He's Back, and Online!

ell, I just couldn't wait for my web server to make it back from Japan, so I built a new one. I still need to get mail and PHP installed. Everything should be working again - let me know if you find anything broken.

Woody

The Pool

fter the trip leaders meeting in which I agreed to do things but have no idea what the dates were (be sure to read the March newsletter for the HUGE amount of activities planned for this season), Katie, Joan and I headed over to Joan's house to kill a little time and have some pizza. We arrived at the pool about 4:00pm, and Katie immediately jumped in a purple whitewater boat. I didn't want to get in the pool, but I knew she would be disappointed if I didn't.

After changing into shorts I hopped into the pool and helped Katie with her roll. I watched her practice twice with a paddlefloat, then we tossed that away and I watched her do a pawlatta. I couldn't tell if she was pushing off the bottom. It was close.

We worked on her blade angle for a while. Getting her to tuck her outside hand against her chest to get the angle right, had a lot of positive results. I've found that if you use an unfeathered paddle, grip the end of the blade, tuck your elbow into your side and place your thumb against your chest, you have nearly the perfect angle for your blade to climb during your sweep. I need to remember to find a similar method for feathered paddles.

Then we worked on a C-to-C roll and she had pretty good success with that. What surprised me was when we started practicing the high brace and she nailed those on both sides. Now, the WW boat is a piece of cake to roll and brace with in the pool, and I know she couldn't do that in a real-world situation, but she's getting there.

Near the end I tried Joan's boat. What a mistake that was. I could not get *locked in* - the foam thigh braces were slippery and my knees kept sliding off. But that wasn't the mistake I was making - The mistake I made was getting in any boat at all. I wanted my kayak. I wanted my drysuit to hurry back from Japan. I wanted to go paddle.

It's been 4 months since I've paddled. Probably the longest stretch since I started paddling. Over the last year I learned to be comfortable in my Sirocco. It no longer mattered if I was on edge or upside down. Tonight reminded me of that feeling and I'm ready to go paddle.

It was so great seeing my long time paddling pals at the meeting and the pool. It was nice meeting new folks as well. This is comradery I've missed, and craved for the last year.

Thanks to all those who agreed to lead trips this year, and a special thanks to Brian Blankinship for getting the club back to where it belongs - on the water.

Woody

Remembering Winter

he great thing about my temporary blessing of working at home is that once I load everything on my laptop for the day, I really don't need to be 'at home'. For some reason it took me 3 weeks to figure this out. So this morning I packed up my laptop and headed off to Leesylvania State Park to 'work'.

My secondary reason for going was to see if the river is free of ice, but as I pull into the boat trailer parking lot I see the boat ramps are frozen in semi solid. But no worries today since I'm here to work.

When lunch time arrived I put away the laptop and went for a walk along the shore. By the time I made it to the beach where I normally launch, the water had turned from solid ice to a cold liquid. But it was clear all the way up to the high water mark. Maybe I'll return this weekend.

As I strolled further down the shore, just 50 feet from the water's edge, my feet smashed through the crunchy snow. Each step seemed as though I would be supported by the snow, but at the last instant of every step I crashed through. As I watched my steps the smell of the Potomac in winter suddenly drew me back to past winters along this shore.

Not quite brine, not quite pure fresh water, it was a smell that carried with it memories of paddling in winters past.

In the river, small ice floes and chunks of snow/ice floated by. I stopped long enough to read a park sign. In front of me were the last pylons of a dock long gone. In the 50's, the floating casino SS Freestone anchored here. At the time, gambling and alcohol were illegal in the state of Virginia, and the SS Freestone got around this by anchoring at the end of the now missing pier. This technicality made possible by the fact that Maryland owns the Potomac all the way up to the low water mark on the Virginia side.

A hundred feet down is a new pier - only a few years young. Many a time I've paddled by this pier in the summer while fishermen hung their lines out from the sides. Many times I've exchanged waves with kids standing there looking for something more exciting to do than watch their motionless line. But I've never been on the pier, so I crunched along a bit more until I made it to the dock.

Walking out I see now why the beach is clear. The pier has acted as a seawall and kept the beach clear by holding back all the ice on the north side.

Across the river I see the entrance to General Smallwood State Park. To the north is Mason Neck. It's too overcast and the air too heavy with moisture to see clearly. Is Belmont Bay free of ice? I doubt it, but resolve to possibly check it out if I get to paddle this weekend. Walking back to shore there are signs on the dock showing the Virginia/Maryland state line underscoring the fact that the water belongs to Maryland. I imagine kids running back and forth yelling to anyone that will listen "I'm in Virginia! Now I'm in Maryland! I'm back in Virginia!"

I need to remember to do that next time I launch here.

On the way back to my mobile office I loop out by the bathrooms and pass the live bait vending machine. 'Out of Service' is pasted on a note outside the coke machine shaped box. I wondered if someone remembered to remove the bait. The hand dryer in the bathroom reminds me of all the times I've used it as a hand and body warmer after a long winter day of paddling.

As I approach the car, the sound of a train blowing its whistle grabs my attention to bring back even more memories. The track runs down the length of the Potomac for quite a ways here. The sound of the locomotive reminds me of all the times I've sat offshore and just watched as a train and its cargo passed. I remember once my daughter made me count every car before we could get underway again.

Too soon lunch is over and it is back to work. At the end of my day I have to deal with rush hour, but today I don't mind.

Woody

Powells Creek

his is the first year since I started kayaking that I didn't make it out on the 1st of January. I didn't think it would be this late in the season for the first paddle of 2003. It has been 5 long months since I last sat off a shore. It's been almost a year and a half since I've sat off this one.

Powells creek is on the southern boundary of Leesylvania State Park, and in all the times I've been to this park, I've never paddled this creek. Oh, I've tried. But it seems like it was always too shallow. Today I was determined to find the channel come hell or low water.

It was nice seeing the park ranger again when I entered the park. She always has a smile and a warm comment to share. Several years back when I first came through these gates she warned me about cold water, but today she recognizes me and sends me on my way after taking my $2.

There are a few bass boats launching today at the boat ramp, but not many. I drive down to the picnic area parking lot, but the lot closest to the water is closed. It is a long carry to the water and I resolve to do it in just 2 trips. One for the kayak, and one for all other things. It feels warm today and I have to dip my hands and hat in the water to cool off just as I get in the boat. All this baby fat I put on over the winter isn't helping.

It is a struggle, at first, to get underway. Every muscle groans, every joint pops. I start going over in my mind how I want to go today. The way everything is aching I consider going home now, but that thought is fleeting. I paddle past the boat ramps, cutting inside the break wall as I know the boats will be going slow through there. Around the southern park corner and into Powells creek.

I've seen this all before, a wide mouth creek with a train trestle joining the 2 banks. But it is beyond the train tracks that I've never seen. At the bridge, I recall there was rebar and fence just below water level. Just on the other side of the rebar the water was never enough to float a kayak. But today, I see no signs of rebar, and when I reach in with my paddle, I find the water a good 5 feet deep. I'm close to high tide, with no perceptible current moving past the train bridge.

It is funny how I'm slowly progressing through this area - I just know at any moment I'm going to run aground and I'll need to start a search for the channel that runs through here. I expect every stroke to be my last one, but it never happens. I paddle deeper and deeper into the creek, stopping every few minutes to check the water depth. 4.5 feet, 4.0 feet, 3.5...in a few minutes I actually bang my paddle on something and think it will all end soon. But it doesn't. And in another few moments I'm back in deeper water.

White swans begin to take to the air. Maybe 40 or 50. I remember a friend once described them as 'prayer flags' while in flight. They pass overhead in small groups, usually even numbers. One pair circles around for a last look at me. As they fly overhead I think I hear more honking than I see swans and after rounding a corner I see a lot of geese and know why.

Past a few duck blinds I suddenly find myself in the trees. The creek quickly narrowed and the increasing 'suds' that are beginning to flow by me tell me there is some faster water ahead. I spook a few mallards as I twist and turn into the quickly narrowing creek.

A strainer up ahead is the cause of the foam I'm seeing. I stop to study it for a moment. I can easily get through it, but the angle the current is flowing through I'm afraid it will throw me into a low tree on the return trip. Just up ahead I see more strainers and decide to turn around here. By paddling backwards towards the shore, I ram my stern into the bank. This pins it there while the current pushes my bow around so that I'm heading downstream.

A short trip, but a nice first jaunt back on the water. On the way out I watch the construction going up just inside the trees. In comparison to where I was stationed in Japan - there is simply little or no building on waterfronts. The Japanese preferring to keep this uncluttered, and I think more importantly, unowned by individuals.

Passing the cartop launch on my left as I exit the creek, I remember how difficult it is to launch there. Gnarly rock and wire breakwalls are too close to shore, and the carry down is steep. It looks as if the Osprey are beginning to stake out their nesting sites.

Have you ever had this happen? You are paddling along and your paddle hits something that is alive. It feels like something has grabbed your paddle and given it a good shake before letting it go. It sure gets my attention.

For the rest of the trip back I trail my thermometer in the water. It is a chilly 40 degrees on the surface and the water is a sediment colored brown. Throughout the day the VHF has crackled with warnings from one boater to another about the large amount of debris floating in the channel near Occoquan Bay.

As I land, a man sends his golden retriever in to the water after a ball. It isn't a long swim for the dog, but he is obviously exhausted when he gets to shore. I wonder for a moment if the water has zapped his energy. He's lost his desire to play when he returns, and his owner takes him back to his truck. Two long gear carries back to the car and I'm exhausted too. My shoulder aches, my wrist and fingers ache. My back is sore. And I feel good.

Woody

Erosion

7 miles - Water Temp 54 degrees F

n the way to the launch site I passed a few places where smoke was rising from a tree. As I got closer it looked more like dust and I half expected to see a lawnmower stirring things up. But as I passed the tree I see it isn't smoke or dust, but pollen literally exploding from the tree branches.

Launching from Mason Neck State Park I turn right and head toward Kanes Creek. A large mouth bass stares at me near the surface of the water as I paddle by the sandy cliffs along the park. Quite fragile, I recall sitting off this shore watching these cliffs dissolve in the rain. A small pine hangs precariously over the edge. Before long it too will fall from the cliff and into the water below.

I cross the mouth of Kanes and across Thompson Creek, turning north west towards the Occoquan. The air smells fresh and sweet. The water is covered with small birds which soon take flight as I pass through. The sound both becoming louder and more distant as the leading edge of those taking off passed over more birds causing them to take flight.

The birds now gone, I turn toward Conrad Island for a closer inspection of a known bird haven. When I started kayaking in 1999, at high high tide there was just enough water covering the center of the island to float a kayak across. Today Conrad is in 3 pieces, with the two smaller pieces hardly more than a collection of fallen trees. Only a tree or two remains and I float across the center of the island with more than 3 feet below my keel.

From Conrad I turn south towards High Point back on Mason Neck. It has been a long time since I've paddled this part of the neck. I start thinking about where I should turn around to head back to the launch. I'm still not in any shape to paddle far. I move in close to shore and notice a a lot of trash in the eroding shore line. At first I thought it had washed ashore but as I move in closer I notice the Budweiser cans are the old pull tab type. This is someone's old trash pit that the water has sliced through and is now liberating the trash into the river.

A few small breakwalls have been assembled further down to protect the high sandy bank. More trees have toppled over here. I pass a home and another section of small breakwalls and as I contemplate turning around I realize I have paddled into a blue heron rookery. Almost every tree has a nest in it, with some of the larger trees having as many as a dozen. There are hundreds of nests in this short little section of the river.

Reaching High Point I turn around and head back. A few boats pass me by a short distance out in the channel, and I hear an unmistakable sound accompanied by whoops and hollering. Jet Skis. Argh. They too pass in the channel along with a few more boats and the smell of gasoline fumes is almost overwhelming. But I paddle along a few more minutes and eventually the crisp and sweet smell of fresh air returns.

Near the launch I pass a guy playing with his dog. He rowed here in an inflatable dingy. At the launch there is a big single kayak sitting on shore. From its bulbous bow and stern I would guess a QCC design. I land as the guy loading up his kayak is moving his truck to the upper parking lot. A sudden cracking noise gets my attention and I yell "Whoa whoa!" when I see what the source. Backing up his truck he rolled over a wooden and carbon fiber paddle. The wood paddle survived but the bent shaft carbon paddle is toast. The guy tells me it would have been the first trip with the new paddle. Over $300 crunched. I try to offer encouragement by telling him he can send it to the manufacture and get the shaft repaired. Somehow I think he'll need this trip today to de-stress...

Woody

New Web Server

moved the site back to the old web server I was using in Japan. Freshly rebuilt on Windows XP Home, I will probably upgrade it to XP Pro so I can remotely administer it easier (done 4/11).

Anyhow, it is a bit slower machine, but since all it does now is run mail and Apache, it is plenty fast enough, and will no longer suffer from my daughter playing games.

What does this have to do with kayaking? Well, in a round about way I was holding off going kayaking until I moved the web server so as not to add any more stories until after migration was complete.

You'll notice over on the right hand side of the main page I now have a "Regional News" section. I have some test software running that pulls news off of Google into an XML/RSS news feed, and after I review it I post it if it seems like it might be of interest. Highly experimental and for now requires me to cut and paste the info links into the web software. If I can ever figure out a search string to find exactly what I want, and only what I want, I may code the web site to update automatically. That would be cool.

Woody

Katie's New Boat

n my mind I had already decided she would like the Avocet. And the plastic model was something I could afford to buy her. At Atlantic Kayak's demo day I paddled a Nigel Foster Shadow while Katie tried out the Avocet. She liked the seat, but nothing else.

