Super Moon at Sullivan

When you hear that the next full moon will be a “super moon,” – the closest that the moon will come to the earth in many years, you might think “okay, so what do I do with that information?”

Well, for one thing, there’s just something stunning and gorgeous when the moon looks a teeny bit bigger than usual and you see it coming-up. The evening before the full moon I had a ‘holy-cow’ moment when I looked up from the kitchen table and saw the moon rising over the cove. I grabbed a camera and went outside. For most people, that’s it – it’s something to see, especially when the moon rises and there’s some foreground to give you a sense of scale- in this case, the mud flats of Greenlaw Cove, with less water than usual. Certainly, it would have been cool to be out paddling, and I saw some nice photos on the Internet of people around the world doing just that.

Instead, we went-out for a mid-day paddle in Greenlaw Cove, where we’re living this winter, and forayed along the shore into nooks that would ordinarily be unreachable. Later-on when the moon rose, much of the cove was emptied-out, and it would have been a long walk (or a car-top elsewhere) to float our kayaks.

 

But, aside from the visual treat, the nearness of the moon and its amped-up gravitational pull also translates to an increased tidal range. The range over the past couple of days – meaning the difference between tide height at low tide and tide height at high tide, has been 15 to 16 feet. Spring tides in this area (the tides that occur twice a month, during the new and full moons) tend to average closer to 13 feet.

Higher tide range is evidenced several ways. There’s more water coming-in and going out. At high tide you could paddle in places that are seldom under water, and at low tide you could walk in places that are rarely dry. In addition, that plus-size water volume still needs to pass in and out during the same time period, which means stronger currents.

If you want to experience those stronger currents, go to a place where the moving water is already constricted by topography and depth, like Sullivan Falls. Even without spring tides, a nine-foot range there produces lively water with plenty of surf-able waves. So the morning after the super moon, we went to Sullivan Falls for the flood.

We launched close to mid-tide. The tide had already reached the usual high-water mark, but with three hours before high tide, one could only imagine how the features would all change. Nate immediately slipped down onto some nice waves and rode them a bit before dropping farther down to our more usual play spot. I followed and had my first capsize that I’d had for awhile; indeed, the current shot-through with unforgiving speed- it took only a minor misstep to get flipped around, with little chance for recovery. The water felt cold and fast, but I was only under for a few seconds before rolling-up and discovering myself still facing into the current, only a wave or two back, still surfing. Rebecca went through a similar baptism. And there were more to follow.

We played there for a bit, but the waves seemed to just get messier, so we progressed to another spot. We’ve paddled a lot at Sullivan Falls, including a few days with tides near this range, and we’ve learned that big water volume doesn’t necessarily produce the best conditions for surfing. That’s mostly what we’re doing there: trying to get on waves, facing the current, so we can essentially stay in the same spot, surfing on these standing waves.

But the great thing about Sullivan is how it’s always changing. Variables abound. As the current increases, so does the depth. Waves go away in one spot and evolve in another. Some waves are tall and steep, others are low and gentle. Some develop grabby holes in front of them, and others long, even troughs that allow you to ‘typewriter’ across the crest.

This time, our highlight probably came when we found a set of waves off a point where we’ve never been able to surf before. They were small, but powerful, clean waves and gave us some nice rides- enough time on them that we could focus on our technique and try to improve.

When that spot started to dwindle, we ferried back across the river and made our way up-current before ferrying back again, regaining the spot near the launch where we’d begun the morning- nearly unrecognizable beneath a few more feet of water. This time the attraction was a long, diagonal seam where the water came over a ledge and curled back upon itself. If you get sideways on this wave, and keep your weight strongly on the down-current edge, you can side-surf it, something we’d discovered there a few years ago, but rarely had the opportunity to repeat.

And soon enough that wave also began to disappear. Maybe that’s also part of Sullivan’s attraction, especially with such big currents and rapidly changing features – the ephemeral quality. You can’t step into the same river twice. When you catch a wave, there’s no guarantee it will be there the next time you go looking for it. The super moon’s lure of a huge tidal range draws us there, as much out of morbid curiosity as the desire merely to experience the place in one of its more extreme incarnations. But it’s really just a few hours of playing in the waves.

