Category: paddling

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kayak racing kayaking Maine rivers paddling whitewater

Downriver with a Twist: An Initiation into Slalom Kayaking

Slalom, a race over a winding or zigzag course, isn’t just for skiers anymore. Canoers and kayakers get to slalom too. And they did — last Sunday in the annual slalom races at the Kenduskeag Stream Park in Bangor.

Below the Harlow Street Bridge in Bangor, the Kenduskeag Stream enters a picturesque steep-sided valley.  Between the bridge and and the Shopping Cart Drop,  the stream is narrow, the currents are strong; and there are two Class II-III drops — drops that have claimed more than a few boats during the 16-mile Kenduskeag Stream Canoe Race.  For the downriver racer, the goal is to keep your boat upright, keep your bow downstream, have the right line and cruise right through this area, spending as little time as possible in it, never looking back.

Last weekend’s slalom race brought a whole new perspective to this part of the river, as the slalom required us to go sideways to the current, turn our bows into the biggest waves, reverse direction and go back upstream, take the drops at an angle and eddy out below, and even negotiate some of it going backward.


A good slalom racer, as I was to find, needs endurance to paddle hard for 3 minutes, power to turn a boat and accelerate upriver against the current, and the chutzpah to pull off tricky maneuvers in moving water.  More than anything, slalom racing requires boat control and precise paddle strokes.  As with many sports, those who are good at it make it look easy.

It’s not easy, however.  Even for those with a lot of experience in other genres of paddling. On Saturday, the day before the competition, after getting some tips and little coaching from experienced slalom paddlers, I took my first run at the quarter mile slalom course. The first gate was straight across the river from the starting point and below a drop.   Because of the strong current, I wasn’t sure if I could get there without embarrassing myself, so I skipped it, telling myself I’d work on that one on my next run.  Gate number 2 looked easy enough, but slightly submerged rocks immediately upstream of the gate blocked my intended line.  I missed it.  Gate 3 had some really fast current going through it — I made it through cleanly.  That gate, however, was offset from Gate 4 which was only eight feet downstream.  The current swept me slightly sideways and I battered the pole with my helmet.  A 50 second penalty during a race.  Gates 5 and 6 were relatively easy and I passed through them cleanly, building up speed as I went.  Gate 7, an upstream gate, was far over on river right and above a drop.  I approached it too fast, swung far too far past it, and then had to work really hard to get back upstream.  Gate 8, another upstream gate, was below the drop.  Again, I  was moving too fast and settled for just making it through the drop. I skipped it.  I was not yet halfway through the course.  There were still another eleven more gates to go.  You get the idea.

With an afternoon of practice, I was able to at least attempt most of the gates.  By race time, the next morning, I was able to get through most of the gates most of the time, but I didn’t always get through cleanly, and it wasn’t always pretty.  Meanwhile, more experienced slalom racers in both kayaks and canoes carved their way through the gates with precision and style, never seeming to hurry, never seeming to lose control.

Slalom, then, is a mental challenge as well as a physical one.  From what I can see, slalom requires linking the gates and linking strokes.  In other words, you need to go through each gate already lined up for the next few gates.  If you don’t think about the next gate until after you’ve completed the previous one, it’s too late.  The current will carry you downstream and you will miss it.  Thinking several moves ahead and initiating moves early is key.

Slalom is a specialized sport with a relatively small following.  This is a shame.  One of the best parts of slalom is the camaraderie among the participants — some of whom travel throughout New England to participate in the slalom series.  The atmosphere among participants is friendly and very welcoming.   The difficulty level for these regional races, while challenging, is not overwhelming for intermediate paddlers.

Even if you never get serious about it and join the circuit, slalom is bound to make you a better paddler.  Many aspects of river and ocean paddling get easier once you’ve practiced getting through narrow gates. Slalom is also an Olympic sport, one I will take new interest in and pay more attention to, now that I have taken a crack at it myself.

Resources:

New England Slalom Series (official website)
Maine Canoe & Kayak Racing Association
WhitewaterSlalom.us
Canoe Slalom Technique Library

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Belfast Maine rivers paddling

Seasonal Paddling — Part II

The following is part two of a two (or three) part guest blog by Leslie Gregory of Swanville, Maine.   Paddling with Leslie, I am frequently reminded that when seeking adventure or beauty, it is not always necessary to look far from home.
——————————————————————————————————————-
October 26   I brought River Runner back from the lake to venture down for autumn’s waning afternoons.  I launched from the dam and noticed the river wasn’t as low as last spring.  But as I rounded the bend and came upon an 8 ft beaver dam, I was stunned at how severe a drop had been created; the water was low and sluggish; easy to spot small trickles I hoped would keep me buoyant.

