A summer in the Parc, part 2

Second digest post of trips to Parc de la Riviere-des-Mille-Îles this summer.

July 1, 2011

Kayaking seemed a fitting way to celebrate Canada Day, and the weather was ideal, so off I went on my usual schedule, 0829 De Laurentides bus from Cartier to the Parc. There were already a few groups getting ready, and I knew there would be many more by the end of the day.

I turned west from the landing, under the bridge to Île Gagnon - already noticeably shallower in comparison to May - and out onto the river.



The water was still high enough for an easy trip through the tunnel underneath the south side of the des Laurentides bridge.



Then under the footbridge to Île Locas, and up the north side of Île Locas to the marsh, with the birdwatching lookout clearly in view.





The water level was still high enough that I could poke my prow into the marsh, though all around me I could hear herons muttering and whuffling, and I figured by now they might well be nesting, so I didn't push it. (On the map, if you draw a line from the tip of the promontary just west of Île Chabot to the bank just west of Île Lacroix, everything to the west of that is filled in with marsh and reeds. This photo has me towards the northern margin, just below Île Chabot. That stand of trees beyond my bow marks the little island. I really ought to come back and annotate these maps, but if I wait to do that, these posts won't go up until December).



Then I crossed to the north side of the river, to go up the north side of Île de Mai, loop round the top, and come down the narrower, quicker-moving channel. No photos from this side.

And swung back around the north of Île Morris, to check on the progress of the swallows nests underneath the De Laurentides bridge. Clearly, I'd missed the building stage completely: the nests were built, and already occupied by something hungry, if the constant activity of the parent-birds was anything to go by.



Here's what the north bank of the river looks like, around Île Lefebvre,



Then I paddled back across to the south side of the river (with a pit-stop at Île de Juifs) and worked my way up the shallow, increasingly narrow side-stream just to the east of the de Laurentides bridge. I'd noted it on the way up as a potential side trip. I was stopped by a minor logjam, but on the other side, in a shaded pool, I spotted a mallard with her milling clutch of ducklings, visible more as motion than shapes in the shadows. To my pleasure, the little things bumbled up and over and around the obstruction, towards me. I started poking my way backwards, trying to stay out of their way at the same time as I took photos. Unfortunately, my autofocus was keener on sharp edged grass than cute fuzzy ducklings, so I have a number of fuzzy photos of cute fuzzy ducklings. The best ones were taken against water.





I've been startled by the speed with which ducklings skitter back and forth across the water, but it occurred to me that I was thinking from the perspective of a naked ape who has to slog along with most of its volume immersed, instead of a little ball of waterproof down and trapped air that displaces a fraction of its body-weight and therefore has negligible resistance to the thrust of its (comparatively) big webbed feet.

. . . And then back past the house with the red roof, and through the tunnel (this willow is to the left of the tunnel), and back to the landing.

August

August seemed to consist of a whole month of sunny, calm Tuesdays or Wednesdays or Thursdays, glorious for kayaking, miserable for working in an office that never seemed to get below 82F on the thermostat despite the loud wheezing of our antiquated air-conditioner, while the weekends were rainy and miserable, or had a strong wind warning. Or worse.

Decided to split this post into to two, otherwise both its production and its length were going to become exceedingly protracted. Stay tuned for the longest paddle yet.

Kayaks to the Arctic

While re-reading R. M. Patterson's The Dangerous River in the McPherson Library at UVic, I found an interesting book on the shelf near the good ol' D.R. (as fans call it). This book "popped" out at me because of its yellow cover, and its title: Kayaks to the Arctic. Ooo! I had to take a look at it
As it turns out, the author E.B. Nickerson is Elinor Nickerson, a physical education teacher from Alamo, California. Ooo Ooo! Another book on adventure travel by a woman. With her husband Richard Nickerson (known as "Nick") and three of their four sons, Elinor kayaked the MacKenzie River to the Arctic Ocean in 1964. The eldest son held the fort at home while the rest of the family spent weeks camping and kayaking.

