Category: paddling
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The Perfect Line
An imaginary line runs the length of the river. It winds around switchback turns and is stretched taut on the straightaways. At times it is exactly equidistant from the left and right banks. At times it curves only slightly to pass a whisker-width away from a rock. Other times, it swings wide to to the left to skim the edge of a wave train, slings far to the right to avoid bogging down in the shallows, or zigzags manically through a maze of rocks.
Finding and following that line — riding it — is the grail of the river racer. You can’t always see it, but you know it when you find it. And there is a certain joy when you do, when your muscle and the river’s muscle join forces, and your boat surges downstream
The line isn’t easy to find. It is even harder to hold. The very nature of paddling involves losing that line even as you find it. Each paddle stroke is to the left or right of the center line of your boat — and thus immediately needs to be balanced with the next stroke. A boat does not travel down a river like a car on a road. It tends to slide and skid through the turns. The river is a braided rope of currents each moving at differing speeds. Make the turn too wide and the current slings you and then pins you against the outside bank. Make the turn too far on the inside, and you can be bogged down an eddy. And then there are the rocks.
The dream is to fly down the river on a line, dodging rocks without getting off course, riding the current when you can. Every plant of the paddle will be perfect — and will keep you riding that invisible line. The trick is to avoid being pulled off course by currents. To stay straight through standing waves big as refrigerators.
Practice all you want and you will still not be prepared. It rains (or doesn’t rain) prior to the race, and the water level is a 2 feet higher (or lower) than you expected. Rocks you have never seen before poke their dark noses above the surface. Or the light is different — there is a glare on the water — and today you simply cannot see the rocks. Or maybe as you enter a round a bend to difficult stretch of whitewater, a canoe is there, in front of you, turned broadside to the current. A few had strokes to the left and you are paddling an unfamiliar line in a part of the river you have not paddled before.
A trip down a river is always an improvisation. One of the first things you learn is that it can’t be entirely planned beforehand. If there is a script, you will leave it. A lot of your time will be spent trying to get back to it.
Canoes and kayaks cut 130 lines down the Passagassawakeag River last Saturday, during the annual Passy River Race. None of the lines were perfect. But perhaps some of them were close. You get to the take-out and you want to make the run again. But you can’t return to the same lines. So you seek new ones. You go onward. This weekend, it will be the Soudabscook and the Marsh Stream. Then it will be the Kenduskeag, the East Machais, Machias, the Meduxnakeag, the Aroostook, the Union, the Sebec.
You start seeing lines in the water. You start seeing lines in your dreams. You are a river racer.
Early rains and early snow melt make for an early whitewater paddling season. Paddlers have been out on the St. George River, the Passagassawakeag River, and the Marsh Stream, among others.
The first whitewater race of the season is the annual YMCA-sponsored St. George River Race on Saturday, March 27. The full race schedule, which continues on through the spring and summer, is now up on the MaCKRO website. Those who catch the fever can race just about every week until October.
Whitewater racing (and especially early season whitewater racing) may not be for everyone. However, as Waldo County YMCA director Dale Cross states in a recent BDN article, the first two races of the season are among the easiest — and they help prepare paddlers for more challenging races later in the season. And newcomers needn’t be intimidated by the term “race” as it only loosely applies to the experience of many who participate in these events. For many paddlers, these “races” are an opportunity to get out on the water, have fun, and hang out with other paddlers — and maybe get a new t-shirt in the bargain.
Having at least a little paddling experience doesn’t hurt. Having a wetsuit and neoprene gloves doesn’t hurt either. Many of the more experienced paddlers shun wetsuits, however. Cold water is a concern — but often the heat of the race helps paddlers compensate for that. Many of those who have paddled the Kenduskeag Stream race on a 50-degree April day state that by the time they reached Six-Mile Falls, they were so overheated, the thought of a swim was actually quite enticing.
The MaCKRO forum is a great place for aspiring paddlers and racers to ask questions, find paddling buddies, borrow equipment, and more.