All week I couldn’t wait to get out of school and hurry home to take advantage of the warm and sunny afternoons.  Daylight savings was yet to come, and I wanted to weave the golden reflections into my thoughts, offer optimism and ponder beauty.  I knew I was a  ridiculous sight, biking across the street, wearing my life preserver and spray skirt, but the bike ride let me maximize the daylight when minutes counted.

Below, the river widened and deepened a bit with familiar long lengths of skyway, and I’d feel my boat drift sideways around the turns to enter into another stretch.  I noticed slender pickets of sticks planted in the edge of the river banks, tagged with neon orange.  Signs of trapping.  The beaver dams and lodges are up above; here where the river widens out there are muskrat and otters as well.

    I love getting out to the pond to feel the magic of the afternoon light.  The new moon lingers in the western sky. There’s a turtle basking on a rock in the pickerel weeds.  There’s peace in the valley until a dog up on the hill senses my presence and starts barking.  Reluctantly I paddle home, breathing in the deepening purple shadows, grateful I can enjoy such tranquil moments.

Nov 6   Today we started from where the lake empties into the river with the determination to paddle all the way down until we got to the ocean. It’s been unseasonably warm and I was in a t shirt all afternoon.  The river meanders for miles, drops into subsequent ponds and then meets a series of dams, aka portages.  We worked our way over shallow rapids, climbed over stone walls and found ourselves in a golden sunbathed afternoon, the light low and intense. We had to give up because the water got so low, but spring will find me exploring this part of the river.  We walked along a gorge between two falls.  Maybe this is where the class 2 & 3 whitewater is.  I can’t wait to find out!

Nov 15  Took the canoe out of the river today.  I’d been planning it for weeks: rather than drive across the street w/ a trailer, I was going to shuttle to Smart Road, leave my car and trailer, bike home, run across the street and paddle down.  It was going to have to be a school day, so I kept conniving til I finally picked the day, hurried home and changed up, but still it was 3:30 before I launched.

    Canoeing is different than kayaking.  Handling a T paddle can be mastered but it is a different motion and much slower.  To keep a canoe tracking properly is a challenge when you’re solo.  Suffice it to say, I took out in the dark.  But on the way!  The afternoon light spilled golden on the river grass, the calm waters reflecting skyfuls of trees, long highway of woods and sparkle. . .   I kept scaring out a bunch of ducks, they’d fly downriver 200 yards only to sound their alarm again as I approached.Some otters swam in front of me, having survived the traps that had been laid out for them.   There are plenty of beaver dams and lodges on this river.  There is a dam up near the lake that is quite steep and 6- 8 feet out of the water when it’s low water.  I think trapping a few beaver is probably okay.  But it pains me to see traps set within 6 feet of the beaver lodges.  It makes me root for the beavers.

The day’s light gave way to darkened smudges of purple streaks, the water took on a lustrous white in the rising moonlight.  In a kayak I could have paddled the 6 miles in less than an hour but it took me all of two hours in the canoe, with hard paddling.  I snuck up on the take out in the dark, savoring the waning light and deepening shadows.

Nov 22  Today I was given the gift of time and found myself on the river by 1:30.  A forecast for rain and snow always makes me anxious of how many times I have left to paddle.  I mostly say I’ll paddle through the 2nd snowstorm of the season, thus promising myself the thrill of paddling along snow lined banks, the trees lined with white filligree.  But today it was all of 40 degrees, and the sunlight was dazzling.  I heard hissing and cracking which I discovered was the movement from my boat pushing thin sheets of ice further into the muddy banks.  I made a game of it, rounding corners to push the ice out further and then herding the big sheets to the side.  The ice is a reminder that the water is freezing.  A capsize here might only land me in a few feet of water, but extracting myself from the mud and grasslands would be arduous and dangerous.  No worries, the river is smooth as glass with 6 foot grasses towering over me and standing tall in reflection, and there is no reason to capsize..  The most dangerous part of the endeavor is getting in the boat with the mud all around and trying to rinse my feet off . As I push off the mud ridden bank with my paddle, my boat rocks a bit, but I ride the rolling motions and launch, smiling that I am on an adventure less than a half mile from home.  My thoughts on the river are clear and unfettered, taking in only the pristine and simple beauty of the long grasses, the satin  gloss of water, the crack of the ice gathering in the shadow of the timothy and cattails.  The pond is lined with silver sumac, having been the first to parade and then shed their scarlet  leaves 6 weeks ago  Where the water is most shallow, ice has formed, and I find myself riding and crashing across a sheet of thin glass to get on the pond.  A breeze stirs gently, pushing from the north.  The silhouettes of geese point south.  The air is brisk, still unseasonably warm, but just a day and 30 degrees away from impending winter.  Soon the ice will block my passage onto the pond.  Today is a gift.  I know how to savor these moments, and when the geese return in the spring, I’ll be down here to welcome them.

