Part II: … Over the Bar and in Between

by Haris

Sunday morning, 6:30AM.  I am asleep, what else at this time, right?  Very close, actually, but not quite--I’m getting the paddling gear into a giant plastic box, putting finishing touches on the hip pads/braces I installed last night and making sandwiches with hot tea and lots of honey.  Digital thermometer outside my house reads exactly 30.0°F.  The water temperature on the East coast of Lake Michigan is around 40°F, significant average wave height 6 feet and rising, wind around 20 knots from WSW and gaining.  We’re headed back to Weko Beach near Bridgman, MI for a rematch with the Lake.  Same set up as two weeks ago: launching in Indiana would mean getting blown parallel to shore so we need to go farther north.

This time my partner is an experienced GKC coach Dave L. fresh back from Anglesey Island trip.  By a weird coincidence, the fetch from Ireland to the West coast of Anglesey in Wales is about the same that from Montrose Harbor to Bridgman, MI.  Apparently, Dave got bitten by the rough water bug and the Fox River just does not scratch the itch for the poor fellow.

Lions Cafe (picture from Bridman, MI website)

It’s nearly a two-hour trip from the Western suburbs of Chicago to the Warren Dunes State Park and Weko Beach is just North of that.  We took off just before 8:30AM and pushed off at 10:30AM including breakfast at a local Mickey D’s.

Upon arrival, the waves seemed to come higher up the shore than two weeks ago even though the breakers on the sand bar did not seem quite as menacing.  The wind was not quite as strong either although strong enough so that I had to hold on to the paddle tight walking down the sand to the water.  If you ever head that way, watch out for a strange character hanging out at the McDonalds.  He started a friendly conversation about kayaks with us at the restaurant, then asked for permission to inspect it and insisted that he has no intention of touching.  Eventually, he approached us again at the beach just to say that he did not follow us all the way here.  Go figure?

Suited up and packed we decided to head South against the wind and warm up before we will attempt to surf.  Today we will give it a shot and try to make it through the breaking surf to the other side of the sandbar.  And so we pushed off...

Small broken waves hit the torso and spray covered the face immediately while the body was still adjusting to this new state of disequilibrium.  Walking on two feet requires quite different adjustments to keep your balance than paddling in the surf.  It takes a while to redirect the CPU efforts and adapt.  Dave was faster and I saw him approach the bigger breakers at the sand bar.  He was hit by a few sizable waves.  I followed him a little downwind.  In a matter of seconds Dave found a lull in the waves and made a run.  Seeing that, I turned into the wind and attempted to do the same.  Not my luck today.  I immediately got hit by bubbling water from a broken wave that crashed about 10 yards in front of me, got broached and side-surfed back to where we started.  

No big deal, I was actually very happy to not have capsized given the power I had to face.  After I pulled myself over this wave and pointed the bow out to sea and, with extra spring in the paddle stroke, I headed out again.  A set of big waves must have followed Dave’s escape.  On my way out I had to kiss one broken monster after another and each one of them was pushing me back to shore.  As long as I stayed perpendicular to the attacking wave-front I did not lose much ground.  It does not take much, however, and if the angle of the kayak to the approaching wave is too big you’re likely to get broached and at that point there’s nothing you can do but brace, side-surf to shore and try to pry yourself over the top as the wave loses power.

Seeing Dave sporadically appearing behind the intimidating wave-bullies, I tightened up the muscles in the torso and pushed into the waves again.  The torso is definitely more powerful than the hands.  There is a trade-off, though.   At least at my level of paddling, I find torso strokes to be less stable in rough water than hand strokes--as the shoulders move from being perpendicular to the boat axis to being parallel, the sense of balance changes.  I wonder if it gets better with experience or this is just an inherent trade-off that a paddler has to accept and adapt?  My guess is the latter.  The force in a stroke that uses the torso has its origin somewhere along the spinal cord, right over the middle of the boat.  In a hand stroke the origin is in the shoulder joint--a few inches more leverage for keeping the boat upright.  Using the waist and hips for balance also gets progressively more difficult when the torso is rotated unless you have the flexibility of a yogi master and coordination of a contortionist.  Be it as it may, I found myself not quite able to apply the full power of the torso to the stroke.  Some power had to be traded for balance in order to stay upright.

