CASKA: Chicago Area Sea Kayakers Association

The Devil’s in the Details

    The objective seemed simple enough, head to the land of Gitche Gumee (big water), paddle among the Apostle Islands, and safely experience what they had to offer. On paper I was ready, having spent several years diligently upgrading my kit of skills and equipment in dual pursuit of a joyful passion and preparation for this very adventure.  While I had readied myself for the risks of kayaking remotely in cold and rough water, my partner was less prepared and a cause of some concern, yet unknown to me at the time, more prepared as well.  Through study and training I was aware of the many contingencies that might befall us, and had accumulated a full complement of gear to show for it, yet as often happens, it was that which I had not considered that defined our experience. 

  

    Lake Superior’s 22 Apostle Islands offer many destinations of intrigue, but our focus would be on Devil’s Island, the most exposed landmass on the northern end of the archipelago with over 40 miles of fetch from the prevailing westerlies. 

Devil’s Island offers some of the Great Lakes most majestic scenery as centuries of pounding surf and cryofracturing have sculpted its sandstone shoreline into a whimsically absurd wonderland of elegant arches, standing columns and vaulted caverns linked by a labyrinth of secret passageways.

    Bayfield serves as the launching pad for the Apostle Islands with local outfitters offering excellent equipment, training and professional guide services to help you get you there.  Todd and I however, were heading out on our own and after checking in at the ranger station we drove to a local casino on water’s edge that accommodates boaters of all sorts.  After an equipment safety check, I handed Todd two marine flares that I insisted he stow in his PFD.  He obliged without comment before making sure his snacks were easily accessible on his deck bag.  We had five nights on the water with 45 miles of paddling before us, including 13 miles of open water crossings.  Given my experiences in kayak marathons and our roughly 60 pounds of gear apiece, I calculated we should average a touring pace of nearly four miles per hour.  Todd listened to my plan and suggested both indifference and doubt toward my calculations saying, “I don’t know, when I’ve paddled here before, I’ve never paid any attention to that.  But I do think paddling is just different up here.”   

    In a final act before putting paddle to water, I pulled out my copy of Ka Hana Pono (The Practice of Pono) by Connie Rios.  Pono is an ancient Hawaiian belief system of spirit greatness, self power and the interconnection between all things, all metaphorically compared to the world of paddling.  We knew we were lucky to be where we were and we wanted to start with a brief lesson to get our heads in the right place.  When you are in pono you are completely right with yourself, your spirit and others; it’s the state of perfect harmony and balance where we all want to be, all the time. Being in pono is being in the canoe, as the Hawaiians describe it.  However, like the sea, life is a dynamic, fluid and overpowering force and our reality is that life’s turbulent seas consistently toss us out of our canoe and into dangerous waters. The key is getting back in the boat, back in pono.  Our reading was a tool to help us paddle on, both literally and figuratively.

    This lesson was I Keia Manawa (EE KAY-ah Mah-NA-vah) meaning, In This Moment.  Pono is found only in the moment. You cannot be pono for yesterday, or tomorrow, only for now. Simply learning about pono will not get you there. Only through practice can you achieve pono, and practice can only be done in the moment. Whenever you are out of pono, it's generally because your mind or your emotions are going to the past or future. The antidote is to bring yourself back into the moment, that's where the pono is.  For us, it meant tucking away every other concern away and granting full focus to the here and now, being fully present in every stroke of our adventure. 

    Given a late afternoon departure, we arrived to our campsite on Oak Island at twilight and the next morning set off for Devil’s Island by way of Bear Island’s, eastern and leeward shore.  Excited to be adventuring into unknown waters and paddling in calm seas with waves two foot or less, I was making good time.  Todd made steady but slower progress and as I doubled back to reconnect, I was unaware that while he trailed behind me, he was in fact leading the way.  We advanced along Bear Island’s craggy coastline of outcroppings, overhangs, cliffs and caves, and my mindset shifted while my pace fell and we each took turns lagging behind and leading the way.

Sandstone shades from terra cotta to fire brick red is sandwiched between the crystal clear waters of Lake Superior and a forest flora brimming with spruce, balsam, ferns, weeds, and fallen trees in various stages of surrender, to produce a stunning façade accented by wild flowers, orange lichen, white birch and luminous green moss.  Around one bend, a tree laden with bunches of crimson berries, healthy in every respect, yet completely inverted,  hung over the cliff face with just tendrils of exposed roots providing a tenuous lifeline to the forest floor.  Passing the next outcropping a room-sized, we saw a room-sized, semicircular recess in the cliff face that had the precision of an architectural model.  From waterline to the sandstone plate ceiling, horizontal cracks were consistently spaced every few inches with each successive level recessed slightly from the level below it.  Paddling into the space it was as if we had entered, stage right, into an empty but perfect amphitheater.  We saw several eagles including three on one tree and two other pairs that seemed to communicate with one another as they exchanged sentry posts.  Two crossings, 14 miles and eight hours later, we arrived at Devil’s Island.  Over those past eight hours, the beauty of the Apostle Islands had baptized me, cleansing me of metrics like speed and time while transporting the both of us to a frame of mind, very much I Keia Manawa, In This Moment. 

    After dinner, we got back in our boats and paddled along the western shore to the northernmost tip of Wisconsin and the renowned sea caves of Devil’s Island.  The island was so named for the thunder and boom that comes from these caves in high seas, which the Ojibwa Indians believed to be the sound of evil spirits that made these caves their home.

We made our way along a bolder strewn shore to an ascending shoreline in calm seas as dusk began to fade and noted a group of gnarled and deeply weathered tree stumps appearing to stand guard to what lay ahead.  Cinnamon and rust colored cliff faces rose some 50 feet above us and visibility became a challenge as we probed recesses that beckoned us inside.

Initially, we turned our headlamps on from time to time as we explored the caves deeper and darker chambers.  Soon however, we came to prefer letting our eyes adjust to the darkness so as to take in a wider but dimmer field of view.  In a stroke of good fortune, waves measured in the inches.  Still, at times they broke upon stratified stone that gradually stepped out of the water, or rebounded off of abrupt rock faces, and their sloshing sounds helped identify the size and limits of the caves.  Moving deliberately in tight quarters of stone that readily remove layers of skin and fiberglass required delicate adjustments to our strokes along with an acute awareness to boat control quite different from open water paddling and the sculling draw became a frequent friend.  In many caves we were unable to see the walls, the water, the ceiling, or our hands in front of our faces.  Slowly advancing into the bowels of the island in the absence of light or sometimes sound, our bows served as an eight foot long blind man’s cane and our paddle blades served as antennae.

    A brilliant light emerged out of the midnight sea and moon glow began to light burnt orange caves, revealing windows and passageways between them.  As we continued on, caves began to extend up to 80 feet in depth and nearly half as high and the chambers became more complex and whimsical.  Water periodically gushed from openings above waterline, towering bulky columns supported massive weights yet tapered down to a needle, and vaulted chambers were linked to one another in a tangle of honeycombed passageways.  It was as if nature’s erosional forces held disdain for the laws of physics and structural engineering, leaving an absurd landscape that appeared to be designed and built by Dr. Seuss himself.   

    All the while, swells pulsed slowly and methodically, echoing the devil’s boom and thunder in the island’s acoustical chambers.  Compressed air forced from smaller cavities produced murmurs and belches but the larger openings produced impressive tremors.  Some booms commanded immediate respect and caused an involuntary snapping of our heads in their direction.   Others were more of a subsonic vibration than a tone.  Overlaying these booms was the sound of waves breaking upon ascending rock faces which sounded rather like cymbals being played with a wire brush.  Along with their bizarre visual beauty, these caves treated us to one private percussion ensemble after another.   

    After probing every cave, we paddled back to camp in deep content.  Our outing was just two miles round trip as the crow flies, and had taken us two and a half hours without any sensation of time.  Since morning, we had spent 10.5 hours on the water yet had it continued on, so would have we.  We just ran out of cave.  It was an extraordinary night that made our average speed of less than 1.5 mph meaningless.  

    As it turns out, the blissful euphoria we both felt may have partially had a scientific explanation.  Sea caves are known to produce inaudible sound waves known as infrasonic vibrations.  At high levels, infrasound can be deadly with the potential to explode matter, flatten buildings or even bring down an airplane.  However, at mild levels, infrasound can be pleasantly stimulating, producing a feeling of invigoration or euphoria that lasts for hours.  Physiologically, your inner organs vibrate, your heart rate and blood pressure elevate, and you stimulate a release of endorphins. 