See you on the river!
The morning of November 29 started sunny and seasonally cool, with temperatures in the low 30’s. By 11:00 AM, there we were, paddles wheeling through the bright water, embarking on a trip that would include a heretofore unexplored stretch of our favorite Maine river. We had planted a vehicle in Appleton, some 10 miles away. Besides a few sentences in a guidebook printed 20 years ago and a quick perusal of the section on Google Earth, we had nothing to go on — which suited us just fine. Seeing something new, in essence, is what river travel is all about.
We put in on the St. George River in our usual spot in Searsmont. The water level at the put-in — several feet up over the “summer banks” proved to be an omen for good paddling. The river south of the Ghent Road bridge was fast, deep, and full of standing waves. The drop at Magog (usually considered a Class III) was fun and easy.
In the past, we’ve taken out at the Route 105 bridge– and looked wistfully on downstream, but this time, riding the swift current and with the late fall sunshine full on our faces, we were on our way down a wooded corridor that (if all went well) would bring us out at the Sennebec Road bridge in the center of Appleton.
The Class I-II rapids south of the Route 105 bridge transitioned into flatwater a few hundred yards below. Much of the rest of the trip to Appleton was flatwater, mixed with some easy Class I. At one point, an eagle soared high overhead. A beaver crossed the glassy surface in front of us, creasing the water with his wake. Stands of hardwoods lined the banks. Lazy trees extended far out over the water, their trunks just above our heads.
In a few places, downed trees formed strainers and thickets that we had to “river-whack” our way through. A hundred yards above the Appleton bridge, the current picked up and the rapids become a Class II. We took out above the bridge and then walked the bridge and the river, studying the drop and plotting our next trip in which we are pledged to “paddle on through.”
Previously I subscribed to the myth that whitewater season here in coastal Maine is limited to a couple of months in the spring. This year, beginning in March, we got out on the local rivers in every month but August. Even now, in late November, the water levels are high — and the water temperatures are warmer than in March or April.
In fact, the greatest “hardship” of paddling this time of year is that the southern trajectery of rivers like the St.George together with the low angle of the sun combine to light the whitewater like silver fire. This makes seeing (and avoiding) the rocks more difficult. But, especially for those who might feel sunlight-deficient this time of year, it is an easy hardship to endure.
The Great Pumpkin doesn’t sit around idly waiting for Halloween any more. You may have read about the pumpkin boat races in Damariscotta a few weeks back. Apparently these races in which people paddle hollowed-out 600 pound pumpkins or afix outboard motors to them are sprouting up all over. Goffstown New Hampshire, Nekoosa Wisconsin, Sacramento, and Germany are just a few of the other sites of recent pumpkin boat races.
On land, pumpkins are not generally known for their speed. One might guess that the same would be true once they are placed in the water. I checked out several news stories as well as a few Youtube videos of Pumpkin Boat Races. I am happy to report that my research supported my supposition.
The would-be boat designer in me wants to know if a pumpkin can be encouraged to grow into a more hydrodynamic shape. A quick perusal of MentalFloss archives suggests that maybe this is true. The writer there experimented with using various containers as molds for her pumpkins. Hmmm . . . the first kayak of entirely compostable materials may not be far off.
. . . Which got me thinking: if you can paddle a pumpkin, is there any material you cannot make a boat from? Back to Google where I had already found 2.4 million hits for “pumpkin boat.” I tried “cement boat” (2.8 million hits), and “cardboard boat” (151, 000 hits). Other web sites went into the intricacies of cork boats, steel boats, trash boats, and boats made of plastic bottles.
On a somewhat bigger scale, the Plastiki, a 60-foot catamaran built from 20,000 re-claimed plastic bottles, is in its final months of construction out in San Francisco. The Plastiki is set to launch in April for its 12,000 mile journey across the Pacific. The stated goal of the journey: “The Plastiki Expedition is a bold adventure that aims to capture the world’s imagination and draw our attention to the state of our oceans.” In particular, the 6 member crew will study ocean acidification, marine debris, overfishing, and coral bleaching.
