The Dash Point Pirate

Snapshots from Peru: Playa Los Viejos

[Our GPS track, UPPER ROUTE: We started just south of the northwest corner of the peninsula, rounded the point and headed east along the northern shore, then southeast across the Bay of Paracas to home.]

On the morning of the day we had planned to paddle around the peninsula I woke up to the sound of the wind howling. We wanted to get an early start and eat breakfast before sunrise. I could see the stars clearly. As it grew lighter, I saw a few wisps of clouds in an otherwise clear sky −− the first clear day all week. David said it was a bad sign. Wind in the morning is unusual. It could signal a paraca, a sand storm that blows with gale force winds. I could see the gusts ripple across the bay. The wind was coming from the south.

We decided to wait to see how the conditions evolved, but couldn’t wait too long. I wanted as much time as possible to complete the trip, which would take us 23 nm from Lagunillas, the little fishing port south of the peninsula where we landed the day before, up along the spectacular thousand foot tall cliffs of the west coast of the peninsula, around the north end, and across the bay back home. As far as we knew, there could be nowhere to land along the way.

Juan Carlos arrived for breakfast. Even though we advised him that he should not accompany us on the trip today, he continued to support us in an advisory role. He did, after all, take two days off of work for this and was still getting paid. Yes, he said, the weather had changed. It was unusual. Yes, it could be a paraca. Hard to say. He advised that we wait and see. Unfortunately, weather reports were unavailable. We didn’t even have a barometric pressure reading.

Juan Carlos said he knew of a beach along the western part of the peninsula called Playa Los Viejos where we could put in. This would cut the trip in half, and the remaining route would be relatively protected from the south wind. We would also avoid paddling the rough passage between the peninsula and Isla San Gallán. We didn’t have a map but he knew how to get there.

We waited a couple hours longer. I watched the bay. No whitecaps. The wind had died down. By this time the whole team had joined in and the discussion went on a little longer before we finally decided to find this beach Juan Carlos was talking about. At least we could go and see what conditions were like there.

Since David and I were the only ones paddling that day, we left the kayak trailer at home and strapped two kayaks on top the SUV. Juan Carlos led the way in another truck. The route wandered through the middle of the peninsula, first west, then south, within sight of Lagunillas at the south end, then west, then north again. It was taking longer than expected and we were very low on gas. As Juan Carlos led us over and down an alarmingly steep ridge, we caught sight of the ocean and stopped at the edge of a cliff. From the top we had an impressive view of the cliffs along the coast and the clear water of the protected cove below.

I estimated it was at least 100 ft down to the water. At first I thought there was no way we were getting down there, but David found a trail. He followed it down and said it felt stable.

We unloaded the kayaks and carried them down empty. Point of no return, I thought, because there was no way we could carry the kayaks back up that cliff. Honestly I preferred taking my chances in the ocean than taking the truck back, given the real possibility of running out of gas in the middle of the desert. I happened to have my helmet with me and wore it for the climb down. Cheap insurance.

Once at the bottom we carried the kayaks further along the beach to a sandy spot. Juan Carlos and Dan helped us launch. The wind had died down considerably and we had it at our backs. That little bit of wind helped keep us cool now that we were paddling in the full sun.

To the south we could see Isla San Gallán. San Gallán is a marine reserve and enjoys a reputation as one of the finest surfing spots in Peru. It has been made famous because of an unusual long right−breaking wave that comes off the island in the west. 

I didn’t see anywhere to land along the western shore. The surf would make landing and launching difficult. Even if you could find a pocket beach it would be too small to camp on, and because of the huge surrounding cliffs climbing out would be impossible. 

Seabirds nested in the cliffs, mostly pelicans and Peruvian boobies. Large sections of the cliffs had collapsed into the ocean during the 2007 earthquake, destroying many nests in the process.

I was happy with the Epic 16X kayak I was paddling. It featured the same integrated rudder system and foot board as the 18X Ultra I had at home. It had a familiar feel, but the 16X is an inch wider and more maneuverable and playful −− a good all−around touring kayak.

