Category: whitewater

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Belfast Maine rivers whitewater

3 Minutes on the Passy (video)

If the Passagassawakeag River isn’t the secret heart of Belfast, then it is at least its secret artery. Flowing out of the hills of Morrill and Brooks, it curves down through farmlands and forests before passing through the Shepherd Road dam, then tumbling down to tidewater at Head of Tide, and then gradually widening out to become Belfast Bay.

How many of Belfast’s residents, I sometimes wonder, have ever seen more than a lower mile or two of its 11 plus mile length?

On a sunny Thursday afternoon (Veteran’s Day) in November, the Passy was about as beautiful as it can be. We were happy to see that we weren’t the only ones out enjoying the river.

The Passy can also be enjoyed from its shoreline. The 44-acre Stover Preserve includes a 1.5 mile trail that loops along the lower Passy. To get involved in the Passagassawakeag Greenway Campaign, check this link.

We’re lucky people to have this kind of beauty so close to home. Here’s hoping you soon get a chance to get out and enjoy your local river!

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kayaking Maine rivers St. George whitewater

Agog on Magog: Leaf-peeping on the St. George River

If you watched from space with a time lapse camera, you could see the broad band of fall foliage — the brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows  — move southward down the east coast like a wave.  That wave crested over the midcoast sometime last week and has now moved on more than 200 miles to the south.  Credit for this calculation goes to the Fall Color Guy, who states, “fall colors tend to move south at rates between 28 and 47 miles per day, depending on longitude.”

The 2.5 inches of rain that fell on the midcoast eight days ago brought local rivers to their own peak.  The Ducktrap River crested at 4.5 feet and 400 cfs, the highest levels since last spring.

The confluence of these two “peaks” made for some great paddling and leaf-peeping on local rivers.   Canoeists and kayakers were out on the St. George and the Passagassawakeag last weekend — and we were among them.  I also paddled the Little River (rain-swollen and newly wild) on Friday.

I know some 14-year old boys who would have made fun of us, but it would not be overstatement to say we were “agog” — awestruck, enthralled — as we paddled the St. George River south from Searsmont in the brilliant sunshine last Sunday.  The video below is an attempt to capture some of that beauty.

By the way, do any of you readers out there know the origin of the name for “Magog Falls”?  Magog is a city in southern Quebec.  The Magog Smelt is an old-time fly developed to fish for landlocked salmon.  And Magog (of the Gog and Magog tradition) is also a powerful nation/king/prince/giant who fights on the side of Satan in a war against God.  For which, if any of these, was the Magog Falls on Maine’s St. George River named?

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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)

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kayaking maine Maine rivers paddling whitewater

Living it Up on the Dead: Kayaking the Lower Dead River

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Downeast Maine Maine rivers whitewater

Communion on the Union: Kayaking the Union River, West Branch

Something happens when you get out on a river,  after you are several miles downstream from the put- in, and while you are drifting down through a dense corridor of trees that screens out the surrounding world, especially if the weather is warm, the sunlight is on the water, and you have not paddled this particular section of river before.

You have this sense of not being able to place yourself.  You have no idea what is around the next bend.  True, if pressed to it, you could point out your rough location on a map.  But, by just looking around, you could be almost anywhere.  You could even be that younger version of yourself who paddled a similar-looking river years ago.   But you’re not.    You’re right there, wide awake and looking.  Time is something you have forgotten about.  You drift onward.  You paddle.  You drift..

We had some of those moments while paddling the West Branch of the Union River a week ago.

At this time of year, as the river levels drop and temperatures warm, our attention usually shifts to the coast rather than the rivers.  However, a weather forecast calling for wind gusts of up to 30 mph last Sunday gave pause to that inclination.  It would not be a good day to venture offshore.  Paddling any upwind legs along the coast might prove to be daunting.  Tragically, as we learned later, this was to be the day that two young women died at sea while kayaking off Peak’s Island in Southern Maine, a reminder that winds over 20 knots add significantly to the risk level for all but the most experienced kayakers.