I approached the sand bar yet again.  A big wave broke right in front of the bow of the kayak.  I took a strong swing with a paddle and tried to spear the wave, just like the books say.  Balance and timing issues did not quite work out as intended and I got hit with the force of the wave while still sitting fully erect in the seat and the forward paddle blade still on its way down. The next couple of moments did not register in the long-term memory and the first thing I remember after the impact was blinking very fast to get the sand out of my eyes.  The wave hit all the way up the face, not just the body.  Bless the fresh water of Lake Michigan!  I really did not want to be blinking twice as much for the salt as well!  I was broached hanging on in a high brace on the strong side.  The wave took me back a long ways toward the shore.  Bummer.

OK, now the humility part wore off and I was getting pissed off.  There was no Dave waiting for me on the other side, there were no tips on technique recycling in my head--it was just me and the waves and the goal of getting over that bar.  Bring it on!

I headed out again.  Just as I reached the sand bar I took a deep breath.  I had to raise my head--the eyes don’t rotate that high in the sockets--as a wave was curling way over my head.  Anger was gone in an instant and I was humble again.  Not really scared but somewhat resigned to the reality that I am not going to make it out of this one.  It was the biggest one of the morning and it was not breaking in front of me, it was gonna come down right on my head.  And so it did.  

There was no impact on the chest and the face.  In fact, I did not feel much of an impact at all.  It probably crashed on the stern of the kayak and I most likely had enough momentum and a good enough angle to punch through it effortlessly.  I don’t even recall slamming down on the back of the wave with the bow of the kayak which is usually the case with a wave like this.  I emerged on the back side of the wave and did not even need to brace.  It was perfect!  I was elated.  So much so that I momentarily forgot where I was and what was going on around me.  I kept on paddling automatically but I was not out of the surf zone yet.  The water gods decided to remind me of that.  Elation gave way to ‘Oh Poop!’ expletive as I found myself face-to-face with another wave equally as high as the previous one and equally ready to unload its fury on my head.  The gods had enough fun with me for now.  As I frantically paddled to meet the new foe it started to break just as the bow of the kayak reached its top.  I got a mild splash followed by a huge kaboom as the bow landed on the back of the wave and I was out to meet up with Dave who probably had a pretty good show to watch if he could see anything over the tops of the waves.  GPS showed that the whole game lasted just over 8 minutes.

We paddled south into the wind and the GPS clocked us just shy of 2MPH for that segment.  The waves were big.  The biggest I’ve ever paddled.  Steep too.  While there were no breakers behind the bar, the tops of the waves would get blown over themselves by the wind and something like a couple of hundred gallons of foaming water would slide down the face.  Nothing that could seriously challenge a good brace and lean but unnerving nevertheless.  Now that we were on the outside, I did not want to capsize.  Dave called out something about staying loose in the waist and that was the mantra I carried with me for about 20 minutes as we climbed and plummeted over the mounds of water heading into the wind.

At that point, we decided to land and explore a structure on the shore.  It looked like an abandoned water tower, not too exciting in and of itself but we were here for surf practice so landing and re-launching is a good way to get that.  I took some time to let the really big waves pass and waited for a lull.  Maybe I got one and maybe not but I pointed the bow to shore and paddled away.  A couple of short surf sprints, a couple of broaches and side-surfs and the kayak gently landed on the soft sand.  And just to be perfectly clear, I was not looking to catch any rides in this mess.  I was very very happy to arrive on shore with my head pointing up!  Dave successfully landed about 50 yards to the south.  We were pumped up and high-fived each other as we met.  

We climbed the dune to the tower which was in pretty bad shape.  It appeared to be a pump.  The plumbing was still in pretty good shape so we decided to climb up more and see where it leads and if it is still functional.  On top of the dune we saw the foundations of a huge building.  I think it must have been the barracks of some sort or maybe a factory.  A deep hollow behind the dune where the foundation must have been a long time ago.  Not much remaining of the old structures, though.  A couple platforms farther away from the coast with one of the looking like a communal bath house due to multiple water pipes sticking out from the floor right next to each other at regular intervals.