The Epics are not without problems though. For one thing, the hard seats are uncomfortable and could use extra padding, especially along the sacral area. In Peru I stuffed a folded−over 3mm neoprene hood back there. At home I padded my seat with half inch minicell foam, which still isn’t enough to avoid skin breakdown over the boney prominences of my sacrum. I’m either going to have to pad it out more or replace the seat entirely.

For another, every time you adjust the foot brace for a new paddler, you need to adjust the rudder cables. It can be a frustrating procedure, but is not an issue if you are the only one who ever uses the kayak. There is also no way to lock the rudder in place in the center position. And in a rough following sea, the boat broaches. Maybe the rudder doesn't have enough “bite".

Some of these problems are supposed to be solved by Epic’s new rudder system (scheduled to come out in 2009, and now overdue). 

Finally, the foot board is slippery. I fixed this easily with a grippy adhesive padding (the kind used to keep furniture from sliding on hardwood floors). 

[VIDEO: Carrying our kayaks down to Playa Los Viejos]

Building a Custom Stitch and Glue West Greenland Kayak

Warren Williamson recently showed me the drawing of a kayak he plans to build. It’s one of many boats he has designed using a 3D modeling program called Rhino: a West Greenland style kayak, intended for “stitch−and−glue” construction. Using Rhino, Warren is able to develop a 3D model from a 2D lines drawing of a kayak, and then expand the panels to produce a “.dxf” file which can be plugged into a CNC router to produce panels in plywood. He has arranged all the parts of the kayak (bottom and side panels, deck, coaming and lip, hatches, bulkheads, and temporary station forms) so that they will fit onto three 4x8 plywood sheets.

In his workshop Warren showed me the resulting plywood parts, precisely cut out of 4mm BS 1088 Joubert/French marine plywood, just like in the drawings. This is the good stuff he said, not like the plywood that comes from China, which is also rated BS 1088 but has a more fragile face veneer. The owner and CEO of Chesepeake Light Craft, John Harris, agreed to cut and ship these panels for him for a small fee. The panels look remarkably thin and they all fit in a flat cardboard box. I am amazed how little lumber is needed for this kayak. I can tell it’s going to be sleek, low volume, and high performance. 

An experienced boatbuilder and graduate of the Northwest School of Wooden Boatbuilding, Warren has planned this project out to the last detail. I hope to follow the construction of his kayak closely as it progresses.

Warren and I spent the afternoon playing in the ebb at Deception Pass. The kayak he used, an Arctic Hawk SS, was designed and meticulously hand-crafted by Mark Rogers of Superior Kayaks. Although it looks like a plywood stitch−and−glue kayak I can’t really call it that because Rogers uses “stitchless” construction. He omits the wires that are used to hold the plywood panels in place while they are joined together with fiberglass and epoxy. The result is that the Arctic Hawk SS has none of the visible holes that are the artifact of typical stitch−and glue−construction. There is not one blemish that distracts from the gorgeous bright−finished wood.

When the current reached it max (around 6.8 knots) Warren showed me a spot at the Whidbey Island side of the Pass where a submerged rock kicked the water up into a small wave. In my skin−on−frame East Greenland kayak, I struggled to get on and surf the wave. The current tended to catch my bow and wash me away. After a few attempts I learned to lean back to be able to more easily swing my bow right into the current, and then lean forward to stay on the wave. I worked on getting a feel for surfing, and for slicing my paddle into the water by my stern to act as a rudder. I suppressed the instinct to keep slapping the surface to brace. When perfectly tuned, you can stay in one spot as the water rushes underneath you, without even touching the water with the paddle.

As the current died down to half max in Deception Pass, we paddled to Canoe Pass and joined a group of paddlers from NWOC. Surprisingly, the waves were bigger there than they were earlier at max. Warren said that can be the case when the wind blows from the west. At its maximum, the current is so strong that it flattens out the waves. As it slows down, an opposing wind and swell kick them up again.

Conditions were perfect for riding waves. I would slide down them and shoot upstream, do a few rolls, let the current wash me backwards, and then work my way back upstream, weaving among the half−dozen or so kayakers riding the waves along the way.

