Surfin' at Reid

-->

Rebecca and I had a Wilderness First Aid class at AMC’sKnubble Bay Camp over the weekend, so we thought we’d make the most of the trip by squeezing-in a paddle somewhere. The surf report hadn’t looked promising, but since Reid State Park was nearby, we decided to swing by there and have a look, grudgingly shelling-out the $12 to the iron ranger at the gate (up from last year’s $4 a person- time to get an annual permit).

I wasn’t convinced we’d find good waves, so we had a quick look from atop Griffith Head, as much a landmark for its iconic coin-operated binocular devices, swiveling weightily out toward The Cuckholds lighthouse, Damariscove Island and the lighthouse on Seguin Island, as it is for the rocky bluffs that they stand upon. This is a good place to eat one’s PB&J while deciding that yes, those waves look good enough to go for it. When surf is the goal, one quickly adopts some of the radder-than-thou, dude-worthy lingo that still lingers in the teen-age skate-slacker part of the brain… so yes, we decided to go for it.

This is probably exactly the kind of behavior that keeps the fourteen-year-old mind live and kicking inside the 51 year-old body, and when you get into the surf, it’s a mindset that serves you well. Depending on the usual variables of swell and tide height, the steep shoreline at Reid often has steep, dumpy waves that break close to shore, but that 14 year-old mind just didn’t care and said “let me at ‘em.”

We started catching some short, lively rides right away. We got the first capsizes out of the way, and properly invigorated, proceeded to have a blast as we made our way down the beach to the most promising-looking area, catching waves as we went, occasionally landing right on the beach. The waves were biggest and dumpiest beside the rocky point (Little River Ledges) that separates the two beaches, but we continued on to Todd’s Point to ride the lower, but easily catchable surf that rolled slowly over the sandbar into the inlet. A couple of rangers patrolling the shore with garbage buckets paused to watch.

We finished the day with more rides back near the rocky point and did manage to get properly thrashed once or twice, which in an odd, invigorating way, after a long winter, just felt good. The shoreline is so steep there that I often got dropped high on the shore by a wave, but managed to quickly spin around on the sand and begin slipping seaward again in time for the next wave to buoy me away. 

After a particularly thrashy take-down, Rebecca took a break on shore and snapped a few photos - long enough to develop a hypothermic chill – perhaps another useful spring rite, making that part of our first aid training a little less hypothetical. In this case, treatment took the form of hot chocolate in the car with the heat blasting. As we tied our boats atop the car, the rangers stopped by and said they’d enjoyed watching us. I felt an inner relief that we’d dropped our twelve bucks into the iron pay tube at the gate, and concluded that it was well worth it. 

The rangers chatted about other paddlers (most of whom, they said, worry them) and mentioned the couple that had come through a few yearsback on their Lubec-Key West trip and camped (illegally) on the point. Since I’d followed that blog, I was able to inform the rangers that the couple had made it all the way - quite an accomplishment, even if their campsite researching skills needed a little work.

We warmed-up in the car en-route to Knubble Bay.

More information about paddling in this area is available in my guidebook, AMC's Best Sea Kayaking in New England, in the Georgetown Island chapter.

Good Places to Eat Lunch

A few days ago we went down to Popham Beach for some surf. It was a warm, moderate day with messy, confused seas, and strong winds shearing off the wave tops. Cold enough water to feel bracing when it slaps you in the face, but warmer than it will be for the next 8 months.  

It took a few attempts and some harsh beat-downs before we finally found the right spot and got into a groove that rewarded us with long rides. We felt drained and good during the long drive home in the dark, drinking coffee, re-living a few choice moments.

I go back and forth between touring and looking for excitement- usually a little of both. Lately we’ve gone on mostly calm excursions with friends, exploring Stinson Neck and Jericho Bay.

