How Do You Work These Things?

Last weekend Todd Wright came to Old Quarry with some students from St. Michaels College in Vermont, where he's the Director of the Wilderness Program. On Saturday I joined them for a paddle out to Gooseberry Island. The students had varying levels of experience. Kyle had been to tide races in Scotland, but for Molly, it was her first time in a sea kayak. Like the others, she learned quickly.

On Sunday, in a downpour with strong winds predicted, we went around Whitmore Neck. I wouldn't otherwise have been paddling that day, but as often happens, I was glad to be out there. And the Whitmore Neck route worked well for a day with sketchy weather:  a bumpy start followed by stretches of calm water- even a little current.

 
Monday though, looked even windier; it seemed like a good day to check-out Bagaduce Falls. Without much fetch, the wind has little effect on the conditions there, but it's a fairly contained environment for everyone to hone their skills. Nate and Rebecca joined us.

We often share the Bagaduce launch with shellfish harvesters there to tend their oyster growing operations. In exchange for a few parking spots, we provide them with entertainment. We arrived a little before the ebb went slack- about four hours after low tide in Castine- and the current reversed direction. Just before the new moon, the tide range spanned about twelve feet that day, so we could expect some strong currents.  But we launched into slow-moving water and traversed the eddy lines again and again as the speed increased and standing waves began to form.

We played around a bit. Most of us got some practice capsizing... which also gave us some rescue practice. Every now and then people (often kayakers reluctant to learn rescue skills) ask me if I've ever capsized. It's true that, while tooling about on flat water, I'm not too likely to tip over (though I've certainly done it). You get the sense that for some paddlers though, the edge of their boat is a scary place, beyond which lies disaster. The moment a wave- or just a shift in weight- dips that edge further into the water, they are no longer comfortable in their boat. Therefore, they don't learn to turn by edging. They remain stiff, balancing firmly in the middle of their cockpit, perhaps relying on a mechanical rudder to turn their boat. This is why we teach edging and bracing to beginners.

But it's also why getting into a place like the Bagaduce is great practice. If you capsize enough, it's far less intimidating, and it becomes easier to learn. It saves time if you can roll, but on just her third day of paddling, Molly seemed to lose the fear that keeps plenty of far more experienced paddlers from advancing their skills and having more fun.

Soon it turned juicy enough that we moved downstream, giving the students a chance to get a feel for the current in more forgiving conditions. Without the adrenaline rush that often accompanies paddling in the current, I suddenly felt tired. I reached for the Clif Bar in my life jacket pocket and found the pocket open, the Clif Bar gone. Oh well, soon enough we took a break on shore and had some more substantial food. Just enough to get back out there before the current subsided. Then, in the roiling current just below the bridge, I noticed something colorful surface beside me. I reached out and found the errant Clif Bar. It had been recirculating for an hour or two but still tasted as good as it ever would. We played a bit more. Todd caught a wave and stayed on it for a good long time, weaving back and forth over its surface before finally dropping off its back.

Then, as the current died-down before the flood switched to the ebb, Todd challenged us to try something different- anything: eyes closed, backwards... standing-up. Once again, we explored our usual boundaries, capsized often, and had a blast.

 

 

The ebb picked-up quickly. Nate and I stuck around for a bit more fun as the wave train built below the bridge, but by then I didn't have much energy for it. I watched the waves for more Clif Bars, and when none materialized, decided to call it a day.

Thanks to Rebecca for many of these photographs.

Guides Guiding Guides

For the last few weeks, much of our paddling was aimed at getting ready for last weekend’s three-day class. You could even say that the last few months of Sunday mornings at the pool at the Ellsworth Y were practice and reinforcement. Most evenings last week Rebecca and I watched our instructional DVDs, pausing every now and then to make sure we understood (and sometimes to wake up). So, in the same way that planning for a trip is part of the fun, so is getting ready for a class. Suddenly it became an emergency to get a new short tow figured-out so we could try it in class. 

 

We met Friday morning at Old Quarry. Nine students, all of us registered Maine Guides were there for the first ever MASKGI-sponsored, ACA L4 Open Water Trip Leader training program. I’ll spare you my diatribe about the exam process for Maine Sea Kayak Guides and how it is entirely possible get your license with little or no on-the-water experience -provided you can talk the talk. It’s great to talk the talk (that’s how you pass the exam) but this program is aimed at getting guides to walk the walk.