The paper jacket is long gone on the library copy I read. But I liked the photos (all taken by "Nick"). I also liked the descriptions of villages along the river, and the Nickerson family camping methods. As for their kayaks, the Nickersons paddled folding kayaks that look and sound like Kleppers. The kayaks look much like the one in this 1964 photo from the Klepper website. Their 19-year-old son Devon paddled a solo kayak, while Elinor paddled a double with ten-year-old son Brian and Nick paddled a double with son Lincoln, who turned 12 on the trip.
They took five paddles with them to the Arctic. Five paddlers, five paddles. No spares.
If you're looking for a paddler's guide to the Mackenzie, you'll have to look elsewhere, such as the "Canoeist's Guide to the Liard and Mackenzie Rivers" by Harlow and Ariane Pinson, posted online here. The Pinsons note that Kayaks to the Arctic is not a guide book, but one of "several chatty but useless narratives of recent river travel." Useless to someone planning which river channel to take at the delta, maybe. But to someone comparing Alexander Mackenzie's journals to more recent works about travelling along this river, this book is interesting enough for me to gallop through it.
The most powerful scene in Kayaks to the Arctic comes as the Nickerson family approaches the Sans Sault rapids, the only bit of rough water they've been warned about. All the family knows to stay close to the left bank. When Devon's kayak veers a little less to the left than either of his parents prefer, Nick calls him to shore to have it out. Hot words get shouted, including "a few choice expletives." Then the blade of a kayak paddle swooshes through the air, and --
But that would be telling.

Lego Landing

Here on the We(s)t Coast, we've had a long string of feet in sneakers washing ashore, eleven in the last four years. But there's another case of feet washing ashore taking place, only these feet are attached to giant Lego-men.

This giant Lego man was spotted on shore this morning in Florida by Jeff Hindman.
But as noted on Boing-Boing, this is not the first time Lego men have washed ashore. One washed up in Holland in 2007, and another in England in 2008. And there's this.
Some places get all the cool flotsam.

Hockey Player Faces Boating Charges

The Globe and Mail had an interesting report in the Sports section yesterday. Check out page S5 to read their article on Dustin Byfuglien, defenceman for the Winnipeg Jets. His lawyer is attending a hearing for him this weekend, on some charges in Minnesota that stem from what the Globe and Mail calls " a strange boating outing last summer."
It's worth remembering that while in a boat, people are subject to laws. Here's a link to Transport Canada's Safety Rules and Tips. Boating while intoxicated, or failing to use navigational lights, or not having personal flotation devices are all offences for which a person can be charged. Transport Canada also has rules governing kayakers in short boats without motors.
Something else to think about is a program that Transport Canada has to fund boating safety projects. If you've got an idea that could promote boating safety, check it out.
Meanwhile, I'm going out on the water. With (yes) my PFD, floating rope in a throw bag, water pump, whistle, compass, waterproof flashlight, and SPOT.

Kayaking With Blue Whales

Wow. There's not much more to say of this amazing footage of a couple of kayakers who paddled along with some blue whales in California earlier this month. What amazing creatures. Check it out below:

Another Ordinary Day

Sunday was a great day for me. Got out and about in the village, did the coffeeshop thing, wrote, and -- ta dah! -- got on the water in a kayak on a bright afternoon!
I love paddling in the winter months. The water in Cadboro Bay is clear again! The crowds of people on the beach have dwindled to include only People Who Like The Beach A Whole Lot instead of the throngs of People Who Bought A New Swimsuit and People Who Think Going To The Beach Is Required In Summer. I am much more interested in sharing the beach in winter with the people who are determined to deal with the cool air.
This Sunday, the University of Victoria Sailing Club was out in full force. Team after team of young people were hauling out their little sailing boats, one after another. The bottleneck of traffic jam on the simple boat launch relented for a moment, and I was able to carry the kayak to shore.
It was the Jackson Kayaks Mini-Tripper. Really, it's meant for kids to noodle around a pond, but I've been taking it out along the shore to Flower Island. The large, open cockpit and slightly tippy narrow hull mean that I don't go around Flower... that would break my self-imposed rule (I'll go anywhere I feel confident about swimming BACK from!) even if it lets me see more of the big bay and even Mt Baker.
Sunday's paddle was a great time. A flock of seagulls was clustering near the middle of the bay, probably finding a shoal of small fish to catch. Many boats that are anchored in the bay all summer have been hauled ashore now, before the big storms of November.
I got chatting with Guy, the owner of the house along the shore with a dock reached by a steep path past the Tiki Hut. Where's their Buddha gotten to these days? Guy reports that the Buddha suffered some slings and arrows of outrageous fortune during his days in the rock niche or just above the dock. Not only did Buddha get knocked around by the otters, a wasp nest was built in his head! A broken arm on the statuette was enough to get Guy and his wife bringing the Buddha up near the house. It has been fine there for over a year. So have Guy and his wife. They love their little dock, but mosquitoes in summer and chill wind in winter make it a place they don't linger as much now as they did ten years ago when they first bought the place. Up at the top of their steep path, they sit outside, untroubled by mosquitoes or chill breezes off the water.
On my way back from Flower and Sheep Cove, I saw that the flock of seagulls was clustered by the little dock. "Did you feed them or something?" I asked Guy, and he shook his head, marvelling.
"They're fishing," he said. "Herring or something. And the seals are hunting, too."
Three little heads were bobbling up and dipping down. It looked like Mama Seal and two young, slim harbour seals were darting around for herring. How wonderful to see them herding the fish against the rock wall at that side of the bay!
I gave the seals, seagulls, and surviving herring a wide berth, then paddled back to the boat launch at Gyro Park. Every time we go on the water, even in familiar places, there's always something to see, and something to enjoy.

Food and Kayaking -- for Blog Action Day

John figured it would be a challenge to link the theme of Blog Action Day (Food!) with kayaking. Pshaw, I say. Of course food and kayaking are linked!
Don't believe me yet? Think about it for a minute. Why did people use kayaks in the North? Traditionally, the Inuit used them for hunting, and some still do. That's a food-related issue. In fact, I'd call it a food security issue. If we were going out in our kayaks to catch most of our food, food security would feel like a big issue to us, too.
Hunting kayaks were usually long and slim in Western Greenland, Bernie read somewhere. That is, they were long and slim until rifles became available to Inuit hunters. Then the usual kayak shape changed to something more like the Pamlico that Bernie and I lend to beginners -- wide and short, better suited to bringing a hunted animal back to shore than the long and slim kayaks that were good for quickly getting close to an animal for spear hunting.
Like I know how to hunt in a kayak... The only time one of us got close enough to a seal to be able to touch it, Bernie startled the seal and it sank away. Not food!
Instead, the food our paddle group associates most with kayaking is bars. Energy-to-go Bars. Power Bars. Cliff Bars. Luna Bars. Nonuts Bars. Nature Valley Granola bars and any other kind of packaged food snugged up in a water-resistant little parcel that fits in the pockets on our paddle jacket. Nice snacks that give me a boost of energy aren't essential, but they do make me feel more comfortable! Louise noticed the ginger in one bar made her feel warmer.
Oh, and there is another way that food and kayaking intersect. That's the fact that kayaking is better than backpacking because you can bring More Food. And better food, too -- heavy things like fresh fruit or fresh meat or eggs instead of dried or powdered commercial products. Nice to have light, packable food products when backpacking, of course. But on Bernie's kayaking trip to Portland, he was able to bring not only a proper gas stove but a griddle. He made pancakes.
Food... kayaking... yep, they're connected. Just think about how many times we eat after we go paddling!

A summer in the Parc, part 1

This the first of two catchup posts of my summer visits to the Parc de la Rivière-des-Mille-Îles.