Anyone else feel inspired? A pumpkin boat race across Belfast Harbor would be great fun. Keep that in mind as you start to go over seed catalogs a few months from now. That’s one thing about pumpkin boat racing: it teaches you to plan ahead.
Categories
Maine’s Forgotten Rivers
Inaccessible by road. Difficult to access on foot. Hidden by sections of woods or bluffs. Curving through secluded woods near the center of town or winding through a patch of wilderness between towns.
Most often, these forgotten stretches are on the smaller rivers — the Sheepscot or St. George, rather than the Kennebec or the Penobscot. Take a look at these rivers today and it’s hard to imagine that they were once bustling corridors of commerce, trade, and industry. But testimonies to their history remain. Hidden in the underbrush along the St. George River in Searsmont are the remnants of a canal system designed to bring barges up to Searsmont. It’s hard to travel more than a mile along the Sheepscot or the Passagassawakeag and not come along the remnants of an old bridge or dam or mill.
And these forgotten rivers offer natural beauty and opportunities for recreation along with their history. A dozen miles north of Machias lies a pitch of whitewater known as “Great Falls” that is not written up in most river guides and is omitted from most whitewater canoe trips. A few miles south of that is the remnants of a canal system that was used in log drives. Beyond that, in Whitneyville, is another fairly spectacular set of waterfalls, viewable from the road, that somehow seems to draw little attention to itself.
Less than 10 miles west of there, the Pleasant River offers its own surprises. After miles of switchbacks and slow-water-meandering through the Great Heath and the blueberry barrens of Columbia, it quickens its pace through sections of picturesque Class II rapids as it descends to the village of Columbia Falls. These are a few sections of river I’ve been fortunate to explore by kayak this spring.
It’s a little sad that so many of our miles of rivers have been forgotten. Again and again, I am struck by the beauty that has been “lost” on so many of us. Once you get started and see the possibilities, exploring these little-known rivers is fairly addictive. If I don’t get my lawn mowed this weekend, it’s because I took out the Delorme Atlas again and have been lured off to explore yet another forgotten section of river.
While paddling from the Commercial Street Boat Launch to the mouth of Little River the other day, I crossed paths with two other Belfast kayakers who were also out enjoying the brilliant December sunshine. Winter paddling is not for everyone, but IF you have the right equipment, take the right precautions, and maintain a healthy respect for cold water, it can be safe and immensely rewarding.
Skaters and hockey players have begun to venture out onto area lakes and ponds. With the ice-fishing season opening up on January 1st, it seems a good time to review the latest research on the effects of cold water immersion.
The dangers of hypothermia have gotten a lot of press in recent years, and hypothermia is what most people think of first when it comes to cold water immersion. But as the 10-minute Coast Guard video Cold Water Boot Camp shows, hypothermia is only one-third of the challenge of being unexpectedly immersed in cold water.
The first challenge is cold shock (also known as “the gasp reflex”), which lasts for about 1 minute and results in gasping and uncontrolled breathing. Cold shock can severely limit your ability to swim or do anything to rescue yourself. It also can cause you to ingest water into your lungs, especially if you gasp while under the surface or while submerged by a wave.
If you survive the first minute, you will begin to breathe more normally. The second challenge of cold water immersion is cold incapacitation. According to the video, in water temperatures of 45 degrees, you have just 10 minutes of “meaningful movement” before your muscles will be impaired to the point that you may no longer be able to perform simple self-rescue tasks such as swimming, holding onto a rope, hauling yourself up onto the ice, or climbing back into a kayak.
According to the GoMoos site, Penobscot Bay water temperatures are down to 39 degrees. Without doing a lot of complicated math, let’s just say, that doesn’t give you a lot of time.