I’ve recently subscribed to Warren’s minimalism when it comes to gear: no pfd, no helmet. Just a tuilik. I enjoy a much greater freedom of movement. It seems to help me summon the playfulness of a rolling session in conditions that really call for it.

[VIDEO: Warren riding the wave at Deception Pass, then performing kingup apummaatigut “behind−the−back” roll]

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Snapshots from Peru: La Playa Mendieta

David had hired a Peruvian guide named Juan Carlos to lead us on a trip around the Paracas peninsula. Juan Carlos had worked as a biologist and ranger in the National Park of Paracas for several years and had apparently also kayaked along the south coast before. Juan Carlos doesn’t speak English and I was the only one in our group who doesn't speak Spanish, so unfortunately I wasn’t able to talk to him at all about his previous kayak experiences.

We had anticipated having a total of 5 people in our group but our fifth man cancelled at the last minute. He happened to be one of the Peruvians who had been involved in the ill−fated trip to Islas Ballestas a few years earlier where one kayaker died.

We packed our kayaks and gear the night before in preparation to leave as early as possible the next day. We planned to drive south through the desert in the National Park and launch from a beach south of Paracas called Playa Mendieta, and from there paddle north to Lagunillas, a small fishing port on a protected bay within the National Park.  When we reached our put-in at Playa Mendieta I was happy to see that the surf was minimal so getting off the beach would be easy.

Dan launched first. He was wearing shorts and insisted on putting his neoprene booties on after he had gotten in his cockpit so that his feet would stay dry. I learned on our previous trip that he had this obsession with keeping his feet dry. I helped stabilize him while he got inside his boat and tried slipping his booties on. While he was an awkward position with one knee out of the cockpit a wave surged up and pushed us sideways, nearly knocking us over and flooding the cockpit with water and sand. So much for keeping his feet dry! After Dan scrambled out we emptied the cockpit and started over.

After Dan made it out through the small break, we started to help Juan Carlos. David introduced him to his kayak and adjusted his seat and foot peddles. Unfortunately, Juan Carlos arrived just before dinner the night before so he didn’t have a chance to try out any of the gear beforehand. He essentially got a a 5 minute crash course on the Epic 16X and coastal sea kayaking.

David pushed him out as the water surged in. Juan Carlos made it over a small wave but immediately capsized. David ran out and grabbed his kayak. I had my video camera on, but put it away to help empty the flooded kayak and another attempt at launch. Juan Carlos looked a little shaken. In a minute though he was ready to try it again -- a real trouper! He made it through the second time.

“My God,” David said. “Look at him! It’s like he has never been in a kayak before. There is no way he can do this. It’s too dangerous."

I reserved judgment for the moment but got a sinking feeling as I watched Juan Carlos paddle off. He was “arm paddling”, with short, choppy and sometimes hesitant strokes. The kayak veered off in random directions. He was obviously having trouble maintaining direction, even on totally flat water, and probably overcorrecting with the rudder. But all this time he was paddling with a big smile on his face, like he was having the time of his life!

David followed him out. Juan Carlos had just been fired! David was going to send him home with our support crew.

I waited onshore, thinking that if Juan Carlos is coming back I better stay to help bring him in. Some discussion occurred among the three of them on the water. After a few minutes I decided I should go out and find out what our plan was going to be. 

In the end we let Juan Carlos come along. Although I agreed that having an inexperienced paddler along put everyone at additional risk, because of the sea conditions that day it turned out not to be a non-issue. The weather was perfect −− calm and overcast. We paddled passed rocks and sea stacks, keeping far from the big breaking waves close to shore and point breaks. 

Juan Carlos lagged behind. David stayed close to him.  Dan and I moved closer to shore to get a better look at La Catedral, the remains of a huge sea arch. Two years ago an earthquake sent it crashing into the sea along with other large sections of cliffs along the coastline. A tsunami followed. The 3 meter surge destroyed many of the fishing boats and houses in Paracas as well as the historic Paracas Hotel. Incredibly, no one in Paracas died. For a year afterward the ocean was muddy brown. 