    Twice more we paddled to the sea caves in varying conditions, careful not to expose ourselves to the rebounding waves within that can quickly spell danger.  Deep inside one cave, Todd and a bat took turns escorting one another through a low and narrow passageway that took a bend into complete darkness and linked with another tunnel before connecting to a cathedral cavern with an archway out to open water.

I backed into the slot of another cave’s innermost cranny and just before my stern hit rock, a window to another cave appeared.  As I paused to take in the portal view of a jagged, coral cliff face silhouetted against the shining sea, a downy, white, single thistle seed pod floated through the window, paused mid-air, and slowly danced its way to me.

 

    Beyond the caves, the island offered other treasures as well.  Upon inspection, it’s “nothing special” looking lighthouse gained admiration and respect.

Required to wear aprons to shield any metal that might chink its showpiece, we walked up the final flight of stairs, first to take in a third-order Fresnel lens, and then the view.  The lens is a marine jewel resembling a six foot tall beehive of finely crafted glass and brass.

While on the water, a massively long squall line overtook us with a 20 yard thick curtain of vapor and intense winds.  Lightening flashed against a backdrop of approaching bright white thunderheads.  Pure darkness and clear night skies offered easy viewing of a meteor, falling stars, orbiting satellites, and stretching from horizon to horizon, the Milky Way galaxy.  A setting sun set sandstone cliffs ablaze amidst a turbulent sea of dark blue bordering on black.  Hiking down an abandoned railroad bed we were suddenly surrounded by a grove of black spruce that looked as though a viral plague and swept through and killed them all at once.  Without needles or wind, they stood perfectly still and perfectly dead.

Looking as if they had endured a cotton candy wind storm, every branch and twig was draped in lacey Spanish moss that caught the afternoon sun in splashes of glow and shadow.  This graveyard of spruce was dissected by a rail bed cushioned in a mattress of spongy translucent mosses that extended to carpet the forest floor.  

Teeming lushness mingled with decaying death, in a mysterious grove of vitality and gloom.  Todd remarked, “If Devil’s Island has fairies; this is where they’d live.”  And then there was the devil himself, dramatically carved into the sandstone plates of the northeast shoreline.

    Na Mahalo Elima, (Nah Mah-HA-low Ay-LEE-mah), The Five Thank You’s, was another of our pono paddling lessons.  It is a powerful tool to keep you in your canoe and a fitting close to our story.  An absolute law of being is that two thoughts cannot occupy the same space, and where your thoughts lead, your emotions will follow.  While external stimuli may be beyond your control, the easiest thing to change in any given moment is your thought.  Change your thought and you automatically change your emotion.  Thinking of five mahalos can get you back to your canoe, back to pono.  Five, because one or two is easy, but thinking of five requires you to really shift your mindset and your heart into gratitude.  And gratitude is an automatic activator of pono. 

    The experiences of our trip made The Five Mahalo’s an easy exercise.  Todd and I had common points of gratitude.  Firstly, we felt both gratitude and respect to the waters of Lake Superior, as they had shown us great beauty while granting us safe passage.  We were thankful for being strong enough in body to explore this wilderness in tiny boats just inches above the water.  I was thankful that I had learned to slow my stroke, and often stroke not at all.  We were thankful for having been in a place that made practicing In This Moment an effortless exercise.  And we were thankful to the Creator for Devil’s Island, a place – despite its name - where it is clear he lives. 

    If you are looking for adventure or perhaps something to help you find pono, consider heading to Bayfield, Wisconsin and venturing out to the Apostle Islands.  While you may perhaps come quickly, I am certain that you will leave slowly.  As to come here is to understand that it is a slowness of pace, many lingerings and first and foremost, an attention to the details of these islands that best unlocks their magic.  And magic indeed it is getting into your canoe.  

Tim Philosophos

CREDITS:

Ariel view of Apostle Islands from bayfieldbikeroute.com

Map from reed-realty.net 

 Labyrinth of secret passageways image from memh via flickriver.com

All other images courtesy of Dacquisto Photography

Anatomy of Plan B

We knew Labor Day morning will be stormy before we even left Chicago. Family and friends took a short 2-mile paddle from Hurricane River to Au Sable campground in Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. Once there, we listened to the weather radio intently hoping that the forecast will change. It did not: 15-20-knot NW winds gusting to 25 for Monday. Plan B was to paddle the kayaks two miles back to the cars on Sunday night and hike back in for the last night. Unfortunately, by the time we got to it on Sunday night we missed the arrival of strong headwinds from the NW. The whitecaps were ubiquitous as far as the eye can see and the paddle upwind that night was hopeless for a group of novice paddlers.

We went to sleep that night hoping again, hoping that the conditions will subside the following morning. Futile hopes did not stand a chance in the face of the forecast of increasing NW winds over Monday and into Tuesday. In the morning, we woke up to sustained 20-25 knot winds and 5-8' waves with the epicenter right around the Au Sable point. The waves were perfectly developed and neatly spaced after a night of steady wind. I loaded my stability-challenged Nordkapp HS as the first boat to be transported back to Hurricane River parking lot. Breaking out through the surf zone was exciting but routine. Once out, I was surprised that the waves did not become tamer as expected. On the contrary, they appeared to rise up, steepen and, from what I could tell, were actually bigger than the breakers in the surf zone. Perhaps the launch spot was somewhat protected by the Au Sable point or, perhaps, the long surf zone brought down the size of the breakers next to shore.

Be that as it may, in the distance to the northwest awaited the Au Sable Point with menacing breakers extending a long way from shore. The progress into the wind with a loaded boat was steady but slow. I am not sure I was even reaching 2 knots. Then I saw one large wave pass. Then another. They were steep, too steep for comfort, but they did not break. I would have to paddle far off shore to avoid an accidental encounter with a breaking monster while rounding the point. If I were to capsize and drift into the surf zone, it was very possible that I will not be able to re-enter and pump out. The shoreline around Au Sable was sheer rock. The risks started to compound. Add to that my slow progress and plan B made no sense any longer. After about 20 or 30 minutes of paddling into the wind, I turned around and surfed to back to shore landing on the rocky coast in less than 5 minutes. Without even trying (actually, I was trying to avoid surfing) a caught one of the longest and fastest surf rides of my life. The boat just stayed in the green of a steep wave without broaching or sliding off of its face.

The rest of the story was a lot of hard labor carrying boats and gear to the lighthouse over the narrow hiking trail and then to the Hurricane River parking lot over a gravel road. We were extremely lucky that a park ranger allowed us to drive our cars over the park service road to retrieve the last three kayaks. We only had to carry three of the six boats the entire 2.5 miles. The remaining three only had to be carried the quarter of a mile from the campsite to the lighthouse. Another ranger at the lighthouse was very kind to let us borrow a pair of park service wheelbarrows.

We gambled! Paradoxically, the only one in the group who made the right call to paddle in the flat conditions of the early afternoon on Sunday was my sixth-grader son. The rest of the group decided to go for immediate gratification and enjoy a hike to the top of the magnificent dunes. By the time we returned, the winds had whipped up waves beyond the abilities of this unpracticed group. We called the nature's bluff and, turned out, she was not bluffing. We had an exit strategy and a back-up plan, and the plan was safe, just not a very good one.

Feasibility of paddling out of these conditions for an experienced paddler? Personally, I consider head winds up to 20 knots as something in which a practiced sea kayaker can make passable forward progress. The outer limits of conditions in which I would choose to paddle, to be sure, but, in emergency, short distances can be covered against a force of this magnitude. On this day, several other things added up and continuing with the plan ceased to make sense.

The first thing I felt when I paddled out through the breakers alone was exposed. What an incredible comfort it is to have a paddling partner by your side. Confidence was quickly sapped by the absence of support and safety net. Waves that looked clean, organized, well-spaced, and warm from shore were far from friendly once on the water. It never ceases to amaze me how different waves feel and look from the cockpit.

Second, the amplifying powers of headlands and shoals turned the easy 1.8-mile 30-minute stroll in the park into a 3-mile and potentially a 3-hour slog. Simple real-life embodiment of the navigation principles I've taught so many times—time equals distance over speed. If you multiply yesterday's distance by two and cut the speed to less than half, time grows geometrically. I did the math on the water and saw what an obvious losing proposition the continuation of the journey was!

