>>No Bush Whacking, this is a paddle forum.<< ralph said in response: >>I wholeheartedly agree. There are always two (or more) sides to any issue and certainly none of them are germaine to a paddling forum. My only child, Jason, an Army sargeant, has gotten deployment orders.<< >snip< Ralph, I hope you don't think I was "bushwacking." The original poster asked for wisecracks, so I worded my reply as such, visa vis the whole "axis of evil" thing and immersion apparel-less paddlers. Someone else highjacked the post. Besides, we have enough Canadian politicians saying impertinent things anyway. Bush promised awhile ago he was going to go after anyone remotely associated with possible and potential terrorist threats. If you guys do go in, just make sure you kick some ass. PLEASE send me Jason's Email -- I'd love to send him my support and genuine prayers. I was a reserve "TKM" for a few years. And after all, its these young guys we send in to do the dirty business for the rest of us armchair quarterbacks. Now back on topic, more or less. I do worry about our respective borders remaining open. Off topic discussions could come up with a host of reasons why things might get restrictive after any post-invasion occurrence. I paddled over to Jolie's a couple of months ago. It was such a hassle with officialdom (Jolie wasn't too bad, hee, hee). I phoned ahead, spending significant time with a wonderful, professional lady at Friday Harbor customs. She took down _a lot_ of information, then told me that without precedent, I could paddle from Vancouver Island over to Roach Harbor without having to take the extra half day (which would have been without landing!) that it would require to show up at Friday Harbor -- which is on the other side of the island (I'm not Kirk). She said most paddlers just take the ferry, especially in winter. In summer, Roach is staffed with a customs representative. All I had to do was phone the moment I arrived at Roach Harbor. I'd done these crossings before, sometimes taking the ferry to Friday Harbor (but only so I could come back across the same day, targeting rough conditions when it was far easier to aim for Vancouver Island, rather than the other way around; sometimes I hit Oak Bay, sometimes I'd hit Island View beach, then call for a ride). Back in the good old days, hardly a question was asked if you bothered to inquire. Now kayakers run drugs, illegal immigrants pour through holes in the borders (including watery ones), and certain food substances are severely restricted -- to name a few things. The crossing went well once the Pacific Northwest finally escaped geographically wide inversion layer of the preceding week. Slack tide was the half way point (I've learned the hard way to do crossings efficiently, though that can be more boring). I was wearing 3mm neoprene and a breathable drytop, clocking almost 5 knots across the deep water section. I was fairly stiff climbing out of the kayak and only slightly warm, clambering up the meter high dock -- especially difficult with a flesh-eaten leg gone numb. I hobbled over to the phone with cramps . Oh no! I'd left my wallet in the minivan with the wife unit and waving kids. Oh boy! I used third party billing, thanks to a quick confirmation from my mother-in-law. The fellow who answered wasn't impressed. He put me on hold for fifteen minutes, then came back with a long speech and list of questions: "Who gave you permission to do this? This isn't right. You have now had a chance to interact with the islanders!" "Sir, I sought permission earlier in the week. I was simply to call you for some kind of clearance number." "What kind of vessel are you in?" "A 17-foot kayak, yellow deck, white hull; I have no criminal record, no fruit, and no illegal contraband." "How many people are on board?" "Sir, it's a one-person kayak. I am alone. I have arrhythmias, I'm dizzy, and I'd like to call my host." "What color?" "I already told you, yellow over white, and I don't have a registration number. All relevant information was forthrightly given to the person who authorized this procedure. Do you not have it written down somewhere, please?" "I'm alone in the office today, it's busy. Did you say yellow over white, huh? What is the name and address of your host?" "Jolie, uh, Smillouwits. I don't know the address, she is supposed to coming to get me when I call." "How do you spell that? Where does she work?" "Sir, I don't have the spelling. I don't know. She lives at Lyme Point. Maybe S-M-I-L-O-W-I-Z-C, or maybe C-Z, or -S. I already gave all this information. I think she makes crafts." "How big did you say your vessel was? Do you have any alcohol?" "Sir, its a kayak, a Nordkapp, a narrow British kayak. I only have clothing and rescue/safety equipment and water stored aboard. My hostess is providing the booze." "Well. I'm not happy about this. Here's your number, make sure you write it down. Next time I want to see you