The third challenge of cold water immersion is loss of functioning due to lowered core body temperature (hypothermia). The video states that in 45 degree water it would only take one hour before you lapse into unconsciousness.
The point the video makes is that due to the effects of cold shock and cold incapacitation, if rescue is not immediately available, you likely would drown before reaching the hypothermia stage — unless you are wearing a life jacket or have some other means of being supported in the water.
If you are paddling, please wear a life jacket and dress for immersion. This means wearing a wet suit or dry suit.
If you are going out on the ice, check the thickness of the ice before doing so. A thickness of 6 inches is suggested for those on foot. Also be aware that ice thicknesses can be highly variable. Going out on the ice with a partner is a good idea. Rope, a whistle, and a cell phone can be useful if a rescue is needed. And if you are at all doubtful about the safety of the ice, it’s not a bad idea to wear a pfd.
Wishing everyone an adventurous and safe 2009!
Currently 48 states have mandatory boater education laws.
1. At a time when we are concerned with the economy and tourism, a only-state-in-the-nation mandatory Boater Education requirement for paddlers would give out-of-state vacationers one more reason to go elsewhere or stay at home – and thus hurt
2. At a time when government is beginning to use taxes and other measures to nudge citizens to healthier lifestyles, this requirement would discourage
3. Show me a boater course relevant for kayakers and canoeists, ocean and fair-weather pond-paddlers, white water rafters and river paddlers. Seems to me you would need multiple curricula to cover this diversity of interests. Now are we talking multiple certifications for someone who wants to paddle in different environments? A single course will either be huge overkill for most paddlers, or falsely enabling for those who want to go beyond the realm of what the average recreational boater does.
4. Please tell me how the outfitter providing the two-hour tour will be able to deal with the requirement that each participant have passed a 4-8 hour course. One suggested solution is that outfitters providing tours could be exempt from this requirement, once they prove they meet certain safety protocols. Again, I challenge anyone to develop a single set of protocols meaningful for ponds and ocean, touring kayaks, sit–on-tops, river kayaks, and canoes. Existing regulations require canoe and kayak trip leaders to be Registered Maine Guides. That is sufficient.
5. So you have come to
6. The irony is that these policies are being pushed by the US Coast Guard and Coast Guard Auxiliary. Even more telling, they are being pushed by the motorized boating industry and lobbyists hired by them. These policies are not being pushed by people who paddle or who understand paddling.
7. As stated in Richards Louv’s The Last Child Left in the Woods – our society’s increasing trend toward risk- avoidance and liability-avoidance may be making our society safer, but at what cost to the national levels of physical fitness – and to the state of our souls?
8. In the
Among the 70 million or so who participate in recreational boating each year, apx. 650 – 700 or .0010% (that’s one thousandth of 1 percent) die in a recreational boating accident. Not exactly an epidemic, if you ask me.
9. Most recreational boating deaths (90%) involve a person not wearing a life jacket. Mandatory life jackets for paddlers would be simpler, less costly, and more effective.
10. Ok, imagine I’ve taken my boating course and received my certificate. Where exactly do I put my certificate when I am paddling in nothing but a bathing suit and life jacket (not all have pockets) on a hot summer day?
11. Even more to the point, so I have taken my boating course and I am paddling around with my waterlogged certificate in the pocket of my bathing suit on a hot summer day. Does the
12. Power boaters are apparently concerned that paddlers are getting away with something by not being regulated. I would argue that motorized boats need to be regulated differently simply because, being larger, faster, and gasoline-powered, they are significantly more likely to pose a threat to others or to the environment.
13. If a boater education law is passed, we then have a situation where I can swim across
It had been 34 years since I had visited the Maine’s Moosehead Lake region, and if it is a bit more developed, it is no less magnificent — and still provides plenty of opportunity for the experience of wilderness. We were in Moosehead for four days around the 4th of July, which was barely enough time to scratch the surface of what the area has to offer in terms of paddling, hiking, fishing, and more.