We’ve found new places to eat lunch and for Rebecca to paint, usually- it seems – returning home just after sunset, getting the most out of these fall days. We’ve been lucky to have abundant warm-ish days, and though plenty of people have put their boats away for the season, the water is warmer now than it will be in the spring when they put their boats in the water again.

  
When a friend visited last week, we took some drives to favorite spots: Mount Desert, Schoodic Point, The Bold Coast.

We hiked and gazed-out over big, impressive views.

There is something satisfying about looking out over vistas and understanding what you’re looking at because you’ve been in so many of these places, but I mostly find my eyes gravitating to the places I haven’t yet paddled, and there’s something satisfying about that too, knowing there’s no end to it.

But mostly we just paddle around, looking for good places to eat lunch.

Otter Point

Nate Hanson photo

Life had been a little stressful lately. In addition to getting our final show together in the gallery, we were preparing to move. Our apartment was a minefield of piles: keep this, yard-sale that, maybe, don't know, etc. We were ready to get out, and Nate, having just returned from several weeks in Washington DC, essentially homeschooling the kids at museums, was ready for a break as well. Monday, the first day of December had a warm-ish forecast, up to 50 degrees, but with a bit of wind and rather big seas. It seemed like a good idea to get out and play before the water turned too cold.

Nate Hanson photo

We briefly considered the six-hour round trip to Popham Beach, but settled instead on the south end of Mount Desert Island, launching at Otter Cove where we found waves breaking over a ledge- plenty of gentle three to four-footers- and rode them again and again. We could hardly believe our luck- these were great waves, and some of them took us for long rides where we could think about what we were doing and try to improve technique.

After lunch though, we tore ourselves away and paddled over to Otter Point, where big swells came rolling in. At first it looked a bit imposing, like we might not find anywhere close to shore where we could play. Then Nate suggested we try out the water behind a big rock. The swells would come in and smash against the rock, expending most of their energy before seeping into the cauldron behind it. All we had to do was watch for the big ones and hang-on.

The sun shone brightly, lighting up the foam like snow. I was struck by how beautiful it was- the massive green waves that appeared on the horizon and exploded just beyond the ledge, reaching around and over the rocks with bouncy piles of water and foam. I managed to hang on to my camera and get a few shots as the waves knocked us around.

I posted a few shots on Facebook and they received some "not for me" comments... which is correct. This isn't a spot for everyone. It might not be very enjoyable if you don't have good bracing skills, a dependable combat roll and the ability to perform creative rescues. And of course we'd just spent the morning surfing, and were primed for some bumpy water. We took a careful look before going in, watching to see what happened when the biggest sets rolled-in.

But in reality, we mostly just hung-on and enjoyed it. Despite the big appearance, it was a relatively safe spot with low consequences and easy-enough escape routes.

We continued around the point, looking for fun spots, and the adrenaline, or perhaps lunch began to wear off. The surfing alone is enough to take it out of you, and we hadn't been paddling much lately.

As the late afternoon light  began lighting the hills we paddled past Otter Cliffs and found a few more features. The swell was smaller on the east side.

But plenty big for some fun.

We finally decided we'd had it and turned around, heading back toward the launch. The tide had changed just enough that it felt like an entirely different stretch of coast.

The Cranberry Islands

Despite our Tuesday through Sunday gallery hours, it's tough for Rebecca and I to close on a mid-summer Monday for a day off together. Our busy season is short, and the winter is long, with just as many bills. We usually look out at the people walking down Main Street and imagine it in a few months time, when the crowds thin and the paddling is at least as good, and we choose to work rather than play. But it is possible to sneak away early in the day for a paddle and just not think about all the money we're not making. That's how Rebecca and I found ourselves in the Cranberry Islands last Monday.

We launched in Manset and headed out to Great Cranberry Island, where we arrived at high tide-- in time to explore The Pool, a large tidal basin on Great Cranberry's east side.