and your identification here, in person, in Friday Harbor." Whew! I slipped back into the cockpit, the custom's number already smudged beyond recognition from drips of water and damp hands. I slid of the high dock, stern first (to protect the rudder assembly) burying the entire stern and my torso to armpit depth. A couple of locals clapped, shouting they'd never scene that before. I shouted out that I was Canadian. I'd show this manoeuvre to Dave in Astoria once before (much lower dock). He was sure I'd flip over. The trick is to _plan_ on going over (sort of), pick the side you want to lean to, then brace to that side with a forward trailing-brace as you cascade backward. Gordin was supposed to come over with me, but had business at the last minute. I was kind of glad he hadn't come, lest the pair of us being frisked for homebrew, but how was I supposed to meet new paddlers cold turkey -- Gordin was supposed to be the gregarious one? Jolie and crew came down to meet me finally. I was expecting frump-woman. Was I wrong. The WKC crew had a glib, but altruistic vibe that resonated deeply in the heart of this hardened cross-border paddler -- imparting to me the deep sense of kindness and joviality of my neighbours and new friends. The weekend went well with stories into the wee hours of the night -- Scotch and Moose Drool beer providing the loquacious latitude to continue. I wondered if the other paddlers accepted my stories with credibility -- something Canadians are generally known for -- but a made somewhat difficult when accounts are condensed over one or two nights by the fireplace. I was last to turn in, along with one of the other paddlers who had to pack it in for the night (and who was one of those paddlers who had an apparent uncanny ability to have progressed exponentially in his skill and appreciation of the finer points of watermanship). I just love it!Canadians do party harder, though, eh. A dramatic moon setting itself across shimmering Spieden Channel left an indelible impression and an understanding of how fortunate my hostess was, to be situated where she was amongst the San Juan Islands, with freedom at her doorstep -- something that was fought for and cherished by my American neighbours here south of the 49th. We had a great day paddling around the very unusual Spieden Island with its menagerie of exotic game dashing about the denuded flanks along the island's southern exposure. The conditions were frightfully boring, as was the tidal movement that day but, I had paddled amongst these islands before, impressed with the magnitude and might back in my youthful zeal of days gone by, days when I never bothered with friends -- or custom officials. I had fun paddling backwards and hand paddling forward, feeling muscles that had gone on vacation during my months of recovery. I used rotary-cooling to let the cool seawater moderate the new drysuit's perspiration clamminess, took pictures of Jolie in her Welsh Princess, and chatted with the men. One guy, a _real_ big dude, had an incredible tale of medical-crisis survival, which put life into acute perspective once and for all, for me. I'd lost a lot of money taking the weekend off. Yet, money couldn't buy the happiness I was experiencing -- despite the summer-like conditions and lack of action. And I'd saved $50.00 Cnd by not taking the ferry. Back at the beach, I played at rolling, swim-towing, reenter-and-rolls, paddlefloat re-entries (foredeck and reardeck). I broke some front rigging mounts, which was as good a time as any to find structural weaknesses in the Nimbus straps (way more leverage off the foredeck than stern). It was the first time in my drysuit, making all the manoeuvres somewhat different than with a wetsuit/drytop combo. I wanted to stay in the cold water forever, never having had the luxury of dry insulation technology before. While it "felt wet" while in the water because of compression, I was in fact completely dry. An ice-cream headache and some intrinsic dizziness convinced me to pull ashore finally, but not before Jolie challenged me with a BCU-style brace-recovery (the one where you have to go over to one side completely and recover without sweeping). Let's just say I needed to work on it a bit more. She didn't. The next morning blew up cool and choppy out of the east. My hostess was a bit concerned -- if she only new about some of the former games I'd played out on Haro Strait. The "Big Dude" offered me a ride down to Roach, to save me some time. The heavy Nordkapp slipped its moorings suddenly, hanging precariously off the forward roofrack as we motored downhill toward the marina. I held on to the stern, standing on the back bumper as we pulled into the slip way. He offered to give me his thick paddling gloves to battle the cold chop ahead. I couldn't accept his generosity, and knew instinctively that the seas would abate once the sun reached full splendour. To make the crossing