And that's before the consideration of safety. I did not feel threatened wearing a wetsuit less than a mile from shore in 70-degree water with an on-shore wind and swells. Had the worst happened, I think I would have made it to shore unscathed. The possibility of a damaged or even lost boat, on the other hand, was very real. The waves that size can easily rip it out of one's hands and hand it over to the meat grinder on the shoreline where waves meet sharp rocks. My old Nordkapp has many faults but it is my first real boat and I have a fair amount of sentimental attachment to this genuine floating piece of kayaking history—not to mention the gear inside it.

At the end of the day, everyone was very tired but safe at a dinner in Grand Marais, MI.

Menominee River Piers Gorge in Sea Kayaks

By Mary Fairchild

(Running Missicot Falls, third pier.)

The Piers Gorge area of the Menominee River contains some of the fastest moving water in Michigan and Wisconsin. Some of the rapids are classified as low falls.  Missicot Falls is at the entrance of the gorge. It is a drop that measures between eight and fifteen feet depending on water levels.  The water flows are between 1,500 to 15,000 cfs.

(First set of rapids Sand Portage on the 4th pier.)

The gorge is named after the natural rocky "piers" that the river tumbles over which results in four sets of rapids. Not far from the parking area, the first pier, Sand Portage Falls, is about a mile and a half down the river.  It is a turblent section of whitewater where the bedrock is tilted 90 degrees.

(Bracing into an eddy on the  fourth pier.)

Like billiards, kayaking in whitewater is all about angles and approach. Always look for where you're going. You’ve got to plan ahead a little bit. You want to use the power of the current to your advantage.

(Chris Martin and Ryan Rushton discussing eddy hopping at Terminal Surfer.)

Just after Missicot Falls you follow a wave train to Volkswagen rock and then through the island rapids which lead straight into the Twin Sisters. After Twin Sisters the river widens up a bit and slows down.  When river levels rise above 3000 cfs, some of the holes below Missicot Falls become quite powerful.  The river was running at 3800 cfs both days.  Paddle/Hike/Play 

Everglades and Dry Tortugas - A Dream Realized

Jim Tibensky

I have paddled in the Everglades every year since 1998 with Omni Youth Services of Illinois, helping as a volunteer for their wilderness therapy kayak trips. The teens that go have not kayaked before and move very slowly, so we always go to the same few campsites on Florida Bay and the Gulf of Mexico. Checking the weather forecasts on my marine radio, I would often hear the location of the Gulf Stream as part of the broadcast. It is defined, in part, in relation to the Dry Tortugas. Over the years the Tortugas have become a sort of mythical place for me. I know they exist — they are a National Park after all — but they seem far away, exotic and, above all, they are out of reach for a van trip from Illinois with teens.

This year I decided to go two weeks in advance of Omni’s Spring Break trip and explore the parts of the Everglades I never get to see and, hallelujah, go to the Dry Tortugas (here after the “DT”). The plan was to go with my friend Patty, driving my car from Chicago, with Patty driving back alone after leaving me in the Everglades to meet up with Omni.

Our itinerary was a little odd because we could only get ferry reservations for the DT in the middle of our trip. We decided to paddle my familiar territory of Florida Bay and the Gulf of Mexico for three nights (since Patty had never been there) and then go to Key West to catch the DT ferry, spend three nights in DT and then drive back to Flamingo and spend a few nights in Whitewater Bay, where I have never been.

Paddling in The Everglades, Cape Sable

I have always gone through the park entrance to Flamingo. There is another major entry at Everglades City, but I wanted to see more of where I had always gone, so we stuck with Flamingo.

It is about a 24-hour drive from Chicago, depending on routes. I refuse to pay the high cost of the Florida Turnpike tolls, so I drive through Atlanta to Naples to the Tamiami Trail (Route 41 aka Alligator Alley) to just south of Miami and then to Homestead.

Homestead/Florida City is just outside the park. There are large stores and it’s a good place to stock up on food. The marina store by the visitor’s center at Flamingo has a few food items, but it’s not the place to provision a kayak trip. On the way into the park from Homestead is Robert is Here, the fruitstand-without-equal. They make milkshakes with the fruit they sell. They have a zoo. They sell rubber alligators. A mandatory stop.

Once you enter the park, the Flamingo campground and visitor center is about a 45 minute drive. The campground is gigantic but there are walk-in sites, so you can get away from the land yachts if you wish. Solar-heated hot showers make spending at least the first night there a good idea.

There are two types of remote sites in the Everglades: land-based and chickees. A chickee is not connected to poultry in any way. It is a platform on stilts with a roof and a chemical toilet. Some are single, and some are double. The smaller ones are ten feet by ten feet, large enough for three two-man tents. If you use a chickee, be sure your tent is freestanding. Chickees have ladders, so when the tide changes, you can still launch and land. But low tides make loading and unloading a bit tricky. It’s worth bringing a net bag to help with schlepping stuff from boat to platform and back.

The land-based campsites are mostly on shell beaches. Spring is windy, so having a deadman way of anchoring the tent is a good idea.

After recuperating from the drive by staying at Flamingo the first night, we got our permits and headed out. We paddled for almost seven hours (against the tide most of the way) to get to Northwest Cape, the furthest of the Cape Sable beach campsites. There are two places from which to launch for the open water: the marina and the campground. The campground launch is not a formal one and is not accessible at lower tides, so we launched from the marina.

Cape Sable is the southernmost mainland place in the United States. It has three huge beaches: East Cape, Middle Cape and Northwest Cape. I’d been to East and Middle, so Patty and I went to NW Cape. It is a sandy beach, like the others, but a bit more overgrown. The westernmost end has dildo cactuses (look it up, that is its name) and Gumbo Limbo trees, neither of which exist on the other Cape beaches as far as I know. The Gumbo Limbo is a neat-looking tree, having reddish bark that constantly peels. Hence its nickname: the Tourist Tree. (Get it? Turns red and peels)

We saw the usual bird life — pelicans, gulls, terns, cormorants, scissor-tailed flycatchers, roseate spoonbills, white ibis, stork — but nothing unusual. Migration had already started, so we saw huge flocks of shore birds and white pelicans landing on the beach to rest up after crossing the Gulf. Never a dull moment. Dolphins made a few appearances as well.

After spending two nights at NW Cape we paddled to East Cape, spent the night there and then headed back to Flamingo. We showered and hopped in the car to drive to Key West for the DT leg of the trip.

The Dry Tortugas

I could spend a very long time singing the praises of this amazing place. To get there one must take the ferry, take a private boat, or fly on a sea plane. The ferry leaves daily from Key West. Most people stay the day and come back. On our outbound trip, there were three sets of campers. The ferry (I never quite understood why) requires a return booking before you leave Key West and they only allow three nights of camping in the DT. The ferry will take kayaks, but only up to 15 feet long. At least that’s what they tell you.

Patty and I had originally planned to take our Feathercraft folding kayaks for this trip. Patty thought I had two Feathercrafts and she would use one of mine, so she did not bring hers. I do have two Feathercrafts, but one is a double. So we decided to take my Explorer, the Feathercraft single and my old-school whitewater boat, a Perception Sabre. It’s small enough for the ferry (11 feet long) and fast enough I would have no trouble keeping up.

If you rent a ferry-legal kayak from a guy named Mike in Key West, he will drop it off at the ferry and pick it up again whenever you return. He rents 16 foot sit on tops that can be paddled by one or two people. Once we realized how long it was, we left my Feathercraft assembled for the voyage back. The place the ferry puts kayaks in is about 20 feet long, so the 16.5 foot Feathercraft fit easily.

Camping at the DT is weird. You have to stay on the ferry when it docks and listen to a lecture by the ranger. There is no water available, so everyone must bring their own. A gallon per day per person is suggested. The campsites are near one of the two snorkeling beaches. Each site has a picnic table, and some have a little shade. The ferry does not allow any cooking fuel other than self-starting charcoal or Sterno.  Nothing else. Each campsite has a grill and a post for hanging food to keep it from the rats.

There are nice composting toilets by the camping area but they cannot sustain heavy use, so they are closed when the ferry is docked. You guessed it — you use the ferry’s toilets until it leaves and then the composters are opened. So, you can go on the ferry and drink all the water you want during the day. You can even buy lunch and alcoholic drinks on it. Wilderness camping with flush toilets and a bar! The ferry also has freshwater rinse showers for apres-snorkeling.