We ended the day midafternoon after paddling 11 nm in Lagunillas, riding the surge through a narrow slot in the rocks and onto the beach next to the Restaurant La Tia Fela. Our friends had gotten a table outside and were waiting with cold beers. La Tia Fela had no running water or electricity. Somehow they managed to serve busloads of tourists every day.  They presented you with a tray of fish fresh off the boats for you to select to have fried or prepared as ceviche (served raw and marinated in lime juice and sliced onion).

Snapshots from Peru: Paddle to Islas Ballestas (almost)

[Our GPS track from June 1, 2009: We started at the southeast corner of the Bay of Paracas, headed northwest to the tip of the peninsula, then crossed to the Islas Ballestas, and drifted slightly south on the return path.  22.9 nm]

My friend David has a boathouse full of cool toys: six brand new Epic kayaks, sailboards and kite boarding gear. His house is located on the Bay of Paracas which is sheltered from the ocean swell but is known for having a lot of wind, which typically comes from the south and picks up late in the day. It's not uncommon for the wind to blow up to 25-30 knots, so we planned to be off the water before late afternoon.

We launched at 0730 under an overcast sky, toward the guano islands, the Islas Ballestas. The sea was calm. We didn't have a weather report, a chart, or a even street map. There was no way to get information on swell size and no one had been following the trend in the barometric pressure. There's not much of a tidal range at 13 degrees south so we didn't worry about that either.

What we lacked in the usual essential data we tried to make up for in "local knowledge". After crossing the Bay of Paracas to the northeastern tip of the peninsula, David stopped to talk to some fisherman. We needed to ask for directions because it was so foggy offshore that you couldn't actually see the islands from where we were. 

"I told them that we wanted to go to the Islas Ballestas," he said.

"And?"

"They said we were crazy."

Earlier David had told us a story about a group of three Peruvians who had paddled out the the Islas Ballestas in two kayaks. Two paddlers were in a double sit-on-top and another was in a single decked sea kayak. The person in the single was apparently an experienced kayaker and decided to break away and paddle toward Islas Chincha to the northeast by himself. Conditions deteriorated in the afternoon as they typically do and the two kayakers in the double abandoned their attempt at the Islas Ballestas and returned home safely. But the kayaker in the single was found dead by fishermen the next day, still tethered to his kayak but missing his paddle.  

The fishermen pointed us in the approximate direction and said it takes them about 45 minutes to get there in their boat, going about 5 knots. That didn't sound too far.

A number of tourist boats joined us at the northern shore of the peninsula by the Candelabro de Paracas, a famous geoglyph of mysterious origins. It was probably made a few hundred years ago as a landmark for sailors, unlike the Nazca lines which are far older. The symbolism may be Masonic. As the boats sped off to the Islas Ballestas I took a bearing on them with my handheld compass and we followed them into the fog. I also set a waypoint on my GPS.

This close to the equator I expected to be paddling in much warmer conditions. It was the beginning of autumn in Peru and in the upper sixties -- cool enough to wear a drysuit with a thin base layer, much like the Pacific Northwest in the middle of summer and perfect sea kayaking weather.

Our heading was 280-300 (it depended a lot on whether my compass was lying level on my sprayskirt). My compadres questioned the heading because they thought the islands were somewhere southwest, not northwest. I honestly had no clue if it was correct: I was just following the tourist boats. Fortunately we were able to use other islands to the east and west as landmarks even though we lost sight of the mainland. After about 3 nm we were finally able to make out the faint outlines of the Islas Ballestas.

As we paddled closer the swell grew bigger but the sea remained otherwise calm. A group of penguins swam by. It was hard for me to judge the remaining distance to the islands because I had no sense of scale. In any case it sure seemed like we had paddled a lot farther than we expected. 

We stopped at 11 nm and rafted together for lunch.  We were about 6 nm from where we left the fishermen, and I estimated within a mile of the islands. I could make out the steep cliffs, arches, and surrounding spires of rock, and see and hear the waves breaking on the shore. I wanted to see if I could find a small beach protected from the south swell. David advised against it. Again it was difficult to judge scale so I had no idea of how big the surf was. No one was allowed to land on the islands anyway, except those workers with permission to mine the guano. In fact, David recommended that we turn around and head back after paddling this far. He hadn't expected the trip to take as long as it did and it starting to get late. He thought the wind might pick up. It was difficult to for me to break away from the island. I wanted to get just close enough for some good pictures, and possibly land and stretch my legs, but in the end decided against it. David knew this sea better than I.