Nov 25  Thanksgiving was a frenetic blur of housecleaning, cooking, hugging and ping pong.  We had 6-7 inches dumped in the river valley, and Bax took the snowmobile across  the field for a spin.  I tried skiing but the snow was wet and heavy, and I couldn’t help but think how lovely the river would be with its  muddy banks snow capped and close.  We finally relaxed on Friday and slid down the snowy bank into the river.  What a launch!  The contrast of the tall grasses and the snow was lovely.  We paddled fast around the bends, our kayaks drifting sideways as we rounded the corners.  The ice was forming in thick bands along the edges, and we had to carve our turns wider.  There was the temptation of riding up on the ice and coming down on it ice-breaker style, trying to maintain balance on the round rocker of the kayaks.

As we approached the pond, the ice closed in on top of the sallow grasses.  The pond appeared to be a solid glass surface, frozen solid.  I tasted reluctance, not wanting to let the seasons change.  We had to turn back and head up river.  The warmth of the sun gave little comfort as I contemplated our afternoon sojourn cut short.   I cheered up immensely when my paddling partner said, “Well, we can always do it again.”  Yes indeed. As we passed the put in, the river got narrower, shallower, and eventually impassable, so we turned and headed back down, languishing in the afternoon light.  When we got to the ice dam before the pond, the wind picked up.  Suddenly we could see that the pond was not frozen some 40 yards out.  There were some fissures in the ice, so we probed them, lining our boats up, riding up on the ice and pushing huge sheets apart with our hands, pushing ourselves out into the ice and moving it until we finally made it to the chill waters of the pond.  I breathed in the waning afternoon light and spotted a sliver of moon in the western sky.  Suddenly we were crossing the pond and heading a few stretches more downriver.

The days of paddling in 2011 are numbered, but we made it last a little longer!

Dec 05   Turns out the ice melted and the river rose.  It’s two weeks later and I’m back to early sunsets on the pond.  I’d write more but Goose River is calling me.

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kayaking paddling

Life Jackets — One Size Doesn’t Fit All

A properly fitted, modern, sport-specific PFD is so comfortable, you might forget you are wearing it.

A middle-aged woman is relaxing in her kayak in a part of a lake that is only three feet deep. She closes her eyes and leans back, soaking in the summer sunlight. The fish aren’t biting and the day is hot. She unbuckles her PFD (personal flotation device), removes it, and then a minute later, slips off the kayak and into the lake. She has just broken a state law.

A Greenland rolling enthusiast who can perform more than 30 different types of Eskimo rolls has been traveling throughout the U.S., putting on rolling demonstrations. He uses a narrow wooden paddle, sits in a skin-on-frame kayak, and wears a tuilik, a traditional garment that serves as both spray deck and paddling jacket — and also provides flotation. He has traveled to Maine to demonstrate his skills in Rockland Harbor. Even though he will never be more than 20 feet from onlookers and the dock, even though the tuilik provides plenty of flotation, and even though wearing a PFD will actually reduce the flexibility of the tuilik and impair his freedom of movement, he is told he must wear a U.S. Coast Guard approved PFD or he will be in violation of Maine law.

Three 20-something friends have gotten together for an summer afternoon at the pond. All three are previous competitive swimmers with WSI training. It is a hot day and they decide to race to the boat landing on the opposite shore, each using his preferred mode of travel. The first is given a head start and sets off swimming, wearing nothing but his speedo. The second stashes his PFD under his seat of his rowboat and sets off three minutes later. The third puts his PFD behind the seat of his kayak and sets off paddling one minute after that. The kayaker arrives first, winning the impromptu half-mile race, but the distinction he will remember is that, of the three, he is the only one to be fined for violation of Maine law.

The three scenarios above are aimed to point out some of the problems in logic that are inherent in the recently proposed bill that would require all Maine kayakers and canoeists to wear life jackets.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not anti-life jacket. I wear a life jacket more than 99% of the time when paddling and routinely ask friends and guests to do the same. The questions, for me, are whether Maine needs to put a law on the books to tell us what we already know, whether increased education might be better than increased legislation, whether enforcement of this law will be a headache for Maine wardens, and whether the law will do any good.

I do see both sides of the issue. On one side is the argument that current law already requires paddlers to have a life jacket on board and in an accessible place. In a kayak, especially, securely stowing a life jacket on board is often more inconvenient than wearing it.

Anyone who has tried to pull on and fasten a PFD while in the water has an additional reason to believe that meeting the requirements of current law by stowing a life jacket on board is not a very practical, should you end up actually needing that life jacket.

