[Paddlewise] TR: Long Island, Willapa Bay, WA

I did not write this.  George Bergeron did.  He and I went round the island
last Sunday.  Hope you like George's Trip Report.
-- 
Dave Kruger
Astoria, OR
--

November 14, 1999: 

Pushing through 5:30 AM darkness and a dense fog. The fog extends into dawn
all the way from Lake Oswego to Willapa Bay, unable to see anything of
the Astoria-Megler bridge even while crossing it. I look for Dave about
8:00 AM at the Pig. No boats in the parking lot . . . It amazes me that
despite all this, people in grey or white cars still insist on driving in
the soup with their lights off. 

I stood on the launch site at the Refuge and yelled for Dave. He could have
been there, but I couldn't see him. Dave shows up at the ramp shortly after
I get there. No exaggeration here, the fog was so thick that we were unable
to see from the ramp across the highway --probably less than 100 yards. We
sure couldn't see across the bay to the bank of Long Island 100 yards out
in the soup. And in this we affixed compasses and bid adieu to landfall . . . 

Clumps of spartina appear in the mist, announcing the presence of the
eastern shore of Long Island. We were rounding the island counterclock-wise
--"that other counterclock-wise" Dave insisted as I took off for the south. 
The tide was running out with plenty of water in the bay. Some 4.5 feet of
water at the lowest point for today's tide, we would have enough for
crossing the shoals on the north end. 

Mergansers dive out of our path. Pockets of clearing allow us to
reconnoiter, but still we cling to the eastern bank as the fog surrounds our
boats. Dave keeps calling out bearings, but I in my ongoing modifications
of order on the foredeck had arranged the compass in front of the deck bag
and can't read the dial. I'm content to just follow Dave --sometimes
difficult as he'd drop behind me to check whether that duck was a
Bufflehead or a Golden-eye. 

Patches of soup and a fringe of treetops ahead of us. This is Paradise
Point. I'm trying to decide if we want to bear left (port) or right
(starboard) of the trees when we break out of the fog. Now about 9:30 . . .
We'd been on the water for half an hour or so. Ahead of us was an arch of
fog with a sort of rainbow. Dave informs me that this is a "fog glory,"
bordered by two columns of brilliantly lighted, arching fog. Sometimes the
arches are just ahead of the bow, then farther ahead. Dave asks my heading,
not realizing that I can't read my compass. "Jeez Dave," I smirk, "I'm just
heading for the center of the glory." (It's just like a rainbow . . . stays
centered off your bow pretty much regardless of your direction.) 

Rounding Paradise Point, we break completely out of the fog and into clear,
blue, sunny warmth. The bank of fog is brilliant behind us and obscures
landfall. But ahead is open water, the shore of Long Island, and Diamond
Point, guarded by mud shoals and Spartina. Maybe it's the fog obscuring the
distances we're traversing. Maybe it's just the warm weather and placid
seas. Maybe it's that Dave and I  paddle at a complementary pace and don't
spend a lot of time waiting on each other . . . Now we're rounding the
shocks of Spartina that bound Diamond Head. Every now and again we realize
that we're in maybe 18 inches of water . . . Oooops! Working around and to
the east of the Spartina and the shoals, now an open boat with four or five
people approaches from the north. We're all out on the point and looking
west toward Nahcotta. 

We paddle up to the boat, as it drifts with the engine off.  Making
greetings, we all speculate where the end of the shoals stops and a channel
across the north end begins. The skipper on the boat points to an oyster
field marker out in the water . . . "about even with that marker" he
claims. I look across the water. There are maybe a dozen markers sticking
out of the water. . .  Looking off the gunnels I see oyster shells and sand
here and there below me. The boat, off to our starboard, is in water deep
enough for its engine and prop. I'm on the edge of the shoal. Dave is
behind me and starboard chatting with the crew on the boat.

Working out, balancing a desire to conserve paddling distance and yet have
sufficient water that I don't drag the hull across heaps of oyster shells,
I finally move into water where I lose sight of the bottom. I cut to the
west and start across. Dave follows off my port stern. Oh yeah . . .
there's some shells . . . now eel grass waving in the water --pointing
south, indicating that the tide is now coming in. 

Deeper water now and I'm easily across the point. Dave off my stern and
closer to the point evidently is finding shoals and shallow stretches.
Only once during a nasty storm, paddling clock-wise and solo, have I
crossed the point in ample water. That time I had easily three feet right
along the banks of the point -- and ample Spartina to hack my way through
too. Hell of a storm then . . . This bay changes so much with tide and
weather. 

Now brilliant sun! This is like paddling in June, and we decide to take a
break on shore to wait for the tide to pick up. Dave relates to me how he
was once returning to the ramp at the Refuge and met with a group of
paddlers from some local university . . . Dave remarks to the group leader,
"Looks like you are about to lose your tide." 

And the leader (the Leader!) looks at Dave and asks, "What's a tide?" Too
many people paddling and not enough people reading up on the sport . . . 

Bagels, cream cheese, apples for a snack. It's about 11:00 now and we're
around the point and waiting for the tide to pick up some velocity. (Burch
discusses this in some detail "Fundamentals of Kayak Navigation.") I have
dried papaya spears spears and offer some to Dave. They're like candy and
provide energy. They also aid digestion. Dave is sticking with his "grandma
candy" and Snickers bar . . . "Don't want to change directions this far
along in life, Geo." he says. No olive oil, but I thought about olive oil .
. . 

