12-5(for real)-2010 1124 BBA.
The bike path can wait, but the experience of kayaking this morning cannot. It’s watery noisiness and motion shoulders and jostles into my memory even while I sit in Coffee O talking to Christine about her writing, as I sit in warmth and on a solid 4 legs on a solid floor on sandbar Earth. Out there, it’s a different movement every moment, and any might take the boat beyond my ability to react with a half push of the paddle here, a full brace there.
Well, that’s a bit of hyperbole; a full overhead brace is where the breaking wave is towering over you, and you lean into it, lean on your waveside paddle, and rather than trying to escape from the coiling rearing cataclysm of energy that is about to roll you over and over and leave you upside down hanging out of your little plastic boat…rather than that, you must go towards the wave, put your paddle forcibly into the wave, welcome the wave, let the wave roll over you and THEN brace down, HARD, don’t hold back, lean into it, commit yourself, really HARD!! If you do that, you feel the surge throwing you away, but you have already begun to lean against it. The roof of foam and water caves in, and you are suddenly deep in a mixture of air and water, sparkling and roaring in you ears, and then amazingly your head is out in the air again, and as you sweep your paddle towards the stern the boat amazingly pivots and whoooo!!, you are heading downhill, with that hissing noise that tells you that this time, you lucked out, you have somehow found that place in the unlimited energy of the ocean, and are out of control in any larger sense, but for the moment, balanced and able to maneuver, to enjoy the rush of traveling with all that watery wisdom. You are surfing!
No, that didn’t happen today, but it didn’t need to. The tide was up into the boathouse, over the dock, and I sloshed through several inches of water to get my kayak down from its rack, and get into it, with the sprayskirt on. These days, I put on all the gear back at home, and ride to the boathouse that way. There was ice on the small ponds, but not on the flooded marsh. A cloudy moody complex sky to the East, with the sun breaking bold out of the gloom, and the light waxing and waning on the brown spartina grass.
There was more wind than I had thought, and it sailed me towards the channel between Ram Island and Pensance Point. I pulled my thumbs back out of the gloves, and clutched the chemical hand warmer…its thumbs that limit my cold tolerance when I am wearing mittens. I think my left glove is less than waterproof these days. The bow of the kayak approaches the subtle line of ripples that demarcates the flooding current, and I move the rudder a bit to keep the boat heading out…with the wind against the current, we sail across the flow. Time to set up and paddle for real.
The flow of water between Ram and Pensance is about 100 yards wide, and although flat, it’s billowing and gushing, bulging literally above the surface as the water flows over uneven sands about 7 feel below. The boat bumps and jinks as it encounters these little discontinuities. I head across at an angle, and come into the backwater behind Pensance, Next comes the narrow channel between Devils Foot Island and Pensance, where I know the current will pick up to about 6 knots. I can see it; there is a visible drop off, just like the rapids in a river. I have to come out of the backwater eddy in a rush, and paddle hard for about 25 yards. The current will push me against the shallowing rocky shore, and I have the rudder up, but will have to remember not to get too close, or I might break a paddle, and at the very least would lose power. Paddle, paddle, and the distance to the eddy line shortens. The noise of the water grows. Last stroke and the bow hits..but the line is good, and the boat hardly wavers, and I have about 50 strokes before I run out of energy to make it through. I focus on keeping the bow perfectly into the current, and take a quick glance. Still moving relative to the shore…but just barely. The water, clear of plankton and thus almost transparent, flashes by, the rocks standing almost still under it. Shift to abdominal breathing, and one breath per stroke. It’s clear that I will make it, as I come up into the next backwater, this one behind the tip of Pensance itself, where it sticks out towards Nonamessett a half mile away, and into the main current. I slow my stroke, puff a bit. The wind is blocked by the rocky point, built up with boulders that armor it against the waves. Ahead, very close, the water of the main current is racing noisily by. But I know that I can sneak very close to shore, and if I made that part before, I can make this. The trick here is to not let the 2 foot breaking waves wash the kayak into the rocks and crack it. So my next move, getting up to speed and slicing the bow into the 3 foot space between two big boulders, has to be just exactly right. In calm weather, with no flood tide, it’s no big deal, but with this tide a mistake could flip me right over. Paddle, paddle, paddle NOW HARD, HARD, HARD and within a dozen strokes, it’s OK, I will make this point, too! Within a few more breaths, I can back off to about 40/min, and still make headway against the wind that is now sweeping right in across Buzzards Bay and piling up sizeable waves.