We ate lunch on a MITA island and went on to Little Cranberry, where we played for a bit in the one-foot surf along the southern beach.  If the waves roll in just so, it hardly matters how big they are-- you can still catch a nice ride. The trick is staying on the wave, not getting ahead of it. We rode them in again and again. Finally, as the tide fell, the wave shape changed and they became harder to catch. Time to move on.

On to Baker Island, where we took a walk up to see the lighthouse and the remains of the community that existed there long ago.

We headed back around the south end of Great Cranberry and north through the Western Way with the current behind us. It's so much better to end a trip with the current behind you. It left us with just enough energy, as the sun began to set, to dawdle a bit in Southwest Harbor so Rebecca could photograph some of the boats. Not a bad way to end a long day off.

The next day I discovered that Nate and I are on the cover of the August issue of Maine magazine (see "Guides Class" from May 12). In the photo, we're having dinner with students and guests on our guides class camping trip. We're silhouetted by the sunset, but trust me, it's us. There's a nice article on the inside too-- even mentions this blog. Thanks to writer Sandy Lang and photographer Peter Frank Edwards.

Here's a video from the Cranberry Islands:

Long-Term Students

Me, Nate, Brian. The Kennebec. Photo: Todd Johnstone-Wright

Last week I spent a couple of days sea kayaking in the Boothbay area with a group of paddlers with at least one thing in common: our teacher, Todd Johnstone-Wright. The easy way to explain it is that we were there for a class, which isn’t quite accurate. But we were there to learn from Todd and from each other.

Mike. The Thread of Life. Photo: Nate Hanson

People are often baffled as to why I'm off taking another kayaking class. They have difficulty understanding that there could possibly be anything more to learn. Most of these people get the concept of lifelong learning, but when it comes to kayaking they haven't scratched the surface- so they assume that there isn't much to learn. If I try to explain that I'm a long-term student among a committed group of like-minded others, I often get that look from people: the slight incredulous grin, like I've just told them I've joined a cult- or that I've clearly crossed the line from nerd to fanatic.

(An example: I look at the photo below and wonder what I'm doing with the paddle, and if maybe my wrist could be straighter- I'm probably just trying to not plow-into Todd).

Todd, Me. The Kennebec. Photo: Nate Hanson

Any further explanation gets a little tricker: there's this organization called the British Canoe Union- the BCU. Todd Johnstone-Wright aspires to be a Level 5 Coach. This is an involved process. Part of the process is to take-on a group of long-term students. Nate and I are among that group. We're a diverse bunch with varied paddling backgrounds. All but Nate and I live in Vermont. Next March, some of us will go to Scotland, to learn from Todd and his teacher, Gordon Brown. Next fall, a couple of students will go to Scotland for Todd's assessment. It is a notoriously difficult assessment. As far as I know, there are still only 2 North American-born Level 5 Coaches: Jen Kleck and John Carmody.

Sherry, us in the background, mouth of the Kennebec. Photo: Todd Johnstone-Wright

We gathered Monday evening at a campground in Boothbay and on Tuesday morning drove over to Fort Popham. This was the first time we had paddled together as a group, although most of us had paddled together on different occasions. Before we launched, we all stated what we hoped to get out of our time there. I felt so burnt-out from work, all I could muster was "I wanna have some fun." After all, we were headed to Popham Beach.

Brian. The Thread of Life. Photo: Nate Hanson

 We did have some fun, but since most of us are teachers, it was interspersed with coaching. I'll admit, once or twice I felt like saying "screw that, just let me catch this wave." Still, I received some good feedback and got some practice coaching in a Level 4 environment (waves, current, rocks) which is important, since most of my students at Old Quarry have been beginners. Todd is quick to point-out that he would take the right beginners into these conditions on their first day out. He's been working with a lot of agile, quick-learning college students, but I agree: the steeper the challenge, the quicker you learn.

