I apologized for the poor grammar of my last few posts - it has been one of those kind of weeks. I phoned around to see what kind of summer some of my friends had. One paddler of 10 years, whose male counterpart and paddling partner had a spot of trouble off the West Coast of the island here, had an interestig tale. They were crossing from the Grassy Islands back to Rugged Point (see Michael Blades book for details on this area). As predicted, afternoon winds kicked up, though a little sooner than expected. The crossing was going well, until the companion of my friend "suddenly lost it." He became distraught with thoughts of his imminent demise. He had no roll. I know it can get unusually bouncy out there due to a number of factors, but his behavior was apparently out of character, completely. My friend had to continually raft up, forcing his partner to look him in the eyes and take deep breaths, while my friend continually gave him words of encouragement. The two have paddled extensively, and no explanation was offered regarding his companion, other than the fellow who became unreasonably fearful generally is the more cautious of the two and simply and suddenly figured he was out of his element. It did sound like my acquaintance handled the panicking paddler with grace and assertiveness, helping him to complete the crossing safely. I remember Dave Kruger had a friend he'd take out paddling where elements of fear needed to be ameliorated with ongoing focus (if I remember correctly). I guess this kind of action would be second nature to someone in the guiding industry. The second story comes from the top of Vancouver Island, where a rental outfitter transacted by phone with a mother (and her young daughter) to take a double out camping and view Orca whales. The client had given assurances over the phone that they were well seasoned and capable of self sufficiency. When my friend arrived to meet the paddlers and drop of the boat, presented before him was a rather heavy lady, out of shape, contrasted with a 12-year old daughter who was below-average in size and strength. Further inquiries revealed the two had no charts, minimal gear, and barely the strength to move the double to the beach. Skill-sets were minimal, but the double WAS a stable model. After some soul-searching and a continual barrage of intended pacifiers by the mother to allay fears, the outfitter released the double to the ka-ching of a Visa card. Pickup was in two days. Apparently, the two got caught up in some contraindicating tides (normally an easy negotiation in a fast double) and were not able to land at their destination. They floated by helplessly, but eventually did manage to land their large craft of a rocky outcropping much later, one with no other egress, just off shore near an open section of the strait. It was a long, cold night on the rocks, with just enough room to sit and tie the kayak off. The young girl showed a bit of ingenuity, proving her gene pool still has hope, and raised a PFD on her paddle and waved it at a passing seiner in the early morning light. They caught the bright PFD, and came over quickly. The skipper deployed his skiff, came over, and promptly asked them if they needed breakfast -- and a lift. He was a quick study and a man of few words or derogatory inclination. He transported the two, sans kayak and gear, eventually returning them to the put in. When my friend eventually arrived for pick-up, the young girl ran up, very excited about her story. It was a happy ending, and apparently her and her mother had gotten real close. Yeah, I guess so. My friend was happy too. No dead clients; no massive search; no injuries; and not even a scratch on the newer double. Bonus. The paddlers were from Washington State. The mother had been on a guided trip once before to the area I believe, so thought she had things figured out. The tides were not unusually strong -- they just could not muster the energy to counter the currents, or know enough to use them to advantage by planning around them. As always, be prepared. And as a great hero of 9/11 used to say: "Lets roll!" -- or at least work on your roll if you frequent rougher waters and are in the appropriate craft for it. Doug Lloyd *************************************************************************** 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/ ***************************************************************************
----- Original Message ----- From: "Doug Lloyd" <dougl_at_islandnet.com> When my friend eventually arrived for pick-up, the young > girl ran up, very excited about her story. It was a happy ending, and > apparently her and her mother had gotten real close. Yeah, I guess so. > My friend was happy too. No dead clients; To quote a member of the New South Wales Kayak Club, "It was a good paddle. Nobody died." Jim *************************************************************************** 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/ ***************************************************************************