The main island, Garden Key, is mostly taken up by Fort Jefferson. The fort is huge. Building started in 1846. The original plan was for the fort to hold four hundred guns. The parade ground is eight acres. One could spend a couple of days just exploring the fort. It was used as a prison, holding some of the Lincoln conspirators, including the famous Dr. Mudd. Tours are given by ferry staff (who really know the history of the fort) every afternoon.

The other attraction here, if you are not a bird watcher, is snorkeling. Two beaches allow you to find a spot that is not windswept. Corals and fish are in knee-deep water. You don’t even have to use a snorkel. Masks, snorkels and fins are provided free by the ferry as part of your voyage.

Spring in the DT means bird watching. A number of birds exist there that are found nowhere else in the US. My favorites are the Magnificent Frigate Birds. They’re very large, black and fly and soar effortlessly. One end of the DT park, which is called Bush Key, is a nesting area, so it is off limits for people. Flying around Bush Key, when we were there, were frigate birds, brown noddys, and sooty terns, all circling the nesting areas and making a loud racket 24 hours a day. Masked boobies (which nest on one of the smaller keys there), skimmers, terns, gulls, and all the songbirds that migrate through make birding a full-time possibility. There’s even a resident owl that leaves dead rats on the parade ground. Half the campers were bird watchers when we were there. They were fun to talk to and gave us a lot of info about the birds we were seeing.

The day we arrived in the DT we set up our tents, put the Feathercraft together and circumnavigated Garden Key. The Park Service brochure on kayaking says this trip should take a few hours. It took us 50 minutes.

Loggerhead Key is 3 miles away. It has a large lighthouse and beaches and a perfect snorkeling spot on the back side. The trip over goes through shallow water and deep, so paddling in wind can be an adventure. Our first trip over was in high winds, so we had some fun with the waves. We paddled over with Eric and his son Taylor who were on a sit-on-top. They made it with no trouble, although it took three times longer to get back than to get out, due to the winds. Eric knows birds and is a great storyteller. He made it a fun trip.

On Loggerhead, we snorkeled in thigh-deep water. It was amazing to me, who doesn’t like being under water, that the corals and anemones and fish would be right here in such shallow water. I didn’t really need the snorkel.

The next day Patty and I paddled over to Loggerhead alone. The waves were significant, with the wind being a constant 15 knots with lots of bigger gusts. We hunted for some of the shipwrecks that “you can’t miss” but managed to miss them. We saw a few dolphins and had a good workout.

Cooking with Sterno (or charcoal) is really slow, so we had a lot of time to just sit and wait for water to boil. While sitting on the ground before dinner on the second night (it was too windy to sit on the picnic table with the stove) Patty got a real fright. She saw what she thought was a giant spider walking right at her. It turns out it was the biggest hermit crab I had ever seen. They were everywhere that night.

Paddling the Everglades, Whitewater Bay

After returning to the Everglades, we set out for Whitewater Bay, a huge shallow inland tidal area that can be accessed from many different points, including Everglades City, a week’s worth of paddling away. We entered from the marina at Flamingo. This marina has access both to Florida Bay and to the Buttonwood Canal, which goes to Whitewater Bay and beyond. A dam separates the two bodies of water, with the marina on both sides of the dam. Our destination was the North River chickee. It was only 12 miles so we didn’t rush. What we didn’t plan for was my weak navigational skills. We got within a half mile of the chickee and couldn’t find it. I resorted to my GPS but we could not find the chickee in the tangle of mangroves we were in. We gave up and headed for the Watson chickee, four miles away, hoping to find it in the two hours before sunset. After an hour and a half of wandering through dead ends and blind channels, I said “People who are lost go in circles. I’m checking the GPS.” Sure enough, we were four tenths of a mile from the North River chickee. I dug out an old map that had the GPS coordinates of the chickee. They were different from those I had put into my GPS. Not much, but enough. With the new coordinates we found the chickee in about 20 minutes and managed to get the tents up and dinner made before dark.

Oddly, we heard people talking late into the night. We guessed it might be fisherman spending the night on their boat. Next morning, we learned it was six canoes full of Outward Bound participants who paddled up and asked to use the toilet attached to the chickee. They were on a 40 day (!) expedition and were expecting a resupply that morning. They had planks that they put across the rafted canoes to sleep on. No tents in the mosquito and noseeum capital of the US. To offset the lack of a quiet morning, we had a dolphin swim right under us while were talking to them.

From there we went to the Oyster Bay chickee, successfully determining to navigate by compass alone. The Oyster Bay chickee is a double, one platform being ten by ten feet and the other ten by twelve. We knew from the log book when we got our permits that someone else would be there. We took the larger platform and, strangely, the other party never showed up. No Outward Bounders made an appearance, but tons of dolphins did. We had been taking precautions against the ubiquitous Everglades raccoons by hanging our food and using a bear barrel. Thinking we were safe on the chickee, we left everything on the platform. The next morning we saw a nylon bag had been chewed through, the bagel bag inside it was chewed through and a hunk of onion bagel was gone. The villains were little black crabs.

Our next stop was the ground site at Graveyard Creek, right on the Gulf of Mexico. The ranger who gave us our permits, Ann, who I have seen every year for fifteen years, said she had never issued a permit for Graveyard before because the noseeums were so bad there. We had some trouble with them, but I’ve seen worse. We brought a screen tent for cooking and eating in the presence of bugs, so we managed quite well. The nice part of the site was double chemical toilets and a picnic table.

On the paddle over to Graveyard we saw more dolphins, our third loggerhead turtle of the trip and a Ridley’s turtle, which swam right at us until the last second, when it dove under the boats.

We arrived at the site pretty early in the day, so we paddled up Graveyard Creek, looking for the dolphins we had seen swimming upstream. After a while we came back into the Gulf and saw the best dolphin show yet. The tide was changing and the fish from the creek were being pushed into the gulf. The dolphins were waiting. We saw one chase a fish so fast that the dolphin ended up high and dry on the shore and had to flop around to get itself back in the water. Dolphins were swimming in such shallow water that their backs were exposed.

At 2 AM that night, we heard voices. Patty said later she was sure it was the ghosts of Graveyard. Worse! It was the same Outward Bounders we had seen before. They were singing and laughing as they approached. Once again, in the morning, they used the toilets. And apologized for waking us up. They were told no one ever camps at Graveyard.

From Graveyard we paddled to Middle Cape and spent our last night on the Gulf. More dolphins and a nice sunset made a nice finale. In the morning, we noticed a large crocodile trail right past our boats. Crocodiles can process salt water in their bodies and alligators can’t, so you know it’s a croc when you are on salt water. In between, such as on Buttonwood canal, you see both. Alligators look black, crocs look dark green. Alligators are nonchalant about kayaks, crocs are terrified of them.

On our way to Flamingo, we paddled into the Middle Cape Canal, through Lake Ingraham behind East Cape for a change of scenery, came back to the Gulf through the East Cape Canal and then on to the marina. Calling home (finally back to cell reception civilization), I learned that Omni had cancelled their trip. Patty and I decided to stay another couple of days.

Paddling the Everglades, Nine Mile Pond

There are a number of inland paddling spots in the Everglades. On the Flamingo side, West Lake and Nine Mile Pond (named for its distance from the old visitor’s center) are two nice ones. Nine Mile’s paddling trail goes through some mangrove tunnels and is loaded with alligators. We had to shoo a stubborn one out of our path at one point in the mangroves.

The Park Service has a handout that gives a lot of information about what there is to see on the trail. There are numbered poles throughout the trail, so you won’t get lost (I didn’t even get lost!) and you know when to look for the stuff listed in the handout.

We had an awful lot of very shallow water here. It’s a good idea to check with the rangers about water levels before doing this trail because it is not tidal. But I like Nine Mile because it gives a feel for a very different part of the Everglades from the coastal areas. The tunnels are so tight that you often scare up wildlife (birds mostly) just before running into them. And the mangroves provide shelter from the constant winds of Spring.

If you plan to paddle the Everglades, a good reference is The Paddler’s Guide to the Everglades National Park by Johnny Molloy.

Kayak Spring Break on Tybee

by Stave Landers

 

A group of ten paddlers from Prairie Coast Paddlers (and CASKA) recently went to Tybee Island, Georgia for a week of paddling in the Atlantic and intercoastal waters. Along with was Christopher Lockyer, a 5-star coach from Halifax, Nova Scotia. Chris was able to fill in on short notice when Geneva Kayak's Ryan Rushton wasn't able to go, as originally planned. I guess he had someone who was supposed to run a snowshoe weekend for him cancel and he had to do that trip instead. Chris proved to be more than capable and fit in with the group quite easily. I'm sure we wouldn't hesitate working with him again.