Wearing a PFD is something you do for others, if not for yourself. Wearing it increases your chance of survival if you do capsize. If you need to be rescued, it increases the chances that you will be still alive when rescuers reach you. If you capsize and don’t survive, it shortens the amount of time that rescuers will spend looking for you. Search and rescue operations are expensive and sometimes dangerous — and, if they go on for days, all the more so.

That said, I am not fond of legislation that interferes with what should be a personal decision. Pass legislation mandating the wearing of PFDs, and you wouldn’t have to go far down the slippery slope to see laws requiring helmets for motorcyclists, bicyclists and skiers, personal locator beacons for back-country hikers, survival suits for winter boaters and ice fishermen . . . and the list could go on and on.

Some have suggested that by focusing narrowly on kayakers and canoeists, the law creates a double-standard and creates the impression that kayaks and canoes are inherently less safe than other types of watercraft. It seems important to state that in the right hands and in the right conditions, kayaks and canoes are very safe. It is the user — not the craft — that determines safety.

One concern about the proposed new law is that it is reactionary, resulting from a single constituent’s request to a legislator, which in turn followed a summer in which several paddlers died in Maine waters. Beyond that, the bill seems hastily put together and lacks in logic. Part of that lack in logic is the enforcement end of it. By all means, yes, put up signs at boat launches reminding paddlers to wear their life jackets. But don’t use taxpayer money to chase offenders. Don’t clog our courts prosecuting those who refuse to pay. Maine wardens are stretched thin as it is; the PFD-less paddler is not endangering anyone but himself. A warden’s time is better spent promoting safety, providing education, and protecting resources.

As the scenarios I opened with above illustrate, when it comes to life jackets, one size does not fit all. The vast majority of paddlers really ought to wear their life jackets the vast majority of the time, but there are exceptions. Wearing a life jacket should be an individual decision. At a time in which deregulation of everything from schools to businesses is so much the fashion, it is ironic that there is talk of attaching additional regulations to the simple act of slipping out onto a pond for a morning paddle.

Resources:
http://bangordailynews.com/2011/10/23/politics/bill-to-require-life-jackets-for-paddle-boaters-may-not-hit-legislature-until-2013/
http://bangordailynews.com/2011/09/14/politics/bill-would-require-paddlers-to-wear-life-jackets/
http://www.boaterexam.com/usa/maine/pfd.aspx

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maine Maine islands paddling sea kayaking

On the Water in Maine — Best of Summer 2011

As the waters cool, the days shorten, and my schedule transitions from guiding to teaching, my relationship with the water changes too. I look longingly over the bay as I cross the bridge to East Belfast on my morning commute. I hurriedly squeeze in an afternoon paddle between a meeting at school and picking up the kids. Paddling trips are shorter and closer to home. The place where I put in is more likely Belfast Harbor or Pitcher Pond rather than South Thomaston or Stonington. The equinox is a great time to reflect on the summer that was. Days like today give hope that there is a little more of it still left.

Summer started cool, with temperatures on June 24 topping out at 57 degrees. July made us believe in global warming all over again, with 12 days of temps above 80 degrees, and 25 days of at least partial sun. August was more of a mixed bag, but there were still a good number of sunny days and an influx of tourists. Suddenly everyone wanted to get out on the water — today!

Irene brought wind, waves, and rain — and hastened many to pull their boats out of the water. The nice thing about kayaks is that they’re easy to put back in.

Three kayakers lost their lives in Maine waters this summer. One was wearing a life jacket. Two were not. Thousands and thousands of others paddled Maine’s lakes, ponds, and rivers without mishap. Still, an emergency bill is being introduced in the Maine legislature that would make wearing (and not just having) a life jacket a requirement for all those kayaking and canoeing in Maine waters.

I’d rather see an effort to get more paddlers to wear their life jackets through education, not legislation. Do wear your life jacket and be mindful that waters are not as warm as they were a month ago. Paddle safe and enjoy!

Our end-of-summer slideshow has become, for us, a seasonal rite. We hope you enjoy it. A big thank you to all who joined us on our tours. And to those who didn’t, just remember, we can’t put your photo in the slideshow unless you come paddle with us.

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Belfast kayaking paddling Penobscot Bay sea kayaking

Paddling, Premonitions, & Possibilities

“Wandering re-establishes the original harmony which once existed between man and the universe.”  –Anatole France

The once billowy snow has hardened into something that more resembles rock.  The noonday perch of the sun is beginning to show some ambition.  Daylight length is up to 10 hours and 49 minutes, and “length of visible light” is up to a democratic  11 hours and 48 minutes. Traveling through the woods on warm afternoons,  at intervals where spring streams will later be, I hear rivulets of water gurgling under the snow.