It was dead calm in the little cove by the launch site; the murky water was sheer glass, a stunning reflection of the scattered clouds in the deep blue of a September sky. I settled in the boat, then picked up the coffee cup I'd set at the edge of the water and set it between my knees, balanced the paddle across the cockpit, and reached down to get some weight off of the boat as I pushed it away from the sandy launch site that had become exposed as the water dropped over the course of the summer. I took a few strokes with the paddle to get moving out into the open lake. It was still early on a Saturday morning, and I had lots to do before the day was over. It's getting to be the time of year when it's time to be thinking about buttoning up for the winter that really can't be far off. For me, kayaking season coincides with Daylight Savings Time; when we go back on regular time there isn't enough time for after-work paddles, and the water is usually too cold for solo paddling, anyway. Not long ago summer seemed to stretch away into an indefinite future, now, all too soon, its demise seems real, and the cold, bleak eternity of winter is all too clearly coming. Only now, once outside the launch cove, did I do much thinking about where I was going to go. Lake Hudson, my normal exercise paddling lake, is really not that large, only about three miles long from farthest end to farthest end, both of them lying in shallow areas that have been too weed-choked to enter for months. A cloud slid over the sun, a remnant of the weather system that passed the night before, and that gave me a cue -- it looked like it was going to be there long enough to keep the sun out of my eyes for a while if I headed east, out on the biggest of the lake's three lagoons. I gave the little point at the mouth of the launch cove a wide berth -- it's shallow under there, with some large rocks lying right under the surface, and some of them poking through. The lake is down a foot or more since spring, and with the dry season we've been having there's not a lot of hope of it coming up much before winter. For a couple months, there has been little inflow into the lake and no outflow, which means that this big, shallow lake is getting more than a little stagnant. We usually have a pretty good algae growth here in the summer months. There's a lot of swamp crud laying on the surface, and I know that when I get off the lake I will have a broad green stripe down the sides of the kayak. As always, it took me a while to get my stroke working right, getting the kinks out and getting settled into a rhythm. I know that if I can manage to set a good steady pace at the beginning of the paddle I'll pretty well be able to keep it up for the whole trip, whereas if I lollygag at the beginning I'll tend to do so the whole trip. Over on the far shore a flock of geese appeared to sit along the shore. I say "appeared", since even at that distance it was clear that they were decoys, and I don't know how any self-respective goose could be fooled by them. Early goose season has been under way for two weeks, and there were hunters out hopefully waiting. I knew their efforts are going to be pretty futile, since the geese disappeared from the lake as soon as the spring's little ones were flying, and haven't been back since -- it's going on two months since I'd seen a goose out here. They're hiding on little ponds back in the woods, in the city, on big lakes and golf courses, places where people aren't likely to go with shotguns. They are not stupid. Partway down the lake, it's clear that my idea of getting the sunward leg in behind the cloud isn't going to work. I pulled my hat low over my eyes and paddled onward, up into the channel that feeds the lake, and far enough up it to a wide spot, where I turn around. The weeds start getting really thick not far beyond that, so this is a good place to head back. It was also a good place to stop for a moment and check the coffee from the cup between my legs -- I don't like it real hot, but this was now half an hour from the pot and getting down into the tolerable range. By the time I got back on the lake, a breeze had sprung up, and it was no longer the glass it had been earlier. Now that the sun was out and I was looking away from it, I could assess the colors better than I could when it was overcast. There's really not much fall color yet, although a lot of trees are starting to show age in their leaves. Some of the popples near the shore are showing definite color, and there are isolated patches of color elsewhere. Probably at least some of it is drought stress; we've got corn and beans around here that are so brown they look ready to harvest, although I've heard farmers complaining that it may not be worth the cost of the gas to actually get out there with the combines. Up ahead, there was a big splash in the water. A jumping fish, I guessed at first reaction, but then a few seconds later there was another big splash, and this time I could see the wings of a comorant flapping away. We don't have a regular flock of them here -- at least, there were two or three months this spring and summer than I never saw one of them -- but the past month or so I've seen at least one every trip, and sometimes several. As I made the turn into the middle lagoon of the lake, a troller came creeping by. This guy was obviously serious, for he has a pretty advanced rig, with downriggers and planer boards and lots of expensive gear, mounted on a nice looking boat, powered by a quiet four stroke outboard, barely idling at trolling speed. "Getting anything?" I call, just to make conversation. "Naw," he grumped. "It's been pretty slow." I reflected for a moment that I've never, ever, heard a fisherman describe the fishing as anything other than "slow", or "lousy", even if he's got sore arms from reeling them in. I suspect if it really were good they wouldn't admit it, just to keep the crowds away. "Well, the point is the being out on the water," I replied with a grin, slowing up to let him pass in front of me -- with planer boards out, he's not going to be that maneuverable. "After all, the fishing is just an excuse." "I suppose you're right," he said. "Sure is a nice day for it, though." Once he passed, we began to creep apart. The breeze