 

 

Bill and Sarah did most of the legwork putting the trip together, arranging for lodging, carpooling, buying the groceries, getting money from everyone, and the countless other things that have to be done putting a trip like this together. Kudos to them for a job well done.

 

 

Also along were Dan Leigh, Marian Chase, Nate Strong (from Kalamazoo), Doug Thomas, Harriet Krup, John Gabris, Kristine and myself. Doug and Harriet paddled the week prior to Tybee down in alligator swampland, so they drove up from there. Nate drove with Sarah and they picked Chris up from the airport in Atlanta. Chris caught the only plane out of Nova Scotia that day because of snowstorms. He had similar luck on his return trip, having to stay an extended time in Toronto. Kristine and I drove together, staying in Nashville before and after the trip. We paddled Percy Priest Lake one day, it's sort of a typical reservoir, much like Lake Shelbyville, Carlyle, and Rend here in Illinois. The remainder of the group drove together in Bill's F-150. He also towed most of the boats using a trailer borrowed from Dave Kaknes. Dave and his wife were forced to cancel going because of illness in the family. He was nice enough to let Bill borrow the trailer.

 

 

The week at Tybee is pretty much a blur to me. We paddled every day, about equally in the backwater marsh and river areas, and on the ocean. I don't think total mileage for the week was over thirty miles. The longest trek of the trip was just under sixteen when we paddled from Savannah through a series of interconnecting rivers to the south side of Tybee Island, just blocks from the two story rental house where we were staying. On this particular day we worked on navigation, and everyone took turns leading the group....although a couple of us might have been off a ways ahead of the group some of the time. Guilty.

 

Everyday Chris put together a lesson, or lessons, to work on for the day. This surprised me. I had thought going there that it was going to be totally unstructured. It worked out for the best having a plan for the day and he was quite flexible about what we could work on. We were also encouraged to pick his brains on whatever we chose. He was totally flexible and accommodating. I think his instruction was very valuable and benefitted everyone. Throughout the week we worked on strokes, paddling in surf, navigation, forward paddling with video analysis, surfing, tidal cycles, and a myriad of other things. I think everyone had different things that they took out of the week, and different favorite days. I know that Kris and I differed in the days we each considered the best. My favorite day was Wednesday, Feb. 13, when we had a few hours to play in the surf. We had 4-5 foot waves for a few hours before they died off. There were quite a few surfers out that day as well.

 

Speaking of that day, I learned a valuable lesson, and I'm not sure many people other than Bill and I know what that was. We had eight of us surfing that morning, which included Chris. Waves, like I said were 4-5, the good ones anyway. The group was fairly spread out along the beach area, to the north of the pier on Christopher's recommendation that we avoid a rip tide area and another area where the ebbing tide would take us out to sea if we ventured too far south. The areas where the best waves were occurring was constantly shifting. Bill and I had paddled a little farther south, towards the pier, in an effort to catch better waves, which we were able to do.

 

Bill and I were together, waiting to catch a wave, sitting maybe a hundred yards or so offshore. These ocean waves were different than Lake Michigan waves, they were harder to catch for some reason. You had to not just sit and wait for a wave, but had to be paddling in and have some momentum, and then paddle like hell to catch the wave as a good one approached, not just sit there and immediately try to catch a wave. At least that was my experience with Big Red. As Bill and I waited, he took off and caught a good wave and surfed in. I caught the next wave, about 4-5 seconds behind his, and also was able to surf in. Towards the end of his ride Bill capsized, rolled, uprighted himself and began paddling -- opposite to the direction that we normally were breaking off the waves. He told me this afterwards, I was concentrating on my wave, staying upright and wasn't watching what was going on with him. (Hmmmm, maybe this is why he hasn't written a trip report yet, he wanted to see my confession in print).

 

Just as Bill had uprighted himself, along I came and T-boned his kayak, sliding up on his front deck, at least three-four feet from the front of my kayak, and only two feet from where he sat. I don't know who was more shocked. Judging by the look on his face I'd say Bill was. After some maneuvering we were able to disengage the kayaks and paddle off. Bill's boat has some new scratches on the front deck. Fortunately that was all that it had, it could have been a serious accident if I had speared him. What I should have done, and I know this because it's been taught to me, was to dump immediately when I saw Bill crossing in front of me. I know that if you hit someone coming in it's your fault no matter what. I can't explain why I didn't, it happened too fast, I wasn't keeping an eye out for him, I misjudged our paths...not sure. The most important thing was that I should've waited a longer interval before trying to catch a wave behind him.

 

The accommodations that we had on Tybee were quite nice. There were five bedrooms, three baths. Breakfasts and dinners, all but one, were cooked at the house. We ate well. Everyone took turns cooking, cleaning, helping out, making coffee, and the like. Harriet, who is a wonderful cook, was the kitchen manager for the week, assigning a cooking schedule and tasks for everyone. No one was hesitant in offering to help. Thursday night we ate at AJ's, which was just up the block from the house.

 

I think everyone had a really good time. The group got along very well together. I can't wait to do it again! Where are we going next year?

Baja Winter Kayak Expedition: Wind, Waves, and Lipstick

By Mary Fairchild

  

 

Winds and oceanic currents control the climate, water, and shorelines of Baja where only the more durable rock that is resistant enough to erosion remains and forms the islands.   The heating of the hot desert and the cooling of the cold ocean water create predictable daily wind patterns which usually increase in the afternoon and are usually from the land.

El Norte is a strong wind that periodically gallops down the coastline of the Sea of Cortez like a runaway bull. (4)

 From December to March the winter northerlies, which are the strongest winds and are called “El Norte,” come up very quickly at sea. The worst winter wind storms make paddling impossible for three days at a stretch. In the desert they can cover a truck with sand in less than an hour. (1)
 

 

At the little seaside fishing village of Loreto we met up with Ginni Callahan of Sea Kayak Baja and her local guide, Ramon Elias Arce Espinoza, who would be accompanying us. Sea Kayak Baja not only provided us with local knowledge, but nice equipment including NDK fiberglass boats and carbon paddles.
 
 On our first day we had a few hours in the morning to walk around the town to see the sights and have breakfast together in a local restaurant where I enjoyed dining with a local Chihuahua that sat near our table while I caught up on the local news in the “Gringo Gazette.” 

Downtown Loreto

Our hotel, the La Damiana Inn, a historic casa, was built in the 1930s for the family of a Mexican army general who was transferred to Loreto. Located directly across the street from Sea Kayak Baja, La Damaina Inn has a charming outdoor kitchen, patio and garden area where we enjoyed morning coffee and an evening glass of wine together.  

Ramon, Allison, Paul, Mary, Marybeth, Sue.

We had a short and leisurely paddle from the Bay of Loreto up to Isla Coronados on our first day.  Within the first half hour of our paddle we could see the water was clouded with tiny plankton.  Fish, plankton and other nutrients are mixed around creating what is the known as the richest body of water on the planet here.  The nutrients are affected by different currents and movements throughout the sea which keeps the fish populations well fed. 

 
The Sea of Cortez is too small to have much of a real lunar tide of its own, but the sea does produce a very strong tidal flow.  The lunar tides of the Pacific cause strong currents in the sea which actually occur as a lifting motion.  The speed of these currents is determined in part by the width of the shore, the depth of the water, and the contour of the bottom.  The long narrow shape of the gulf creates a dramatic effect on the northern Cortez where two highs and two lows race with impressive speed each day.  A funnel-like effect can be caused also, depending on the bottom and the currents. 

The waters around Loreto and the beaches of its nearby islands are part of the Loreto Bay National Marine Park.  The Park was established by the federal government in 1996 to help preserve the area biosphere.  There are concerns today as tourism and populations increase, as to how there can be significant development allowed around the shores of a marine park when there is a symbiotic relationship between the land and the water.  A big push was made to get commercial fishing trawlers out of the area; it was successful for awhile, but the directive isn't always obeyed. 

 

 

Los Metate; Isla Coronados.

 
The shoreline at our first campsite on Isla Coronados was a gorgeous aqua-marine blue and very shallow with white sand and it seemed like a perfect protected spot to explore.  Our local guide, Ramon, thought I could find starfish by the volcanic boulders that bordered our campsite.  I stayed back to explore while everyone else began emptying their boats to set up camp.  Soon, I spotted black crabs scrambling across the boulders and then some beautiful red colored ones that are called Sally Lightfoot crabs. It wasn’t long before I found the starfish, too!  What a great first campsite. 