On a flood tide, the water in Buzzards Bay, which opens to the South, is trying to flood into Vineyard Sound, which is a little North and East. This is what generates the 5-8 knot currents in The Hole. But because of the uneven bottom, the shallow depth, and the several ledges and rocky islands, the overall result of flowing water and wind is far from obvious. For example, in the middle of The Hole, there is a current on the Ebb tide that reverses and flows in the Flood direction! On this Flood tide, with the water level so high I can’t even see any rocks on Pine Island or Red Ledge, there will be actual holes, where the net force of the water is downwards, just as there are on rivers. These are big enough to hold the boat, although not to actually suck it down. And they usually are spinning, which is not recommended as a way of staying upright. So as I turn the bow out and into the current, I am for the first time in days, spending every moment of this time RIGHT HERE. There is no time or space to be anywhere else. Although I am not paddling hard, I need to be ready for a sudden movement, an unexpected turn or lurch. The trick will be to keep going with the water, but to not quite let it have its way, which might require flipping. In my little surf boat, in California, without rocks and reefs and in the right gear, it’s fine to flip…I am pretty confident of my ability to roll back up again. But here, with a bigger kayak and in this river of water, I am less sure, and definitely do not want to have to swim out of the boat and then try to get it bailed out and righted before I get so cold I can’t do the manual things this all requires. The water, driven into waves by the wind, and piled up by the current, slaps at the side of the boat. Spray on my face. That damm left glove is definitely leaking, and my left thumb is completely numb. I paddle across, towards the Nonamessett side, to position the kayak out in the main current. I want to pass the island that holds the main channel marker on the left, and then zip along the rip line that demarcates the underwater edge of Middle Ledge. Now I am coming down on the green can that marks the side of the channel. Whoa, the water must be moving at close to 7 knots…the noise of it piling past the tethered marker is a roar, although this new bouy is no longer pulled under like the old one would be sometimes. When that happened to Robert, he stayed with the boat and was rescued way down off Falmouth…cold, but still alive. But that was summer.
I pass the rock island, and it seems as though I am flying. The water is flat right here, and magically huge rocks loom up like whales as I sweep over them. I keep paddling, to have a little momentum relative to the water to let myself maneuver to avoid the biggest holes and boils as the water pours over rocks on the bottom. Pine Island is completely covered in water…only the one large rock at this end shows. The Middle Ledge is a patch of bouncing roiling water…if the wind was against the current there would be 3 foot high standing waves, but luckily its behind me, pushing me and the water even faster but keeping the waves below 2 feet. No sign of any seals; no place for them to rest and who wants to try to fish in this maelstrom? I’m already passing the other end of Pine Island, and start angling across the next rip, off the side of Red Ledge. Ahead, the Island Home ferry boat looms up into the channel. But I will pass well in front of them, going at this speed.
And now its all about bumping and sliding, tilting and leaning, as the boat gets slapped around by waves and the wind. The sun is fully out, the glare making everything that much more exciting. There are whirlpools, too, that swing the boat crazily from side to side. And what about that ferry? Then, with a final slap and a splash of wet spray across my face, I am through the current, and paddling along Juniper Point. Time to point the bow West and slog back against the wind and the current in the safety of the harbor. And deal with that numb left thumb.
besos
Alan
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