more interesting I took aim at the Anacortes ferry pulling out of Sydney. I'd toyed with her in the past, amongst the swirling channels between the islands off of Sydney (always vectoring away before close quarters, of course). I paddled flat out, amazed at the comfort level afforded by the drysuit. The wicking properties of the insulation kept the skin-to-polypro contact free of moisture. I was glad though, that it wasn't a warm spring day. The 3/4 inch neck tube helped ventilate during the faster sprints. A strong destination-side ebb swept me away from my trajectory. Just as well. The ferry steamed by, off to the north. I landed on the sand spit, off the northern tip off Sydney Island. Now I was cold. Perhaps Gore-Tex wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all (I bought the suit more for rough water play, Gore-Tex not being absolutely necessary in breaking seas and surf). I plucked my cold butt down on the forward hatch after stretching, splaying my legs to each side while the world stopped whirling. I had one of those "wet-less" cries big boys are known for, as I thought back to months prior when I had made passage out to Rum Island -- my first paddle after hospitalization -- where I had sat gazing across to the San Juan's, having realized then that I hadn't been ready to paddle over to Jolie's at that point. Now it had been a reality. I started thinking about my next goal -- a nighttime paddle in storm-force conditions...something I'd thought about while lying in the burn unit after talking long-distance to my old friend Vince. A real chill suddenly ran down my back from condensing moisture. It was time to pull out my cell phone. Oh wait, that was with my wallet. I paddled over to one of the few boaters out that winter weekend, and had the skipper hail my wife with directions to meet me at the Port Sydney dock. When I arrived at the dock, I wasn't supposed to land until getting clearance from Canadian customs. Without the cell phone, I had to go through the Coastguard on a patch-through: "Come in Canadian Coast Guard, this is Kayak One standing to off the Port of Sydney, inbound from the San Juan Islands. Request clearance procedures. Cell phone not available." (This was the first time I've actually talked to the CG on my VHF, and I was a little too "official" myself). "Kayak One, go to channel Two-Two Alpha, stand by please" There was a mini-drama unfolding off the spit where a boater had lost engines and was being taken away by the current. A commercial vessel gave chase, and secured a tow line. It was all very interesting. Fifteen minutes later: "Coast Guard, this is Canadian Kayak One, CAN YOU HEAR me? Have you forgotten me?" "Kayak One, you are coming in LOUD AND CLEAR, sir; we are here in Victoria and have an antenna in your vicinity!" (Oops!) "Here is your patch to customs at Victoria Airport. Go ahead." "This is customs, what is your name and purpose of your trip? What kind of vessel are you in? What are the names of the people on your chase boat?" "I'm solo sir. I'd like to put to shore. I'm returning to Canada. I have nothing to declare. I need clearance." I desperately wanted to hit shore, jump out of my drysuit and into casuals before my wife arrived. But no, the questions continued: "What kind of kayak is it? What brand and make? Colour and length please." "Sir, it's a 17-foot yellow over white Nordkapp." "What's a N-O-R-D-K-A-P-P. What is yellow over white? What is that?" "Sir, it's county of origin is England. It was a rather famous boat in its time. I'm Canadian. I have no criminal record. I'm not carrying fruit or booze. It has a yellow deck with a white hull, you know, yellow over white. I'm tired and cold. I'm communicating with my VHF in one hand while side paddling in a current under the wharf. Could I get a clearance number please?" "Uh, oh, okay, yes, thanks for the history lesson; I suppose your hands are not too free. Tell you what, phone us as soon as you get home and we will give you a clearance number. You are free to land." Thank you! I rushed to shore, hauling the kayak up to the turn-around, across massive stepping-stone boulders and crushed blocks of granite. Oh how I love a strong hull slicked-up with a plastic keel line. No sooner had I brought up the rest of the paraphernalia, than my wife pulls up. Darn! She steps out with the kids. "Hi honey, your safe. How was it? I was so worried at first when that skipper called." Then silence. Then: "Um, what are you wearing? That's not your wetsuit. That's A DRYSUIT! How much WAS THAT? When did you buy that!? Yes, I was BUSTED!!! Doug Lloyd -- (who's mother-in-law recently handed me her phone bill, wondering what the third-party charge of $52.00 was for. Well, so much for saving ferry fares). Take care everyone. *************************************************************************** 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" <dalloyd_at_telus.net> > Ralph, I