Nigel suggested she try an Impex Mystic, but I didn't want to spend that much money. As luck would have it AK had a demo on sale for about the same price of a plastic boat. In the new Mystic katie took to it right away. I suggested she try the demo boat to make sure it felt ok too.

She didn't like the demo boat. Last years model - it wasn't padded out like the current year boat, but the Impex guy said he would pad it out for her . While he and Katie were off sticking foam in it, Nigel told me I had been edging his boat the wrong way when turning. His boats turn better when edged to the outside - something that would have been difficult for me to get used to in just one day.

All foamed up and ready to go, we loaded Katie's new boat up and came home. She wanted to wash it when she got home, and then she carried it, alone, around to the kayak rack in the back yard. It's her boat and she wanted to carry it herself.

Woody

Realizing Spring

ad, look at all the colors!

Like sitting in the early morning hours and suddenly coming to the realization that night has become day, Katie made me realize spring is truly here. Around us the flowers were bursting out in pinks and reds and light oranges. How did spring sneak up on me without me noticing?

The day before, I carried the Gulfstream from the rack in the back yard to the car. By the time I got her strapped down everything I had touched was green from the pollen.

I didn't check the weather before we left and as we got closer to Mason Neck the rain started coming down lightly. Paying our $4 at the park we drove to the parking lot to see what the weather would do. As the sky cleared we unloaded my Gulfstream and Katie's new Mystic. We tossed our junk in the boats and I parked the car.

When we started out I noticed a big difference in Katie's paddling. No longer was she poking along - she was touring! Only at the end of our trip did she start to lag behind. I've seen her grow as a kayaker over the years. From needing a tow in any windy section to now keeping up with me on a 3-4 mile paddle, I'm proud of how she has progressed.

On the water we head right, towards Kanes Creek, and in short order we are in the mouth heading towards the far side. We paddle by some geese trying to keep a low profile when Katie notices a beaver cutting across our bow. We watched for a few minutes and then it dived so we headed on into the creek.

Paddling by a log with a turtle sitting on it, I point out the turtle to Katie, and looking beyond at the edge of the woods we see a doe stepping into the shadows. Overhead a few immature bald eagles move from tree to tree. We see two mature eagles as well, one sitting in a tree and eating fish. An Osprey tries to take the fish, but the eagle flies off taking it's food with it.

A moment later we see something splashing in the water and paddle over to see what it is. I think by the golden color near the tail it is a carp. Whatever type of fish it is it is HUGE. It ignores Katie and I as we paddle up to see it's tail slowly waiving in the air. The fish is obviously full of roe. I try to slide my paddle under the head to see how big the fish is, but it suddenly becomes aware of our presence and swims away.

We wait a few moments and it resurfaces not far away. We paddle over again and I put on a pair of gloves. Katie and I raft up and she paddles us toward the fish as I lean on her boat for stability. When we get close I grab the tail and lift with all my might but the fish again bursts to life, covers us in a shower of water and swims away again.

We head deeper into the creek, flushing wood ducks as we go. When we find the no trespassing signs we turn around.

The water is high today, and the tide has just turned. In a month this creek will be so choked with lilies that even shallow draft boats will need to stick to the channel. But today we glide effortlessly from shore to shore without so much as ever worrying about running aground. On the way out we paddle by the fish and I again try to lift the fish's head to get a sense of its size. But it scampers away once more.

We paddle out of the creek as little starlings make a run at us, turn and speed back to the tree they were sitting in. We watch the bass boaters throw their bait a few times and turn towards the creek.

Tiny wavelets pass us and Katie becomes paranoid. I relate the story of when I broke my paddle and suddenly the wavelets don't seem so large to her. Landing at the launch we quickly pack and are on the road for home.

Kayak Demo Day

couldn't sleep the night before. The beginnings of a chest cold woke me about 2:00 am and I never managed to fall back asleep. At 5:30 am I rolled out of bed and quietly gathered my gear. By 6:00 am I was on the road, a Piranha white water and a Necky Gannet strapped to the top of my car.

About 6:45 I pulled in to the gas station where I was to meet Karl. We unstrapped the Gannet and carried it to his van. His daughter, 8, was just starting in kayaking the way my daughter was at her age, and the Gannet was for her.

By 7:00 am I was back on the road and headed for Sandy Point park. There is a kayak demo scheduled for today and I had volunteered to be a safety boater. After entering the park I drove around to the sail board launch and waited. Joan had my kayak and I was pretty early so I reclined in the car and tried to catch up on a few of the missing Z's I had missed the night before.

Almost simultaneously Mike and Alan drove up to let me know that we would be launching from the other sand beach. A van loaded with surf skis and a sit on top said they would launch here and paddle around to the other side. I don't recall seeing them again so maybe after testing the cold water they decided to stay off of it.

At the other beach Joan showed up and we carried boats down near the big tent. It was a long carry from the cars, and from there I moved my Sirocco down close to the water. After loading up my car and getting in the water I spent maybe 5 minutes before I heard the radio crackle "Did you see that lightning strike?" A few moments later the thunder rolled through and the call was made to get off the water.

We stood around under the big tent and chatted. Several more lightning strikes pass and in a half hour or so after the last one we get the ok from the park to get back on the water.

As people tried different boats it was beginning to get boring. With the crowd down because of the weather, it was over an hour before someone fell over for the first time. A woman in a sit on top that had been sitting on the seat back, raising her center of gravity. Mike and I worked to get her back on and in the seat the proper way.

Again a long pause in the action and someone else went over. He could touch bottom and after Mike emptied the water from his boat he chose to walk in to shore.

There were only a few other capsizes the rest of the time I was there, and I didn't get to participate in any of them. It was good to see and visit with some of the folks I had met when I started kayaking 5 years ago. It had been a year and a half or more since I had seen most of them.

2:00 pm came too soon and I loaded my Sirocco on my car beside the ww boat and headed for the pool to teach a little rolling. My chest cold getting worse as the day wore on, a little Nyquil in the evening and I would be out for the rest of the night and dreaming of the good things from the day.

Woody

Waltzing the Farm

isty, cool, breezy, and a tough wind out of the north east, I dropped my gear near the water at Leesylvania and headed back to the car for the Sirocco. The water is unusually high. I've never been here when the beach is completely covered along this shore, but there is no sand today as the waves slam into a drop-off along the bank.

From the shore there looks to be a stiff current, but it is an illusion of the waves sweeping by. Once my gear is secured I hop down the bank into the water and pull the boat off the shore. Slightly jamming the bow into the bank and putting the stern directly into the waves gives me time to climb in without too much worry from the pounding waves.

I back out from shore and turn north toward the fishing dock. By staying close to shore I get to play in the waves and take advantage of the slight wind break created by the lee shore.

There is only one person fishing on the dock, and rather than disturb him I paddle under the dock near shore. Freestone point looms ahead and with it the much larger wave sets and rebounding waves. In a few weeks I'm heading out to the lower Potomac to support the Potomac River Swim. These waves, although small, give me the chance to freshen my skills for the upcoming open water crossing that weekend.

At best, the waves rarely exceeded a foot or so. But it was a wet ride as almost every one that went by broke across my kayak. A few low braces - not because I needed them, but because this was all I had with which to practice.

As I cross the wide mouth of Neabsco creek the waves grow larger but not nearly as steep. The deeper water and 6 mile fetch made it fun for a while. As the wind continued to blow a cold mist into my face, my cheeks began to sting a little so I took off my hat and pulled the hood of my NRS Over-Sea Tour jacket over my head. I bought this jacket about a year ago and it has by far become my favorite fowl weather paddling jacket. Cut so that it can be put on over a PFD, it is comfortable and a pleasure to paddle in.

My ears appreciated being taken out of the wind by the jacket hood, but my eyes still squinted through the droplets forming on my glasses. I was soon in the mouth of Farm Creek and the wind quickly dropped off to nothing. It seemed as within a half dozen paddle strokes the water had gone from tossing me around to mirror-like, with only the tiniest of ripples indicating the tide was beginning to run out.

As I wound my way back into this creek, I followed one shore than another, twisting my way through the wide turns. A beaver swam out to greet me, but dived once my Sirocco curved gently to intercept its course. A single yellow flower screamed for attention in a sea of green. Farm creek is normally shallow and choked with lily pads - passable from end to end only at high tide during late fall to early spring. Any other time of the year and you risk slogging through deep mud to get yourself out of an area that can quickly drain when the tide turns.

I passed over a peninsula where years ago a thorn had pressed through my thin booties and into my foot. A lesson I still carry with me when shopping for kayak foot wear.

It is somewhat illusionary how this area appears with this extremely high water. Only when I floated across the peninsula did I bang my paddle on the bottom. As geese, ducks, and osprey take flight as I move further up the creek, my Sirocco continues to turn and twist as if by magic, being pulled along into something greater and more magnificent than what I had already seen.

The lily pads became thick and I lifted myself a few inches above the seat to pick the best route through them. The Sirocco danced and turned through the pads as if by instinct she knew where the open water would be. Like two lovers waltzing across the floor, each knowing where the other was going. Neither leading, neither following, and both gliding effortlessly across the room.

It was somewhere in this mist of feelings I began to wonder if this was here, just for me. Created from everything I know to be good and pure, the creek soaked in and soothed my soul as the Sirocco and I continued to dance. I tried and failed to think of a way to describe my experience. The words couldn't capture it and it was fruitless to try. Few people knew about the somewhat hidden entrances to this creek, even fewer have the means to travel it. I was convinced it had been created for me.

All too quickly I spotted the north exit back out to the Potomac, but I chose to stay in the creek a little longer. I paddled as far as I could until running out of water and turned back for the exit. Scraping over logs that would have prevented me from exploring this with even just a few inches less water. The air in here is sweet and trash non-existent; pristine and untouched by everyone, but me.

Near the north exit I again can hear the wind out on the river. I can see the waves working into the mouth of the creek. A mature Bald Eagle leads me out of my paradise and I have to battle my way though the waves breaking across the shallow sandbars at the mouth of the creek.

The wind and waves begin to scrape my experience from my skin as I head south back toward Leesylvania. Pulling my hood back on I can feel the essence of what I had just been through pulled away and left behind. I cinch the jacket up tight in hopes I might retain just a touch to take with me.

The wind and waves remind me again that I wish the Sirocco had a tiny bit more skeg, but I heel the boat over and sit more on the left side of the seat to help counter the boat wanting to turn into the wind. It seems like quite a long paddle back - across Neabsco Creek, past the rough water of Freestone Point, under the dock. But suddenly I'm back to where I put in. It catches me by surprise my paddle is over so soon. Landing and pulling the boat ashore, in what seems like seconds I'm back on the road for home.

Woody

Superimposed on Silence

aking a chance on the rain, and waiting a bit for a late morning launch, I headed for Fountainhead to work on my forward stroke. I had yet to put in any distance this season and my forward stroke needed a good tuning if I'm ever to work up to some decent distances.

After paying my $2.50 to launch, I headed down to the boat ramp and tossed my gear and the boat to the ground. There was no parking available this morning by the ramp, but plenty in the upper parking lot so I parked there and headed back to the ramp. It is a fairly steep road from the ramp to the parking lot and I can tell you I know every inch of it quite well as I forgot things and had to return to the car not once, but twice before I managed to feel satisfied I had everything I needed.

From the ramp I turned right and headed west, upriver of the Occoquan. What little urbanization there is near Fountainhead quickly disappeared behind me. There is almost no buildings at all on river right, and the few on river left are now well hidden in the green foliage.

Starting out I spent some time with edging and leaned turns. Bow rudders, and hanging draws. I even played with a reverse hanging draw but I don't think my kayak is going to be able to do that. Even with the skeg down and leaning as far forward as possible the stern would outrun the bow in a reverse hanging draw.

On past the remnants of Ryan's Dam I cranked up the forward momentum. I've adopted the Brent Reitz forward stroke last year and I want to tune it this season for the long haul.

Within a few minutes something inside me told me to stop paddling. As soon as I lifted the paddle from the water I noticed the silence. For a brief few minutes there wasn't a plane, nor a car, or even a lawn mower breaking the silence. The silence seemed to have a presence of its own, and the sounds of birds were superimposed on top of it. It was as if the animals were trying to drown out the silence, but they couldn't. Making all their sounds together I could still hear the silence underneath them.

I started paddling again, this time aware of the silence. I took a deep breath and tried to inhale some of this feeling. Along the shore I noticed baby geese and their parents. An adult bald eagle flew across the reservoir, all but disappearing in the green leaves as it landed.

At the point where the Occoquan and Bull Run come together I turned to head back, but I need to extend my distance. So I turn full circle and head up Bull Run to add a bit more distance.

Within the last mile near Bull Run marina, I could finally tell the silence was having difficulty being heard. It faded away into the distance as urban life came back into focus. I turned back once again at the marina, wanting to try and seek out the silence again.

The stroke was working well. 5 miles so far and I was feeling good. I doubted I would be able to keep it up the entire trip back. It certainly was good for encouraging trunk rotation, and I could easily slip into straight arm paddling without losing the twisting that was providing the power to my blade, but I stayed with the bent arms for the entire trip back.

Near Ryans dam the carp started jumping, and a momma duck and 2 tiny ducklings were nervously paddling along shore. In no time I was back on shore.

10 miles and I felt like I could do another 10. Now if I could just get the water to warm up so I can tune up my other paddling skills...

Woody

Famous

t was raining fairly good as we left the house. Like the day before I was rolling the dice that the rain wouldn't last. Katie and I stopped by the bank, then got gas and a few sandwiches for lunch. After the gas station we popped in to Anita's for breakfast burritos. But the clouds looked worse.