Saturday April 30, 2011

My very first trip this year was two weeks before rentals opened, on April 30, when I did a Saturday scouting expedition, thinking that if I could find a good launch site close to the west side of the Park and the marsh, I would return with the Dragonfly on the Sunday and get a jump on the summer. I hopped off the 73 bus at the gate to the Parc, and trotted down to the landing, meeting the water rather before I expected: the small steep muddy beach that serves as a launch site was underwater, as was the bank above the beach, as were the trees at the top of the bank. The gangway to the dock, instead of sloping down, sloped up to the dock; the anchor point was underwater. Across the flooded channel, I could see various forlorn pieces of summer equipment. I estimated the water was six or seven feet above the ordinary level.

I followed the Boulevard Sainte-Rose west, detouring down side streets down to follow glimpses of the water, and eventually down a km-long packed mud track past the golf course on the west side of des Laurentides which accessed the footbridge over to Île Locas. Last summer, I'd seen fishermen casting from dirt shoulders on either side of the bridge. No dirt shoulders now; I would have had somehow to scramble down the bank and directly into the boat. That after a kilometer or so of slog. Everywhere the river was up over its banks and in amongst the trees. In midchannel, it was the colour of cold milky coffee, and briskly moving. I saw a single kayaker paddling upstream in a yellow hardshell boat that was the brightest colour in the landscape, but I could just envision myself trying to make headway in my own little yellow Dragonfly, with its flat bottom and metronome swivel. Or not.

May 22, 2011

Three weeks later, the rentals were open and the cherry blossoms were out, although the sun wasn't. The day was grey and chill, courtesy of The Spring that Never Was, but not raining, not blowing, and I was not to be stopped.



I headed upstream, paddling against the current beneath the bridge to Île Gagnon, and up along the south bank of the river, underneath the autoroute des Laurentides and then south of Île Lacroix. Where Île Lacroix bends, the woods at the river's edge were flooded deeply enough for me to take the kayak into them, which I did.



I was sitting in my kayak, with the nose against grassy mud, looking around, when I caught sight of a distinctive striped pointed shape underwater off my bow. I misparsed it at first, thinking snake, and the sudden flaring of the front flippers was disconcerting (Hooded cobra! Way too many B-movies at an impressionable age). I recognized it just as it began to float upwards to the surface, and I snuck a hand out for the camera. At that point, unfortunately, the turtle recognized me as foreign and possibly threatening. Flippers, head, snapped back into its shell, lying almost edge-on to the surface, and almost hidden in mud. I waited. It poked its head gingerly out a couple more times, but each time was quicker to withdraw, so I decided to do the polite thing, and take myself off.

On the other hand, nothing and no one was going to put this muskrat off the reed it was munching with all the blissful obliviousness of a child left alone with a stick of rock candy, sitting on a mat of rotten last-summer leftovers under the flooded trees.



The sight of the marsh itself was a shock. With the water this high, I'd anticipated being able to get well into it, but . . . where was the marsh? Where was the land? Nothing remained but a grey expanse of water with some brown stubble of last year's reeds. I wandered the watery wastes in bewilderment, round the back of the little island that used to be, took photographs of the bare marooned trunks and sodden branches, and strange cocoons wrapped around desiccated reeds (which came out blurry, autofocus having favoured the stark branches in the background). The only visible living critter was another muskrat crouching on a root knuckle and looking distinctly morning-after-ish. But although the day was dull and the early spring colours were drab, the birds were feeling anything but (pan movie of the marsh).




For lunch, I sat on the steps at Île Gagnon, with the kayak hitched to the upright and floating at my feet. I watched the grey waters and the sparse traffic, three or four kayaks, a couple of outboards. Then I paddled across to the north side of the river, past Île aux Moutons - I didn't feel like fighting the current alongside Île de Mai - between Îles Chabot and Clermont, and up and around Île Thibault, with the intention of checking on the activity underneath the bridge from the Autoroute de Laurentides, where I had seen swallows nest-building last summer. I was too early in the year; the only nests were abandoned ones, and it was not easy staying on station, against the current, to get a photograph. Going under the bridges, riding the current, was entertaining. 



 

Also between Île Thibault and Île Lefebre, as best I can tell on the map, there's a wooden bridge over a stretch of marsh, which I was able to paddle under, and in amongst the trees, look back out at the river. Somewhere around there, another muskrat was making short work of another reed.