 For the previous two days, forecast in mind, we had studied maps and guidebooks.  Waldo County rivers were running low from the lack of rain.  But we theorized that the Union River, with it’s large catchment area, would still have adequate water.  And we were intrigued with the West Branch of the Union, which we had never paddled, and which is described in Delorme’s Canoeing Guide as “Hancock County’s finest whitewater run.”  If the river was too low, we would paddle the northern narrower section of Graham Lake.  Since the winds were out of the northwest, we would aim to paddle south — and later bicycle back our starting point.

After leaving our bicycles 12 miles to the south on Graham Lake, we put in on a beautiful stretch of river along Tannery Road in Amherst.  The first mile consisted of shallow easy class I rapids.  After passing under the Route 9 bridge, the river slowed and deepened.  Trees exploding in spring green crowded the banks.  We would not see a house or a road for the next 8 miles. 

According to the guidebook, a century ago, the Union was a hub of industry with sawmills and tanneries crowding its banks and timber from log drives clogging the river itself.  Today it is pristine, woodsy, and wild in appearance.  We saw huge snapping turtles napping on rocks.  Eagles swooped low overhead.

Above Mariaville Falls, the river quickened and we heard the rush of water below. We portaged along a rough trail on the right bank and put in just below.  The next quarter mile was punctuated by three class III  ledge drops and a maze of rocks. The low water level and relatively weak current allowed us to scout and learn this tricky section of river at a manageable pace.

Below the ledge drops, the river again slows and deepens, with just a few more sections of easy whitewater.

The river gradually widens into man-made Graham Lake, which still provides evidence of its pre-lake days in terms of the large tree trunks still protruding from the surface.  There is an option to take out at Goodwin Bridge (Route 181), but we continued several miles south, to just past the confluence with the East Branch, to the Morrison Road boat launch.

Notes:  Our trip on the Union was following a period of several weeks without significant rain.  In my estimation, this section of the Union should be runable any time the Ducktrap  gauge reads at or above 2 feet and 10 cfs, as those were the readings on the day we paddled it.

A possible side trip is to paddle up Union River East Branch several miles to falls.  Another section of interest is north of our put-in in Amherst.  After return to launch site, we walked up the River Road to investigate the section north of Tannery Road.  At this level, it was rocky, gorgeous, and too low to run, but it would be a lot of fun with more water.  We also left the section south of Graham Lake for another time.  The annual Union River Race, featuring this section from the Graham Lake dam to the Ellsworth town boat ramp, is upcoming on June 12th.

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Kayak Race kayak racing Kenduskeag Kenduskeag Stream Canoe Race whitewater

Not so Fast: Reflections on the Kenduskeag

“What a slog.” The three word Bangor Daily News headline went a long way to describe what many paddlers felt about the 44th annual Kenduskeag Stream Canoe Race.

The race, as described by Michael Alden at KenduskeagStream CanoeRace.com, is “held annually on the third weekend of April, [and] is the largest paddling event in New England and one of the largest in the country. Hosted by the Bangor Dept. of Parks & Recreation, the 16.5 mile race begins in the Town of Kenduskeag and ends near the confluence of the Penobscot River in downtown Bangor.”

For the 2010 version, you had to be a scrapper. Between the chilly gray weather (snow flurries at the start) and the low water conditions which meant for very bumpy trips over Six Mile Falls, some of those who had planned to participate apparently made last minute decisions not to show. A total of 889 paddlers competed, roughly 100 fewer than last year.

The Kenduskeag race, which has been run every year since 1967, has a lot of history — and this is part of what makes it special. When you are out there paddling, you are competing not only against 800 -900 other paddlers but against the thousands of others who have done the race in previous years — and who will do the race in coming years. Even more importantly, if you are a veteran of the race, you are also competing against your former and future self.

In a high water year, it’s easy to feel like a grown up athlete playing t-ball, or a golfer hitting drives on the moon. There you are, speeded by PEC’s (performance enhancing currents), strutting down the river with big grin on your face, putting your times from other years to shame. In contrast, a low water year brings a certain sobriety. You paddle hard, maybe harder than ever before — and still your times do not measure up.