This week at least, the paddle leans in front of the skis in the corner of the mudroom.  The more insular world of woodstove and woodpile and backwoods trails holds its own attractions, but those attractions have paled.  I am looking less for a covering of new snow and more  for days with light winds and ample sunshine — days to get out on the water.

It is important to remember, though, that as the land begins its slow slide from one season to the next, the cold wet mass of the Atlantic acts like a parking brake.  Penobscot Bay water temperatures are now a mere 34 degrees F — 4 degrees colder than  a month ago — and still dropping.

Minnesota Sea Grant provides us with the sobering fact that, without a dry suit or wet suit,  functional survival time in water of such temperature may be less than 15 minutes.  I wear a dry suit.  I go out only on calm days.  I stay close to shore.

I’ve paddled three times in the last ten days after going an uncharacteristic two months  without paddling.  This time of year, paddling out onto Belfast Bay can feel like a lonely act.  But it also feels like joining something.  Currents bring flotsam and jetsam from afar.  Sea ducks whirl about.  Seals move like hidden fleets of submarines beneath the waves.  The sky is big and the bay mirrors its color.   The sun is doubled and re-doubled again and again on the surface of the water.  Belfast Bay widens to Penobscot Bay which widens to the Gulf of Maine which widens to the Atlantic. Possibilities for wandering are limited only by time and imagination.

One who appears short of neither time nor imagination is Aleksander Doba, a 64 year old paddler from Poland, who recently — with very little media fanfare — completed an unsupported solo kayak journey from Africa to South America.  It was only the 4th successful kayak crossing of the Atlantic and the first “continent to continent” crossing.  Doba’s 3,345 mile crossing took him 99 days, also making it the longest open water journey in a kayak.  Canoe & Kayak Magazine has posted an online article detailing the expedition that also includes photos of Doba’s specially designed 23′ x 36″ kayak.

Doba is ashore right now, but he wants to keep paddling.  The United States is next on his list.  Maybe, one day in the future, we’ll see him riding the tide into Belfast Harbor at sunset.

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books about paddling paddling whitewater wilderness paddling

News Flash: Map & Territory Not Same

Three men dip their paddles into the calm waters of the remote lake and move their canoe up a relatively small inlet.  The year is 1903.  The lake is Grand Lake, a gateway into the unmapped and untraveled wilderness of Labrador.  Their plan is to canoe and portage their way 600 miles west and north to Northwest Post on the Hudson Bay, a heretofore unattempted journey.  They do not realize it, of course, but a mere 2 days and 40 miles into their trip, they are making the journey’s most pivotal decision — one that will lead beyond failure to disaster — and for one of them, death by starvation.

Great Heart:  History of a Labrador Adventure by Davidson and Rugge is an account of this journey, as well as of two subsequent journeys through the wild interior of Labrador by canoe.

One thing that strikes me is their decision to head upriver from the inlet without more fully exploring the northern end of the lake, which in fact has three other major inlets.   One of these is the Naskapi, the river they had intended to take.  But it was approaching mid-July in the short Labrador summer, and their journey had already been delayed by several weeks.  The river they had chosen seemed to fit their  map and the vague descriptions from local trappers well enough.  In the next few days, as they paddled farther, the river became unexpectedly shallow, steep, and rocky, forcing frequent portages.

Had circumstances been different, they might have re-thought their route.  Instead, they continued on for 60 days and 150 miles through an impossible landscape of steep hills, wide swamps, and thick forests.  In mid-September, after almost uncountable miles of portaging their heavy gear, they spent several days windbound on a lakeshore and finally turned back.  By this time, their food supplies were exhausted, the rough country had torn their clothing to shreds, and they were dangerously thin from physical exertion and a lean diet. Temperatures were dropping;  game and fish were more scarce.  Their retreat became a race against winter and starvation.  Two of the men managed to make their way back to the starting point.  The third, Leonidas Hubbard, the leader of the expedition, died of a combination of starvation and (likely) hypothermia.

The title of this post intends no disrespect toward members of the Hubbard Expedition.  The mistake they made could have been made by any of us.  The information they had told of a river leading out of the northern end of Grand Lake.  The first river they came to was that river — this was the conclusion they leapt to.  The maps of the time were made up largely of blank spaces when it came to interior Labrador.  When the map did not conform to the territory they saw in front of them, they mentally willed the territory to conform to the map.

Their story has lessons for all of us who venture into the unknown, whether it be taking a back road to cut across town, guessing left at a fork in a hiking trail, or guessing right at a confluence of two rivers.  Their refusal to turn back, despite mounting evidence that they had taken a “wrong turn” followed stages many of us are familiar with.