To the east and south things didn't look as bad. I decided I would head to Fountainhead and if it didn't look promising we would drive out to Mason Neck.

Katie was ready to paddle by the time we arrived at Fountainhead. So I paid the $5 and we drove down to the ramp in a drizzle. She didn't mind the rain.

I wonder where she gets that from?

We dressed up and pulled paddling jackets over our PFDs just as the Game Warden pulled up with his boat. He was fiddling around with his engine as we paddled off. In my overstuffed paddling jacket I looked like a giant grapefruit, and Katie looked like a plump blueberry. Within a half mile the rain had stopped and I was warm, so I shed the jacket. Katie decided to keep hers on, and within another half mile it began to rain again.

We talked about possibly stopping half way out to the dam, but we didn't. We were enjoying a leisurely paddle. Katie made note of every Blue Heron she saw.

As a side note, has anyone ever seen a baby Heron outside the nest? I've seen small herons, but nothing I would term an infant. I mentioned to Katie they must be born full grown.

The hawks we saw put on a great show diving in the water for small fish. Katie stopped us at one point just to listen. "Can you hear how quiet it is?"

I wonder where she gets that from?

We arrived at where the lanes were marked for the rowing shell races. Katie decided she wanted to race and after a measured start we were off. She started out in front and was leading for a good bit, but her arm paddling soon gave way to my over powering back muscles. Several times I mentioned to her on the trip she should be using her back, and that her arms were going to get tired.

Near the end of the lanes there was a low dock for the shells pushed against the shore. We decided to get out on the long dock to eat lunch and stretch our legs. Katie made me feel old by asking me if I thought I would be able to get back in the kayak if I got out.

We talked about what Turkey Ham, a component of our sandwiches, was made from. We decided it was from a mythical beast - part pig and part turkey - a purkey. We speculated on if it could fly (it can't) and what it would look like (something like a pink penguin), what it sounded like (part gobble, part oink) and then we went for a final walk down the length of the dock before getting back in our boats.

We had stopped about a half mile from the dam, and Katie wanted to get closer but I knew she was tired. Katie wanted to see the dam, and I was afraid with the increased security we might cause a little too much concern if we landed and walked around so she could see the other side. The giant blueberry and I headed back toward Fountainhead.

Almost from the start Katie began to talk about how tired her arms were. I reminded her about our earlier conversation about arm paddling. Several times she refused a tow. She was determined to make it back on her own even if it took the rest of the day.

It was a long paddle with us taking a few strokes, gliding, taking a few more and then resting. I was about to tell Katie she was going to have to accept a tow when we spotted eight kayaks rounding the corner up ahead. Katie seemed to catch a small second wind knowing there were other kayakers heading our way.

When they got close I recognized Jesse's boat and paddled over to the group to say hi. As I got near, Tom said "You must be the famous Woody."

I glanced at Katie and she was smiling, trying to conceal a laugh. We said our goodbye's to the group and as we paddled away Katie asked "Why did they say you are famous?"

This provided entertainment for her the rest of the trip back to the park. She enjoyed razzing me ("no, really, why are you famous?"), and I enjoyed answering her questions with "because, as I've told you all your life, Dad's know everything." Her poking fun made her forget how tired she was and in what seemed like moments we rounded the last corner and could see the park. She sprinted the last 100 yards, giving up the last bit of energy she had.

We landed and loaded up the car. It had been a long draining day and we were both happy to sit in the comfort of the car for the ride home.

By my best estimate, Katie paddled 9 miles today. Her longest trip without accepting a tow. My secret plan is to get her in good enough shape that one day she can tow me :)

Woody

The Potomac River Swim

rom the campground, I slip the Sirocco into the water at 6:30 am; I needed to cross to the other side of Lake Conoy by 7:15. No worries because it is less than a half mile across. As I'm launching, a Boston Whaler also leaves from the campground dock and I follow him across the lake.

On the other side of the lake I land at another dock, one low enough I can hop out and pull my kayak up on the edge. Greg and Jenny are here carrying their boats down to the same dock.

As I wait to meet up with my swimmer, Henry Eckstein, Karl paddles over from the campground and I help him carry his boat up to the grass with the growing number of other kayaks.

The Potomac River Swim benefits the Interstate Commission on the Potomac River Basin, the Southern Maryland Sierra Club, Chesapeake Bay Foundation, Point Lookout State Park, and the Potomac River Association. This swim is one of the better organized swims, with each swimmer assigned a kayaker to escort them across the seven and a half miles of open water.

As we begin loading, I put the Sirocco lengthwise in a Boston Whaler. Another kayak is placed across the stern and strapped in place with bungees. The kayaks on shore are loaded aboard a large skipjack and the swimmers begin to climb aboard as well. I was beginning to get nervous when Henry showed up with his food and briefly went over how often he expected to feed.

I board the Whaler, and just before getting underway I stow Henry's food in a deck bag, or at least as much as I could, with a little bit stuffed in my day hatch.

We head out into the Potomac slowly. The waves are large and the whaler is slamming her bow pretty hard on the waves. The skipper's wife is sitting in the bow not facing the water, afraid to look. Once, the boat entirely leaped from the water, the engine racing as the prop broke free of the waves. It seemed like the ride across took forever, and I was deeply concerned with the well being of at least several kayakers who I think lack the experience for the return trip. Greg had told me this morning before we launched that a kayaker had asked him what a paddle float was for. The forecast was for a possible thunderstorm during the race. I was wishing I had volunteered to be a safety boat rather than a swimmer supporter.

As the Whaler crossed the river, the waves became smaller as the fetch became less. The captain picked up speed as the waves smoothed out. I programmed my VHF to scan the channels needed for the day. The captain dropped us off on shore and was the only boat that could make it in that shallow. The rest of the kayaks and swimmers were dropped off in the water and they waded/paddled in for a shore start.

As I was standing on the beach waiting for everyone, Greg told me the boat he came across the river in took a wave over the bow when they first headed out. I was becoming more and more concerned about these kayakers. As we launched to get ready for the race, Greg paddled over to talk to someone without bow flotation or a spray skirt. I expected this to be an interesting day.

For myself I knew the conditions, at least as they were when we left, were well within my range. I didn't want to surf into my swimmer as he stopped to feed, and I had discussed what I would do with him the night before if conditions were bad. He needed me to navigate from his right side so he could see me, but this could also put my kayak between him and the waves. If the waves got too large I would back up and slip on to his left side if needed while he fed.

The whistle blown, we were off. Henry swam for 40 minutes before stopping for his first feed. I asked him how he felt, and would do this each time we stopped to check for signs of hypothermia. I wasn't as concerned about his answer than the WAY he answered. After the first feed Henry set his watch to beep every 20 minutes. We would stop each time and he would drink from a bottle, or ask for something hot in the Thermos or eat a power gel. After giving him what he asked for I would side scull away from him and wait till he finished and move back in to grab his bottle or trash. As the waves grew larger I would back away simply because I couldn't scull fast enough.

The wind and waves were almost directly behind us. I rarely paddled forward, and instead held a low brace on the downwind side acting as part rudder, and part brake to keep me from outrunning Henry. We were being pushed along and I was secretly hoping we would get off the water before something bad happened to someone.

"SWIM ONE, THIS IS US COAST GUARD ON ZERO SIX"

"THIS IS SWIM ONE, GO AHEAD"

"ROGER SWIM ONE. WE JUST TALKED TO THE STATION AND DOPPLER IS SHOWING A STORM APPROACHING. IT IS EXPECTED TO ARRIVE IN ABOUT ONE HOUR"

"ROGER. KEEP US POSTED. SWIM ONE OUT"

I passed the info to Henry on his next feed. I mentioned there was chatter about if they saw lightning they would pull the swimmers out and wait 15-20 minutes and possibly drop them back in to finish the race. I wondered to myself what the kayakers were supposed to do for 15-20 minutes.

An hour passed, and then,

"SWIM ONE, THIS IS US COAST GUARD ON ZERO SIX"

"THIS IS SWIM ONE, GO AHEAD"

"ROGER, WE JUST TALKED TO THE STATION AND THE STORM IS GOING TO MISS US TO THE EAST"

"ROGER, THANKS FOR LETTING US KNOW"

Indeed. I passed on the good news to Henry at his next feed.

A swimmer was pulled out by a police boat. On the radio I heard them ask for a blanket or jacket. The large Coast Guard boat took the swimmer and decided the swimmer needed medical attention and took him/her back to the docks. The 62 degree water had taken its toll.

With the Coast Guard now gone, I'm not sure where the police boat disappeared to when I heard,

"KAYAKER 17 TO SWIM ONE"

It was Jenny.

"THIS IS SWIM ONE, GO AHEAD"

"THERE IS A BOAT NEAR THE FRONT OF THE GROUP CUTTING ACROSS THE RACE COURSE"

Jeez.

Not much later I look to my right and I see another large white boat and it is headed in my direction. Just as I'm beginning to feel like it will pass behind me it turns directly at me. I look back to the left for the nearest whaler but he already sees the boat and throttles up to place himself between me and the approaching craft. Finally the boat throttles down and I can now see a blue flashing light. Another marine patrol boat who gives the whaler instructions about the tug and barge about to pass through the rear of the course.

And I mean "through" the rear of the course. A whaler is assigned to mark each swimmer in the rear of the pack. Swim one is on the Virginia side of the tug, with I believe one swimmer. I'm on the Maryland side of the tug with three or four other kayak/swimmer pairs. I wish the Coast Guard would hurry and get back. (note: I later received email from Jenny W and Alan A that both of them were on the far side of the barge from me, meaning at least 2 swimmers and most likely a few more were on that side of the course. Jenny mentioned her swimmer actually had to stop and wait for the barge to pass)

I was pretty satisfied with the line I was navigating across the river. It was the beginnings of a flood current but it never seemed to get strong enough to make a lot of a difference. The skipjack seemed to be heading down river too far, and many of the kayakers were following it. I kept a little more to the left and pretty well centered between the left and rightmost whalers lining the course. In the last 100 yards we would get caught in something sweeping us up river and I turned parallel to the shore to keep Henry out of the rocks forming the breakwalls for about 100 feet.

Henry landed. His time 3:59, and was the 21st person to finish. Henry had expected to finish in 5-6 hours depending on the weather, but the waves and wind had pushed everyone along for a fast ride.

I gathered up Henry's stuff and put it in a bag for him. When I found him on the beach he was eating fried chicken and thanking me for helping him. He said I was one of the best kayak supporters he has had, which made me feel good since it was my first dedicated swim support. We said goodbye and I launched and headed back to the camp site. A nap was in my future.

The support wasn't hard, and there was enough excitement to keep me from getting too bored. I wondered if I would have tolerated 6 hours on my butt if it had gone that long.

The official race report listed the weather as: water temperature 62 degrees, rainy, overcast, wind 15-20 knots (S), waves 2-3 feet. I think maybe there were a few gusts to 20 knots, but not many. I never saw a 3 foot wave. I think 2 feet would be the upper extent at best, and that happened as the barge/tug was passing. The waves when we landed were not as big as when we headed out in the morning on the whaler.

At this point I'm not sure if I will do this again. As it fades from my memory I'm more inclined to say yes. When I first got off the water I said absolutely not. I think if I do, it will be in the role of a safety kayaker rather than a swim support kayak. I'd feel more qualified in that role.

The one story I didn't get to hear is how one swimmer finished up without a kayaker. The list I had showed there were 7 or 8 safety kayakers in reserve so I don't know how a swimmer ended up without an escort. I assume the kayaker was pulled for some reason, but I'm unsure why. (note: I received an email from Joq M explaining that one kayaker had to drop out because he had no skirt on his loaner boat and was taking on water. Joq returned back to the water to take on the support role and a few minutes later was joined by Greg)

Woody

Official Race Results

Karl sent me his trip report, which I've posted below:

The ride on the Skipjack across the Potomac was pretty rough and my adrenalin was rising. The previous year's swim was smooth and calm, and my swimmer cruised the 7.5 miles in 3 hours. This time it would be more exciting. The lady kayaker next to me on the Skipjack was wearing some pretty light splash wear and using a recreational kayak. Another young man near me did not have a skirt, and was discussing how a paddle float is used. There were 2 foot waves with a good chance of thunderstorms. I was clad in a wet suit and my kayak was laden with safety gear. Was I a wimp or wise; the debate continued in my head. Finally my kayak was dropped from the skipjack and it felt good to be on the water. However, there were a few factors which made me anxious. First, my rescue skills were rusty from a missed season due to back surgery. Therefore I carried a foam float on my deck rather than just trust my roll. Second, it is not easy for me to sit for a long time in a tight fitting boat, and I knew that I might have to take a stretch somewhere along the route. I had discussed this possibility with my swimmer, David (not his real name), along with the other basic things such the position of the kayak and the feeding schedule. I attached my VHF to my PFD. It was bulky, but I was eager to actually use it for something other than a weather radio. Visibility was good, and I could clearly see the destination on the other side.

I found David as the race started. David elected not to wear a wet suit, which surprised me, but then a few others were also swimming bare. It was his first major open water swim for a number of years, having been a serious swimmer in his youth. His son and mine are good friends, but this was our first meeting. It had been a real surprise when our sons discovered that their fathers were both signed up for the same event. Both were participating, but my effort pales in comparison to that of the swimmers. David held a good pace and he stayed in the middle of the pack. It began to rain and there was a report over the radio of a nearing storm. Feeling a little worried, I decided to put on my jacket during the first drink break. Unfortunately, this is a major job. Wanting to eliminate any possibility of capsize, I quickly secured my float and outrigger, then removed my PFD and put the jacket on. It went quickly, but I felt like the extra minute was slowing down my swimmer. In the excitement of putting on my jacket, I had lost one of the drink bottles, adding to the flotsam of the Potomac. Once moving again, I wanted to replenish my on deck supply and tempted to grab another bottle from where they were stowed beside my seat. However, I had pushed them too far back and could not reach reach them, and the small chop was not helping matters - another failure. Luckily an extra kayaker (without an assigned swimmer) soon passed by. I asked him to raft up for a moment while I twisted and grabbed some bottles. It took only about 15 seconds so that David probably did not even notice.

