder what I would have seen here without the fog. Maybe it is time to shift my paddling to later in the day.

Surfing

30 June 2002

From home there is no fog, but as I look to the east I see a low level `smoke' near the coast. As I drive to the launch and turn down the dirt road towards the beach, I move from unlimited visibility to being surrounded by thick fog soup in a matter of a few hundred feet.

On the beach there are a half dozen surfers in the water. A few large vans and some racks sit in the sand to hold surf boards when they return. I head down the beach a fair distance. Just barely in sight of the surfers, I want to know where they are while I play. I park the car, which I'll use as my southern limit to keep me from getting too close to them.

I play around in the soup - nothing in particular. Maybe trying to catch the top of a wave to ride in high towards the beach. But I'll need a lot of practice to master that skill. One ride worked well and I intentionally pushed myself over the edge after the wave broke and found myself flying much faster than the wave out in front of it. That was cool, but only something I managed to do once.

After an hour I beached for a rest. I watched the surfers and the surf. The surf appeared small to me, even the outer breakers. The fog pushed itself further out to sea and the sky became blue.

Since breaking my paddle I've been apprehensive to go out beyond the surf line. I lost a lot of faith in my gear that day, and with it I've lost a lot of my confidence. I decide to go. I watch the waves carefully, moving out and timing each advance to pass during lulls. The outer breakers are all that remains. I watch for a period where I don't see large swells rolling in and I go for it. I paddle hard and even after punching through the last breaker I continue to paddle hard till well off shore. I don't want any surprises.

It is at this point the fear - for lack of a better word - settles in. I seriously consider paddling in to the little protected creek to avoid coming back through the surf. But this is a fear I've got to overcome. I need to regain my confidence.

I find myself switching quickly between looking to sea and looking towards the beach. I begin moving in, slowly at first. I find a spot where the waves seem to wait till they are closer to shore before breaking and I aim for the slot. Riding the swells to move in quickly. A wave breaking on my right, but still unbroken under my kayak passes under me. The next wave is breaking on my left, but again I'm making good time riding the unbroken portion of the swell under me. As it passes I paddle hard and I'm almost to shore by the time any white water actually touches my kayak. Picking a good path and a large dose of luck. I count myself as lucky and call it a day.

As I leave, I drive around a bit and find a police car is ticketing an old couple near the beach. I believe they may have been harvesting shellfish from the creek leading to Ogawara, but I'm not sure. One of the police has what looks to be a metal detector. Several cars pass by on the way to the beach so I'm confident it has nothing to do with access.

I *need* to work on this confidence issue. I *need* to get it back. I *need* to have faith in my gear. I suppose that if I had dislocated a shoulder when the paddle broke I would have a little more faith, but the light pull when it snapped took too much of my confidence away. I *need* to reliably learn to get and stay on top of a wave. I *need* to get back in command.

Woody