And then I crossed over above Île des Juifs, came round the top of Île Gagnon, through the tunnel under the roadbridge, and let the current sweep me back to the landing. Mission accomplished.

A golden ending

This was it, the end, the last weekend of rentals, both at the Parc de la Riviere, and at Îles de Boucherville. And what a gorgeous weekend it was, with highs in the low twenties all three days. The one hitch was strong SW wind warnings for both Saturday and Sunday, and a forecast of NW 10-15 knots for Monday as the cooling-off began. But I would have braved worse, for one last paddle. Plus, a fellow epidemiologist and I had been working on getting out on the river together for over a year; between her schedule, my schedule, and the Spring That Did Not Happen and Was That Really August?, this was our last chance. So off we went, on Monday morning, to the Parc de la Riviere. And we were rewarded with one of the best kayaking days I've seen on the river, warm, bright sunshine on golden leaves, barely a whisper of wind, a day when a mere wave of the paddle seemed to send the kayak gliding ahead.



We arrived at the Parc on the 10 am bus, got kitted up, and (after some circling around and taking photographs) headed out along a much narrowed and diminished channel, east around the tip of Île Gagnon; the river had fallen far enough that the water under the bridge carrying the Rue de l'Île Gagnon was not navigable. The river was as low as I had seen it, very shallow except for the main channels, and murky, and it was all too easy to miss large rocks until the moment of contact (or painfully prolonged period of contact), even when not looking anywhere but ahead of the brow. My boat acquired a few more scratches to add to its scars.



We paddled up the south side of the river, towards the marsh. We were not the only ones on the river: several pairs of kayakers and a few canoes, most of them colour-coordinated with the foliage: oranges and reds. This is the season for orange boats. That's my paddling companion Daphne on the left, and a canoe group whom we kept passing, on the water and on the islands, here illustrating the exquisite calm of the water.



At the marsh, more autumnal glory and less water. The bird lookout was hard up against the exposed ground and reeds.



For the purposes of contrast (I do intend to do a catch-up digest post of the paddles I have not yet documented this year), here is a view of the same area in May, while the meltwaters were still coming down the river. That single tree is off to the right of the October photograph, high on dry land and surrounded by tall green reeds.



As another indication of how much the water level has fallen: the first time I paddled this year, that fairly chilly, overcast day in late May, I stopped for lunch at Île Chabon, hitching myself from the cockpit of my kayak directly onto the bottom step of the stairs shown in this photograph. We stopped at Chabon today, too, and discovered that there was no picnic table, but we ate sitting on our PFDs on a lookout platform over the channel between Chabot and "the mainland".



After lunch, we checked out the turtle pullouts along the south side of Île Chabot, but either it was not quite warm enough, or too early in the day: no turtles. We saw a single turtle in shallow, rock and stem-studded shallows at the upstream side of Île Ducharme, but the water had fallen even lower than a month ago, when I found another series of turtle pullouts on the east side of that bridge, and we could not get past the bridge. The herons were dispersed along the riverbank, fishing. The warm weather seemed to have put them in a mellow mood, unlike last year. I'd left my my camera with the zoom lens at home - I'm at the stage in learning when there's a lot of fumbling and muttering over the manual - so my photographs were generally of brilliant foliage with a bird in there somewhere. One of the herons looked almost pure white. It had a heron shape, at least from a distance, and heron stalking motions, but no apparent markings.



Gradually, we worked our way back across the river and back to the location d'embarcations, returned all the gear, and headed for the 3:35 pm bus back to Cartier and thence back to Montréal. And so the season ends.

Sigh. But what a golden ending.

Run Over?