On to Jensen Point. The last time we did this, mid-October, we had a storm
blowing through and heavy seas. Today it's sunny and hot! We catch sight of
a bird perched on a distant snag sticking out of the water. A cormorant?
Maybe an eagle? How about GBH? I paddle back and forth a bit, trying to get
the bird against a contrasting background. Yeah, look at the shoulders . .
. but how large is it really? I hate it when these sightings turn out to be
crows! We approach, Dave inland from the snag, me out more in the water. It
hunkers down and then takes wing . . . GBH. OK, that's what I thought. That
or a crow . . . 

Rounding Jensen Point. Last time this was where I went ashore to figure out
how to put down my rudder. I needed it in the heavy seas because my seat
back was not allowing me to sit up in the boat, and I was having a
difficult time balancing and steering in the heavy, following seas. Getting
back off the beach then I got swamped with oncoming waves. Two years ago I
paddle by a flock of terns here. I thought they were gulls except for the
orange beaks and pompadours. Now the water is placid, flat, smooth. And
it's HOT! 

Dave wants to stop at Sand Spit. That's a campsite, but I always think
the sand spit is the spit of sand just below Jensen Point. Well, Sand Spit
IS below Jensen Point, but not JUST below it. We pull into the camp and
reconnoiter. Dave decides it's too hot for a wet suit on landfall. I just
peel back to the hips. There's a huge, fat spider on the log where we're
sitting, some flying termites, and ladybugs, lots of ladybugs. Somebody has
cut up the log we were using as a bench by the fire grate. Some of the wood
I split on the last camping trip in October still remains. Dave is waiting
for an alder tree to finally fall over -- not today though. Dave is
timing the layovers. I'm just eating bagels, cream cheese and apples.  Karen
brought "gourmet" olive oil and bread on our last outing, but she has other
plans today. No olive oil, but I thought about olive oil . . .  More papaya,
another Snickers bar. Dave speculates about retirement announcements and how
one becomes a "non-person" when one announces retirement.  He concedes that
being a non-person seemed like the right move
at this point in the politics of running a community college . . . It's a
budget thing. 

The shore has been scrubbed since October. There were long strings of
seaweed, spartina, and driftwood. These are all scrubbed away from the last
couple storms. We launch again and choose whether to head straight for the
Pinnacle Rock or to follow the shore line and look at wildlife. Straight it
is. I take a bearing (moved the compass where I can now read it). Dave
works off the port. I'm taking waypoints around the island on my GPS,
turning it on and off to conserve the battery. Dave off the port side, I
head straight toward Pinnacle Rock. I like being out on open water.
Something about being far off shore and the focus of paddling toward a
distant point. I don't care if I can see the land roll by. I like to paddle
for extended periods toward a far distant bearing, watching it slowly come
closer. 

Dave works into the shore line. Now he's way off my port side, and I'm way
off shore. But the water is flat and smooth. There's not enough wind to
keep my glasses from fogging. And it's HOT! I unbutton the skirt to get
some circulation below deck. Dave is following the shore now to look at
landslides. (Dave likes to monitor erosion. He commented on the erosion of
each Columbia River island on our Portland to Astoria run in June.)  Ha! The
loons are out here, Dave, and laughing too! I like the terns for their
pompadours, but I like the loons for their laugh. Several loons out here,
and they let me paddle fairly close. 

Now Pinnacle Rock creeps up on me. I head to the port side to meet up with
Dave. There's a shoal here, and I nearly run aground on it even though I
think I'm giving it plenty of leeway. Another waypoint mark. Dave and I
float/drift while I'm waiting for the satellites to load up. 

Now around High Point . . . another waypoint in the GPS. This is the home
stretch. Round Island off in the distance. First time out here with Ben and
a Sunday group from Pacific Wave we headed to Round Island and then out to
Pinnacle Rock. That was when I thought Long Island was much shorter around
its circumference. But this trip has been short. Maybe the tide assist.
Maybe the weather . . . I don't think it's because I'm in great shape. 

A redtail hawk soars above the shoreline. Dave spots some red headed ducks.
I don't recognize them, but then I mistake crows for hawks until they
flap their wings.  Nice to see the dock coming in sight; I'm ready to get
out of the boat and do something else. One last waypoint. The batteries are
low enough that the GPS is turning off while I'm trying to read distances
around the island. I think I'm getting 13.4 nautical miles, but it's hard
to be sure with the low batteries. Besides, I want to get the boat on the
truck, go get some food and relax. Set the GPS aside and let's get loaded up! 

Hot and clear, it's like June out here except for the yellow/gold foliage.
Dave says to follow him to Fultano's for pizza/salad bar. This is "better
than Hometown" and right around the corner from Dave and Becky's apt. on
the Young's Bay side of town. I crank up KKEE "Golden oldies. We reach the
beach!" and follow Dave back into Astoria. I keep wondering about living
down here. The golden oldies are from when I was in the Army, music being
the one thing then that kept me from going crazy . . . OK, *nearly* kept me
from going crazy . . . Is Astoria a nice place to visit or do I want to
live here . . . 

Good salad bar at Fultano's. I'm doing salads and water these days. Dave
has a beer and a Hawaiian pizza. But there's pepperoni on the salad bar and
I'm a sucker for sausage . . . Long drive home, and I get back in the dark.
That's because it's November, not June . . . even though the weather says
June.
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