I watched a show on Discovery Health about California beach lifeguards. I very small sailboat was sinking and the lifeguards motored out to pick up a very fit 50ish father and his teenage son. They were not quite waist deep in 55 degree water while sitting in the awash sailboat. The son responded well to the directions of lifeguards but the father was a very different story. He did not appear able to follow basic commands, was sluggish, and very overwhelmed by the situation. Basic tasks such as being asked to let go of his oars and climb up the ladder into the boat were very much past his ability to reason. He tried to climb up the running outboard of a harbor patrol boat while repeated being told of the danger. When finally dragged onto the deck of the lifeguard boat the father was covered with a blanket which he immediately shrugged off. The son seemed confused by his fathers actions. I have never seen hypothermia past the slurred speech stage. It was a real shock to witness a video of just how crazy it can get. I don't think a group of kayakers could have gotten this man to the beach without the help of a larger boat. Both victims were wearing shorts, sun hats, and long sleeve t-shirts. Only the son was wearing a life jacket. Jim et al *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. Submissions: PaddleWise_at_PaddleWise.net Subscriptions: PaddleWise-request_at_PaddleWise.net Website: http://www.paddlewise.net/ ***************************************************************************
This trip follows one from Punta Baja to Santa Rosalillita. Sid Taylor Float Log Santa Rosalillita to Gone Awry August 17 - 20, 2002 Prologue It was a mistake of inexplicable ignorance. His careful plan; taught as cable, was unraveled into strands of shallow streams that crisscrossed the vast estuary. From aloft a vulture, as it was surveying the flats in search of coyote carrion, saw a man-creature clad in neoprene and anorak laying in the lee of his boat amid umbrage and baked mud. Ed (Gillet) had said to camp at Puerto Viejo and follow the pangas out. That morning he had left, noting that the pangas stayed put. But it was coming up on low high tide and he figured he could find the channel. He was drunk on the surreal beauty of the place. The omniscient sun lighted low rises of sand where pelicans, terns, shearwaters and cormorants shared their wild seclusion with oystercatchers, sanderlings and sandpipers. He knew he had to hug the dunes to the northwest where a channel flows from Laguna Guerrero Negro to Laguna Ojo de Liebre. The Pacific coast of Baja California is an estuarian one. Vast shallow lagoons, featureless and remote may be found from north to south along a thousand miles. He had been leery of entering the lagoons from the beginning. With big swell, the shoals at the mouths throw up lines of surf a half mile out. From the diminutive vantage of a kayaker the entrance channel might be difficult to find. But it was a thrill to enter Laguna Guerrero Negro. He surfed in and was on top of the world. He stopped to photograph Puerto Viejo, the old port. He marveled at the abandoned lighthouse and concrete bodegas that stood on a rise above its rusted dock, extant archeology still ringing with the sound of hammers and lugging of engines. The channel meanders sinuously, resulting in a heading that constantly changes so he wasn't concerned when he faced the wrong direction at times. To the south a mountain of pure white salt, lovely enough to worship, made a positive landmark miles away at Mitsubishi ESSA Corporation's Salina (salt works). Salt barges are pushed by tugs through a dredged channel out the mouth of the lagoon and to Isla Cedros where it is loaded onto a 139,000-ton ship. The salt is produced through evaporation and recharge in ponds. Somehow he missed the entrance into the channel. He thought later that it must have been on the other side of the island he had passed. The truth of it came down like the hammer of the sun. He had dragged his kayak through the torturous braids of six-inch deep streamlets and then finally found himself high and dry. The vulture took another pass. With its keen sight he detected a movement in the man-creature and, loosing interest, veered-off. It was coming on to a full moon and high high tide would be 2 feet above low high tide. He dug into the sandy muck to guess when it had last been flooded. Then he marked the tidal stage and went to sleep, exhausted from man-hauling his boat. Hours later, when he awoke; when the implications of his carelessness flooded his consciousness, he would yell his desperate refrain "No, please god no" and it would resound unheard across the pitiless plain. Log 081702 I left Santa Rosalillita (N 28o 40.033' W 1140 14.224')at 06:30. There is