Notes

We didn’t stick around for the ebb. Three intense hours at Sullivan is taxing, and we had a pretty good idea of what to expect after the tide change. There would be some great waves to start with, but they would develop into massive, but very rough and trashy water with a particularly grabby and dangerous hole (that can usually be avoided). The paddling becomes more a matter of self-defense than merely trying to grab a wave. The morning had been good enough.

We haven't done much video for awhile, but here's piece Nate put together from a 12.5' day on the ebb in 2013.  

And if you're looking for ways to stay warm on the water for the coming months,  Wetsuit Wearhouse is having the biggest sale ever for Black Friday, with over 400 markdowns.

Spring Capsize Practice at Sullivan Falls

After several winter months of spending most Saturday afternoons practicing rolling, rescues and whatever other games we come up with in the 80+ degree water at the YMCA in Bar Harbor, it may be a good idea to gently return to reality by practicing some of those moves in 40 degree water with a strong current. That wasn’t our intention when, on a whim we went for a mid-day play at Sullivan Falls on a 15.5-foot new moon tide, but it’s rare that this venue doesn’t provide a few challenging moments.

Rebecca and I had been vaguely aware of the higher-than-usual tide, but it hit home as we crossed the Sunshine Causeway an hour before high tide, which felt more like a road through the ocean rather than over it. We dodged clumps of seaweed and ran the wipers to clear away salt on the windshield. The previous day, snowplows had been used on the Deer Isle Causeway to clear away seaweed. 

 

We thought ‘why does Nate always want to go on the biggest tides?’ Of course, part of it is simply morbid curiosity, getting a chance to see and experience Sullivan Falls in all its moods and incarnations. Fortunately we would get there to catch the end of the flood. With such a tide range, the ebb becomes truly massive and fast enough that you can hardly catch a wave, with holes that really will swallow you. We found a familiar spot looking a little less familiar with so much water moving over it, and a wave that was hard to stay pointed into, but upon which you could side-surf for about as long as you could stand it. My capsize came when, while bracing with my right hand on the paddle, made an exaggerated yawning motion with my left. Served me right, I suppose. Chilly water. Didn’t stay down there long.

Despite the tongue-in-cheek title of this post (we weren’t really there to practice capsizes) it is good to do, to get comfortable out there, above or below the boat. 

  

When this wave started to die-down, we had a nice picnic lunch in the sun. There are worse excuses to get-out of the house for lunch. After the current shifted, we got back out on the water and paddled back and forth as features began to build. It’s amazing how quickly it went from not much to big. The front wave felt smooth and surf-able for about ten minutes, but you really had to work to keep from getting pulled back over it. Then it seemed to be getting just faster rather than bigger, and a wave near the edge was near-perfect for a few surfs- until it too just seemed too fast to catch. By then, we had to go. Nate had to pick-up the kids and I had to get back to Deer Isle – I was on stage crew for an amateur theater production (called Cabin Fever Theater, an ailment we seem to have avoided) which I may have enjoyed more with the feeling of salt still clinging to my skin.

Waves & Currents

About a month ago, Pinniped Kayak hosted a two-day instructional event: Halloween at Sullivan Falls with the next day reserved for "rough water" or rocks and ledges, wherever that might take us. We had ten or twelve people each day, most of whom had traveled far- from Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts and Rhode Island- as well as our crew of College of the Atlantic students for the second day- and were ready to get wet, despite chilly temperatures and strong winds. Nate and I had our hands full, but with Barb and Rebecca assisting the first day and Peter Brady the second, the coach/student ratio remained entirely manageable.

Much of what we do, be it rough water or flat, comes back to the fundamentals- core principals that contribute to safe and effective paddling. It may be easier to learn those fundamentals in fairly flat water, on a day devoted to stroke refinement and rescues, but at some point we bump it up a notch, get into some spots that get our adrenaline running, and see how it all works, preferably with a knowledgeable coach nearby who can help you figure it all out- and keep you from getting thrashed too badly.