We followed our reciprocal heading back to the north shore of the peninsula.  We paddled along the cliffs among caves and sea arches. I was impressed by how totally lifeless the land is, in contrast to the richness of the ocean. Nothing grows here -- not one blade of grass or tuft of moss or lichen.  

On my last day in Peru I had the chance to return to the Islas Ballestas, this time on one of the tour boats (check out my video). There were thousands of birds, of course, lots of sea lions lounging on the rocks, and everywhere the strong smell of guano. The islands are riddled with huge arches and sea caves, the inside of which resembles interior of a cathedral. With a gentle swell and calm wind, this could be a sea kayaker's paradise! If I had known that it was this beautiful earlier, I would have spent the rest of the week trying to get out there again.

NEW VIDEO: Surfing the Epic GPX Kayak on the Peruvian South Coast

I just got back on Sunday night after spending a week in Peru with a friend who has a house on the ocean by the Reserva Nacional de Paracas. The park is a desert peninsula where nothing ever grows and where it hasn’t rained for over a hundred years. This place resembles the surface of Mars -- totally lifeless. The shore just south of the peninsula and around the peninsula itself is made up of dramatic cliffs and small pocket beaches. There are numerous sea caves and arches, and islands just offshore. We spent the week touring along the open coast (more on that later).

This video is from the day we spent practicing in the surf zone with a couple 12 foot long Epic GPX kayaks (not the kayaks we took touring). We drove the kayaks across the desert looking for a beach with friendly surf. It came down to a choice between a beach with rocks and one infested with stingrays.

I got a couple good rides in and rolled around a few times. In my last ride I wiped out after I fell from the crest of the wave. While underwater I felt my kayak paddle break in half! I don't know if it hit the sand when I capsized, but it felt like it just fell apart as I was bracing into the wave. I had to roll up using one half of the paddle. Then as soon as I recovered another wave slammed into me. In the end I paddle to shore canoe−style. Check it out- −− it’s all there on the blurry video! 

The paddle was a carbon−fiber Epic paddle that belonged to my friend David. Lesson learned: do not use an expensive carbon touring paddle for playing in the surf, unless it belongs to your friend, ;-)

NEW VIDEO: Scenes from the 2009 Puget Sound Sea Kayak Symposium

It's only a four and a half mile paddle from the beach by my house to Owen Beach at Point Defiance, where the Puget Sound Sea Kayak Symposium was held. I landed on the demo beach around noon on Saturday, this time paddling my Shooting Star cedar-strip baidarka (because I like all the attention it gets). Ricardo paddled his Greenland skin-on-frame from the Thea Foss and we sat them next to each other on the beach and talked about wooden kayaks with curious passers-by. One big reason I personally like to show up at kayak symposiums is to help represent wooden kayaks and Greenland Style.

Stand-up paddle surfboards had a big presence this year. Lately I've seen more people trying this in the Sound. I couldn't resist trying it. Compared to sitting in a kayak, it presents a bigger challenge to your sense of balance and gives your legs a workout. It must take a lot of practice to be able to use it in rough windy conditions though, not to mention actual surf.

I met Chris Cunningham at the Sea Kayaker Magazine booth. I picked up a free copy of the 25th Anniversary Issue, the one with a picture of a traditional Greenland kayak frame on the cover. Chris said that it was actually a picture of a kayak frame that he had built. I felt a little awkward picking up a copy of the magazine there in front of him, because it obviously means that I don't have a subscription to it! He knows I'm a serious kayaker too. I wanted a copy of this issue though because Chris had written another article about Freya Hoffmeister for it. I really only have room and the attention span for one magazine subscription in my life, and this year it was to Wooden Boat. Honestly, I hardly even read that anymore. Who reads anything in print these days, seriously?