hope you don't think I was "bushwacking." The original poster asked > for wisecracks, so I worded my reply as such, visa vis the whole "axis of > evil" thing and immersion apparel-less paddlers. Someone else highjacked the > post. Doug, I didn't think for a moment you were. It was crystal clear that you were using the language as a framework for your post on cold water protection and nothing more. It was then used by several others to go off on that political tangent having nothing to do with paddling. My son, BTW, is a paddler although not having had much of a chance to do so. I first got him kayaking in the late 1980s. When he returned from Desert Storm, the first thing he wanted to do, after eight months in the Saudi desert, was to paddle on the Hudson. We did so out of West Point, which had a double purpose of the institution itself and the beautiful stretch of river and highlands that surround the place. He generally has come home on leave only at Christmas time and so we have not done paddling in the intervening years. Last year, he made a special point to come in September to be in the city on the anniversary of 9-11. He got in a lot of paddling and volunteer work at the Downtown Boathouse Pier 26 while here. And, on 9-11, participated in an on-water kayak ceremony at the next pier down. Both piers are just a few blocks from where the World Trade Center stood. The embayment at Pier 25 was used to transport by barge most of the remains of the Twin Towers and so it was a good spot for commemoration. Interestingly enough, he got to paddle quite extensively one model of folding kayak that he liked a lot, the FoldingCraft 480, and intends to buy one when all this is over. ralph diaz *************************************************************************** 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/ ***************************************************************************
> >>No Bush Whacking, this is a paddle forum.<< > > ralph said in response: > > >>I wholeheartedly agree. There are always two (or more) sides to any is Doug's response was the following story: > > I paddled over to Jolie's a couple of months ago. > I just love it!Canadians > do party harder, though, eh. Doug: We had talked before your arrival, and knowing that you were a deeply spiritual person, had decided as a group to radically tone down our usual rowdy behavior, so as not to offend you. Next time, we will feel free to revert to our usual state. I am so glad you came, and we all enjoyed meeting and paddling with you, and gawking at your amazing boat. WKC, San Juan Island's branch, will welcome you at any time. Jolie *************************************************************************** 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's response was the following story: >> >>I paddled over to Jolie's a couple of months ago.I just love it! Canadians do party harder, though,eh.<< >Doug: We had talked before your arrival, and knowing that you were a deeply spiritual person, had decided as a group to radically tone down our usual rowdy behaviour, so as not to offend you.< Yikes, and here I thought you guys_were_ being rowdy! I'd hate to see you WKC folks _not_ toned down! As for drinking, I usually know what side of a good buzz to hover at, when I do drink. I may "swagger" a bit to the religious right, but I think God made us to enjoy ourselves. Chronic alcohol abuse is a different matter. Being a paddler, I tend to be the type, like the rest of us Paddlewisers I imagine, who try and take care of their bodies. I'll concede my notion of being a harder hardy partier from Canuk land. As for the etiology of modern alcoholism, researchers might want to conduct their control experiments using paddlers consistently found gathered at Lyme Point, American San Juan's. There would be no lack of volunteers! :-) And hey, if the rest of the people on this list are half as nice as subscribers I've met like you, Rob, Steve, Mike (and Tina and Dave whom I've also met through PW), there is hope for the world yet in this new era. So, should I say "Cheers?" Be free, be cool, be paddling in liquid when you can, be yourself, strive for peace at all cost, and when you have to fight -- give it all you got. Doug Lloyd - who's perhaps more spiritual than religious; but more reflective than spiritual, but really wishes he was on the water more where waves of grace wash the decks clean of life's bitter bits of detritus. Bless you Jolie; a journey requires one to always move forward. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~ "Whatever can be said at all can be said clearly and whatever cannot be said clearly should not be said at all." Ludwig Wittgenstein ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~ *************************************************************************** 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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