We had good conditions to put all of our skills into perspective. In fact, on the second day, when the forecast called for thirty-knot gusts and six-foot seas , we worried that the conditions might, in the words of Spinal Tap's David St. Hubbins, put "too much f_ing perspective" on things. Since the wind had been out of the north, we opted for the relatively sheltered south end of Mount Desert Island, launching from Seal Harbor. We spent the morning working on boat handling in big seas until a few students developed seasickness and had to be towed-in... which was convenient, since that was on the agenda anyway. In the afternoon, we found smaller conditions where we could manage some play time around the rocks and on some beautiful waves.

It was a great finale to Pinniped's first season.

November is often not such a great paddling month for us. The weather changes, and it seems other stuff tends to come up. This November has been particularly charged with "other stuff," but sometimes that's a good time to remember particular paddling experiences as I did in my article: Zero Day: Time Out on Florida's Molasses Key, which appeared recently on the Canoe & Kayak Magazine website.

The other stuff? To make a long story short, after nearly twelve years here, we're closing the gallery and moving-out of our home here in Stonington (a small apartment above the gallery). So lately we've been consumed with going through our stuff and getting together the final show in the gallery. We've watched a few nice days go by when we would have liked to get out for a paddle, but our priorities were elsewhere.

What's next? Without the gallery, our personal priorities stand-out in sharper focus: painting, writing and paddling. We'll probably be here in Stonington until the end of December. After that we're heading down to Saint Marys, Georgia, where we will guide and teach for a new paddling outfit called Sea Surf & SUP. Our vague plan is to head back to this area in May and continue teaching for Pinniped through the summer. In the meantime, my book AMC's Best Sea Kayaking in New England should hit the shelves in April. According to Amazon, it's a "#1 New Release," which I think means that my sister pre-ordered it.

Someone recently suggested that maybe this spelled the end of Sea Kayak Stonington, but I think it is just a new beginning. I'm guessing that next summer I'll spend at least as much time paddling in the Stonington archipelago as I did last summer when I spent most of my paddling time in southern New England, while simultaneously running the gallery and writing a book. Closing the gallery is certainly bittersweet. It's sad as so many people stop by or write us to express sorrow that we will no longer be a presence here on Main Street. There has been much about the business that I have loved, but it also feels like a heavy weight removed from my shoulders. We're heading down the road without much security, but our step is lighter.

Sullivan Falls

The video pretty much covers it. Mid-tide ebb, to slack (that's when we started goofing around, doing stand-up sea kayaking, etc) to lunch. Then that beautiful, forgiving wave that starts the flood, progressing to mid-tide flood waves further down.

Sullivan Falls

I don't think I'm running out of things to say about paddling; I'm just having some fun with these videos. They probably take about as much time to edit as it does to write a blog entry. And I think they might convey what happens at a place like Sullivan Falls better than I can do with words.

Having said that,  I'm new at this and I hope these videos will improve. The other day at Sullivan I managed to get there without charging the battery, which conked-out early in the game. And keeping the lens dry is next to impossible, so there were a few shots where the paddler appeared to have been edited-out by a big drop of water. Oh well, another challenge.

Around Crabtree Neck

When it comes to planning a route, circumnavigations often feel like the most natural goal; just go out there and paddle around something. Or paddle off in one direction and return from the other. If you spend a lot of time staring at charts, potential circumnavigations start to pop-out at you in less obvious places . “I wonder if I could do that,” you think. “Can I get through there?”

Crabtree Neck is one such place.  At the head of Frenchman Bay, the neck is essentially an island. True- at its northwest corner, this island is separated from the mainland by a shallow creek that narrows down to as little as twenty feet wide as it passes beneath the Route One bridge- maybe less at low tide. The half-mile long creek -indicated on my topo map as a tidal flat- is called "Carrying Place," and if we didn't time our arrival right, it would live up to its name.

 
Coming from the open ocean, the tide pushes water into the four-mile wide slot of Frenchman Bay, then further narrows-down into several bays and estuaries, including the two that flank Crabtree Neck: Skillings River and Sullivan Harbor / Taunton Bay. The “/” between Sullivan Harbor and Taunton Bay is Sullivan Falls, where Falls Point constricts the flow into a gap only a couple of hundred yards wide, resulting in accelerating currents, sometimes up to ten knots. So predictably, that’s where we’ve paddled, opting for adrenaline over exploration.