Sterling Donalson offered a number of his kayaks for demos, both the IceKap and Illusion design. He brought along an interesting device which looked like an adjustable kayak cockpit. I suspect it is for fitting people for custom deck heights for his kayaks. 

Although the IceKap has gotten a lot of attention because of Dubside, the Illusion is gaining a reputation for being a fantastic rough water boat. One thing that Sterling discovered recently was that the Illusion handles well with a cockpit full of water. Because the upswept ends and rocker give it a low center of gravity, it remains remarkably stable and easy to maneuver. I recommend you try that with the kayak you own right now. I think paddling with a flooded cockpit really should be an essential test when trying out a new kayak. It simulates a real rescue situation such as following a wet exit or re-enter and roll.

In the video: Ricardo tries out the Hobie Mirage Drive and a stand-up paddle surfboard, and gives a glowing review of the Sterling Kayaks Illusion.  

Cheating the Ferry: Anacortes to Friday Harbor

[My GPS track: start at Anacortes, end at Friday Harbor, distance 23 nm]

I'm a little late posting this report. This is the trip I took on Monday, May 25th. I had wanted to try paddling from Anacortes to Friday Harbor for a while. My friends have called this the "ultimate day trip". It can involve challenging conditions in Rosario Strait and south of Lopez Island, and paddling through a large tidal race in Cattle Pass between San Juan and Lopez Islands. Experienced kayakers will spend time playing in Cattle Pass as the current hits its max before continuing on to Friday Harbor to catch the ferry back to Anacortes. Since fares are only charged going west on the ferries, the return trip is free! That's a great deal considering the fare for a car and driver is over $50! If you ever plan to walk on the ferry with your kayak, you'll need wheels to cart it onboard.

Memorial Day weekend happened to have perfect currents for this trip: an ebb in Rosario Strait in the morning predicted for 3.4 knots, and a flood in San Juan Channel in the afternoon at 4.9 knots. But the southerlies, predicted for Sunday and Monday at 15-20 knots, had me worried. The "wind against current" phenomenon would steepen the waves in Rosario Strait and stir up reflecting waves off the cliffs on the south end of Lopez Island. If you haven't read it already, this is a good time to read Rob Gibbert's excellent incident report in the August 2008 issue of Sea Kayaker Magazine about this very same trip that turned into a total disaster.

As it turned out, Warren planned to do the same trip the day before I wanted to, on Sunday. Sunday evening I asked him how conditions were and he wrote:

... there was a little wind out in Rosario, not bad. The waves were just starting when I got to Davis Point [Cattle Pass]. They got big. I surfed and worked out in the waves for over four hours. Mat and Djuna [from Body Boat Blade] were there.  We had a blast... I think you'll have the same conditions tomorrow.

Actually, the forecast called for the wind to lighten up to between 10-15 knots in the morning so I expected to have an easy time of it on Monday.

I arrived at the Anacortes ferry terminal a little before 9AM. I was the only kayaker there. "Where is everybody?" I thought. "Don't they know that this is the perfect day to do this trip?"  I got a parking spot in the upper parking lot of the terminal right next to the trail that goes down to the beach. It costs $10 to park for 24 hours. If you plan to do this, be prepared to carry or slide your kayak down the steep bank to the water. 

It was a lot windier than I expected. I could see whitecaps all over the confluence of Rosario Strait and Bellingham channel. I had second thoughts about continuing but I decided to go ahead and see what conditions were like in the Strait. Just off of Green Point the waves were at least 4 ft. As I continued west across the Strait they got a little smaller but then got bigger again. I was paddling with a strong wind blowing at my beam toward James Island and somewhere in the middle of Rosario Strait I decided that I wasn't having fun anymore, and wondering what was I doing out here alone while everyone else was at home planning their holiday barbeque. Actually, I wasn't completely alone: a sailboat passed by fairly close, double-reefed. I was sure it was blowing 20 knots!