First, there is absolute belief that we have chosen the correct route.  During this stage, any signs to the contrary are ignored.  If the map has led us to expect a river and we find  a stream, we stretch our mental construct such that it becomes a “small river” and continue.  In the second stage, our denial deepens.  We begin to have doubts, but we keep on, telling ourselves if we go just a little farther, the landmarks we were anticipating will appear, and the visible landscape will begin to conform more closely with our expectations.  Stage 3 involves accepting that we probably have taken a wrong turn.  Not wanting to retreat, we bargain.  Just go a little farther, we coach ourselves, and we will have more complete proof that we are in the wrong.  Stage 4 involves certainty.  We know we are wrong.  But we have come so far already that turning back has a significant cost.  Better to keep going and hope for a stroke of luck.  Maybe we will yet come out of this better than we have a right to hope.

Most of us have been there.  Most of us will be there again.  In this era of Google Earth, it is more tempting than ever to think that map and territory are one in the same.  The map is not a physical thing though; it is a mental construct.  It is what we can hold in our heads.  The territory is something altogether different.  And that is why we go there.  We go to have our preconceptions shattered.  We go to have better maps.

Great Heart is a story about human stubbornness; it is also a tale of ambition and courage.  Most of us who seek adventure in the outdoors will be able to see ourselves making the same decisions made by these men, and that is part of what makes this journey so gripping.

Resources:
Wildernesscanoe.org has information and links on the 1903 Hubbard Expedition as well as on the 2003 Centennial Expedition.  Maps of Labrador showing the routes of various expeditions are at Basicoutdoors.com

Categories
kayaking paddling

What Goes Around Comes Around — New in the World of Paddling

The sport of paddling has come a long way from the birch bark canoe and the skin-on-frame kayak. Like a lot of things, as the sport has evolved, the trend has been toward increasing specialization. Way back when, you made that initial choice between a canoe or a kayak, and then you were set — or at least your grandfather would have you think it was so.

These days, when you buy a canoe, you choose between expedition, wilderness, tripping, recreational, whitewater, or racing. With kayaks, it is even better (or worse, depending on your perspective). You choose between whitewater, rec, sit-on-top, sit-in, touring, or sea kayak. If that’s not enough, you can select a surf ski, fitness kayak, women’s kayak, children’s kayak, or paddle board. Narrow it down to whitewater, and you still must decide between downriver, creek, play, squirt, or surf. Sea kayaks are high, medium, or low volume, and are for racing, touring, or play. You get the idea.

A funny thing happens though. When things diversify far enough, they start to merge or form hybrids — and that is the recent trend. New products coming out late 2010 / 2011 reflect this movement toward crossovers. It may be that designers have finally acknowledged that not everyone has a boathouse big enough to hold a fleet of boats — or an income ample enough to pay for them. For example, it used to be that surf skis were tippy and fast. However, Epic’s new V8 proportedly can give you the fast without the tippy, and thus serve for more purposes than just straight ahead paddling.

A company called Paddledry provides canoe deck covers designed to help you keep as dry as you would be in a kayak while in your canoe. Want to extend your season, without buying a kayak, the canoe deck cover could be part of your solution.

The Astral Camino PFD provides another way to have your cake and eat it too. Wear your pfd in the summer without getting overheated. Wear the same pfd in cooler weather and it keeps you warm. All of this due to advances such as breathable Airescape technology.

For kayakers who want to carry more gear, for canoers who want to paddle solo, or for those who can’t decide between kayak and canoe, the Adirondack Pack Canoe bridges the gap. It can be paddled like a kayak, yet has the gear carrying capacity and the easy to load attributes of a canoe.

Point 65 of Sweden came out with the modular take-apart sit-on-top Tequila about a year ago. New for 2011 is the Martini, the world’s first modular take-apart closed deck kayak. Can’t decide between a single, tandem, or 3-person kayak? By simply adding or removing sections, the Martini can provide all three. Need to carry your kayak in the bed of a pickup truck or in the back of a van? The Martini can be broken down to its modular sections and is then short enough to fit.

If things keep going in the direction of crossovers and hybrids, maybe we will finally arrive at that one perfect all-purpose do-anything go-anywhere boat that we have all been looking for. Come to think of it, I think I had one of those boats as a kid. Probably you had one too.  It was just a basic boat. It wasn’t very big or fast — but it was a lot of fun, and what you could do with it was limited only by your imagination.

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Camden kayaking maine Maine islands paddling Penobscot Bay

Reaching for Robinson Rock: A Kayak Trip out of Camden, Maine

Halfway between Camden and North Haven is a rock that serves as a landmark and hazard for boaters.  On the chart, it appears as a squiggle – and it’s not really much more than that.  It would never  do for human habitation.  The biggest storms of winter nearly wash over it.  You could never grow anything there or build anything permanent.   It’s just a waypoint on the way to somewhere else.

