Popham Beach

Over the weekend, we took a couple of classes with John Carmody of Sea Cliff Kayakers: surf on Saturday and navigation on Sunday. Rebecca and I met Nate at John’s house in Boothbay Friday night and pitched our tents at “Camp Carmody”. The weather wasn’t looking favorable for good surf at Popham Beach, but we reasoned that one way or another, we’d get out there and learn something. This would be my second class with John, who has since become a BCU Level 5 Sea Coach. That's John (below) in a Delphin with Seguin Island in the background.

Saturday turned out to be windy from the northwest- the wrong direction for good, wave-building swells, but we found a spot on Popham that was somewhat sheltered with occasional sets of small waves rolling in. This was new to Rebecca, so she started out working closely with John while Nate and I went out and played around, getting the feel of a P&H Cetus MV and the new Delphin. Within a half-hour, I noticed Rebecca handling herself in waves far more confidently than ever before.


This might not seem like such a big deal, but there have been times when we’ve found ourselves in waves or needed to launch or land in surf, and I found it far easier and less intimidating than Rebecca did- only because I’d taken a surf class and had a little more practice. So all these classes add up to some time, money and effort, but it’s tough to put a price on the result.



As the day progressed, John critiqued our performance on the waves, giving us suggestions after every couple of runs, as well as more detailed discussion when we took breaks on the beach. Much of it comes down to more effective flatwater skills- edging, stern rudders, braces- and having the presence of mind to apply them in the waves at the right time. Then there’s positioning yourself on the wave and maintaining the right speed to stay on it. The small waves were good for this sort of practice.

Carmody photo

On Sunday, we were joined by several more students for the navigation class. We’ve had a little navigation instruction, but it seems there’s always something new to learn. One of the students, Ed, is a beginning paddler seeking expert advice from the very start. I had to admire his foresight. As with all of this instruction though, what we really need now is more practice.

Sullivan Falls

We’re lucky here in Stonington that launching usually involves walking over to the ramp, getting the boat out of our storage area, and going. I have to admit though, that on those rare days we car-top the kayaks to another launch, I enjoy that first part of the day: driving along, listening to some music, getting a coffee and a snack at the Blue Hill Coop. Yesterday, after a rosy sunrise portending today’s nor’easter, I drove off the island, admiring brilliant foliage in the sunshine. There was some traffic, but in no particular hurry, I got out of it atop Caterpillar Hill, where I paused to admire the fog hanging in the valleys, and Penobscot Bay spread-out, just like on the chart I spend too much time poring over.



Sullivan Falls lies at the head of Sullivan Harbor, which lies at the head of Frenchman Bay. The harbor narrows into a river-like passage, which is then further constricted by a peninsula jutting from the north shore, blocking three-quarters of the “river”, constricting the current to a width not more than a couple-hundred yards. As the tide comes in and goes out, the ocean squeezes into this slot, accelerating the current and causing standing waves to develop. The current reaches a crescendo at mid-tide, then tapers-off until slack tide, which is almost imperceptible as the currents continue to roil. Then the current changes direction and begins building speed once again, with an entirely new set of waves and features.



I met Nate at Sullivan Falls during its mid-tide ebb, with enough current running through to get the butterflies low in my stomach to start fluttering. Soon, Peter and Leif arrived from the Belfast area, and we were all on the water, cautiously peeling into eddies, getting the feel for the current while Nate traversed the wave sets, and caught a nice ride or two. Nate recently spent some time at Sullivan during the Downeast Sea Kayaking Symposium. Peter and Leif were new to paddling in tidal currents. I’d taken a class with Mark Schoon at Sullivan Falls three years ago, and had played a few times in Bagaduce and Blue Hill Falls. Still, I haven’t done it enough to feel at ease with a strong current and big waves.


We cautiously made forays into the current, and bit by bit, those intimidating waves in mid-channel began to look more manageable. We parked behind a ledge and took turns trying to get onto the wave. It’s tricky. You need to keep the bow into the current with just enough angle to ferry sideways, but not so much that the current spins you around. And if it does, you need to brace on the downstream side- opposite our usual instincts to brace into the waves. It helps to be committed, to know that you really do want the current to suck you down into that gully and up onto the face of that roaring wave.