I almost turned back on this trip. I felt like I wasn't making any progress in the wind and waves.  I reasoned that it could be a very long and tiring journey if conditions were going to be this challenging all across the Strait and especially south of Lopez Island so I decided to head back to Anacortes. The current had carried me far south off of Burrows Island. Since there was no way I could make significant progress against a current that strong I just paddled with the current, hoping to duck in between Burrows and Allan Island for protection.  But further south the waves were smaller, so I changed plans again and decided to cross the Strait after all. 

I was traveling at 6 knots down the Strait. When I reached Point Colville at the southeastern tip of Lopez Island I slowed to a crawl. I suspect there is a large back eddy all along the south end of Lopez Island between Point Colville and Iceberg Point because I didn't go much faster than 3 knots. I parked in the middle of a kelp forest to eat lunch. 

Beyond Iceberg Point my speed picked up as I approached Cattle Pass. Even from over a mile away I could feel it sucking me in. I struggled to bring my kayak close to shore when I realized I was headed straight into the raging whitewater.  I found a relatively protected path between Lopez and Deadman Islands and hauled up on Deadman Island to take a closer look at the chaos in the Pass. The flood wouldn't reach its max for another hour and a half. Well, I really didn't care to stick around to see that, and decided I would get out as soon as possible. With help from the current, I was doing 7 knots just north of Cattle Pass toward Friday Harbor.

I paddled into Friday Harbor with just enough time to put my kayak on my C-Tug wheels, take a shower at the marina, and walk right onto the ferry along with a large crowd of tourists returning home for the holiday weekend. I really like my NRS C-Tug cart, by the way. Its seems very durable, assembles and disassembles easily and doesn't have any metal parts to corrode or scratch your kayak.  

Unfortunately I had a bunch of really great on the water pictures from this trip, but can't find them now and I think I erased them all!

Lummi Island Circumnavigation

[My GPS track: start at the ferry terminal on the mainland, clockwise around the island, 18.4 nm] 

I arrived at the mainland Lummi ferry terminal not having done a lot of research on the island. It's considered one of the San Juan Islands but isn't featured in the Afoot and Afloat guide to the San Juan Islands. Apparently it's home to a few sustainable fisheries, historic inns, organic farms, excellent restaurants and cafes, and many artists and artisans. You know, typical San Juan Island stuff.

The chart I had showed a public boat launch by the ferry terminal on the mainland. When I arrived I couldn't find a launch ramp but saw a small parking area on the beach surrounded by concrete barriers.

I waved down one of the locals who was paddling a long, narrow wooden canoe nearby. His friend had built it. He said it was a little difficult to handle in the wind, and was still trying to find out which end was the front. It looked like wood strip construction, very sleek. Put a deck and a rudder on it and it would be perfect.

There was 10 knot breeze blowing from the southwest and mild currents predicted for the day. I crossed Hale Passage to the island and paddled close to shore to stay in the lee. 

The southern half of Lummi remains undeveloped. Very pretty, except for one big open wound made by an active gravel mine. See what you have to look forward to, Maury Island?

On the southern tip I saw some oyster catchers diving at an eagle that had probably invaded their nest and eaten their young. That was the first time I had ever heard oyster catchers cry out or seen them flying around. Usually they are just standing on shore... looking for oysters. 

Lummi stands out among the San Juan Islands because of its tall cliffs. They are even more impressive up close. As I craned my neck to look up I saw more eagles soaring around the peaks.

The Lummi Rocks, just off the western shore, mark an approximate midway point for the circumnavigation and a convenient place to stop for lunch. I ate while sitting among the wildflowers and gazing at the cliffs on the island to the north and down Bellingham Channel and Rosario Strait to the south. 

Sea stars and Dungeness crab cling to the rocky shore all around Lummi. All you have to do to get a crab is reach down into the shallow water and pick one up. Do you think crabs suffer and experience pain? I had to ponder this question as I plucked a crab out of the water and watched it struggle vigorously and foam at the mouth. I personally consider it an important scientific question with profound philosophical implications, but if you are like the vast majority of people and don’t care to think about how the animal on your dinner plate lived or died then just forget I said anything, speciesist!