a mild breeze and it is overcast. There are 2-4 swell. I landed at Playa Esmeralda at 11:30. It has been only a week since I paddled south from Punta Baja to Santa Rosalillita. I went home for provisions and to get building supplies and other "regalos" (gifts) for my Mexican friends, the Peralta family. Their relatives live along at least 400 miles of the Pacific coast of Baja California. It was fascinating to hear Eulalio's description of life in Baja California before the highway was completed. He tells me it took 10 days to travel from El Rosario to Ensenada! There were only self-sufficient ranchos in those days. Along with gato monte (mountain cat), cahwama (sea turtle) and an occasional antelope they ate fish and other mariscos, as they do today. He spoke of the many armadillos and tortoises in the Desierto Vizcaino. He is building a commercial abalone farm on the coast to the north at Lovera. Francisco has loaned me a history of the area, which I will copy in Guerrero Negro. There are dozens of dowitchers probing the saturated sand at the waters edge. Their are myriad sea birds here, drawn to the bait fish in the nursery of the estuaries. Each exploits its own unique food supply and occupies a unique niche in the ecosystem. In the bay formed by Punta Rosarito, I was entertained by some Pacific Whitesided dolphins. They swam deliberately toward me, curious and unconcerned. In their investigations they displayed an impressive repertoire of aquabatic skill, first broaching and then passing directly under my hull. A seal threw itself skyward in their wake, as they corralled a ball of fish. I left my car at Mario's house. He wasn't at home when I arrived so I drove to el Marron to find him. I left his son with a Nintendo 64 from my son. While there I met Ramon Smith. Just as Mario MacLish is descended from Scots, Ramon is related to the English. Isla Smith, in the Bahia de los Angeles, is named after his grandfather's brother. I had an informative discussion with him regarding Isla Angel de la Guarda (Mexico's second largest island). He answered my long-held question of whether there is water on the island with a shrug and a "no", though he affirmed the existence of tinajas. He worked on the island for thirty years. We spoke of the long-abandoned clam processing plant near Estanque on the SE end. Here at Playa Esmeralda (N 28o 30.874' W 114o 04.179'), 11.83 miles north of Santa Rosalillita) I have just met Samuel Maciel, a fisherman. He owns this place and is familiar with the coast. He said I should have no problem leaving Laguna Ojo de Liebre and advised me to paddle within the lagoons at high tide. He agreed that the currents at Punta are strong and meet from opposing directions at the point. In January and February, Samuel takes people whale watching in Laguna Ojo de Liebre. A panga is being dragged above high water by a rusty and battered pickup. A dog runs at its bow snapping as if herding it forward. There are only several casitas here. On a flat above there is a large, brown unoccupied trailer. Eight people are here. As I squat, tending to my boat, I notice the shadow of two girls, ten or so years of age, approach from behind. They present me a plate upon which are tortillas, broiled fish and salad. The fish is whole, has been scored and seasoned and is "muy sabrosa!" Thousands of gulls congregate to gorge on the entrails and other fish "waste" discarded by the fisherman. The unrelenting sun has bleaches the scene in washed-out pastels. The dog now lays in the lee of my boat while another Samoyed-looking thing named "Don King" skulks about. I am on "Mexican time" and move slowly about my business. The overcast clouds of early morning had burned-off and now (16:30) return. I watch dreamily as grandpa casts his piece of sardine from the beach. He, grandma, daughter and the girls are visiting Samuel. In a moment he reels-in a corvina (white sea-bass) of about six pounds and proudly displays it to me. He speaks excellent English but I speak only Spanish. As I peruse my chart I reflect on the virtues of paddling solo. Usually I have no choice. And I have come to believe it is no more than marginally safer to paddle in a group, especially one more than four in number. Often the logistics of coordinating actions work against efficiency. Timing "is everything" and the solo-paddler is neither rushed nor waiting. When one lands, hospitality is more forthcoming. When there is only one mouth to feed he is invited to dinner. If he is imprudently low on water, the fisherman will help him, where a group would deplete his supply. Conversations with fisherman are easily initiated when you land "lonely". My Spanish improves more quickly. 