I spent time before, during, and after the trip studying maps and refreshing my knowledge of the facts. Moosehead is not just the largest lake in Maine. Among states east of the Mississippi, it is the largest lake enclosed within any single state. Period.
Moosehead has a north-south length of 35 miles, an area of 120 square miles, and shoreline length of 400 miles. The long and short of it is that it offers enough adventure to fill a lifetime for most paddlers, fisherman, and outdoorsmen.
Driving through Greenville or on the surrounding roads, paddlers and fisherman will have the sense that they are members of a brotherhood or sisterhood. Every second car, it seems, has either a kayak or canoe on the roof (and the hull is still wet.)
We arrived on the evening of July 2 and were able to get one of the few nonreservable campsites at Lily Bay State Park. There were a few other sites available, but we felt very lucky, at that late date, to get a site right on the water.
From our campsite, we could launch our kayaks and paddle west across Lowell Cove and around the following point for spectacular views of Big Moose (formerly Squaw) Mountain. Or we could paddle east into Matthews Cove with its many islands and inlets, and grand views of Mt. Kineo. We had thought about paddling out to Sugar Island, which sits just a mile offshore from the Lily Bay Campground and offers several campsites, but decided to save that for another trip.
The lake elevation of 1,023 feet above sea level means cool nights, even in summer. My summer-weight sleeping bag proved a bit on the lean side on at least one of the nights. And the combination of cold and modest elevation made my small white gas stove difficult to operate.
The easy thing to forget, until you go there, is that Moosehead is just one lake in a region of 1,200 lakes and ponds. The region can brag about having 24% of Maine’s total area in lakes and ponds, most of them underappreciated, since Moosehead is the big draw for the average tourist.
We spent our last day in the region paddling Prong Pond and taking a brief side trip to Lower Wilson Pond. Both ponds were equally beautiful as Moosehead, and seemed equally rich in fish and wildlife.
We saw deer each of the 4 days in the region, and saw Moose on a pond off Route 15, just as we were leaving the area on Saturday evening.
I enjoyed thinking about the Moosehead area as what was for Native Americans, the beginning of their highway to the coast, as the region contains the headwaters of the Penobscot, Kennebec Rivers, Piscataquis, Pleasant, and St. John Rivers. While you are there, it is still possible to feel that you are at the center of everything. And to wonder what could possibly bring you to ever leave.
One of the great things about Midcoast Maine is that you can find adventure without going far from home.
Squaw Point, at the southwest tip of Cape Jellison, offers one of my favorite views of Penobscot Bay. From there, you look past Sears Island to the Camden Hills. You look across the bay to Turtle Head and Islesboro. You look up the bay toward Castine and Fort Point.
The coastline here is rugged, the weathered cliffs broken in only a few places by rocky beaches. I’ve paddled there when the wind was from the south — and the rebounding waves off the cliffs can create confused seas and challenging paddling conditions. On this day, though, a friendly tailwind and light chop out of the southwest pushed us northeast up the coast toward Fort Point.
At Fort Point, after turning to enjoy the fine view out the bay, we passed the high cliffs and the lighthouse and went ashore at the state park — on a sandy spit just north of the lighthouse.
While we ate lunch and relaxed in the sun, the wind picked up considerably. Soon the bay was full of whitecaps — usually an indication of a wind speed of at least 15 knots.
Rather than retrace our route and face that stiff wind over the 3 mile stretch back to Squaw Point, we decided to paddle northwest past the Fort Point docks and through Fort Point Cove to the narrow part of Cape Jellison where we could then walk the mile or so back to our vehicle. The shoreline here provided protection from the wind — and conditions were calm. We easily completed the paddle and walking legs and got back to Belfast just as it was getting dark.
The total distance of the trip was about 7 miles. Unless you are an experienced paddler in a seaworthy boat, avoid paddling the trip when the wind is out of the south. There is no public access and few good places to go ashore in the 3 miles between Squaw Point and Fort Point.