It likely gets only a handful of visitors each year, if that.  It does have unsurpassed views of the Camden Hills and Penobscot Bay.   It’s a place that looks little different than it did 100 years ago – or 1,000.  It’s not even part of the Maine Island trail.  The guidebooks don’t touch it, as if it is too small and inconsequential to mention.  Google knows about it, but it doesn’t know much.  No evidence of humans or of human visits is easily found.  If you arrive there, it is probably by accident.

1.9 acre Robinson Rock is 4 nautical miles southeast of Camden Harbor and a little less than a mile south of Mark Island.  It has a couple of rough gravel beaches tucked between rocky headlands.  It has tide pools more than adequate for an afternoon’s contemplation.  It has a soft peaty soils and a rough green meadow of raspberry, burdock, and wild rose.  Harbor seals, sea gulls, cormorants, and nesting black guillemots call it (and its surrounding ledges) home.  Eagles, who frequently nest on nearby Mark Island, can be seen overhead.  Far off, the Camden Hills rise up like a distant country.  It’s a wilder place than we are accustomed to seeing this far up the bay.  The mighty Atlantic comes to call – and has left its mark – on the bedrock and in the beaches..  It feels more akin to the open ocean  than it does to most of the other islands of our bay, which tend to be wooded and garden-like in comparison.

As an IFW (Inland Fisheries and Wildlife) bird nesting island, it is closed to the public during nesting season, which extends from April 1 to the end of August.  Given the remoteness from the mainland, the exposure to  open water, and the inadvisability of embarking on long crossings once ocean temperatures drop, this leaves only a short window for visits.  Finding a day in September where conditions permit  a crossing is not easy.  Combine that with work and household schedules, and pulling off a trip to Robinson Rock is a rare feat and much treasured opportunity.

We had such a day a few weeks ago.  The bay was windless and glassy as we set out of Camden Harbor.  Even so, the wind came up during the day and by the time we headed back across on our return crossing, we had to battle a difficult beam seas during our entire trip.  The wind generally blows north or south (straight up or down) Penobscot Bay, making any east west crossing in a  a kayak dicey – and potentially dangerous.  I do not recommend taking the trip unless you are have been sea kayaking for a number of years, have made shorter crossings (such as Saturday Cove to Islesboro) in a variety of conditions, and are equipped with full safety gear including vhf radio, flares, extra clothing, and at least one partner with whom you have practiced various re-entry rescues.  A tent and a sleeping bag (in case of being stranded on the island due to a change in weather) would not be a bad idea.

If ashore on a fair day in September, with late summer sunlight spilling over the water, the rock , and the beaches, with a salt breeze coming up the bay and the cry of gulls and the boom of surf in the air, you will fully appreciate Robinson Rock is much more than a rock.  If caught up in the spirit of the place, you might even feel for a while that you could abandon all ties to the mainland and just live there like the seals and the guillemots.  But you know that as the nights get cooler and the sunlight wanes, the seals and “guilleys” will leave.  As you know you must.

For those of you out there contemplating a visit, just remember that the trip is difficult and a little risky.  Anyway, you probably have a lawn to mow or firewood to stack.  After all, Robinson Rock is just a rock.  It is four long miles from Camden Harbor, and all that raw beauty is almost too much to bear.

Categories
Downeast Maine Great Wass kayaking Maine islands paddling

On the Water in Maine — The Best of Summer 2010


It’s not just our imaginations telling us it has been a great summer. According to the Boston Herald, Portland Maine has had 9 straight months of above average temperatures. The National Weather Service in Gray reports 10 fewer days of rain and 3 fewer inches of rainfall in June and July of 2010 versus those months last year.

The high pressure system that has hovered over the eastern U.S. for most of the summer has brought stifling heat elsewhere but has been a boon for Maine.

Which has made it more true than ever: Maine is the place to be in the summertime. And being on the water is the place to be in Maine.

This year, our kayak tours ranged from the Muscle Ridge Islands off South Thomaston to the Deer Isle Archipelago off Stonington — and many points in between. Our family trips extended as far east as Machiasport and as far north as Mattawamkeag.

Summer isn’t over yet, but the slide show features some of the best of our summer, with hopefully more to come.

Categories
kayaking maine Maine rivers paddling whitewater

The Slewgundy Heater, the Golden Boulder, and Other Hazards

If there is a theme to this blog, it is that Maine is laden with hidden treasure along its coasts and rivers and within its forests and lakes.

So I was particularly interested to learn about a legend of the Mattawamkeag area. The legend has it that there is a gold-bearing bolder in the Gordon Brook woods near the Mattawamkeag River. The only catch is that the boulder casts a curse on those who try to find it.