081802 Left 06:40, arrived at Punta Morro Domingo at 12:10 and landed at the estuary Laguna Manuela at 13:00. No wind today, swell from the northwest at 2-4 ft. Overcast until 15:00. Now the sun is just beginning to burn through. During the transition from overcast to clear is when the wind begins. The dolphins were at their antics again today. From a half-mile away they espied my approach and came to me straight-away. Their fins cut the surface with a zipping sound. The hissing spray spun like rooster tails from their bodies until, nearing my boat, they dove under it. I watched them pass under and burst through the surface just to port, their spray anointing me. Punta Morro Domingo is a fat one, with rocky promontories interspersed by six or seven secluded beaches. The cliffs between are as imposing as a fortress. They tower overhead with impassive dignity as my boat sways in the reflected waves. A great arch, framing a road-less beach, greeted me unexpectedly as I followed the broad curve of the point. A lighthouse stands just to the north of the arch. Occasionally I see a tent. This point is near the highway (such as it is) and is a popular attraction. Inside the point, at the entrance to Laguna Manuela (N 28o 14.843' W 114o 05.463'), there are several small warehouses buttoned-up and unoccupied. The pangas are drawn ashore close within the estuary. A few ex-patriots hide in the shade of a semi-permanent camp. I met Steve out on the water where he is fishing from his SOT. Later I join him for hot cocoa and ask him to call my family when he gets stateside. 081902 Left at 06:30 arrived at the entrance to Laguna Guerrero Negro (N 28o 06.000' W 114o 07.012') at 09:30. I had kept a bearing of 210 MN and figured I would arrive just as I did, based on typical distance made good. The opening is barely perceptible because the shoreline is low and featureless. The mouth is less than 5 feet in depth except in a narrow channel. I worked my way along the break lines. Today these are spillers of only three or four feet height. In winter they would be much larger and begin breaking further out in the shoal. My apprehension at entering the lagoons gave way to frolic in the waves as I surfed from the open sea into the placid sanctuary of the estuary. Thousands upon thousand of sea birds congregate here. Countless terns explode upon the horizon, their scissors-like frames slice the air as they drift like confetti in the ocean breeze. This is not just any place. It is captivating, a tonic for the harried soul. A panga heads from afar straight toward me. This is uncharacteristic of a fisherman, who is preoccupied with his catch. Two guys in Helly Hansen's greet me and are told I am paddling the coast. I ask them if they are from Mitsubishi, a wild guess, to which they reply yes. I give them a copy of my notice to fisherman and proceed. Although I am mesmerized by the serenity of the lagoon, it would have been possible to land on the outer shore. Now, as I transcribe this, I wish ruefully, that I had. I pass the old port Puerto Viejo (N 28o 02.0 W 114o 07.50')now decrepit and monumentally nostalgic on its rise, presiding no more over a life of commerce. The dunes are covered with verbena, alkali heath, salt grass and other verdure only in hummocks near shore. From there they stretch limitlessly over the horizon. At the fish camp they were unloading their catch under a bank on which sat several casitas. The gulls swirled eratically above while a half dozen children bathed under the watchful eyes of their mothers. I spoke briefly with the fisherman concerning the channel. They said it wind and sinds to the right. I paddled over to a group of hummocks and made camp. 082002 In the morning I arose and embarked (06:35) on the last of a tide rising to low high. Ed had told me to follow the pangas out, that they would know the channel. But the pangas stayed on shore. I stayed to the right hugging the sandy shoreline. After several dead ends, I decided to go where I thought there was deep, continuous water. But alas, I got lost. When I could no longer paddle I towed the boat. When it would no longer float, I dragged it. Finally I stopped, looked at my chart and realized that I was several miles from the channel (N 27o 56.311' W 114o 07.737'). I marked the tidal stage and took a nap, exhausted from the ordeal. In eight or so hours the tide should be near high high and I should have two feet to float on: to make my great escape. But hours later I have awakened to the sound of a thousand tiny crabs crawling about and the tide has not risen. I am landlocked. High and dry, plans gone awry. "No, please god no". I shuttle gear and boat toward the dunes to the east (N 27o 56.119' W 114o 07.430'). The night before I had seen the lights of Guerrero Negro. My only choice is to drag things to the road and seek help. But