The waves were picking up by the middle of the course, and after 2 hours, I was getting real stiff and in need of some relief. With the prospect of another 2-3 hours in increasing waves, I thought it was best to stretch sooner than later. A support boat happen to pull close by as they patrolled the line of swimmers. I yelled to the boat to keep close to my swimmer for a few minutes and they acknowledged. After signaling my swimmer, I sped ahead a short distance, and slipped into the water. It felt great to stretch and kick around for about 1 minute. During this minute, David swam passed me, and I could see he was having trouble staying on course. I reentered my kayak, and was quickly by his side. He had told me there would be no problem swimming without me for a few minutes, but I felt a little guilty leaving him for even that short amount of time.

David continued in the middle of the pack to about the two thirds mark, but the larger waves began to take their toll. He surfaced and lost most of the energy bar he had previously eaten. I encouraged him to hold onto my bow as he rested. A support boat drew near and I told them it was just some sea-sickness, but David was also shivering and I began to worry. After another 15-20 minutes of good progress, he gave up the fight, feeling sick and cold. He held onto my bow as I attempted to radio for a boat. For the first time in 3 years, I actually had a reason to transmit on my VHF. The channel number indicated the correct channel (6), but as I pushed the transmit button, it sounded a continuous beep, and was clearly not working. I was frustrated, and with the hanging swimmer, and the waves, I almost capsized. Once again I stuffed the foam float on my paddle for some secure bracing and waved it in the air to attract a police boat. The boat picked up my swimmer and I continued on to the finish.

Without a swimmer to occupy me, I found the 2 foot confused waves to be a little unnerving. As I paddled and braced, I watched a wide sit-on-top with a calm paddler, and tried to remember my many good reasons for buying a skinny boat. At the beach and picnic I found David warm and in good spirits. I also discovered that during the paddle I had somehow accidentally switched my VHF to the weather channels, and had been attempting to transmit on weather channel 6. I left with a full stomach and a free shirt, and with the hope that the swim and fund raising makes a good contribution to the restoration of the Chesapeake bay.

Karl

Is it something I said?

here wasn't a large turn out of kayakers for the Chesapeake Bay swim. I spent the better part of the day wondering if my trip report and the list discussion about the Potomac River swim discouraged people from attending. If this caused you to stay away, please leave me a comment below to this trip report.

We only had about 28 kayakers to watch the 500+ swimmers crossing the Bay. Thankfully 12 of the one mile swim supporters made the crossing to help us out because we were spread pretty thin.

Compared to the Potomac Swim, this was somewhat uneventful, at least for me. I pulled 2 swimmers out at the beginning, but after that I had to sprint to catch up to the front of the pack. I was assigned to a team to watch the last 4/10 of a mile of the swim. The plan was to follow the lead swimmers across until I got to the last 4/10ths of a mile and then take up station until all the swimmers made it across. But taking two people off the course in the first mile (one person within the first 200 feet) really slowed me down and I had to hoof it to catch back up to the front. (according to print articles, over 60 people were pulled from the 4.4 mile swim this year)

Once past the 4 mile marker I paddled a little further down and took up station near the bridge painting barge. This was a maze of lines and ropes and I wanted to make sure no one got swept into that mess.

On the way across, it was a constant battle to keep swimmers from swimming outside the bridge spans, but once I parked by the barge I placed my cockpit even with the southern bridge span and kept my bow pointed toward the northern bridge span. This forced the swimmers to swim away from the bridge pylons, which was good since I saw a few people come by with blood on their arms from tangling with pylons further up the course. It was interesting that swimmers easily saw my kayak and swam around it, but many couldn't see the huge concrete pylons sticking out of the water.

As time went on and the pack of swimmers went by more people started taking up station , with their bows pointing out past the pylons. It seemed to work well, at least from where I was sitting, at keeping the swimmers away from the southern span.

Swimmer after swimmer passed and finally I saw the end of the pack. Two swimmers came by, each with a kayak escort, and another kayaker told me anyone behind them were being pulled from the water. I stuck with the last swimmer with another kayaker, who had picked her up farther back on the course. This kayaker, who I'm embarrassed to say I don't recall his name, did a great job of encouraging this last swimmer and guiding her the last 1/2 of a mile to the beach.

Once on shore I called my grandmother in Florida. She turned 90 today and I called to wish her a happy birthday before it got too late.

After the phone call I grabbed a few bagels (a drawback of coming in last is there isn't much food left) and then headed back across the bay to where my car was waiting. Before I got far I hooked up with David, Cyndi, and a few others. We were paddling fairly slow but soon caught up with 2 people in white water kayaks and 1 person in a sea kayak. I dropped back to stay with them, but one of the ww boats fell even farther behind, finding it difficult to fight against the current.

Dave fell back and I noticed before long the ww boat was moving along nicely. I didn't realize till we were almost back that Dave had hooked a tow line to the ww boat and singlehandedly towed it from the bridge to the wind surfer beach!

The ww boat I escorted made it back under her own power - a strong paddler with much more energy than I had.

By the time my kayak was on my car and we said our goodbyes, it was nearly 7:00. It was a long day and I made it home a little over 13 hours after I had left.

I was impressed with how this swim worked out. Mike and Alan did a great job of organizing the kayakers, and Brian chipped in with a good plan for the best coverage with such a small group. My hat's off to all of them. And also to Dave who helped bring that ww boater back across the bay - she would have been in trouble without him; to Andy for escorting the blind swimmer, and the unknown kayaker for sticking with the the last swimmer to the end.

If anyone who reads this had planned to support the swim but backed out after the list discussion on the Potomac River swim, I would appreciate a comment to this trip report below. I do want to know if last weeks discussion deterred folks from attending. I think in the future I need to be more cognizant of the timing for my reports...

Other things of note:

1) Know where you are on the course. I was probably asked a dozen times "How much further?"

2) If you don't have the skills to keep yourself away from the pylons, don't risk putting your boat between a pylon and a swimmer. They are briefed ahead of time to stay clear, and although the pylons were somewhat clean, they can eat through your boat in a second if you are not careful. No one is going to reimburse you if you hole your boat. Yell at them and try to get them to swim clear before they get there.

3) Someone suggested they put a banner on the food boat so people know what it is. Great idea.

4) You won't need your tow belt until you put it out of reach. I had stashed my tow belt after the race because I was expecting to paddle back alone. It was only a 4-5 mile paddle back, right? Thankfully Dave had put a bit more thought into it than I did.

5) I had one swimmer vehemently complain to me about the current. Not sure what I was supposed to do about it?

6) Crossing the channel back to the wind surfer's beach can be a bit tricky for novice paddlers. We should arrange to make sure they are escorted by paddlers who are experienced in crossing shipping lanes.

Woody

A little more skeg, please

forgot that Mason Neck doesn't open till 8:00 am, so when I drove up at 7:00 I pulled up to the gate and shut off the engine. After reclining my seat and adjusting the volume on the CD player, I let my mind drift through pleasant thoughts.

Around 7:30 a park ranger young enough to be my son drove up and unlocked the gate. I made sure it was ok to go in and headed for the car top launch. I unloaded a bunch of gear and paddled out to Conrad Island about a mile off in the distance.

Conrad Island continues to disappear. Its 3 pieces giving way to the large wakes as boats zip through the narrow channel between the island and mainland. Around the island I probe the bottom with my paddle to determine its quality - I'll be standing in this stuff in a little while, and I wanted to make sure the bottom was firm enough not to suck shoes off my feet.

Paddling back to the park I see activity at the launch site. Today I'm co-leading a first timer trip. The goal being to introduce folks new to kayaking to the concepts of wet exits and paddle float self-rescues.

After everyone arrives and a short shore talk we paddle out to Conrad to perform wet exit and then practice a few paddle float rescues. Now qualified for CPA trips, we headed back back to the park and after a quick break Joan, my co-leader, headed off with the majority of the group into Kanes creek while I waited for one member on a bathroom break. We caught up in short order but as the wind picked up we turned and headed back to the launch.

A quick lunch later, Joan and I headed south around the neck to the heron rookery. I spent a lot of time edged into the wind because my kayak wanted to turn toward it. Things got better as we rounded the point and headed back to the rookery. It was still full of screeching herons. I asked Joan if she minded if we turn around, fatigue getting the better part of me. Standing in the cool water and demoing self-rescues had sapped my energy.

On the return trip the wind increased. The clouds beating their way out of town and blue sky returning. My edging and sweep strokes increased and I commented to Joan what a PIA the Sirocco was to paddle in these conditions. It needs more skeg!

After landing and packing up we headed off to the restrooms before getting on the road. While standing around and chatting about the Sirocco skeg, we lowered the skeg on my kayak and on Joan's Gulfstream. The difference in exposed surface is huge. I look into my skeg slot and notice there is still more skeg available.

On leaving the park I stopped by the visitor center to pick up a lifetime Virginia park pass. This caught the guy behind the counter by surprise -he had never sold one before.

On the slider bar beside my cockpit there are cable sheaths sticking out into the slider area limiting the travel of the skeg. The next day I trimmed off the sheath sticking out from the rear so the skeg can deploy fully. Only an extra half inch of skeg pokes through the bottom - will this be enough? A few trips and I'll post my results...

Woody

Paddling with Bill

was supposed to meet Joan at Belle Haven Marina at 9:30, but I was awake at 5:00 am so I headed out early. I have been nursing a cold that my Dr. tells me is allergies so I didn't think I could get up that early. As the sun rose up into the sky the darkly tanned guy who handles the sail boats and his girlfriend were doing their morning Yoga workout. Pure poetry in motion, even if it did make my body ache to watch.

Around 8:00 I'm all loaded up and ready to go when Bill Dodge pulls up. He has a last minute trip to the sailing marina up his sleeve. He suggests I call Joan and tell her to come on down.

We meet a woman with a brand new Chesapeake 17. I give her a hand with her boat and ask her a little about it. She tells me it is her first time out this season. I think it is her first time out. Bill and I talk to her about CPA. She is invited to tag along but after thinking about it, declines. I doubt she will be out as long as we are today. She wobbles away from shore like we all did as a new paddler.

Joan arrives by 8:30, along with 2 others going out with us today. We launch and head towards Jones Point Lighthouse. It always takes my motor a while to warm up so I'm naturally in the back, and Bill keeps me company. He asks me if I know why the lighthouse is so far into the cove and not out on the point. When I say 'no' he chuckles and starts with his trademark lead-in to his stories "Wellllll...."

Bill tells me that the lighthouse, which is literally a house with a light in the roof, was on the point many years ago. The area has filled in since the lighthouse was built. I told him I always suspected they filled in the area when they built the Woodrow Wilson bridge. Bill, who is somewhere in his 70's, tells me he remembers the area filled in before they built the bridge.

I love paddling with Bill. I learn something new about our local history every time I do. I have a deep respect for his common sense, his love of history, and his sound paddling judgement.

We slowed down as we passed the point to inspect the bridge structure that is being built next to the Woodrow Wilson bridge. They were just starting to pound in the footings when I left for Japan, and now I see them rising up above the surface four across all the way to the other side of the river. The tops are angled to meet up with the arches that will support the roadway. It is not often we get to inspect a bridge of this magnitude being assembled from the water. It appeared they were getting one of the forms ready to build the first arch.

Past the bridge and by the dinner boats. They looked to be getting ready to accept passengers. We paddled on up to the sailing marina where a bunch of small sail boats were getting ready to head out to the Potomac to race.

On the trip back we pass the sail boat race. On shore at the power plant a fire is burning and I paddle close to inspect. I watch to see if anyone is watching the fire. I paddle down river a small bit to look for anyone who might be minding the driftwood fire, and finding no one, paddle back to extinguish it. I had dragged several of the logs into the water when I heard someone cussing at me. I turned toward the voice and saw him give me the finger and cuss some more. I started to explain why I was putting it out and as I squared to face him he suddenly looked a bit nervous. I'm not sure if it was because of the radio antenna sticking out of my pocket, the river knife strapped across my chest, the fact I had a good 100 lbs. on him, or if he suddenly noticed the two big guys sitting in the water just behind me, but he turned and hurried away like a frightened little rabbit and I finished putting out the fire. Now quite a bit irked at his attitude, and him being oblivious to the several hundred (thousand?) tons of coal only a stone's throw away at the power plant.

We got back to the marina and I felt ready to do another 10 miles. Instead I loaded my kayak back on the car and called it a day.

Woody

Happy Birthday America!

n the 227th birthday of America, Joan met me in Alexandria for a paddle in to Washington DC to watch the fireworks. As we parked on the street and began to unload our gear, I remembered this always seems to be the hottest place on earth. I think in part due to the giant piles of coal just a few hundred feet away at the power plant. By the time we were on the water I was hot and felt like I had sweated off the sunscreen I had applied only a few minutes before.

Even the water was warm, but I dipped off anyway. The warm water outtake of the power plant made things even worse. But north of the plant the water cooled and I dipped off again and got closer to shore to take advantage of the shade. But as we paddled along the shore I kept looking at the runway ahead knowing that long passage by the airport would be without shade and hot. The water was choppy from the endless line of pleasure boats headed up to DC.