 

Sally Lightfoot crab perched on volcanic rocks;  Isla Coronados.

Isla Coronados has a 500' volcano.  There are low beaches on the SW corner to large rock formations on the steep northern end.  On calm days you can park on the rocks on the outside of the island and go snorkeling. 

 

Gulf of California Expedition:  Last February researchers from the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute began three months of study of the active volcanic region near the mouth of the gulf called the Alarcon Rise.  Volcanic "spreading centers" such as the Alarcon Rise in the Sea of Cortez are hotbeds of volcanic activity where underwater volcanoes spread lava across the seafloor and hydrothermal vents spout out water heated by magma beneath the seafloor to over 550 degrees Fahrenheit.  The hydrothermal vents transport heat and chemicals into the ocean, providing an energy source that supports a large community of sea organisms, many of which are not found anywhere else.  MBARI’s flagship research vessel, Western Flyer, was named after the boat that writer John Steinbeck and marine biologist Ed Ricketts used for a groundbreaking expedition to the gulf in 1940. Their journey of scientific discovery and adventure is recorded in the book The Log from the Sea of Cortez.  

When I hiked over to the west end of the beach of Los Metate I discovered a lot of dried-up heads of hammer-head sharks, trigger fish, and manta rays. There was what looked to be a fish camp there and, sure enough, later that night a fishing boat came up and camped there. After bringing a few of the interesting dried “teethed- specimens” over for the group to see we all began to lay out our tarps and sleeping bags on the beach for the night. Just as we were about settled, there where spouting noises echoing across our small bay as about a dozen large dolphins began to jump and entertain us. We sat on our tarps and enjoyed the show! 

After a quick hike we had fresh sea bass for dinner and then settled in our sleeping bags for the night.  A strong wind began to pick up—even in our protected bay.  We decided to turn our kayaks sideways and lay beside them for some protection.

Paul Redzimski; Isla Coronados.

On our second day we headed around the north end of the island and the marine report had a west wind in our favor so we didn’t mind that it was to be 15kts+. The north end is the surf exposed end of the island where conflicting currents create confused seas. We leisurely enjoyed the sights as we first headed around the north end. First, Allison spotted a large sea turtle. Then, near the northeast corner of the island there was a sea lion rookery.

“The shallow Carmen channel gets active in a wind.”(2, p. 160.)

After our sight-seeing had ended on Isla Coronados, we began to prepare to make our crossing which led to Isla Carmen.  It was the first of what would be many discrepancies in the marine forecasts.  A steady southwest wind gusting to 15+mph was surprisingly funneling up the channel between Isla Coronado and Isla Carmen creating 3-4’ beam seas with occasional whitecaps and 5’ waves.  Whitecaps usually appear sooner on saltwater, but as a rule they usually appear with wind above 15kts. 

We paired up for the crossing and I teamed up with Sue.  Occasionally we would lose sight of each other behind the seas.  It was really fun to put to practice paddling in a beam sea for us.  We had been working on refining our strokes and this was a good test because we needed to find our range and hang in there for sustained wind gusts for seven nautical miles.  My mantra was “paddle, paddle-rudder…. paddle, paddle-rudder…”  I took down my upwind leg and pressed up with the other knee to keep the perfect boat lean into the waves.  The key is to always lean into the waves for stability.

About half way through the crossing we began to spot dolphins surrounding and circling us.  It was really fun to be paddling along with them. 

We had four campsites on the mountainous Isla Carmen. The 19-mile-long island is privately owned, at least in part by the salt company that built the small town on its east side and mined the flats there. Isla Carmen's long north end is comprised of three distinct points: Puntas, Cholla, Tintorera, and Lobos. These points and the distance between them create a potential navigational hazard if the weather comes from the north. (2, p. 160.)

Marybeth Dunne and Allison Schroeder. Playas Salinas; Isla Carmen.

After our third night of continual winds often coming from all directions we just prepared for it the best we could usually by bundling up and sometimes retreating to our sleeping bags to warm up.  Throughout the night wind gusts would swirl around our faces and we often totally tucked our heads in.  Nothing would block the wind.  While paddling we knew to expect only rare breaks from the wind that would not last long.  We had chap lips early on in the trip and I found keeping a bandana around my neck was the best way to wipe my continually watery eyes.  Whatever we needed to wash out or dry did not take long in the wind at camp, too.  We only had a brief issue with dew on our sleeping bags when there was a slight break in the overnight wind--but, by the time we had to pack the morning wind and sun sufficiently dried everything again. 

Typically, you will first notice huge blasts of wind in the middle of the night that announce the arrival of El Norte.  These winds roar down the middle of the Sea of Cortez.

Scouting from a cliff to see if it was a "no go" morning; Isla Carmen.

Weather and local conditions, more than your experience level in kayaking, usually determines the difficulty of a route. Most important is your decision to stay on land or go. Our group decided to reverse the direction of our route to avoid up wind paddling as much as possible.

According to a local wind surfing website, the strong El Norte wind patterns pack gusty winds in the 20-30 kt. range every several weeks in winter.  These winds occur after a storm passes over California and high pressure that follows the storm settles for a day or two in the four corners (where all the square states meet in the US).  This creates a strong pressure gradient from the four corners to low pressure south of Baja.  This high pressure is strongest at night when the frigid airs of the four corners strengthen the high pressure.  Typically, you will first notice huge blasts of wind in the middle of the night that announce the arrival of El Norte.  These winds roar down the middle of the Sea of Cortez.  A lot of the force of El Norte is from winds just aloft that make the surface wind up and down.  Sometimes the wind just aloft is NNW which tends to blow the El Norte surface wind away from shore.  This often means on and off wind at the beaches. (4)

Sue Gjerset demonstrates her speed launch; Punta Baja Norte.

Punta Baja Norte, our last campsite on Isla Carmen, was the most sheltered and the warmest.  We actually got hot in the mid-day sun and played and practiced rolls and rescues that day until the wind started up again.  In the morning we had a fairly calm crossing over to Isla Danzante. 

Ramon had a nice little nook off the kitchen area on Punta Baja Norte.

 

Many of us heard it, but Ramon was the only one to see the tail of a whale as we made our crossing from Isla Carmen to Isla Danzante.  From January to March pregnant California Gray whales give birth and nurture their young in the warm waters of the Sea of Cortez before returning to the Bering Sea.

Portions of the Sea of Cortez are also recognized as important nursery areas for great white sharks.  According to the publisher of Baja Life Magazine, however, the local fishermen have been targeting them for their fins and jaws.  He reported last April that 13 large sharks had been killed in just a few weeks alone.  Shark jaws are sold locally for about $1,500 per set, then re-sold by more entrepeneurial types and some fishermen north of Loreto use baited hooks beneath air-filled barrels which tire and drown the sharks before they take them to shore.  The popular dive spot about 40 miles north of Loreto off Isla Ildefonso is said to be a popular fishing spot.   

 



This past December there was a celebration of the tagging and study of the life history of 4 female Guadalupe white sharks.  All 4 sharks gave their full two year migratory routes, identifying when and where they breed, where they feed and where they give birth.  Now there is a concern to push for added protection of the white sharks in the Sea of Cortez and the rest of Mexico where they are under a lot of pressure. (5)

Surfers, swimmers, snorkelers, spearfishermen even a stand-up paddler have all fallen victim to shark attacks in the past year. Randy Honebrink, a DLNR shark expert, reported that there is definitely more bites this year than any other year he's seen.  We don't know a lot about the great whites yet, but generally, sharks are a negligible danger when you are boating or diving.  Spear-fishing is dangerous because shark hone in on prey using sound, smell, and vision.  They are attracted by rythmic vibrations such as those by a fish struggling on a spear--possibly a kayaker's paddling or movements to re-enter their boat.  Sharks are also very sensitive to blood trails--perhaps even a women's menstrual cycle--that is carried by tidal currents.  Visually they are excited by a thrashing or helpless fish. 