It isn’t always easy for experienced guides to be open to learning something new. I’m hardly experienced, but it helps to have some faith in your teachers, to accept that they know their stuff.  I’ve had a few classes with Todd Wright and John Carmody, and they are certainly on top of their game. John is one of the few BCU Level 5 Sea Coaches in North America, while Todd holds the highest ACA awards and  is fast on his way to being one of the next BCU Level 5 Sea Coaches. This translates to getting spot-on critique and suggestions. If I received just a few such nuggets over the weekend, my efforts would be well-spent.
 

We chose different locations each day, progressing from a milder excursion to Millet on Friday, to some rocks out around Ram and Hardwood on Saturday. On Sunday we drove over to Bagaduce Falls. It was a good progression. By the time we tried various tows and rescues in the current on Sunday, we’d already practiced in easier conditions, gradually increasing the complicating factors. Of course, we worked constantly on personal boat maneuvering skills.

 

We’ll have an assessment in the fall- a good goal. In the meantime, we all have points to work-on and improve- both while we’re guiding and on our own. Rebecca and I got out for a mid-day paddle yesterday just as the storm arrived. On one level, it felt good to decompress, to get out and just paddle. But after awhile, we started working on what we’d learned. Once again, I’m tweaking my forward stroke- I don’t expect this will ever end. And when I’d gone into a rocky chasm (trying to avoid that bow rudder until I really needed it) Rebecca came charging-in to contact-tow me out... just for fun. 

And in the end, that’s what it amounts to: fun. The first classes I took might not have been as fun- it felt like harder work then, and I learned that I had far to go. I didn’t get it all (still haven’t) in one go- I seem to require layers of instruction that overlap, spaced with plenty of time to try it all out on my own and see how it works. The pay-off is also multi-layered: confidence coupled with a perspective of where my abilities need work. But yesterday I saw a black and white change from just last week: Rebecca maneuvered into that narrow space between the rocks, and I followed her.

Bagaduce Falls - Flood Tide

From its mile-wide mouth at Castine, the Bagaduce winds inland, twisting and narrowing for eight miles until it squeezes beneath a bridge into a gap only fifty feet across, before meandering another three and a half miles inland. Often called a river, it is in fact an estuary, constantly exchanging its waters with the ocean, back and forth with the tide. It never empties at low tide. The incoming tide rushes upstream, finally overpowering whatever outgoing current remains, and and as it squeezes into the narrowing banks, develops quite a current, which is most obvious at the bridge between Brooksville and Penobscot. At its swiftest, the current piles up and drops several feet as it passes beneath the bridge, shooting out the upstream side where it develops a hundred-yard wave train, with bouncy, frothing eddylines flanking the upstream “V”.


Estimating the time of the tide change and peak current is a bit tricky. Basing our calculations on a 5:30 am low tide in Castine, we met at the bridge a little after nine on Monday morning. We expected the flood to have begun, but the current still rushed beneath the bridge, heading toward the sea. We were only a little off.

Waiting for the current to build: Peter, Nate, Barbara, Ed

The five of us gathered beneath the bridge and waited as the water went slack, and not long after ten, the current shifted inland and the flood tide began. Within fifteen minutes there was enough current to play in. Within a half-hour the waves were getting big enough to surf. So, the timing will always be subject to variables, probably tide height in particular, but that’s how it worked this time: slack tide at 4.5 hours after low in Castine.


It’s good to start at slack tide and experience the flow as it builds. That fluttery feeling in my stomach gave way to focusing on paddling, getting in and out of the current, getting a feel for it, finally getting on a wave that will hold you there and trying some turns.


Often, we’re trying to get onto the first wave. One way to do this is to paddle upstream, crossing the eddyline with your bow pointed as directly into the current as possible. You try to edge gently toward the strong flow in the middle, but if you edge or turn too much, the current grabs your bow. You might fight it for a moment, muscling out of it with a stern pry, but if you hang onto that for too long, you’ll flip towards the current. If all goes well, you float back onto that wave with your bow still pointing upstream and you take a few strong paddlestrokes to keep from getting swept over and voila; you’re surfing the wave!