Me, Todd. The Thread of Life. Photo: Nate Hanson

We played in the surf and spent the afternoon in the tide race at the mouth of the Kennebec, where the 3-knot current meets incoming swell: very different from the Bagaduce or Sullivan Falls. We could stay out on those waves for a half-hour at a time.

Me. The Thread of Life. Photo: Todd Johnstone-Wright

On Wednesday we launched from East Boothbay and headed-out to the Thread of Life and played among the rocks. We found just enough swell to make it interesting. 

Nate, The Thread of Life. Photo: Todd Johnstone-Wright

So this long-term student thing is pretty cool. It gave me a great excuse to escape work for a couple of days and go paddle in a groovy spot. And there's a sense of kindred spirits among competent paddlers. We all want to progress with our paddling skills and we seem to have a similar sense of what "fun" is. And we learn things from each other.

Mike, The Thread of Life. Photo: Todd Johnstone-Wright

Thanks to Todd Johnstone-Wright and Nate Hanson for the photos. I forgot my camera... which turned-out to be nice in its own way- less to worry about.

Joe, The Thread of Life. Photo: Todd Johnstone-Wright

Bar Harbor Surf

On Saturday morning I car-topped the kayak over to Mount Desert Island. A storm had just come through, and big seas were predicted, so Nate and I met at Seawall, which is exposed to the south, and had a look. The seas were indeed big. Massive waves broke over the ledges and pretty much everywhere. We were hoping to do some surfing. I tried to imagine myself out there: hmm, okay catch that HUGE wave and- oh, slammed down hard only to be grabbed by a wave coming from another direction and then... rocks. I looked at Nate. He said “Let’s check-out Bar Harbor.” Phew.


We launched from the bar at high tide. There was plenty of swell, but not good surfing waves; maybe it would improve as the tide dropped. We headed out to the Porcupine Islands. The seas felt big, but the wind had dropped to almost nothing, and the swells came in with plenty of space between them. Near the shore though, occasional rollers exploded, sending white spumes high into the clifftop trees, and rebounding waves that collided with incoming swells. Patches of foam drifted over the water surface where we hung-out, just watching.



Rum Cay, which is often a good spot to have a break and catch some surf, was utter chaos. Waves wrapped around the small island and collided thunderously at the leeward end. Between the cay and the ledge, the waves came through steep and confused. I paddled clear of it and watched as Nate tried to skirt along the edge to where the waves started to break. He climbed the face of one tall wave coming through until I thought he would be capsized backward, then he pushed over to the other side. I felt for my towbelt, trying to imagine a rescue in this mayhem, but he reappeared now and then, always upright. Of course, if you capsized, the waves would just push you out the end, into calmer water. Then I realized the current was pushing me from that calmer water back into the breaking waves. Nate made it through a couple of times and, looking a bit beat-up, said “okay, that’s enough.”


We took our time on the way back, meandering first around the north side of Burnt Porcupine Island, where the conditions felt more akin to normal and we could make some manageable turns among the rocks without fear of being pulverized by a wave out of nowhere. But we were soon drawn back out to the drama of the big seas and the cliffs, even if all we could do was sit and watch from a distance. It was an awesome thing to be near.


When we returned to the bar, the tide had dropped and beautiful, slow-moving waves rolled-in. We started catching them, and they were perfect: not too steep, rolling in gradually, losing steam before hitting the bar. It seemed they could hold that “always just about to break” moment forever, giving us plenty of nice, long rides- plenty of time to work on turns. Sometimes a set of big ones would arrive and give us a tumble. I looked down at my bow getting buried in the trough and suddenly I was underwater, feeling the wave pass by overhead as I set-up for a roll. I came up and saw Nate doing the same, looking around until he saw me. I don’t know why, but we were both laughing. For an hour or two, it was magic.



Nate had parental duties to return to. It might have been hard to leave, but the waves cooperated, dwindling as the tide dropped, exposing the sandbar so a woman in a long red coat could walk her golden retriever out to the island.