This year was a low water year with a capital L. Several race veterans stated they don’t remember the river being any lower. The winning paddler, Trever Maclean, paddled the course in 2:19:05 — and thereby earned the ignominious distinction of having the slowest winning time in recent memory. My review of the records shows it may be the slowest winning time since 1988, when Lee Martin and John Mathiew paddled a C2 Medium (2-person medium racing canoe) to a time of 2:27.46.

The trend in the last 4 years has been toward slower winning times and slower times overall. What is going on here? Is it that modern paddlers, despite their caffeinated energy drinks, carbon-infused paddles, and gym-chiseled physiques just can’t hold a paddle up to their forebears?

The 10-mile stretch of flatwater between Kenduskeag and Bangor provided plenty of time to meditate on the ways that low water slows you down: (1) low water means less current, taking several miles per hour off your average speed; (2) low water means more distance, as it requires more maneuvering to find deeper water and to avoid rocks; (3) low water means increased influence of “shallow water drag.” This invisible and sometimes overlooked factor is probably the strongest of the three. Some have claimed that paddling in water as shallow as 12″ increases drag and resistance by up to 90%.

Losing a foot or two of river depth adds up to a big deal, or at least that is what I was more than a little motivated to prove, given that my own times have also been getting slower.

Streamflow and river height are two factors that might allow comparisons between different years. The recently installed USGS gauge on the Kenduskeag measured 4.4 feet on race day. Unfortunately there is no such data from previous years.

Lacking that data, I considered several other methods that might allow comparison of times from year to year. I decided to use the average of the top 20 times from each year as a baseline for determining whether the river was running fast or slow, also understanding that the size and competitiveness of field does vary, which makes these comparisons somewhat inexact:

Year / Winning Time (Name of Winner) / Average Time of Top 20 Finishers*:
2007 / 1:53 (Owen & Woodward) / 2:07
2008 / 1:57 (Maclean & Hall) / 2:15
2009 / 2:19 (Maclean) / 2:42
2010 / 2:19 (Maclean) /2:50
*Times rounded off to nearest minute.

Assuming the field was equally competitive in the past four years, we can conclude that the river was slowest in 2010 — and that for even the winning paddlers, it was 26 minutes slower than in 2007, which was a high water year. For the “average top 20 paddler,” the river was 8 minutes slower than last year (another low water year) and a whopping 43 minutes slower than in 2007

We can also conclude that the most impressive win in the last 4 years was actually Trevor Maclean’s win this year. His time was 31 minutes faster than this years “top 20 average.” This makes sense in that this year Maclean was pushed hard by Robert Lang, who finished 2nd just a few minutes behind Maclean, and who would have had an even faster time, had he not capsized twice during the race.

My look at the numbers also supports a couple of other somewhat common sense conclusions: (1) high water tends to clump the field while low water spreads it out; (2) in low water, single kayaks probably have an advantage relative to tandem kayaks, canoes, and war canoes.

My times in the past 4 years were 2:04:54, 2:13:17, 2:38:53, and 2:38:49.

I was happy to find that even though my times have been trending slower, my performances relative to river conditions (and the average of the 20 fastest times) have been improving. In the last 4 years, my margin over the “top 20 average” has been 2 minutes, 2 minutes. 3.5 minutes, and 10.5 minutes respectively.

Maybe low water isn’t so bad after all.

If you’d like to read more, my blog about last year’s race is here

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kayak racing kayaking paddling whitewater

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.

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Maine rivers paddling whitewater

Maine Whitewater Season Begins March 27

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!

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kayak racing kayaking whitewater

Whitewater Dreams

This can be an anxious time of year for midcoast Maine whitewater paddlers. Although whitewater paddling opportunities statewide continue throughout the spring and summer, the season here is short — and the midcoast whitewater racing season is even shorter, focused on the period last week of March and the first two weeks in April.