We struggled north. By the time we reached Gravely point it seemed like we had been paddling all day. We ducked into the small creek next to Gravely to reapply sunscreen and for me to refill my empty water bottle. As we paddled out a boat leaving the dock made a sharp turn and would have ran us down if not for my screaming at the captain and Joan blowing her whistle. The captain never even looked where he had been going, instead had kept looking back in the back of the boat at his passengers.

Out of the creek we got back into the bigger boat wakes. The jet skis were jumping the wakes and clearly within the 100 feet of shore from which they are not allowed to operate. One guy fell off and as the wakes carried his craft towards the rocks I was sure it would be destroyed. But by some miracle he managed to swim over and get back on just in time. The four jet skis continued to buzz around like irritating little bees but finally headed north staying just enough ahead to keep us breathing their fumes.

Where were the cops? - I wondered this to my self as a big boat passed us. The captain looked at his empty beer and set it aside and ran down into the galley to get another, leaving his craft pilotless for a few moments until he returned. In years past the cops had been strict about boats not being near the Virginia shore at all, and most boats stayed to the Maryland side. But there were enough that I found myself paddling much closer to shore than I wanted to be.

Some young adults on shore yelled at us " Kayakers! Can we get some help?" A few minutes later I tossed their frisbee back to them and we wish each other happy 4th.

We continued our sloth toward Roosevelt Island. The sun hidden by a few clouds, it wasn't nearly as hot but the current still slowed us down. It was 7:00 before we landed on Roosevelt for a bite of KFC that was stashed in my rear hatch. We had landed through mud and the tide had gone out even more. I tried my best to get as much off as I could, but I still carried a bunch of it into the kayak with me.

We arrived at Jacks just at the Pirates were getting on the water around 8:00. By 8:30 we were on our way back down river to stake out a viewing spot on the water. We met up with Barry and Oona's group and enjoyed the fireworks as a large flotilla of kayaks.

After the show some little girls on shore sang in chorus "Happy Birthday America!" This was our cue to begin the trip back to Alexandria.

I told Barry I would paddle sweep and we said our goodbyes to the group paddling back to Jacks. We were nine on the water and seemed to be making good time. The night breeze felt good and the chop from the boats on the other side of the river made for exciting paddling under the crecent moon. At the south end of the airport a large jetliner passed just above our heads.

I was next to last out of the water as Barry stood knee deep catching the kayaks and helping lift them up the bank on to shore. Shortly afterwards we said our goodbyes and headed off in our various directions. In some ways I was tired, and in others I felt like I wanted to paddle even more. The 14 miles left me wanting more.

I'm not sure why my paddles have been ending as of late with my body feeling the need to put in more distance. I may need to put in a trip sometime soon that will test my upper bounds. I'd like to think it is my paddling stroke that is adding the stamina - making lower mileage paddles seem effortless. Time will tell.

Happy Birthday America!

Woody

The Tortoise and the Hair(y squirrel)

n Friday I told Joan she could choose the launch site for today. She chose Galesville. I don't know why I have such an adversion to driving to Galesville. Heck, it is just as far to drive as Sandy Point. Maybe I always relate Galesville with longer paddles. Today would be no different as we would cover a total of 16 miles in blistering heat.

On the way to the launch I managed to miss two squirrels and three turtles in the road. The squirrels were near kills as they darted back and forth and couldn't decide which way to go. The turtles were an easy miss. They just stood their ground and it was easy to drive around them. I even imagined they hissed at my car as I drove by. It made me think about their approaches to life. One quick, with life or death based on instant decisions. One slow and methodical, often stopping to get the lay of the land. It might explain why I often see more squished squirrels than turtles.

As I arrived at the Launch, Gar was taking out after having his new Shadow out for a test run. We swapped carries to and from the parking lot. That Shadow is a heavy kayak...

And it was hot. Steaming hot and only going to get hotter. When Joan arrived we carried her kayak to the water's edge and I made a last minute grab for my sail. We set off for a little indentation on my GPS near Deale. We wouldn't make it, but we would give it a good try. As we rounded Curtis Point I took out the sail. The wind wasn't pushing me along much, but the shade from the sail helped a great deal.

After a few miles a cloud started forming over us and helped protect us till we almost reached Franklin Manor. We chatted with a few locals walking their dogs and one woman asked us for kayak advice.

After lunch we headed back, but took a detour to explore Deep Creek. We only got in a short distance when I ran aground, but I backed out and followed some sticks that marked the twisty channel back further into the marsh. After following the creek as far as we could, we turned around just as the wind died. We began to cook as we paddled out of the creek. I only hoped we would find the wind again once back on the Bay.

There was a trickle of a breeze as we exited the creek. The wind had changed directions so I paddled further from shore and raised my sail again in hopes to catch a little bit of a ride. But it wasn't happening. I paddled further out and got a little push but not a lot. We passed a boat at anchor with a kayak strapped to the top. Near shore the owners were poking in to a creek in another kayak.

Just as the wind started to stiffen and I began to get a free ride, a power boat buzzed by with kids on an inner tube. They didn't get dangerously close, just close enough the wake made it a bit precarious with my sail up, so I stowed it away and once again focused on paddling. And paddle I did. I often found myself so into the paddling I'd zone out until my mind could no longer sense where Joan was and I would stop and wait for her to catch up. Gawd I love this Brent Reitz stroke.

We kept telling each other "we're almost back" and "not much further now" even though I don't think it made a difference to either of us. The sun was boiling and I declined to roll because I didn't want the salt drying in my shirt and chafing. The callus' on my hands had softened in the water and were beginning to blister.

We paused long enough near Deadwood Cove to look at a fence that had trapped several horseshoe crabs. The first time Joan and I had ever seen any alive. They clung to the netting, half out of the water, and kept walking the perimeter looking for an escape. But it was hot and we were ready to get off the water so we made a sprint to cross the channel and back along the marina. A guy pressure washing his boat could see how hot I was as he sprayed some mist in my direction to try and cool me off but it evaporated before it could reach me.

16 miles in blistering heat. I'm sure Joan was even more worn than I as she didn't have the advantage of a sail to push her along part of the way. But in all it was a lovely paddle. But I think next time, I'll wait till fall or early spring to agree to come back...

Woody

What happened to my 'risk assesment' sense?

atie and I stopped by KFC to pick up some dinner to take with us. Alexandria Va was having their annual birthday celebration and Katie and I were on our way to watch the fireworks. The forecast for clear weather was in our favor.

When we arrived at the launch we stopped in at Atlantic Kayak to pick up a pfd light for Katie and to sign me up for my 3 star BCU assessment. I had tried to squeeze it in before I left for Japan but the timing didn't work out. So in 2 weeks we'll know if I have the skills to pass. Over the next two weeks I need to get my high brace on the move in order...

We loaded Katie's kayak on the cart and I tossed all the gear in it before wheeling it down to the water. Katie stayed with her Mystic while I went back for the Sirocco.

At the shore we had several hours to kill so we ate our dinner and played a game of trying to hit a boulder in the river with small rocks from shore. Time passed quickly and it was soon time to get on the water.

As we were leaving the Atlantic Kayak tour group was beginning to gather. We got underway and within 100 feet Katie mentioned she was scared of the waves. The 'waves' were barely 4 inches. This made me a little angry. She's been paddling in much bigger waves before. The first set of boat wakes that came by had her begging for me to stay closer to her.

Things slowly got better for her as we paddled down river. Past the park where the fireworks were to be held. Past the marina and the dinner boats heading out for the evening. Before long we reached the Woodrow Wilson bridge, and beside it, the barge carrying the fireworks. As we turned to head back north to find a spot to watch the fireworks I noticed in the distance dark clouds rolling in with a front. If I were alone, I could have easily beat it back, but Katie paddles at a much slower speed. The best I could hope for was that it would only bring rain.

I reached over my shoulder to turn on my PFD light and discovered that after 3 years my batteries were finally dead. This LED light had lasted a long time and I probably had left it turned on after the 4th of July paddle. On my deck was a monster 6v flashlight, which would be more than enough to warn boaters of my presence. I reached over and turned on Katie's pfd light and we started making tracks to try and beat the storm.

Straight ahead I saw lightning jumping in the clouds.

We did our best to beat the lightning, but it finally got close enough I told Katie we would have to wait it out under a large pier. This worked fine for all of 5 minutes until Katie noticed the underside of the pier was covered with spiders. Katie isn't afraid of much, but spiders terrify her. "Dad, we have to go"

I made her stay a bit longer. The worst of the lightning gone we headed for the launch to try and beat the rain. As we passed in front of the park the Marines set off their cannons. Jeez that scared the piss out of me! I thought for sure it was a lightning strike.

After passing the park the wind began to rise rapidly. We pulled in to the boathouse and rafted up against the low dock. I thought if the wind got too bad we could take out here and walk down the 3-4 blocks to the car. As we were waiting for the wind to pass I guy came out to the dock with his family and mentioned to me the fireworks were cancelled.

The entire trip back, even though there were some fair waves and a good wind, Katie not once complained about them. Either she had gotten over her fear or she was afraid I was going to make her duck in under another spider filled pier. She handled the following swell from the boat wakes and the head wind with no problems at all.

A few minutes later with a lull in the wind we paddled back to the launch. The AK folks were starting to carry their kayaks back up to the store. I don't know if they ever got on the water. Katie and I carted our kayaks back to the car and walked to the shore for just a few more minutes. The parade of boats leaving was a sure sign the fireworks would not be held tonight. We walked back to the car and got back on the road for the trip home. Within minutes the rain began to fall in such quantity it was often difficult to see the road.

The trip home gave me a chance to reflect on the night's events. I was pissed at myself for letting us get caught in the storm. In Japan, the weather forecast was always wrong and I paid great attention to the sky all the time. Since I had been back I had been lulled into a usually accurate forecast system. I couldn't remember the last time the 24 hour weather forecast was so wrong. If I had been alert, I could have seen this front approaching long before it ever became an issue. Although I believe the pier provided the right protection at the right time, I haven't been able to dismiss the fact that we shouldn't have been out there in the first place. It will give me something to reflect on for some time.

Woody

From 1 to 3

n 16 June 2000, I took my first commercial class. A British Canoe Union (BCU) Canoe Safety Course. There, I learned a lot of the rescues and towing methods I've taught others over the years. Two days later, I took a second class in order to prepare me to be certified as a BCU three star or 'intermediate' level paddler.

In the BCU system, levels 1-3 concentrate on the basic strokes and are tested on flat water. One star assessments are currently not valid in North America. Two star is an improvement award that covers the basic flat water skills. The emphasis is on creating the desired movement of the kayak through developing an understanding of cause and effect rather than concentrating on rigidly defined strokes.

The three star is supposed to be the first 'technically challenging' award. Successful performance at this level indicates that candidates can consider themselves as intermediate kayakers rather than beginners.

After taking my three star class in 2000, I knew I had a lot to work on to feel ready to take the assessment. In the class, I couldn't perform a high brace reliably, and a high brace on the move was only a dream at that point. In addition, bow rudders were iffy and my overall confidence level was way below the expected standards.

I worked a lot the rest of that season and the next on improving those skills. My Gulfstream and I logged a lot of practice time. I was hoping I could squeeze in my assessment before going to Japan in 2001. I felt close. I had a good bow rudder. My high brace was there. My scull was there. But my high brace on the move was about 50/50. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

I ran out of time and didn't take the assessment before leaving for Japan.

While in Japan, I bought my Sirocco. This sea kayak and I connected from the beginning. For the first time I felt one with my kayak. It was an extension of me. Practicing in the surf took me to a new level of paddling. My high braces became automatic, and bracing on the move rock solid.

So on July 26 2003, now back in the states and again on flat water, I took my 3 star assessment. As I paddled away from the dock I felt my right foot peg click forward a click or two. I doubted I could fix it on the water. Could I take the assessment like this?

The first task was to turn a complete circle using only sweep strokes. I turned right and felt off balance from the beginning. It took several low braces to keep me upright. ARGH! I felt like a novice! I toed the back of my foot peg to pull it toward me. Once adjusted, I locked in to my kayak and handled the turns both aggressively and with confidence.

When it came time for bow rudders I felt awkward. Fortunately for me my kayak knew what to do and easily turned though 90 degrees and beyond. I almost wanted to ask for a 'do over' but Axel was satisfied so I let it go. The left and right bow rudders were actually pretty good but I knew what the kayak and I were capable of and I felt like I wasn't performing up to my capabilities.

Axel asked me if I knew how to do bow and paddle presentation Eskimo rescues. I said yes and Peter capsized. I wasn't lined up for a bow presentation so I went in with a paddle presentation. Axel commented how well I adapted to using the right rescue for the moment.

Our assisted rescues went great, but before we started the towing Axel called us over to critique some things he saw. He told me my scull for support was too deep and my head too high. Well, that was all I needed to demonstrate to him my 'lay on the water scull'. I think he was satisfied :)

Our final on water task was to tow each other back to the dock. On shore we finished the assessment with questions and answers about general kayaking subjects

I thought long and hard about this assessment. The assessment seemed too easy as compared to the stringent guidelines given in my 3 star class from what seemed so long ago. But that was three years in my paddling past. Were my skills that much better? I know they are, but I expected the assessment to challenge me, yet instead I finished up feeling under assessed. In the end it was working up to the assessment that really challenged me.

In an hour and a half we had finished our assessment on and off the water, so I took some time to explore Piscataway creek. I took the left branch but didn't make it too far before dead falls and shallow water stopped me from going any further. I paddled back to the dock after chatting with several fishermen about a beaver the size of a dog that wouldn't leave them alone.