My first few tries lacked commitment, and I watched as I slipped past the wave, and into the messy, but manageable turmoil below. But I edged closer each time. Finally- maybe after the wave had diminished sufficiently- I was on it, edging sideways, watching spray erupt from my bow. Over the roar, I heard encouraging sounds from the guys nearby. It felt good. It was easier after that, and soon we were all riding the quickly-shrinking wave, finally paddling back and forth over the spot where it had been, like we were dancing on its grave.



While we ate lunch, we watched for the current to turn- about two hours after low tide, and hurried back out as a new set of waves formed. The waves looked small from shore, but by the time we paddled onto them, they made smooth and shallow corrugations- easily surfable. We all got on that front wave as the current began to build, surfing side by side, occasionally bumping into each other, but reveling in the relative ease it took to ride. You could fall off the wave and pause in the current below before powering back up onto it. It felt magical. And I could take photos while on the wave.



That probably lasted for an hour as the current built until finally we could no longer power ourselves onto the leading waves. I felt exhausted. We played around some more in a couple of other spots, but our energy was mostly used-up. It’s worth mentioning that there were the expected capsizes and rescues, all of which went well, but seemed more difficult to carry off with finesse as fatigue set-in.



The drive home was as much a treat as the morning commute: a quick stop at the L.L. Bean outlet, a coffee from the usual gas station and a new CD to listen to as I drove toward a sunset of tall, billowing clouds.

Here's a blog called Penobscot Paddles, written by someone who paddles in some of the same spots we do, as well as a few places I hadn't thought of yet (like the canals in Bangor)- lots of fun.

Where It Takes Us

Over the weekend, I took a group of college students on an overnight sea kayaking excursion among the islands west of Mount Desert Island. The students had planned the meals, bought and packed all the food, and even handed me a bag of home-made gorp as we packed our kayaks at the ramp.

You never know how a trip will go, even if you’re paddling alone. Add another paddler, another boat, and the variables begin to add-up. How will the personalities emerge? How well will they manage on the water? As the group grows in size, the variables become exponential. I’ve only guided a handful of trips so far, from 2 to 22 paddlers, and I’ve started to see the patterns emerge. I’m learning as I go along, tweaking the way I demonstrate a forward stroke, stressing the “let’s stay close together” part of my pre-trip briefing. No matter how much I ask people to stay together, there’s usually a few times on a trip when it feels like I’m trying to herd cats. I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time messing with rudders and pedals.



We launched and took a quick spin around the cove to get a feel for the boats. Most of the students had never been in sea kayaks, but they were quick learners, and didn’t seem too concerned by the wind and waves we faced as we headed out. Soon, I paused and gave them a choice: head around an island, or over a sandbar with breaking waves. I have to admit, I was surprised when they all pointed toward the sandbar, and let out excited whoops as the waves hit their bows. One tandem even got stuck, but no worries; they tried again and made it. That seemed to break the ice: we were having fun.

The wind died-down after lunch and we made our way up the coast, finally taking a break on a small, state-owned MITA island, where everyone stretched out on the rocky ledges in the sun. I found one of the student leaders reading the MITA sign, realizing the island’s camping potential (two campers max). It would have been nice to stay there, but the group was very tuned-in to the leave no trace, low impact approach and readily suggested that we continue on to the private island where we had permission to camp.


The night was cool and clear, dark and starry. To the north, the sky over Ellsworth glowed faintly. Cooking was an involved affair with two stoves, plus my Jetboil keeping water going for hot chocolate and tea. It took a long time. But what else would we do with the evening? And everyone was having fun, eager to help-out. Breakfast went the same way.


To be sure, guiding is quite different from the paddling I’ve known, but it is also a new way of experiencing things. I keep finding myself looking at the scenery, wondering what the other people see, and it makes me see it in a fresh light. Should I point things out, give names to the features, try to let people see what I see? Yes, sometimes, and sometimes it seems best to just keep quiet, or hand over a chart when a question arises. Discovering things for yourself always seems more meaningful than having it handed to you.


Once, I found myself getting ahead of the group. They were singing, a chorus of mostly female voices, young and light, airy. The song sounded vaguely familiar. I pulled in among the rocks to slow down and let the group catch up and I listened as lyrics emerged: “Any way the wind blows, doesn’t really matter... to me...”

The singing continued as we drove back to the college in the van, towing a trailerful of kayaks. I’ve often wondered why exactly I was getting into guiding, but occasionally it becomes obvious that it can take you some places where you couldn’t go on your own.