Fifteen minutes later we were back on the shore pushing away and heading south again.  Just a short extra push before wrapping up for the day.  What takes an hour plus upwind will take minutes on the way back.  The waves have picked up in one hour of relentless westerly wind.  At this location they were also not as orderly as by Weko beach.  At the ubiquitous sand bar the waves were coming together at a 60° angle and that’s where I took my first swim of the day.  One wave came from port while the other hit on the starboard with just enough delay to confuse the wary paddler.  As I was still struggling to regain control and figure out which way I should have leaned, another wave hit and my head was pointing down in no time.  In retrospect, I probably relaxed a bit too much and figured I can make it through these waves.  Dave, as usual, picked his way in between waves and was out bobbing around on the other side in no time.  He kindly landed and helped me empty the kayak when I eventually got to shore.

I tried my pool-proof roll after the capsize but I was so confused by the multiple directions of the waves that I failed.  In the pool I can also skull, come up to the surface and breathe; however, I was completely lost and confused in this cold water.  Did not feel like I had the time.  I was not prepared for this capsize.  "I should not have capsized in this situation"--was the thinking that got me into trouble.  Another thing I noticed that was very different from the pool was the padding around the waist.  When setting the paddle parallel to the kayak to initiate the roll I could not flex well enough to get the paddle out of the water.  The time wasted trying to accomplish that unnecessary task, got me to the point where I was out of air and out of nerve to keep trying.  I gotta stop doing rolls from a pre-set position in the pool.  I need to practice coming up without getting the paddle all the way out of the water.  Most of all, I need to practice rolls in the cold and turbulent water.  Without that, pool-roll is a very distant cousin of a combat roll.

A couple of minutes to reflect on the failure and we were headed out again.  I followed Dave as he threaded through the waves and we were our beyond the brakers heading south in the steep swells again.  After about 20 minutes of paddling into the wind we reached the location where a steep exposed dune was coming up from the beach.  We intended to climb that to get a view from above and also to warm up.  So we turned toward the beach and attempted another landing.  

I am not sure if the seabed was different at this spot with some shoals or if a bigger set of waves got thrown at us.  I headed for shore first.  Tried to wait for a smaller wave set but, apparently, misjudged their size.  A wave broke right behind me and I tried to brace into it.   No matter how hard I tried to contort my body, ever so slightly the balance drifted downwave and eventually I capsized.  There is absolutely no sense to try and brace downwave--it just does not work.  Lessons of the failed roll fresh in my mind, I leaned as hard as I could, got the paddle set and rolled up.  Unfortunately, before I could even see anything, I got hit sideways by another wave and was down again.  I rolled up again.  This time I got hit by a wave in the face and cold water managed to get under the neoprene hood which also had a crash helmet on top.  I could swear the wave had penetrated my skin and bones and rebounded from the back of the skull.  The cold shock was unexpected and so powerful that I did not even think about trying to roll up for the third time. I tried to get my head out of the water and breathe without leaving the cockpit--another pool-proof maneuvre.  The result: I got hit by two or three more cold waves in the face each of them easily penetrating my neoprene protection.  Instant headache!  Very unpleasant feeling.  Out of the cockpit I went--"I’ll swim the rest."  The paddle was upwind from my position and as was scrambling to get it I kept on taking ice hammers in the face.  One after another with no end.  Even after I turned around, they continued to hit me on the head from behind.  No hurt that way but the previous swim felt nothing like that.

I saw Dave in the water chasing his boat a couple of dozen yards to the south.  I hate to admit this but it made me feel better to see him swimming too.  According to Dave, he got enveloped by a wave as he began to pick his path down to the beach.  Before he knew what had really happened, he was swimming in the water out of the boat still holding on to his paddle but with no boat to roll.  His Capella was gingerly dancing in pirouettes toward the shore.

This time, our meeting on shore was less enthusiastic but with smiles on our faces nevertheless.  Intimidating as this trashing was we knew that our boats had not vital gear in them, the car was a short walk away and the beach was soft and welcoming sand.  Had this been a true expedition with boats full of food, dry clothes and fresh water unavailable on shore; had the shore been ragged rocks with no sand bar to dampen the rage of the sea; I imagine the swim to shore would have been much less exciting.

We did not end up climbing the big dune.  Took a couple hundred paces up the Blue Jay trail to the top of the dune immediately next to the shore and marveled at huge valley surrounded on three sides by immense dunes barely covered with long blades of grass.  The time was against us as both of us had commitments back in Chicagoland that evening.  I can’t say that I was looking forward to too much more of this trashing.  We launched one last time with an aim to head back north toward the car a couple of miles downwind.  Both of us being severely right-handed we decided to paddle in the post-break soup for a while just to get a hang of bracing on the off-side.  Sure enough, leaning and bracing on the port side felt very different and not quite as easy.  Compounded with the additional challenges of paddling down-wind the paddle back, albeit much faster, proved to be much more technically challenging than the journey upwind.