So now I find myself asking: What can I do to continue to challenge myself? Four star training is somewhere in my future, but will likely have to wait till next season.

Woody

Rolling down the Potomac

atie and I got to Jack's boathouse around 2:30. Around 3:00 Joan arrived and in short order we paddled over to Roosevelt Island.

One of my great failings in the role of instructor has been my inability to teach rolling. I've bought nearly every thing I can on teaching rolling yet I never feel I'm 'good enough' when I'm with a student. I can diagnose what is wrong easily enough, but I seem to fail on conveying how to fix it to the person I am teaching.

I recently bought Vol 6 of Nigel Foster's Sea Kayaking Series "Rolling and Bracing". I've actually bought the entire series, but the most recent one I've received is Vol 6. Anyhow, Nigel seems to have a great progressive process which I wanted to give a try.

Katie's roll in the pool has been pure mechanical and required pre-placement of her paddle. It was 50/50 at best, and I often had to help her back up. Tonight we would try to roll 'in the wild' according to the way I watched Nigel teach it on video.

We started out in 4 inches of water. Getting her to lay properly with her back flat to the water looking up. Her paddle at right angles to the kayak, and having her high brace up with her paddle.

Next, in waist deep water I held her paddle blade in my hand while she high braced up. After about 3 tries I told her to try and lift the blade out of my hand before she rolled up. When I felt the blade lift from my hand I let go, and she rolled up!

Incrementally making things a little more challenging I had her roll over on her own, my hands only on the deck lines in case she needed me to roll up. As she went over she lost her grip on the paddle with one hand so I rolled her back up. Katie said I did it too soon - "I still could have done it on my own". The next try she went down and her hands pulled the paddle parallel to the kayak. I was saying out loud to Joan that Katie would blow this one when she suddenly did a sweep and rolled up!

I was shocked.

Since the silt I was standing in was pretty nasty, I got back in my sea kayak and we moved off shore to nearly the middle of the river. Katie made me stay close and keep my bow at right angles to her in case she needed an Eskimo rescue. She probably rolled in deep water another 6 or 8 times. She not once had to bail out of her kayak or need an Eskimo rescue. There was one attempt where she started to sweep, realized her paddle angle was wrong, and reset her paddle and rolled up. I never taught her that!

For me I think it was a productive evening. Katie's roll/high brace is awesome. We'll need to work on going down on one side and back up on the other, but that will come. And of course there is the off side. I'm hoping I can use this method to teach others how to roll. Time will tell.

As I think about next weekend being her 13th birthday, I wonder how long it will be before Katie has her 3 star?

Woody

See related link on rolling here.

My Secret Place

t the last minute I had to call off my planned paddle out of Mason Neck to take care of some Saturday morning business. But that left me with nothing to do in the afternoon. After getting in the car, not sure where it would take me I ended up at the launch site that can take me to my 'secret' place. I think I've only showed a few people where it is, and you'll never get the name of it out of me, else it wouldn't be my 'secret' place. :)

On shore I met a nice couple getting ready to launch. They were having a heck of a time getting a paddle together. New and tight. They had never paddled before in this area so I explained to them several possibilities. They asked me where I was going and I said "well, I'm not sure where I will go", making sure my secret place stayed a secret. "How far will you paddle?" "Oh, till I get tired" I replied.

On the water I launched straight out into this bay. I bet they wondered what could be in the direction I was heading.

It isn't so much I mind people knowing about my secret place, but getting there is hazardous. I sprinted across one of the Potomac River's most active boating channels. Narrow through here, but boats come through at full speed, often not paying the least bit of attention. The wakes are huge as they go by. I paddle between the channel and shore for a while. On the VHF radio a boy calls the Coast Guard. His father has fallen down some stairs on their large yacht and is bleeding badly from the shoulder. I listen as the marine patrol, fire department, and Coast Guard try to locate him. They finally determine the boy is piloting the boat away from them (and from help) and got him to shut down and stay near a numbered marker so the fire boat could render assistance.

An hour and a half rolls by and I find the mouth of the creek after a bouncy paddle. The wind is out of the south and combined with boat wake and reflected waves it has been a chore to paddle this far. I sense a front moving in from the south, and I secretly hope the wind picks up to make the ride back even more fun. Entering the creek is challenging. The waves heading in from the Potomac directly into the mouth of the creek. Over the shallow sand bar that protects the mouth. I surf in.

Around one bend and the water transforms into glass. The tide is running out so I dig in a bit. Winding through the marsh I pass new construction on the left, replacing the run down houses that were there a few years ago. Great Blue's, egrets, ducks and other water fowl of many different types scoot ahead or take flight in front of me. My secret place seems even better than I remembered it.

Before long I reach a beaver dam that halts my progress. I consider pulling up over it but turn to head back. The water carries me towards the Potomac yet the wind tries to hold me back. An adult Bald Eagle shows me the way out. As I near the mouth I hear the waves crashing in over the outgoing current. I deliberately choose the roughest path, wanting to experience something besides flat water. But the excitement is too short as I turn my sea kayak back towards the launch.

I cross the channel at a different spot. A bit wider but I can see boats coming from father away. As I approach the green marker I wait for a few boats to pass. Finally nothing coming either way I sprint across the channel after the last boat. I catch some good waves and make it across quickly.

Near the launch I see a capsized kayak so I paddle close by to make sure everything is ok. A couple are practicing self rescues. This is always good to see.

On shore I load up my kayak and help a guy who came in from fishing with his Old Town kayak. Someone points out a large snake near a log, and a hatching snake egg not far away. Time to go.

On the way home I stop by West Marine to pick up a few materials to make my daughter a painter for her kayak. Don't tell her though, it's a surprise...

Woody

Paddling Uphill

t was drizzling on and off this morning as I drove to the Patuxent. Bill Dodge, Joan Spinner, Joe Dement, Phil Smith and myself were planning a paddle from Hills Bridge on the Patuxent. As we got ready to put in, Phil and Joe loaded up their fishing poles to go along for the ride.

It seems like ages since I last paddled on the Patuxent. Looking through my trip reports it looks like two and a half years. Time flies. Three years since I've paddled this section.

As we paddled out of the small feeder creek we head north. I thought traveling with the small tidal current would be nice. A nice cool breeze at our backs. I'm a bit shocked to learn Bill Dodge has never paddled this part of the river.

The water is high and soon our tidal current disappears and is replaced by the opposing runoff flow of the river. Everything is a lush green and has a sweet smell to it. We paddle at a leisure pace, just taking our time to enjoy what we see. Phil paddles ahead so he can occasionally toss a lure. Joe and Bill bring up the rear with conversation while Joan and I fill out the middle of the group discussing the rigors of raising a teenager.

At some point Bill catches up with us while Joe goes off to fish with Phil. We were discussing a lot about nothing when Joan mentioned "It feels like I'm paddling uphill". Bill and I stopped to think about it for a second, and I think we all realized as we were fighting the current that we WERE paddling uphill to some degree. I tell Joan that she just named my trip report. The current continues to increase and after about six and a half miles we decide to turn around and go with the flow.

An even more leisure trip back, easily moving along with the current. The breeze in our faces smells good. As we paddle up into the feeder creek I wish I had my camera with us to capture the kayaks moving in single file. On shore we debate going back out after lunch but the building storm clouds convince us it is time to go.

Woody

Regional Parks

've bit my tongue long enough. Since it hasn't affected me much until now, I haven't complained, but when it costs a visiting paddler $10.50 to launch a kayak at a Regional Park, dang it - someone has to say something.

For me it started on the Patuxent a few years ago. In order to park at the place I wanted to launch from you need a permit. Maryland residents can get them for $5 for an entire year. Hey, that is fair. Us out-of-state people pay a bit more - $7 per day. Fortunately, every time I've been the guy selling permits knows it is a crock and donates a free pass to me.

Tridelphia reservoir? Forget it. Like the Patuxent something seems wrong about having to drive out of your way to one place to get a permit to paddle somewhere else. Heck, I've usually got 5 miles on the water before most permit offices open for the day. What is it with Maryland and these Regional Parks?

But today I learned Maryland pales in comparison to Virginia Regional Parks. Specifically, check out the entrance fees for the northern Virginia Regional Parks:

Admission: Park entrance fee for nonmember jurisdictions is $7 per vehicle, per day; $14 per vehicle, per week and $11 per vehicle with 10 or more passengers. An annual pass is $45. (Member jurisdictions: Alexandria, Arlington, City of Fairfax, Fairfax County, Falls Church and Loudoun) .

Ok, $7 to enter one of the parks for nonmember jurisdictions. To ENTER the park. Today at Pohick Bay Regional park that was in addition to the $3.50 launch fee for tossing a kayak in the water. $10.50 to launch a kayak into Pohick Bay, a place with no other public launching facilities.

Luckily I got in the park before they started manning the booth, so I stuck $3.50 in the envelope and went on, but another one of our trip members got nailed with the full price. $10.50! We weren't trying to launch a 25 foot BayLiner - we were launching kayaks for goodness sakes!

You know, when someone comes from out of state to visit our little piece of the planet, should we charge them more, knowing now they will never be back? Is that the goal? This here piece of earth belongs to us and we don't want you here, but legally we can't say that so we'll just charge you a huge fee to make sure you don't come back.

What? Your local taxes pay for the park and it isn't fair that non-regional people use it? That is a fair argument, but the entry fee isn't a fair use fee, it is designed to discourage! And what about State Parks? Why not charge anyone with an out of state license plate an unreasonable amount? Maybe Federal Parks should charge non US citizens a "discouragement" fee.

Piss on Regional Parks.

Crisp Blue

he last time I paddled Pomonkey creek was in March of 2001. One of my 'secret' places, Pomonkey is often filled with waterfowl in the cooler months, but I've never ventured there in the summer.

I arrived early, around 7:30 for the 9:00 am launch. After getting my gear ready I walked out to the end of the dock to absorb the morning. Slathering on the sunscreen, I watched as Bald Eagles flew across the river and back again.

Carolyn, Yvonne, and Victoria met me at Marshall Hall for the paddle downstream. There was little activity at the boat ramp - the fishermen were already on the water and it was still too early for the jetskis.

We started out near shore, but the river grass caused us to move out further. A cool breeze at our backs, I hoped it would hold for the paddle back. It wasn't long that Carolyn pointed out a Bald Eagle standing on a log floating down the river. He waited for us to pass close before flying off.

I found the water still too shallow for my liking, so I moved even further off shore. Before long Carolyn came out as well and we paddled down to Pomonkey with the group stopping occasionally to dip off in the water.

Pomonkey is oddly shaped at the mouth of the creek. It appears almost like a shallow bay and it makes you think it will quickly narrow down to nothing, but after passing through a tight opening, the creek opens back up into a beautiful and winding waterway.

There were more boats here than I expected, which probably kept the wildlife away, but a few egrets and an occasional duck crossed our paths. What surprised me was large amount of wild rice growing along the edges. I'm looking forward to coming back in the fall to watch the leaves change.

We stopped for lunch on our way out of the creek and then turned our attention to paddling back. The cool breeze I was hoping for never happened but under cool crisp blue skies we paddled the 4 miles back with little effort.

Near the boat ramp I took my kayak ashore and spotted Yvonne while she practiced a few rolls, adding a sweep component to her high brace while upside down. A few minutes later I made my way back to shore through the river grass and we landed between the jetskis who were also landing for the day.

Pomonkey in summer is choked with hydrilla, but in the fall and winter months it is truly an under explored gem on the Potomac.

Woody

My Wish

onight I was reviewing the monthly web server logs and I'm astonished by the number of people from different countries that visit Woody's Kayak Trip Reports. Visitors from Canada, Netherlands, United Kingdom, Japan, Norway, Mexico, Australia, Germany, Belgium, Iceland, New Zealand, Poland, Sweden, Switzerland, Denmark, France, Malaysia, Italy, Israel, Malta, Slovak Republic, Egypt, Turkey, United Arab Emirates, Finland, Hungary, and Argentina have all come to my little piece of the electronic frontier to read about the adventures I share with nature, my own abilities and failings, and possibly about things I don't myself understand.

Entering "kayak trip" or "kayak trip reports" into Google returns my web site as the #1 entry. Wow. That is cool. Around 2000 world residents a month visit. That is cool too. What started as a project to help keep me from forgetting my own kayaking origins has grown into something that in and of itself is humbling to me. Stories I wrote 5 years ago are still being read, sometimes, even by me. I still marvel at how far I've somehow progressed from trip #1. I imagine that some of those who visit WKTR are at the level I was back then.

This is a long way of saying I thank you for taking time to read about my adventures. I hope you come away from here with something you can use or a smile on your face. But more than anything I hope you get the same thing I get from kayaking - that thing which I've never been able to explain, but I love to share. The thing that speaks to us when we see an eagle take flight, or the unknown word that describes our sense of becoming one with our surroundings. That unspoken feeling one gets when a cool breeze blows across a river and sends our minds tumbling after it.

This is my wish for you.

Woody

Funk

t was a dreary forecast - thunderstorms for the day. The same forecast as had been out for the past four days. It didn't matter. I hadn't been in the mood to paddle for over a week. Even the thought of going out back and carrying my sea kayak around to the car seemed to depress me. A week long funk I couldn't shake, but on Sunday night I forced myself to load the kayak.

On Monday morning I felt like staying in bed. Only wanting to test my new DeLorme mapping software with the GPS motivated me enough to get up. It was sprinkling as I left the house. I don't want to paddle, but I grab my PFD on the way out the door anyway.