San Juan Island Circumnavigation

[My GPS track: Start at Jackson Beach, departure path in green, overnight at Roche Harbor, return path in red]

I happened to have a couple days off and decided that I would circumnavigate San Juan Island. The day before my trip the weather turned out to be much windier than previously forecast. A Small Craft Advisory had been issued with a southwest wind blowing at 15−25 knots, predicted to shift to the west in the afternoon. This would make for challenging conditions along the exposed rocky western shore of San Juan Island. The waves would reflect off the cliffs and I could get tossed about in the clapotis. So that night I decided against the circumnavigation and resigned myself to an alternative trip in more sheltered water. But in the morning the winds lightened up a little and the Small Craft Advisory had been lifted. I saw this as my window of opportunity and decided to go for it.

I put in at Jackson Beach just south of Friday Harbor around 9:00 AM. A group of kayak guides were unloading kayaks for Outdoor Odysseys as a busload of school kids arrived. Were they really planning on taking those kids out on the water on a day like this? 

I paddled with a headwind into Cattle Pass.  It would be at my back after I turned west and then north. That was the plan anyway. After I made it through Cattle Pass, the wind had turned westerly, and then northerly, so for the entire day I had it blowing in my face. 

The water at Cattle Pass was completely flat. But (just as I was afraid of) along the western shore the waves were reflecting off the cliffs and I faced miles of clapotis. I paddled far from the shore to avoid the worst of it, paddling from point to point. I didn't really have the chance to do a lot of sightseeing here. My attention was focused entirely on the water directly in front of me and especially the waves blowing in from the west. I weaved around in the troughs between the waves, not really keeping track of the shore landmarks or knowing exactly where I was. Of course, my pictures don't do justice to the conditions, because when things were bad I was too busy trying to stay upright to attempt to use the camera! I think that what kept me going was the thought that just around the next point conditions were going to be better -- the water smoother, the wind calmer, and the current going in my direction.

For lunch I ducked behind a rock. There was an shallow sandy area with just enough space to walk on so I could get out and drag my kayak out of the water. I was somewhere south of False Bay. 

Just to the north at Pile Point I ran into a tidal rip and a patch of nasty clapotis. The waves were 4 ft high, tall, pointed, and breaking. I paddled far away from shore to keep out of it but couldn’t avoid it completely. The unnerving thing about clapotis is the randomness of the waves. Somehow I passed through without being thrown up into the air on top of one. In the middle of it though I was quickly losing confidence in my ability to recover if I happened to capsize in this washing machine. The knowledge that I came prepared with the phone numbers of the two taxi services on the Island in case I needed to bail out gave me some comfort.  But wait a minute, where did I put my cell phone?

My experience in that tidal rip put everything else in perspective. The rest of the trip was easy in comparison. The sun broke through the clouds and the wind finally died down when I arrived at Roche Harbor. I checked into a room at Quarryman Hall, enjoyed a long hot shower, put on some dry clothes and had a leisurely dinner at the McMillan dining room (locally harvested mushrooms and a vegetable au gratin).  All−day paddling is so much more enjoyable when you have a wonderful meal, glass of wine, and big soft bed to look forward to at the end of the day!

Not much to tell about the return trip except that I enjoyed light winds, sunshine, smooth water and a gentle ebb current that carried me down San Juan Channel all the way back to Jackson Beach. 

Guemes Island Circumnavigation

Since I happened to be in the neighborhood (on my way to take the ferry to Friday Harbor), I thought I would spend an afternoon paddling around Guemes Island. I launched at Kiwanis Waterfront Park right off the Guemes ferry terminal and traveled clockwise.  

Guemes Channel was a little rough because of a strong breeze from the southeast opposing the flood current from the west. Once I made it into Bellingham Channel though it was smooth going in the lee of the island.

After I rounded the northern tip of the island I was headed straight into the wind. I stopped to eat lunch at Young’s Park, squatting on the beach with my back to the wind and rain. I took the opportunity to put my iPod away and put on a warmer neoprene hood. A Small Craft Advisory had been issued for the day and it was starting to feel like winter again.

I think the most scenic part of Guemes is the southeastern shore. On my next visit I’ll have to spend more time exploring the smaller islands in the area.