Before long, we came to a section of the beach where waves seemed bigger.  We did not need to communicate in the roar of the waves and wind--it’s time to cross the sandbar one last time.  As was the norm for the day, Dave turned and without lingering hopped over a couple of waves and was safely on the other side of the breakers.  As was the norm for the day, I followed Dave and got hammered by the very same waves that gently tossed him up and down a couple of times.  Lesson well learned: do not follow a paddler that successfully crosses the line of breakers.  Stuff that does not break on the first kayak will, most likely, break on the ones following.  The better the paddler in front of you, the less reason you have to follow!  Find your own way out.

As was the norm for the day, I got pushed back by three or four breakers but these were just your garden variety big--not enormous.  Within a couple of minutes I joined Dave on the other side and found myself paddling on port side exclusively to counteract the weathercocking.  This was not acceptable and I have a huge skeg in the stern section of the boat.  I looked at Dave ahead of me and could clearly see his skeg all the way down.  So I went to deploy mine.  The vintage Nordkapp has the slider well behind the seat.  As I was reaching for it during one of the calmer periods I nearly capsized but was able to grab the paddle in time and recover.  So I tried again during the next lull.  Same result.  "OK, let me try to paddle without it again.  No, that does not work at all."  So I tried again and this time ... I capsized.

I was in no mood to even try another roll--Lake Michigan 1 : Me 0.  Lake wins again, no contest.  By the time I wet exited and collected myself and my belongings Dave was on site.  He later told me that he witnessed me trying to get some air while I was trying to roll (I don’t even remember trying).  He tried to come in for the bow rescue but could not make sufficiently fast progress against the wind.

"What do you want to do?"--he asked.  "I don’t want to go to shore, that I know for sure!"  We were still a long way from our destination, right around the water tower we visited on the way up.  "Do you want to try a rescue?"--I suggested apprehensively.  Dave wisely hesitated and looked around.  Luckily, with all the weathercocking, we paddled farther away from the sandbar and the surf zone. The waves were big but it seemed like we had time and could manage.  The next question was which way to position the kayaks: who will be on the wind side and who on the lee?  Dave ended up upwind.  The danger of this setup is a steep wave overwhelming both kayaks.  If the rescuing boat is on top, it will come on top of the paddler being rescued.  Conversely, the kayak without paddler (but very likely full of water) will hit the paddler doing the rescue.  The latter seemed to be worse.  If Daves kayak came on top of me I would be driven under water.  If a water-filled boat hit Dave while he is still in his kayak, potential for injury seems greater.

The T-rescue itself went unremarkably smooth even though several large waves passed underneath us in the process.  Chimp pump came in very handy as I had to get the water out of the flooded cockpit.  Not much chance I could have used this contraption in these conditions without Dave stabilizing the kayak.  In a minute or so the swimmer was in a dry boat with the skeg down!

The remaining section of the trip was much more pleasant now that weathercocking was no longer an issue I had to deal with.  Now I could focus on leaning ever so slightly into the waves coming from behind and paddling forward.  The last landing was relatively harmless.  Dave later commented that a small wave capsized him after he surfed through the big stuff crossing the sandbar.  As he was setting up for a roll he hit the bottom with his head and figured a wet exit will be faster.  He was just a few steps from the shore at that time._{No, we did not see any of these (picture off Bridgman, MI website)}

Once on the beach, we approached each other with silly grins on our faces and did a double high-five.  What a thrilling roller-coaster ride!  Definitely worth the 1.5 hour drive.  The NOAA map showed that the spot we picked was right in the epicenter of the highest waves during the time we were on the water.  Perfect!  The only loss was my cooking thermometer that fell out of the PFD pocket after a year of hanging in there.  Well worth the price.
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P.S.  As I was composing this essay an excellent commentary on “This is the Sea: 4” was posted on CASKA by our president.  Co-incidence, again—here I tried to focus on technical aspects of the experience and reflect on what could have been and what should have been done in one situation or another.  Turns out, Tom was hungry for just the thing as he was watching the clips.  His essay if full or sharply pointed questions about paddling challenges.  While experiences documented here are separated from those in the documentary by a couple of levels, some kind of synchronicity must have been in the air this weekend.