I think I'll regret buying the Street Atlas 2004 software. I figured since I was still using SA 8.x, I was due for an update. The new software had the changes made to Route 234 over the past few years, but Leesylvania State Park, as well as other parks are now missing from the map. Many of the landmarks along the river are missing now too.

At the park I pulled in to the parking lot and shut down the laptop. The park ranger stops and tells me where the car top launch is located. I thank him and tell him I prefer to launch from here. In years past I remember the launch being a steep carry with a lot of rip rap placed near shore to block the waves. My mental notes recall launching a fiberglass kayak there could risk major scratches.

Except for the constant stream of boats leaving the boat ramp. I'm nearly the only one in the park. On the water I turn south, heading for Powells Creek. I duck inside the protected boat launch area to make sure the boats go by me slowly as I paddle past the ramp. An algae bloom is in progress on the creek. The water thick with the green mush. "Too thin to plow, to thick to drink" comes to mind as I paddle past six or seven half eaten fish floating on the surface. As I paddle through the river funk I feel the funk I've been carrying with me the last week start to ease out and disappear.

The tide is rising so I have no worries about getting grounded. I let the current carry me upstream, paddling only to maintain my kayak pointed in the right direction. Egrets, ducks, geese, eagles, osprey, and several other birds are in the creek today. As I float across thick blankets of hydrilla, four animals swim out of the lilly pads and cross my path. At first I thought they were beaver, but not a single one slapped the water with their tail to warn me off. Too small to be nutria, could these have been river otters? They dove and surfaced in a playful but nervous manner until they disappeared into the lillys on the other side of the creek.

The wild rice is at its peak. I've seen more this year than ever before and I wonder if our wet spring had anything to do with it. The large flowers, red or white are speckeled here on the fringes of the rice. Before long the marsh gives way to a narrow creek and the flowers become small, but burst with yellow, purple, lavender, bright red and blue. The creek soon stops flowing my way and for a short bit seems to be stopped until a little further it flows against me. Tidal flow meets stream flow. An old plastic bottle seems trapped back in here, so I free it by tossing it in my day hatch.

The creek continues to narrow until it is only about a foot wider than the length of my paddle, but I continue on until at last a dead fall with the sounds of rushing water beyond tell me it is time to go back.

It is at this point I realize my kayak is much longer than the length of my paddle, so I can't turn around. It is a long (or seemingly long) reverse paddle looking over my shoulder until I again find water wide enough to turn my kayak downstream.

I drift until the water turns against me again, and begin to paddle in earnest for the first time today. As I weave my way back out to the mouth of the creek a lone canoeist passes me going the other way. I hug the right shore this time, and I'm treated to watching a bald eagle hunt for his lunch, and a hawk fly over with his lunch firmly in his talons.

Back to river left I swing by the car top launch. The rip rap is now part of the shore line, and the launch is a more gental slope, perfect for launching.

For a holiday, the park seems fairly empty, but I think it is because it is only 11:30 when I get back to shore. But after tossing the kayak on the car and driving out of the park, I see a steady stream of folks coming in to mark the end of summer.

It's starting to fall

itting on a plastic chair - my feet propped up on a table, looking out over the water. It sparkles like a million flash bulbs going off at a concert today. It has been a while since I remember the sun glittering so brightly off the water.

The wind begins to blow and after an hour or so begins to calm a bit. Such a beautiful day. Cooler today, even the water feels cold. Where is everyone?

I recall a conversation with my daughter the night before:

"Dad, do you ever read any of your old trip reports?"

"Sometimes I do. Why?"

"I've noticed you don't write the same as you used to"

"How do you mean?"

"You used to write longer stories, and talk more about what you did and what you saw"

I like it when my kids listen to me. With their ears, with their eyes, or their hearts. Katie has been listening to my writing.

This afternoon it is my turn to listen. The katydid are so loud they drown out the sounds of the city. Only the whoop whoop of rotor blades from a presidential helicopter can drown them out. A few people show up and we get on the water. A new paddler joins us tonight.

In the Boundary Channel and past the Pentagon. September 11. The memory of two years ago run through my mind.

Back out on the Potomac we head back toward Jack's Boathouse. I'm paddling slow and near shore hoping that some of the boat traffic will generate a little excitement in the confused waves reflecting from shore. Most of the group goes around the outer edge of Roosevelt Island, but three of us take the shorter inside track.

Behind me I hear an odd splash. I turn around and see our new paddler has capsized. A T-recovery gets us underway again. A few minutes later it is dark, and we paddle the remaining distance as night falls.

She's right you know. I used to write much more. Talk about more things I saw; things I learned. It seemed easier back when I was worried more about improving my skills. Nowadays I seem to enjoy listening too.

Woody

Believing in the Weather Man

Janes Island 12-14 September

y father once noted to me that those who fish from shore try to cast out as far as they can, while those fishing from a boat try to cast in close to shore. He went on to say, "The only part that matters is that you are out fishing."

On Friday afternoon I left work in a drizzle and headed for Janes Island. The weather forecast was for heavy rain, followed by rain on Saturday, and rain on Sunday clearing late in the afternoon.

I've never put much faith in the weather forecast. The wind forecasts are usually fairly accurate, but rain forecasts are more often wrong, and even when it does rain, it often is only a quick shower. Over the years I've logged dozens of hours on the water that otherwise would not have been realized if I had let the rain forecast keep me home. I'm come to place 'the weather man' in the same category as 'the tooth fairy' and 'Santa Claus'.

But the outlook Friday night looked grim. It rained the entire 4 hours down to Janes, but miraculously stopped as I pulled into the park and set up my tent. After setting up the tent I placed the screen tent over the picnic table and raised my Kelty fly. The fly could provide a dry spot to assemble a tent if someone showed up after the rains came back.

Bryan showed up a few hours later. With the heavy rain I didn't really expect anyone to show up and I had been sitting around in the screen tent wondering what I would do all weekend at Janes if no one showed up and it rained all day. Bill showed up as Bryan was setting up his tent. We were now three. Bryan and I went for dinner in Crisfield. The special of the day was not available, they were out of crab cakes (what's up with that?!?!), and our waiter couldn't have been on the job more than about 5 minutes. We made note not to come back the following night.

During the night the rain fell hard, and we woke to a puddle over most of the site. Part of it taking up a corner of the screen tent. But our sleeping tents stayed high and dry. It rained on and off in the early morning. By 9:30 we were putting on the water, absorbing our last shower of the weekend. Because it was so overcast and raining, I passed on the sunscreen. Something I would regret before the end of the day.

Bryan, Bill and I headed south toward Crisfield. Flowing with the last bit of an outgoing tide and with the wind in our faces. We stopped on the south end of Janes to stretch our legs. Bryan and Bill both were grazed by jelly fish as they lounged around in the water. The sun came out, but I didn't think about the sunscreen.

The Jelly fish were numerous, and of different varieties. I hit quite a few with my paddle as we rounded the south end of the island and turned back north. The wind blew us along at a good clip and in short order we reached the channel through the island that would take us back to the park dock. Bryan's friends, Jim and Sharon met us half way through the island, and Bryan left us to join them as Bill and I continued to battle the winds on to the dock. Bryan decided a few minutes later that he would rather grab some lunch with Bill and I. About 9.5 miles for the morning trip.

Yvonne had arrived at the park while we were out and had gone for a short paddle. She returned shortly before us and we met up in the campground. After Bill and Yvonne put her tent up and we grabbed some lunch we headed back out on to the water. Passing back through the channel that divides the island, we again let the wind push us north on the outer, exposed side of Janes. We rounded the northwest corner of the island and turned east toward the mainland and the channel that separates Janes from the park. The wind blew against us, but at least not as hard as it had been blowing earlier. Another 4 miles for the day.

Back on shore we made dinner plans to meet up at the Streetside seafood market. Bill said his goodbyes to head off to see his niece. Yvonne and I ran around town gathering info for the Tangier trip, then stopped for dinner on the top balcony of the market. After dinner our group walked around town, stopping a few moments to listen to a Christian revival band on the dock, and making the mandatory visit to the ice cream shop.

Sunday morning woke Bryan and myself to thunder. We broke camp on the thought we were about to get pelted. But the rain never came. Bryan headed for home while I stuff a few remaining items away. After breakfast Steven Kim met up with us and accompanied Yvonne and I around the south end of the island. I made sure to slather on the sunscreen because I was cooked from the day before. Pretty much the same trip for me as the previous morning with the exception with the winds being lighter. With lighter winds, it felt pretty warm on the northern trek on the exposed side of the island.

Back again at the dock, Steven wanted more so he headed off to put in more miles. I had noticed Yvonne was zigging and zagging a lot considering her skeg was down. Now on shore we discovered the skeg wasn't working at all. We met up with Jim and Sharon, said our goodbyes and split up for the trek home.

A beautiful paddling weekend and excellent scouting trip for the Tangier trip next month. I just hope the weather man leaves us a quarter under our pillow.

Woody

Storm Paddling

ne thing I've found difficult to balance: How does one explain how to extend one's abilities in kayaking, without encouraging someone to take risks?

As I honed my rough water skills over the years, I found the number of people from which to seek advice dropped off to almost none. This is in part because the majority of sea kayakers are fair weather paddlers. This is fine for the majority of those who are comfortable with paddling only in benign conditions. However, there is also a group of rough water experienced paddlers who are reluctant to give advice in how to practice. For the few who want to be prepared for most anything mother nature can throw at us, we have to go out in less than ideal conditions, and often without mentors to help us along.

People who have attained these skills often discourage anyone else from following. After all, who wants to be the guy who encouraged the paddler that went off storm paddling and never returned? Getting advice from very experienced paddlers on more dangerous paddles can be like getting blood from a turnip. No one wants to encourage someone to take risk. Finding an experienced paddler to go out with you can be even more of a challenge than getting advice.

So this next bit is written for those that are going to do it anyway. Even if I say 'you shouldn't do it' or 'it is too dangerous', you are hell bent on going anyway because you know it is the only way to expand your skills above your current level. Secretly, I wish I could go with you.

You can, in a lot of cases, expand those skills rather safely. What you need, within tolerable driving distances, are soft shores facing each of the four compass points. Planning your trip on the day of your paddle to launch so that if you get in trouble, wind and/or current will carry you ashore.

It should be noted that fall and winter normally produce the roughest weather. Because of this, dressing for immersion is a MUST. You must be dressed as though you will be bobbing around in the water for quite a while, until you are blown ashore. If you can't dress for immersion, you have no business being there - period.

Finding rough water is more patience than art. You need to be able to pass over paddling days with calm weather, using them to get weekly chores accomplished, so that with barely 24 hours notice you can go out and play in rougher water. My entire second paddling season was spent building my skills, and I was fortunate to get a lot of days with small craft advisories to go play in.

Save picking your launch location until just before you get on the road. Wind direction is important, and you want to pick a place so that if you get in trouble, the wind will blow you ashore. Be mindful of currents when picking your location. A strong current can carry you in the wrong direction should you find yourself in it. At the same time, let someone know where you are going. In Japan, all of my more risky paddling was solo, so as I was pulling out of the driveway early in the morning, I dropped a pre-arranged note into my neighbor's mailbox with my launch location and expected return time.

Carry a portable VHF radio. This serves two purposes: It provides a means of calling for help if you need it and it gives you access to the latest weather information.

Paddle in near shore. Shallow water is more difficult to paddle in when the water is rough as the waves will rise and more easily break. After wet exiting you may be able to stand up and walk ashore if the water is shallow enough. At the same time, don't practice paddling in and around rocky shores. The last thing you want to risk is knocking yourself unconscious.

Don't lull yourself into just paddling into the wind/waves during the rough stuff. This is the most stable position for a kayak, but at some point you will need to turn around. If paddling into the wind/waves was pressing your limits, turning around will probably be too much for you. Learn to low/high brace with waves coming at you broadside so you can at least learn to side slip (bongo slide) with the wind/waves.

Be aware that paddling past bulkheads, steep shores, or rock piles will be more confused and difficult to paddle in as waves are reflected off of them back into the incoming waves.

Wear any safety gear you will need (such as your VHF/flares) if you come out of your kayak. Your boat can speed away MUCH faster than you can swim after it if you lose contact with it. Believe in the old adage 'if you don't have it on you, you don't have it'. If you need to wet exit, make sure you have a firm grip on both your paddle and kayak. If you must give up one, hang on to the kayak as the paddle will travel more slowly in the water. Carry a spare paddle on your rear deck and losing your paddle becomes only a minor issue.

High winds will cause you to consider things that flat water paddling never did. I once capsized in a very high wind and had to wet exit after my roll failed. When I bobbed back to the surface, holding on to my kayak, I caught sight of my paddle cartwheeling across the surface before it finally landed flat in the water a good 30 feet away.

The fetch - distance that winds blow across water - plays a major factor in determining how rough the water will be. Start out practicing high wind paddling in areas with less fetch and work your way up. The difference in a 1 mile fetch on a windy day and a 7 mile fetch can be huge.

Learn how to roll. Bailing out increases your exposure and reduces your options of getting to shore safely. Knowing you can roll allows you to push bracing and edging to their limits, allowing you to hone these skills in calmer conditions.

If paddling far from shore, tether yourself to the kayak. You'll hear a lot of arguments pro and con about this, but if you are in conditions far from shore that could cause you to lose your kayak, this is really a no-brainer. Carry a knife or seatbelt cutter in case you get entrapped in the line. I tether myself by attaching my waist tow-belt to a deck line. If I need to come out of the kayak, as much line as needed is easily pulled out to get me clear.

Pass on practicing in thunderstorms. Carry an indestructible spare paddle. Study the effects land has on the wind and waves. Try and paddle with someone else of higher skill level, or at least try and find someone to keep an eye on you from shore. Expand your skills gradually; don't try to become a five star paddler in one day. Skilled paddlers have experience, and experience is built over time.