had picked up a little more, and over the woods up ahead there was an immense and growing flock of turkey vultures. There's no way to count them, the way they were moving around, but I'd guess it was at least fifty and growing all the while. Though they range pretty wide during the day, I couldn't help but wonder once again how there could be enough road kill to keep them fed. I once had a cup of coffee with the old guy that used to own the land around the point back before the lake was here, and he told me that he remembered the flock being there when he was a boy. Ugly birds, but they sure do fly pretty. As I drew closer to the circling buzzards, a small grey and black flashed across in front of me. Some kind of woodpecker, I guess from the shape, but I didn't get a good enough look pick out details, and the bird book was back in the van. This time of year, with the migration getting under way, I ought to take it in the boat with me, along with the binoculars, but somehow I never think to do it, even though every trip this time of year I see strange birds that I can't identify. I made the turn out into the western section of the lake, the secret part, the wild part. Earlier in the week, I'd talked with a woman who's come out here with her family for a camping trip each summer, and only on Labor Day weekend this year did they discover that there was a western part to the lake at all. A quick glance around the lake showed that I was alone out here, not that there was a lot of activity on the rest of the lake. I didn't see any rafts of decoys, meaning that any goose hunters that may have been out here before me have already given up. I try to avoid getting near goose hunters, just out of courtesy, but out here that can restrict my movements a lot. What I did see is three distant spots of white, one in a bay to my left, two more straight ahead. They don't take a lot of identifying; they were obviously egrets, although the most I'd seen on the lake at one time all year, so they had to be working their way south, too. I headed in the general direction of the pair in front, mostly because that was the direction I needed to go anyway. A few minutes later I was getting close to the egrets, which didn't seem to be paying a lot of attention to me. By now, I was paddling through scattered lily pads in this shallow section of the lake. Even they were beginning to look old and yellow, their floating leaves covered with immense crowds of tiny black insects. Paddling along, I went past the egrets busy hunting in the shallows, getting fairly close, and that doesn't happen often with them. Up toward the end of the section, the last bay of the lake opened to my left, and a blue heron went squawking away, complaining about my presence. The bay has been very choked with weeds and lily pads all summer. Although it's my favorite part of the lake I've only tried to get out there a couple times, usually with a canoe paddle since the double-ended paddle picks up the weeds pretty badly. With the lake as low as it was, I was curious whether I could even get out there at all. A couple years ago, the lake got so low that a sand bar stretched most of the way across the entrance, and I remembered one time when I'd sat outside the entrance watching sandpipers walk around where I'd paddled through the summer. However, this trip I hadn't brought the canoe paddle, and I made a mental note to bring it the next time I proposed to get out this way, so I could go out and see how bad it really was. I satisfied myself with a longing look out across the swampy little bay and its unseen mysteries, while I sat there and drank most of the coffee, which was now getting a little cool for my taste. I looked at my watch; it was getting late, and I had things to do. Reluctantly, I put the coffee cup back on the bottom of the boat, and turned to set out on the familiar paddle back to the launch cove. I get out on this lake a lot in the summer. It's quiet; there are no jetskis or water skiiers, and that makes it especially nice. I suppose I could go other places more often, but it's convenient, and I like to watch the season progress on the familiar places. There were other things that needed to be done, but I knew I'd be back again, until ultimately, the oncoming ice of winter seals me out of there for a while as I await another spring. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Wes Boyd's Kayak Place http://www2.dmci.net/wesboyd/kayak.htm Kayaks for Big Guys (And Gals) | Trip Reports | Places To Go | Boats & Gear --------------------------------------------------------------------------- *************************************************************************** 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/ ***************************************************************************
Doug, Regarding your first story about the paddler that for some reason lost it. S... Happens. I have read accounts of law enforcement officers who have had calls where they did the same thing. They would get a call to a disturbance at a bar and suddenly they just could not go for some reason. They would start shaking and simply loose control. They had been to hundreds if not thousands of similar calls prior to this one and have been to hundreds or thousands since that one event. But for some reason, the little man/angel/fairy godmother on the shoulder said don't go. Danger Will Robinson and they freaked. The human mind is a wee bit complicated! 8-) Later, Dan *************************************************************************** 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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