I’m usually a bit surprised to find myself there, a calm spot with water rushing past all around. Now what? Edge a turn left, edge a turn right. Hold your paddle up in the air to flaunt it. Put the palm of your hand on the surface and feel the water rushing below. At some point, you discover you’re no longer on the wave, bouncing backwards over the wave train, bracing from one side to the other, looking for a way out so you can do it again.

We were all doing well, but after awhile, it felt like there was something missing. Oh yes, the feel of saltwater in my head. Somehow, after I’ve finally capsized, I feel even more comfortable out there. As the waves grew taller, the capsizing became easier, and each time I went over, I waited below the surface, getting my paddle aligned until I felt dark, solid water overhead, and rolled back up... and braced as the next wave sucked me up and over. When it all goes well, that’s part of the fun.


Fun, and exhausting. As the waves and the current grew, the eddyline turned wide and sloppy. Those big waves in the middle turned elusive with this barrier of whitewater guarding them. And if you did get on them, the water moved fast enough that it was hard to stay there. Hard work. I finally took a break, hating to miss anything, but it’s tiring and I needed a sandwich or two.


I got back out there as the current subsided, and we played on dwindling waves as they disappeared, about three hours after they’d started. We took a little paddle upstream and came back, just in time for the current beneath the bridge to go slack and change direction, nine hours after low tide in Castine. By the time we had our boats loaded on cars, the ebb was already running fast. There would be some waves on the downstream side of the bridge soon. Maybe next time.

The Lower Bagaduce

Lately I’ve been watching the weather forecasts compulsively, but if someone asks me if it’s supposed to snow I’m likely to draw a blank. Pretty much what I get from it is the wind and temperature, which results in either yes or no: paddling or no paddling. The past week and a half has been a lot of “no” days, with some “maybes” thrown-in just to tantalize me and make me feel bad when I don’t go. Yesterday was one of those maybe days, but I thought I might find some semi-sheltered paddling in the upper Bagaduce River. The tide was even right to launch into the shallow waters off the Penobscot Town Landing.


Unfortunately, Winslow Cove was iced-in, so I drove down to the launch by Bagaduce Falls. The current squeezed beneath the bridge, frothing-up a formidable wave train, but at the next bend in the river, ice covered the entire surface. I sat in the car for awhile watching the standing waves. Occasionally a huge ice flow emerged, tossed about the crests of waves only to be abruptly pulled beneath. So maybe the upper Bagaduce is out of the picture for the next few months.


Fortunately, the road into Dodge Point was plowed (at middle right on the above chart) so I unloaded there at another of Brooksville’s town landings. I called Rebecca with a revised float plan and I was off.


I follwed the steep shoreline toward the head of Smith Cove, where pines clung to the tops of dark cliffs, dripping with icicles. The sun felt good on my face. It was a crisp, clear day- a bit cold, which meant I had to keep moving. I did- paddling around Smith Cove and out between Whites Head and Hospital Island. The current was picking-up, barely floating me over over the sandbar between islands. Across the river lay the Castine waterfront, dominated by Maine Maritime Academy’s training ship, the State of Maine.


As I approached the mouth of the river, a stiff breeze felt icy on my face, and a minor swell came rolling in from the northwest. I headed for Ram Island. The island is owned and managed by the Conservation Trust of Brooksville, Castine and Penobscot, and has a small campsite. I took a walk around the eastern island, but in the face of the northwest breeze, a chill quickly set-in. Good thing I’d worn an extra layer of long johns, but the feet and toes start to take on a chill that doesn’t go away. The best thing is to keep moving, keep the blood pumping.


I was going to head straight back to the launch, but after a few minutes of paddling I felt fine again, and I couldn’t resist crossing over to Castine to paddle alongside The State of Maine. By now, if I paused the current pulled me backwards. I paused for some photos of the ship, but there’s something intimidating about being next to- actually below- such a large vessel.


I crossed the river back to Smith Cove and paused at the remains of another large ship. The Gardiner G. Deering was a 251-foot, five-masted schooner. Abandoned in the 1930s and later burned, the ship is now reduced to a few skeletal, rockweed-draped timbers- just enough to give you some sense of her original proportions as you paddle through.

Back at the launch, I cranked the heat in the car and loaded-up as the sun set. I felt lucky to have squeezed a paddle into a rare window of good conditions. Well, "good" conditions when I lowered my standards because I could see it wasn't going to get much warmer... and when I sought-out a place with less wind. Good thing I got out; today looks much different.