What did I miss?

Woody

After Work

y hours in for the pay period, I left work around 11:00 to go paddle. Walking through the parking lot to my car, I check the wind and the compass on my watch. The wind is out of the west. Inside the building I was day dreaming about paddling out of Leesylvania, but now that I feel the stiff wind I decide I will drive to Mason Neck State Park instead.

The park survived the hurricane quite well. A few trees had fallen across the road, been chainsawed and pushed to the edge of the road. I was alone in the park. The kayak set by the side of the water and my car parked in the upper parking lot. With this stiff wind I toss my sail rig in the kayak and paddle off to-wards the Occoquan dam.

On my way I take a slight detour by Conrad Island. This island that had a small cut through at high tide 5 years ago has eroded over the years by boat wakes. When I last saw it it had been reduced to 3 small pieces, the trees almost all dead. The storm took out almost all the trees on the middle and southern piece of land. The more heavily wooded northern piece faired much better. It is the only portion that will survive much longer.

I continue my westward journey. Seeing the water streak off my paddle blades in the stiff wind I feather the blades and paddle past the first of four or five marinas. Expensive townhouses being built, and another already built line the shore. Trees blown over - some still standing but with their roots washed free of dirt and dangling on the air. A large barge parked next to one of the bridges.

I note as I cross to the other side, giving the barge a wide berth, that it is close to the bridge pilings. One corner partially under the bridge. A tug boat idling near by. I paddle on up the Occoquan, looking forward to sailing back.

The air is cool. The sky is crisp and clear. I think God's favorite color must be blue. Past the park on river right I see a twin bladed paddle flashing in the sunlight ahead. When I catch up I see it is someone fishing from his kayak. No luck so far he tells me.

Having reached the dam I turn around. Raising the sail it fills with wind and I start my journey back east. But in five minutes it stops. Not a trickle of wind to even ruffle the sail. Just my luck.

I turn the sail so it is in-line with my direction of travel and I paddle back to-wards Belmont Bay. On river left is a multi-million dollar home. Tennis courts and helicopter in the backyard. In the bay I try the sail again and get a good ride for a few minutes before the wind dies for good. I drop the sail and dig in for the rest of the trip back.

Fall is in the air.

Old Friends

he park opened at 8:00, and I was already there even though I told Joan we would meet at 9:00. I unloaded my gear from the car and sat on the park bench gazing out on the water. The geese squawked at each other, and around 20 ducks swam back and forth while an eagle flew overhead. The sky blue, the air warm, and the water chilly. I could have sat there all day. Joan arrived and we paddled off toward the marsh on the far side of the park. I couldn't remember how far it was, six miles it turns out, and our goal was to paddle towards it and turn around if we got tired. It has been years since I've been there.

Joan is my first paddling partner. We've paddle together now for five seasons. You'd think we'd of run out of things to talk about by now, but we somehow fill our paddling time with conversation, pointing out to each other the interesting things we see along the way. We make a good team as our speed and endurance are well matched. And over the years I've come to enjoy and trust her council about the hundreds of subjects we've discussed.

We rounded the first corner of Mason Neck and headed out of Belmont Bay toward the Potomac. On our left we saw several eagles sitting in trees where there is a Great Blue heron rookery. Joan and I catching each other up on our lives. We haven't paddled much together this season. We turned northeast following the Potomac shore, getting closer to the marsh with each paddle stroke. More eagles - and we enjoyed them letting us get unusually close as we paddled along.

By the time we arrived at the marsh we both needed a break, but we paddled back into the marsh anyway. The geese were the first to announce our presence, and before long most of them took flight and left us with the ducks. I'm not sure I've ever seen this many ducks in one location. We looked for a place to land, and finding none we headed back out to the Potomac to beach on the shore for lunch.

Such a beautiful day it was hard to get back in the kayak. Signifying it was time to head towards the launch, and eventually home. The water was like a mirror on which the wake of boats out on the river rolled towards us. A warm breeze, cooled slightly by the cold water mixed to form the perfect paddling day. The six miles back to the launch flew by.

The launch was crowded, and several sit on tops paddled away as I cringed seeing a young infant without pfd perched on the front of one while mom paddled away. Joan and I packed our gear away and had conversations with other kayakers near by. I've missed kayaking with my paddling partner this season. It's good to be reminded every now and then, of the reasons why we paddle. Today I was reminded of one.

Woody

Veteran's Day

've been conducting an experiment over the last season - rather than being 'first' to declare _I'm not going_, I purposely hold back my decision not to go to see who will opt out on their own. I've had mixed results.

There are some folks who will without hesitation take one look at conditions and say it is out of their comfort range. There are some who will show up at the launch site or call and let me know they must back out because of illness, injury, or other reasons. I have tremendous respect for these folks, as I can completely trust their judgment to know for themselves when they should go and when they shouldn't.

On the other hand, I've also had folks hold out, unable to make a decision even when conditions were clearly beyond their skill level. It left me with the sense that they wanted me to decide for them. Should they go, or not? Here's a tip: If you need someone else to decide for you, the answer is you should not go. Period.

One of the greatest kayaking skills you can learn folks, is knowing when NOT to go. What does it take to develop this skill? Experience? Or is it just something we either have or don't? What does it take for _you_ to decide "I'm not going"?

With this in mind, I relate the following Veteran's day trip report:

On Monday I added a "me too" offer to paddle from Mason Neck State park to the CPA list server. The night before I had apparently slept wrong on my left shoulder and pinched a nerve and I really expected no one to accept my offer to paddle. I figured I would get up that morning and finding my shoulder still hurting I would go back to bed if no one accepted.

But someone did accept, so I now felt obligated to go. I've wanted to paddle with Mike Aronoff for some time, and this would be my chance. Mike recently received the 'coach of the year' award from the ACA - a testament to his commitment to paddle sports and I considered it a real honor to get a chance to paddle with him.

On Tuesday morning my shoulder felt better, but far from cured. I swallowed a handful of Ibuprofen before leaving the house. At the launch I squared away all my gear without much problem, and mentioned to Mike I would paddle anywhere he wanted to go. He suggested Leesylvania and I quickly agreed while wondering to myself if it was a good idea with this pinched nerve. After getting in the kayak and taking the first stroke the pain shot through my arm, so I spent a few minutes trying to work it out while Mike finished getting ready.

I think I can do this.

I mentioned to Mike I may be slow today because of the nerve. Mike mentioned he had his tow belt. We paddled south toward Leesylvania and passing the end of the neck picked up the steady 15 MPH winds blowing in our faces. My arm was sore, but still manageable. At the halfway point we ducked in behind Smoot Island to grab a drink and catch a quick rest before heading over the rest of the way.

Mike was paddling a Gulfstream and I was in my Sirocco. I made a mental note of how often my entire bow was swallowed by the waves, while Mike's bow seemed to stay high and dry. Each time my bow plowed in it seemed to bring me to a stop and I tried leaning back before hitting a wave to try and keep the bow from submerging. It seemed to help a good bit, but was also work leaning back while paddling. We finished the 5 mile paddle on the beach at Leesylvania. I was tired and my arm ached a bit, but was more numb than hurting.

Mike and I had some good conversations as we ate lunch. It was good to hear his insights and opinions on different paddling topics. I learned several things from him during our short lunch break.

I was looking forward to the ride back. The wind would push us along, and the chop made for some fair rides. I started out moving pretty quickly, but soon found every paddle stroke on my right sent pain shooting down my left arm. Unable to pull as hard on my right side, my kayak often veered to the right, which caused me even more pain trying to correct.

At Smoot island we took another break. By the time I got to Smoot I needed the break even though it had taken very little time to get there from Leesylvania. We drifted along a bit wrapped up in conversation and then paddled back into the protection of Belmont Bay. Inside the bay we met up with Zak and Mark, exchanged a few words and then paddled the rest of the way back to the launch. I wanted to play some, but after testing my shoulder decided to just head in.

Driving home I began to feel the pain. It hurt so bad my arm felt like it was burning. *I* should have said "I'm not going"

So this ends this season's experiment. The disappointment I had been feeling about others not making the right decision ends with me also making a bad choice. For the next few days as I'm unable to lift my left hand above my shoulder without help from the other hand, I'll be reminded of my incorrect decision. And I wonder if next time I'll choose correctly...

Woody

Kayaks in the News

've gotten some good feedback over time about the kayak news section on my web site. This section is half automated, half manual process which results in me picking and choosing what gets posted on the web site (and is mainly locale or safety related). Beginning today, in addition to the manual version, I've also put up a page from the raw data which lists many more kayak related stories. Twice a day the web site performs a search for news stories with the word "kayak" in them and outputs the last 25 that it finds along with an excerpt of the text that triggered the listing.

http://www.kayaktrips.net/kayaknews.html

Since I never can leave anything alone, I'll probably be tweaking the output over time, so be sure to tell me if you see something you like.

As always, your feedback is welcomed.

Woody

Remembering Granny

t's been a tough week. Last Sunday my grandmother on my mother's side passed away, and on the same day my wife had a gall bladder attack. In the following days I found little time to think about my grandmother passing.

I posted a message to the list server inviting anyone for a trip into Farm Creek from Leesylvania. Other than the 'paddle in' trip to Leesylvania with Mike a few weeks back, I had still not visited the park since the hurricane. With the fresh snow on the ground, I expected this to be a scenic trip - one in which I could reflect back and remember my grandmother.

My grandmother divorced for a second time when I was young. My 'grandfather' was really a step-grandfather, and the man that raised my mother. My first memories of my grandmother involved my father teaching me to swim in her swimming pool. "Teaching" is a strong word here. My father dropped me in the swimming pool with little warning and no instruction. I surfaced and dog paddled to the side of the pool - scared, but forever able to keep my head above water.

My grandmother's house had a 3 foot ditch around it. To me it seemed to be a moat, and easily kept me from wondering out of her yard. The driveway seemed to be a draw bridge where it crossed the moat. In later years as crime began to move into the suburban neighborhood, a fence went up around the yard, and it became mine or my brother's job to open the gate when we came to visit my grandmother.

I remember the paint peeling from her wall in the kitchen. I remember how she always wore a strong perfume, and her house smelled like her. I remember she never had an unkind thing to say in front of the grandkids. But I also know she had a strong opinion when we left the room. I remember stories of my mother and grandmother picking cotton when my mother was young.

On the beach of Leesylvania the water was way out. Further than I have ever seen it, even after a long summer drought. Nelson and I headed North toward Farm Creek. As soon as we paddled past Freestone Point the waves rebounding off the cliff made for some interesting paddling, but these soon smoothed out as we faced into the wind and continued our march north.

I remember going with my father many times to watch him work on my granny's car, or fix her toilet, or anything else she might need. I remember after her divorce she shared her home with several men through the years, but never remarried. I remember she got me Wilt Chamberlain's autograph when she worked at Piccadilly cafeteria.

As we neared Farm creek I mentioned to Nelson that I wondered if there would be enough water in the creek to paddle with the water so low. Our paddles touched mud the last few hundred yards. At the mouth of the creek the water looked too smooth. Ice. Between 1/8 and 1/4 inch thick. We wouldn't be able to get in there.

All the years I knew her she always drove a large car. When I was young I remember her snuff box and a spittoon in the house. After leaving to join the Air Force in 1982, I rarely saw granny. A Christmas here, a vacation there.

Nelson and I turned towards Neabsco creek, but past the marina the creek became too shallow, the wind very strong and before long I admitted defeat.

We paddled over to where the park boat ramps were. The docks were gone - destroyed by the hurricane.

We headed back to the launch - I was feeling guilty about such a short paddle, but with the wind blowing hard it was prudent. Loading my kayak on the car I tweaked my shoulder again. Knowing it will take some time to heal I put the boat away when I got home, probably for a month or two. But as short as it was I needed to paddle today. To take some time and reflect on a piece of my past. I'll miss her.

Woody

Linking to the Past

his year, like all the others, I finish reflecting on the events of the past year. From the day we carried my daughter's new kayak home, to the day my grandmother died, and all the things that happened in between. The biggest change this year has been the look of Woody's kayak trip reports web site. New 'skins' that some folks liked, and others didn't. A major upgrade in hardware, software; a new domain name. Adding new sections and becoming a popular aggregation of kayak related news articles found on the net. The Geo Paddle project started late in the year but has taken off like a rocket in popularity. Some ideas worked while others didn't.

I tried to develop what I thought the concept of 'peer paddles' should be. A failed experiment. I learned that the idea of everyone being responsible for themselves, to actually paddle as a peer group, can only work when you paddle among true peers - those of like skills and decision making abilities. But this failed experiment won't stop me from taking away the lessons I learned from it.

I passed my BCU 3 star assessment. Both a feeling of accomplishment and disappointment all in one. Maybe I set the bar too high for myself. But for 2004 I have again raised the bar even more.

I enjoyed going out to a demo day to help people back in to the kayaks when they fell out. Talking with a few of the new folks about what to look for in a boat. "Try them all" I said, "make your best choice and take it home, and start saving for your second boat." I wonder how many now know that to be true.

Like always, there were some deep soul touching trips. Waltzing the Farm, Superimposed on Silence, and every time I paddled with my daughter. I enjoyed the swim supports, the camaraderie of paddling with my friends, and I enjoyed being the student and occasionally the teacher.

I wish I could tell all my stories. I wish I had the time to tell them as some of the best remain untold. Some should remain untold. But good or bad they are my own. Each and every one a part of me whether written on a computer or carved into my heart. And as a new year begins I have the hopes and dream that it is only going to get better.

Woody