scouting to the east I find only more dunes and black pan. The dunes are immense with patterns that make me dizzy. Deep crevasses had been sculptured by the wind. I shy away beause one reminds me of those sand traps that ants build and I am afraid the sand will collapse about me if I fall in. The simple beauty of them is astonishing and momentarily distracts me from the drudgery at hand. I decide to seek help at the Mitsubishi ESSA Salina. First I take the GPS position of my boat. I am helped by a couple of employees. We drag the gel coat off my boat, load it onto a truck, driven by Simon Fuertes, and head into town to report to the Harbor Master, Capitan Armando Peralta. All vessels entering the port must see the captain. We are invited to sit down. The captain asks why we are here. Simon informs him that a vessel has entered port and we are reporting as required. "Very well, is the vessel moored in port?" "No capitan, it is on a truck outside." "Oh, so it is a yacht?" "No sir." "It has a motor then?" "No sir, it is a kayak." At hearing this there is a long pause. "How many passengers?" "One." I ask, "Capitan, esta una Problema?" He replies, "No, it's just that I would need to notify your family should you succumb to danger". "But I am experienced and well equipped." Another long pause. He seems perplexed that I considered this a vacation and admonished me that I should have a float plan and safety equipment. I showed him my float plan with an inventory of signaling devices (rockets, flares, smoke, dye-marker), radio, GPS etc. Finally he let us leave. I am sure it is not often that a kayaker enters his port. Having experience as a captain, I guess he couldn't understand why I would take such chances in a toy boat. I had intended to round Punta Eugenia. I could put in again, after requesting permission from the Captain. But between intestinal rebellion, a lost hatch-cover, lost days and the prospect of obtaining permission from "el capitan", I have decided to wheel homeward, my tail tucked between my legs. Manana! *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. Submissions: PaddleWise_at_PaddleWise.net Subscriptions: PaddleWise-request_at_PaddleWise.net Website: http://www.paddlewise.net/ ***************************************************************************
I was on the Rogue River this weekend and we tried a new method for bear proofing our camp. We borrowed an electrical fence system from the Forest Service. It is really simple to set up and seems to work fairly well. The Rogue has a horrible people problem, because the people feed the bears and, surprise, bear damage becomes a problem. The bear/people culture on the lower Rogue has been difficult to change. The Forest Service started installing electrical exclosures to keep the bears out of cooler and food boxes. They installed hoists but with coolers it doesn't work. They installed electrical exclosures for about 4 years now and the situation has improved dramatically. They install the exclosures every spring and a battery lasts the entire summer. We borrowed a portable electric fence and set it up to protect our raft and coolers. I am sure the hoist method will work well for 90% of the sea kayak circumstances, but if you have large bags to protect you might consider this method. As you can see in the photos in this link the unit is really compact. It might also work well for horse packing. You need some ceramic poles, conducting wire, an electrical controller and battery, and rod to ground the wire. http://community.webshots.com/album/49190915UWjlIB cheers! and happy boat camping -- MZ *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. Submissions: PaddleWise_at_PaddleWise.net Subscriptions: PaddleWise-request_at_PaddleWise.net Website: http://www.paddlewise.net/ ***************************************************************************
In the photo marked "Electrical control for bear exclosure" does the liquid soap side by side with the controller have any significance? >to protect you might consider this method. As you can see in the photos in >this link the unit is really compact. It might also work well for horse >packing. You need some ceramic poles, conducting wire, an electrical >controller and battery, and rod to ground the wire. >http://community.webshots.com/album/49190915UWjlIB _________________________________________________________________ Send and receive Hotmail on your mobile device: http://mobile.msn.com *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. Submissions: PaddleWise_at_PaddleWise.net Subscriptions: PaddleWise-request_at_PaddleWise.net Website: http://www.paddlewise.net/ ***************************************************************************
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