This time, with the temps in the high twenties, it seemed a better day for scenery. We launched at the falls on an outgoing tide and paddled off toward Hancock Point. The mountains on Mount Desert Island dominate much of the view here. We paddled toward them, out through Sullivan Harbor where they rose behind Bean Island. That view must have been partly responsible for the establishment of the summer community on Hancock Point in the late 1800s- that and the railroad that ran to McNeil Point, where steamers would then take passengers to Bar Harbor. We admired a few of these old summer cottages as we rounded Hancock Point and headed up the Skillings River. The tide had already turned, so we would have a push upstream.

 We paddled on calm water, but the wind shifted around to the south and started picking-up. Nate pointed-out that in the last summer alone, three people in small boats had capsized and died in this area- two in kayaks, one in a skiff. It was easy to imagine how the conditions here could change quickly, with plenty of fetch to the south and currents passing in and out of the river and MDI Narrows to the west. We now had the current and the wind behind us.

 

In November, 1944, a German submarine surfaced just off Hancock Point and made it to within 300 yards from shore where two Nazi spies landed in a rubber dinghy. The spies made it to New York and were eventually caught, while a few days later the submarine sank the Canadian steamship SS Cornwallis near Mt. Desert Rock. We probably stopped for lunch at the same beach, known on the National Register of Historic Places as “Nazi Spy Landing Site”.

The river constricts from a mile and a half to about 400 yards off Pecks Point and the current increases. Nate and I weren’t too far apart, but he caught the mid-channel current and quickly moved ahead; it took a few minutes to catch-up. We took some twists and turns, following the eastern arm of the river north, where it passed beneath an old railroad trestle and narrowed into Carrying Place Inlet. The current pulled us toward a bridge where Route One passed overhead. We scraped a few rocks, plowed through some ice sheets, and then we were through, spat by the current into Taunton Bay.

We were now paddling against the current, which picked-up just north of the Route One bridge. We rode some eddies along the edge, and charged upstream, gaining one point after another until we were back at the launch. 

Now came the job of warming numb fingers and toes. I like paddling whenever I can, but it felt good to get the boat loaded-up and sit in the car with the heater blowing warm air. I'm missing that trip to Florida this year. Paddling in drysuits for 9 to 10 months of the year, and lighter cold water gear in the summer, we almost forget what it's like to kayak in shorts and t-shirt. On the other hand, we haven't been worrying much about animals that can eat us. There's always ups and downs, I guess.

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.

Sullivan Falls

Today we took a class in tidal currents with Mark Schoon of Carpe Diem Sea Kayaking from Bar Harbor. We've been looking forward to this for awhile, and I'll admit: I had some reservations about venturing into standing waves and other wild water. I've fallen asleep on the couch plenty of nights while watching any one of the This is The Sea dvds, and I've woken in the middle of the night, amid half-dreams of scary-looking water.



Well, fortunately, Sullivan Falls isn't Penryn Mawr or Anglesea or the Bitches or The Skooks. It is, however, the second biggest tidal race, or reversing falls in Maine. We started out slow, in some calm water. Mark got us warmed up and then coached us on our strokes, especially the low brace, an essential piece of the puzzle for managing currents. We moved on to ferrying across the current, to sliding in and out of eddies and then learned how to surf on a standing wave.



The above photo is of Todd going down. He'd been surfing on the standing waves, but got turned sideways to the current. We're more accustomed to doing a high brace on the wave side, so it feels counter-intuitive to lean downstream. Well, if you lean upstream, the current flips you right over. Fortunately, Mark is pretty quick at getting himself there for a rescue.



Bob came up from Cape Elizabeth. Three people to one instructor is a pretty nice student to teacher ratio. I didn't really get that many photos for the time we were out there; I was too busy keeping up, and I'm sorry, but I just wasn't ready to take the camera out in the thick of the gnarliest waves. One mental picture I have is of looking downstream to see Todd on a big wave, nearly vertical, his bow buried beneath the current. It inspired me to paddle extra hard to keep myself off that wave.


We had a great day and learned a lot. Mark could have kept going, but the three of us were worn-out, and the waves were only getting bigger. Besides, my helmet was squeezing my brain. Any one of the many things we learned today would have made the class well worth it. Aside from that, it was a blast.