Surfer Magazine, May 2012:  “I’ve been surfing here for 19 years now, and ...something just doesn’t feel right here anymore,” says Marais. “We are interfering way too much with the great whites, with chumming the waters and cage diving, and I believe this may be causing the sharks to behave unnaturally.”  ...False Bay and nearby Gansbaai are home to one of the largest great white populations in the world, thanks to the booming seal population there. Currently, there are 11 licensed shark cage diving businesses operating within this 60-mile stretch, with another two operators in Mossel Bay, a small coastal town a couple hundred miles away. Operators use a bloody mixture of sardines, tuna heads and fish oil to lure sharks closer to their boats so tourists can observe them from a cage lowered into the water.  Anti-chummers have long maintained that this encourages an unnatural association between sharks, humans, and the promise of food, altering the behavior of sharks and leading to more shark-human interaction. On the other hand, local shark scientists and operators refute this, claiming the amounts of chum are so small they are negligible and that no significant conditioning takes place.

While cage diving in Australia is confined to the remote Neptune Islands, False Bay sits in the middle of Cape Town, the second largest city in South Africa with a population of 3.5 million. A week before the attack on Lilienfeld, authorities granted an additional permit to the reality show Sharkmen, led by the controversial Chris Fischer, to conduct shark-tagging research aboard the Ocearch vessel. The research entailed great whites being hooked, sedated, hauled out of the water, measured and sampled, then tagged with electronic transmitters and released again. The Ocearch permit allowed for five tons of chum to be used over a 20-day period between False Bay and Gansbaai. The official daily chum limit is usually 55 pounds per operator. The Ocearch permit sparked public outrage after Dr. Dirk Schmidt, a wildlife photographer and author of the renowned book White Sharks, questioned why the public weren’t informed or consulted.... While authorities continue to assure the public their concerns are unfounded (while excluding them from any decision making process), many surfers remain unconvinced. As lifelong False Bay local, Philip Nel says “The question that I will mull over while driving to Caves next time is not if, but to what extent the cage diving industry have already conditioned our shark population’s behavior.” Surf Magazine 

 

There is a pleasant sense of wonder when you take in the natural world and realize how much you do not know.  It is so easy to give into mystical thinking when you realize how vast the expanse is of things yet unsolved.

At one time the Baja peninsula was thought to be an island where, according to legend, gold and pearls were controlled by Amazon women and men were only used for procreation.  After conquering Mexico, Hernan Cortez set out to conquer this island but was unsuccessful. 

When early missionaries to Baja inquired about the cave paintings in the area, the native people answered that they were painted by an ancient race of giants... 

Just prior to his travels in the Sea of Cortez, novelist John Steinbeck wrote "The Grapes of Wrath" which portrayed the farm families from western Oklahoma who went to California in search of jobs. Most families, however, did not experience the hardships that he presented in his novel. Although the Hollywood movie version was an attempt at showing the sufferings of the "typical" American, it backfired. Rather than believing that free enterprise in America had failed, Russians left thier theaters envious of the poor Okies because they all had cars and trucks. Far from being starving refugees, the Okies even had money or found work along the way to pay for the gas needed on their long trip to California.

As you paddle and explore in the unique beauty of Baja, you will be infused with awe and have the opportunity to learn more about the world.  Stay thirsty my friend....

Mfairlady

• Paddle/Hike/Play
  References/Related

1. Romano-Lax, Andromeda; Sea Kayaking In Baja; 1995.
2. Eckardt, Dave; The Guide to Baja Sea Kayaking; 2008.
3. Washburne, Randel; The Coastal Kayaker’s Manual; 1998.
4. Wind and Weather and Some Baja Rules;  I Wind Surf.com 
5. Expert Reveals Reasons Behind Recent Shark Attacks, Brianne Randle, 12/5/12.
6. Surfer Injured in Shark Attack on Oahu's North Shore; Brianne Randle, 4/3/13. 
7.  Great White Shark Circles Fishing Boat Off Oahu, Hawaii.  Huffington Post, 1/14/12
8. Hawaii Shark Encounters
9. Shark attacks in Hawaii may be on the increase because of spear fishermen 
10.  Encountering Predators While Kayaking, Athena Holty.  Topkayaker.net  
11.  Woman Recovers From Latest Shark Attack off Hawaiian Islands   

Turtle Flambeau Flowage Trip

Pat Lutch, my wife Beverly and I did a kayak camping trip on one of the many islands in the Turtle Flambeau Flowage near Mercer, WI.

The flowage is located at the dammed confluence of the Turtle and Flambeau rivers. There are about 40 campsites located on the 25 islands and along the shore line on about 30 square miles of water and woods. Each island has a fire ring, pit toilet (located remotely in the woods), and many have picnic tables.

After Labor Day, this vast, beautiful, wooded area is quiet, and relatively deserted, with the exception of a few fishermen. The paddling is easy with lots of areas to explore. Navigation is aided by experience with a map and compass.

We left Chicago on Thursday, September 6^th, stayed overnight at the Indianhead Motel in Ironwood, launched into the flowage the next morning from Fisherman's Landing. We paddled around for a couple of hours until we found an island with a campsite (with picnic table) that was acceptable to all three and set up camp. The remainder of Friday and Saturday and Sunday were spent doing some paddling in the flowage among a lot of warm and gentle rain. The campsite was dry with two dry tents and a tarp over the picnic table. Pat and Beverly were prepared for the rain, Pat with a dry suit and Beverly with good rain gear. I was not well prepared, having left my dry suit at home, and I spent a very damp weekend and was a damper on paddling in the rain.

Pat returned to Chicago on Sunday afternoon, while Beverly and I paddled some more, visited with my cousin in Ironwood and returned to Chicago on Monday.

 

Beverly Serrell and Jim Des Jardins

WISCONSIN RIVER TRIP REPORT

 

Five of us--Beverly Serrell and Nancy Saulsbury in a canoe, and Nancy Moore, John Olson and Jim Des Jardins in kayaks--did a kayak/canoe camping trip on the Wisconsin River on the weekend starting Friday afternoon, June 29^th, arriving about noon on Sunday, July 2^nd.

 

 

 

It was a very relaxing paddle of about 30 miles from the town of Boscobel to Wyalusing State Park on the Mississippi River around the corner from the junction of the Wisconsin and Mississippi Rivers. 

 

 

Friday and Saturday nights, we camped on sand bar islands in the river.  This is the more remote part of the Lower Wisconsin River with high bluffs as we approached the Mississippi. We generally had the river to ourselves, with the exception of Sunday morning when there were other groups of paddlers nearby.

 

 

 

The days were beautiful and hot with a light breeze. Our first trip on the Wisconsin River without rain, ever. We drank lots of water and Gatorade for relief from the heat.  But, after setting up camp, we cooled off in the shade of the "wing" and by sitting in the river.  It felt like heaven. In fact, it felt so good that we did multiple spells in the river Saturday afternoon and evening.  After a hot day of paddling, nothing approaches the feeling of sitting in a flowing river with water up to your neck.

 

 

 

Mealtimes were communal. Traveling with four good cooks was great. Although the canoe was a little slow, it carried the coolers and made meals a joy.  There were after-paddle gin-and-tonics with ice, cold beer, and loads of food. Gone was Jim's usual camping fare of freeze-dried dinners. We celebrated Nancy Saulsbury's birthday on Sunday.

 

 

 

Some of the creatures we saw were sand hill cranes, bald eagles, great blue herons, Canada geese, spotted sandpipers, banded kingfisher, some little brown birds and a swimming Western fox snake. Many footprints of raccoons and deer.

 

A great time was had by all.

 

Jim Des Jardins and Beverly Serrell

 

GKC Alaska L4 Training and Expedition

by Steve Landers

Even though the temperature was only in the low sixties, I was soaked in sweat from carrying kayaks, gear, water, and propane tanks down an incredibly steep, long, rain soaked gang plank that linked the parking lot to the floating docks within the harbor of Homer, Alaska. I remarked to Josh, the water taxi driver who was to take us to our destination for the first four days of our trip, some forty-five miles southwest of Homer on the tip of the Kenai Peninsula, that I was going to be dead before this trip even started. He remarked, "You gotta be careful what you sign up for!"  

Homer Spit

 
What I had signed up for was Geneva Kayak's L4 training in Alaska. Seemed like a good idea last September when I signed up. I wasn't so sure at this point. Along on the trip were veteran CASKA paddlers Sarah Hartman and Ron Laird; GKC's imperial grand pubah, kayaking sensei and CASKA member,  Ryan Rushton; Tom Pogson, owner of Alaska Kayak School in Homer who was providing the kayaks, sprayskirts and paddles for the trip; Mark Anderson, a 4-star worthy instructor who works for Ryan on occasion; and myself. Once the boats and equipment were loaded on the 30-foot boat we headed out. The taxi was propelled with twin 225 horse Honda engines and got us to our initial destination, Chrome Bay, in about two hours.  