We were too busy dodging rocks to spend much time looking for golden boulders as we paddled down the Mattawamkeag last weekend. The river, which runs up to Class V, depending on the time of year, was running at a very moderate  850 cubic feet per second, but it was still one of the more challenging rivers we’ve paddled.

We were staying at the Mattawamkeag Wilderness Campground, itself certainly right up there amongst Maine’s hidden treasures.  This clean, quiet, old-timey campground has spacious sites, several miles of river frontage, and is surrounded by a thousand acres of wilderness.  After moving our boats 100 yards upstream so we could run the Scatterack, the Class II rapid that fronted our campsite, we put in and began our adventure.  A fisherman from a nearby campsite voiced concern when he saw that we were heading off in sea kayaks.  “We know what we are doing,” I assured him.  I sure hoped we did.


We had paddled other Class II and III rivers in sea kayaks.  We had read everything we could about the river and had scouted the most difficult section the day before.  Still there is that element of doubt as you put in on an unfamiliar river.

The first mile was made up of easy whitewater and provided an excellent warm-up.  About a mile from the campsite the river goes around a big bend to the left before entering a narrow gorge, the infamous Slewgundy Heater.  The evening before, by lantern light, we had read of the graves of 7 river drivers that line the  Slewgundy.  We had also read of the man who was killed while canoeing Upper Gordon Falls a half mile below.

We were so focused on the hazards of the gorge itself that we were surprised by the strength of the rapids at its entrance.   Here we found a section of river with strong currents, large waves, and rocks that required quick maneuvering.  Then, at once, we were inside the gorge, and after a 3 foot drop, the river was strangely calm.  There we were in the narrow canyon, with the 40 foot rock walls above us and the roar of the river both above and below.  Beneath us and around us the river was tranquil, dark, and flat.

We took advantage of the calm water and eddied out  to scout the most difficult section of the whole river, which as just ahead.  After some scouting and more than a little debate, we decided on a route that would take us into a hairpin turn along the far right bank.  From there, we would need to reverse sweep to cut across the current to the right and then quickly turn left to line up for a final 3 foot drop.

Hearts pounding, we ran the drop successfully if not perfectly.  We were out into daylight.  Out of Slewgundy’s maw.

After a mile of easier whitewater, we came to Upper Gordon Falls, which is “bony” and requires a portage at medium water levels.  Below Upper Gordon, we stopped for lunch and to swim in the river, which in the 80 degree heat seemed unnaturally warm.  Then it was on to run Lower Gordon (a Class III drop with big waves).  Below Lower Gordon the gradient decreases and the river widens.  Acres of boulders are strewn about this widened riverbed, creating a different kind of challenge for the paddler.  A few smaller drops keep it interesting.  We paddled on, under the railroad bridge and then the Route 2 bridge, and then on to the confluence with the Penobscot.

Mattawamkeag means “at the mouth, a gravel bar.”  True to its name, the mouth of the Mattawamkeag is still marked by a gravel bar just a few yards north of where it flows into the Penobscot.  We floated at the confluence for a few minutes, testing the temperature of both rivers with our hands.  The Penobscot was several degrees cooler, we decided.

Rather than ending our trip there, we paddled the Penobscot 4 miles south to the boat landing in Winn.  After the thrills of the Mattawamkeag, we had anticipated the Penobscot would be flat and less interesting.  We were happy to find it was neither.  The river here is nothing like the deep somnolent river near Bangor and Bucksport.  It is lively and braided and shallow with rips and rocks and sections of whitewater.  The riverscape is interrupted with breezy park-like islands forested with oak and maple.  In the deepening afternoon shadows, we curled through Five Island Rapids and then paddled back into the sunlight and on to a second set of islands that marked our take out in Winn.

We were sorry to leave the river but we still had adventure ahead.  It was a 12 mile bicycle ride (4 on pavement, 8 on dirt) to get back to the campsite.  Then a 24-mile car trip (16 on dirt, 8 on pavement, you get the idea) to pick up the kayaks.  Then a 10:00 pm dinner at our riverside campsite and later to fall asleep with the river still in our ears.

We liked it so much, we were on the river by 1:00 pm the next day to do the whole thing again.

The story of the golden bolder seems to be a somewhat commonplace warning against excessive ambition and greed.  On another level, it seems to teach that there are undiscovered riches out there — that can perhaps be found and appreciated only by those who are happy to be there for the sake of being there, who are not seeking anything tangible from the experience, who are seeking only the experience itself.

Resources:
Mattawamkeag Wilderness Park Campground 
Gordon Falls on the Mattawamkeag (geology of the lower Mattawamkeag River)
Mattawamkeag River Stream Flow (river gauge)
Mattawamkeag Park to Open May 28 (BDN news article)