The local whitewater race season opens with the St. George race on March 28, continues with the Passy Race race on April 4, and concludes with the Marsh Stream race on April 4.

Snow on the ground is money in the bank that can lead to good paddling when it melts later. A fast melt due to unseasonably warm termperatures or heavy rains is like spending all that money at once. A slow melt due to cold temperatures and a lack of rain leads rivers to remain low or even frozen. And that’s the situation we are in right now.

According to NOAA charts, the average snow depth in midcoast Maine is 10 – 12 inches. In the woods as recent it is still more than that. The water equivalent of our snow cover is 6 to 8 inches. So there is plenty of “money” in the bank — and the makings of a great whitewater season.

However, the rivers seem a little slow to open up this year. The average flow (9 year mean) for the Ducktrap River for March 17 is 75 cubic feet per second. In comparison, the present flow on the Ducktrap is about 25 cfs.

The St. George and Passy River offer relatively easy whitewater, most of it Class 1 and Class II interspersed with sections of flatwater. For this reason, they are great rivers for those eager to get into the sport but without much canoeing or kayaking experiene. Information on the St. George and Passy Races is available from the Waldo County YMCA website.

The entire Maine canoe and kayak race schedule is at www.mackro.org/ MaCKRO (The Maine Canoe and Kayak Racing Organization) sponsors a 10-race whitewater, or “downriver” series, and a nine-race flat-water series. Mackro has a goal of bringing more young people into the sport. This year has developed it’s equipment loan program and has expanded categories / awards for young and first time paddlers.

“We’re trying to pull off some really nice awards, including nice championship sweatshirts, gift certificates … and only those people — new members and youth — who do at least five of those races can have their names put in a drawing for an Old Town Canoe,” Jeff Owen, club president, says in a recent Bangor Daily News article. Owen goes on to say that some races are sponsoring high school divisions, and others have begun offering prizes to children even younger than that.

For me, paddling in the St. George, Passy, and Kenduskeag Races has become a yearly ritual and a marker of spring. This is the best time of year if you are a midcoast Maine paddler. There is nothing quite like entering a stretch of whitewater with the sunlight sparkling on the river and the snow still deep in the woods.

Sure there is mud in the driveway and frost heaves in the roads. But those won’t be getting much of my attention. I’ll be out running the rivers, enjoying the snow all over again, as it melts and makes its way to the sea.

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License to Paddle

A lengthy recent discussion at Paddling.net focused on whether the idea of requiring training and licensing of paddlers is a good idea. The argument in favor of licensing holds that the number of costly rescue operations is increasing — and that requiring paddlers to be trained and licensed would reduce the number of required rescues as well as providing a source of funds to pay for the rescues that do take place.

Those who operate powerboats over a certain length are required to have licenses, so requiring paddlers to be licensed could be seen as an expansion / extension of that law.

While I encourage kayakers to get training commensurate to the kind of paddling they will be doing, I believe that this kind of increased regulation of kayaking would would be wrongheaded, ineffective, and unenforceable.

For some, kayaking means lengthy unsupported solo night crossings between distant points of land. For others, kayaking means floating in a shallow pond on a sunny summer day, while never venturing more than 100 yards from camp. What single standardized mandatory basic safety course could possibly be helpful to each?

My point is that paddling is an incredibly varied activity — and that no standard basic training course could effectively prepare the wide range of paddlers for the types of paddling they will be doing. At its simplest, paddling is an elemental activity that is little more sporting or dangerous than taking a walk around the block. To subject those who take a daily walk around the block to a new set of safety developed to protect mountaineers would be ridiculous. To certify prospective mountaineers with a basic safety course oriented to walkers would be equally ridiculous and falsely enabling.

The fact is that paddlers die each year because they fail to wear their life jackets, venture out on cold water without proper clothing, don’t pay attention to weather conditions, or paddle in conditions above their abilities. It would be great if we could reduce the number of these deaths, but I’m not convinced that regulation is the way to get it done.