Water Taxi Ride

Unloading the Boat

Chrome Bay

Tom is a 5-star instructor and was along on the trip mainly to help us get set up in the yurts that we were staying in for the next four days. Everything ran on propane with the exception of the solar powered bear fence that spanned the perimeter of the property. Designed to keep Yogi's at bay, someone remarked after a couple of days of living within "the wire" that he felt like a cow. 

Fence

Tom

 
The yurts are sort of like large vinyl teepees, oval in shape, built upon treated lumber decks. There were three to sleep in, each with cots, and a common yurt that housed a kitchen and dining room table. If we weren't paddling, or sleeping, the common yurt was where we spent our time.  Much of that time was spent planning out the days ahead, planning on routes, and how to deal with the tides and tidal currents. It was of course, spring tides with the full moon, the water level within Chrome Bay changed by over twenty feet every twelve hours! I say "of course" because, of course, Ryan would schedule the training during the greatest variance of tidal change and flow. There was within one tidal race we experienced a current of five knots. 

Chart work

 
Those first four days went quickly by as we worked on L4 skills, paddling in tidal races, doing day trips among the snow capped mountains and islands that adorned the outer coast of the Kenai Peninsula. At the end of the day Tuesday after paddling to and circumnavigating Perl Island, I remarked to Ryan, "I've been in boats of one kind or another for over fifty years. I can't think of a more memorable day on the water anywhere than the day we had today." A large part of that was because as we rounded the outer side of Perl we came upon a colony of sea lions, probably thirty to forty in number, with two huge bull sea lions clearly upset that we had infiltrated their ranks. It was incredible. On Wednesday we took it easy for the most part, did a lot of chart work, and worked on rescues and stroke refinement within Chrome Bay. I "voluntarily" capsized while grabbing a bit too much water with my paddle while trying to do a sideslip. The forty-three degree water was a bit cool. That was the only capsize of the week for the group, although Sarah got wet frequently while practicing her rolls.

Sea Lions

 

Elizabeth

 
Day five of our excursion had us break camp and head out early with the ebbing tide along the coast and up into Kachemak Bay on our trek back to Homer. On this day we covered about 28 miles, a lot of that into head winds. We set up camp outside of Seldovia in a community campground right off the beach. After dinner and hanging bear bags we were quickly snuggled in our sleeping bags listening to the crashing waves...and the maniacal laughter of some kids driving by in their ATVs...and according to some, my snoring. Exhausted, I was asleep by 8:30pm (about three hours before sunset). 

Seldovia
 
Friday we set off on the final leg of our journey back to Homer. We had about fifteen miles to paddle with a four to five mile crossing across the bay back to the Homer Spit. The last leg proved the most challenging of the week, waves were, according to Ryan, three to five with occasional seven foot dumping waves. Three times on the way back we had to raft up, once to fix a broken foot peg bracket, and twice to reposition and reattach helmets that had slipped off back decks into the water. It's amazing how much drag a helmet can create hanging in the water!
 
That evening we chose to rent a four bedroom house in the foothills of Homer instead of sleeping on the spit in our tents. Ron, Mark, and I were sitting outside on the back deck at one point, enjoying an Alaskan Amber, mesmerized by the beauty of the snow capped mountains and glaciers from as far as the eye could see along Kachemak Bay. I asked Ron, who is an airline pilot and has been all around the world, where, if anywhere, has he been that was more beautiful than here right now. He was silent for a minute and said, "I can't think of any." 

Roughing it in the Cabin
 
Saturday we drove back to Anchorage. Ron, Sarah, and I hopped out at the airport, while Ryan and Mark went on to shop for groceries and supplies for the following week's GKC Alaska trip that Mark was leading. I had more than enough time before my flight to reflect on the week. I couldn't begin to put into words how beautiful Alaska is. I had told Ryan last year, "I know this trip is old hat to you as many times as you've been to Alaska, but for me it's a trip of a lifetime." And it really was.

Anchorage Airport

I was asked what the difference was paddling in Alaska compared to the Great Lakes. That's an easy answer, tide! Everything you do is predicated on the tide. It's much more involved having to factor in whether the tide is coming in or going out, where and how fast the flow of the tide is, dealing with tidal rips and currents, and everything else that comes with tidal kayaking. Timing is crucial. Keeping track of your course and progress is more important. Being able to recognize how the current is affecting the water while you are on the water is another skill that's necessary in tidal areas. I learned a lot in regards to tide, Alaska was the first time that I had paddled on the ocean so it was all an entirely new experience for me. I also learned on the trip that it's a good idea to keep your waterproof tape in your day hatch in case it's needed for on the water repairs, and not only stored in a dry bag packed away. Making sure your helmet is securely attached when it's getting hit by waves is another important consideration. I now know why some people opt to keep their helmets between their legs under the dryskirts. 

Ryan warned me before the trip that once I had been to Alaska that paddling in the Midwest will never be the same. I've been in a daze all week still thinking about it, and I have to admit paddling Tuesday night didn't have quite the same luster. My advice to anyone considering going there, no matter what level trip they're thinking about doing, is to go!

Trip Report on the Galapagos Islands

by Beverly Serrell and Jim Des Jardins

 

Beverly and I joined nine other people to live on a 72' Sailing Catamaran touring via kayaks, snorkeling and hiking, five of the Galapagos Islands over nine days.  The Galapagos Islands are a wondrous place; volcanic in origin, predominantly desert islands on the equator out in the Pacific Ocean 600 miles off the coast of Ecuador.  They are slipping south east at an inch or two a year and slowly sinking back into the ocean.  They may be under water in a few million years.  The weather and water temperature is mainly determined by four ocean currents and were mild to cool during our stay. 

 

 

Our group leader from Explorers Corner was Nancy Moore, a member of CASKA.  She worked with an excellent Ecuadorian naturalist and a ship's crew of seven.  Together, Nancy and the naturalist covered the geological history of the islands and pointed out and described the characteristics of the many species of animal life.  As Darwin discovered, many species, although similar to others in nearby islands, were unique to a single island.  We were requested not to touch, feed, give water to, nor engage the animals in any way.  For example, if a curious baby Sea Lion came to you, sniffed at and tickled your ankle with his whiskers, you were not to move.  In return, the animals were never hostile, had no fear, and generally ignored us, even when we were just a few feet from them.

 

 

Our days generally started at 5:30 am, kayaking

 

or snorkeling

 

 

at 6:00, breakfast at 8:30 and off to another adventure snorkeling, kayaking or hiking until noon.  After lunch, there was relaxation time and then more of the same until late afternoon and happy hour.  Diner was at 7:00.  We celebrated my 82nd birthday one evening.  We spent a lot of our time on and in the water all but one day when we visited the Darwin Research Center and the nearby town of Puerto Ayora, where much of the group retired for Margaritas before dinner back on the boat.

 

The kayaks were sit-on-top inflatable Feathercrafts, both singles and doubles.  They were comfortable, stable, and fast enough, an excellent compromise for the purpose.  Although Beverly and I were the most experienced paddlers, the others all had some experience and after a very little coaching from Nancy and the naturalist, the group moved quite well on the water.  Much of our kayaking time was spent exploring the volcanic rock cliffs of the island shorelines.  The scenery was spectacular.  Everyone in the group also had some snorkeling experience and that also went very well.

 

The sea was filled with fish, large and small, the smaller often in huge schools.  In the water we played with sea lions, who quickly became bored with us for being so slow.  Small Galapagos Penguins shot by like torpedoes.  Small sharks and sting rays ignored us.  When the boat was moving from between islands, dolphins raced the boat and cavorted in front of us to demonstrate how much faster they could swim.  Eventually they became bored and left us.  The next show came about a half hour later watching giant Manta Rays leap completely out of the water and fall back with a big splash a few hundred yards from the boat.

 

 

There were birds of many species everywhere, including, finches, Albatrosses, Blue footed booby's (the bluer the feet, the sexier the male). There were large numbers of Giant Galapagos Tortoises

 

 

weighing hundreds of pounds and up to 150 years old, Sea Lions by the dozens, Iguanas (land and marine), lava lizards and Green Sea Turtles.  We visited a Green Sea Turtle mating pond and a beach where the females came to lay their eggs.  They made wide tracks with their flippers from the sea to the nests.

 

 

It was a trip of a lifetime, certainly ours.