Just found a link from the forum at Advanced Elements to another forum -- this one for motorhome enthusiasts. The post it links to is from one of their senior members, Nigel, who is also into kayaking. He tells how he was run over by a power boat a few days ago.
Scroll down through the well-wishing to see Nigel's description of his decision to capsize and how his feet were injured. He's lucky to be alive. If Nigel hadn't capsized, the injuries (which were bad enough) might have been to his head. And if the yobs who ran him over hadn't stopped to help him, Nigel probably wouldn't have made it to shore on his own.
Memo to self:
-I'm invisible in my kayak. Yes, this colourfuly-dressed person in a bright kayak is invisible.
-Larger boats might move faster but are unable to steer out of MY way, I must stay out of THEIR way.
-My kayak's place in the spectrum of boats from floating log to ferry is solidly in the "speedbump" category.
-When a collision with a high-speed boat is inevitable, roll over (away from the approaching boat) to take the blow on the hull instead of my upper body. It's possible the fast boat will slide over my kayak, and push me down for a second or two.

Pumpkin My Ride

Most kayaks are long and pointy and made from fibreglass or plastic. Some are round and made from plant-based materials that you can toss in your compost after you're done. And number of the latter took part in today's 13th Annual Pumpkin Regatta in Windsor, Nova Scotia. According to the CBC (where the picture is from), today's winner was a local school headmaster who finally tasted victory on his fourth try.
Here's a link to a CBC video report showing how to convert a pumpkin into a kayak (sorry, no embed).

Paddle to the Arctic/ Kabloona in the Yellow Kayak

In the early 1980s, Don Starkell and his son Dana paddled a canoe from Winnipeg to the mouth of the Amazon river in Brazil. For an encore in the 1990s, Don attempted to kayak the fabled Northwest Passage in the Canadian Arctic, from Churchill, Manitoba to Tuktoyaktuk, Northwest Territory. His first attempt in 1990, a solo attempt, ended quickly after a disastrous spill on his third day of paddling. It took him nine days of paddling through wretched conditions to return to his starting point. Despite vowing never to return, in 1991 he returned for another try, this time with two other paddlers. One soon dropped out of the expedition but the other, Victoria Jason, continued on with Don and together they paddled as far as Repulse Bay on the northern shore of Hudson Bay. Despite the utter incompatibility of their personalities, they returned to Repulse Bay in 1992 to continue the journey. They set out from Repulse Bay attempting to follow Don's plan to pull their kayaks on sleds across the frozen ice until they reached open water from which to launch from. The two of them pulled their kayaks across the ice for almost three weeks, until Vicki had to withdraw due to injuries. Don continued on alone, pulling his kayak for another three weeks before reaching open water. Injuries, bad weather and bad choices worked against Don, and he almost met his demise just miles from his destination. He was rescued, but severe frostbite cost him most of his fingers and some of his toes.
There's enough adventures here for more than one book, and in fact two did grew out of this expedition: Starkell's Paddle to the Arctic, and Jason's Kabloona in the Yellow Kayak. And if you've ever wanted to experience a "he said, she said" version of how a kayaking expedition can go wrong, this is as probably as good as you're going to get.
It's clear from his book that Starkell was a driven man, and seemingly would let almost nothing get in the way of completing his expedition. Not even his paddling partners. He consistently and often rudely ignored advice from his partners and from the local residents and indigenous peoples who knew how to survive in this remote and dangerous part of the world. Despite years of planning, he made mistakes like neglecting to pack all the charts required or checking that his kayak compass was working correctly before setting out. In one notably gaffe, he lead himself and Jason over 100 km off course by paddling east when he though he was paddling west. Even the sun rising from the totally opposite side of the horizon than it should was not enough to convince him that he might be wrong. I lost count of how many times in this book the phrase "Instead, I decided to play a hunch" was followed a page or so later by "It didn't go the way I expected."
I'm not suggesting this isn't a good book -- it is -- but you will be pulling your hair out as Starkell's situation goes from bad to worse. To be fair, Starkell seems to realize that many of the obstacles were of his own making, and he is a much humbler man at the end of the book.

Victoria's story doesn't end when she pulls out of the 1992 expedition. Her book covers not only the 1991 and 1992 expeditions in all their exasperating details, but her return to Arctic in 1993 and 1994 when she kayaked down the McKenzie River from Great Slave Lake to the Arctic Ocean and then continued along the northern shore, duplicating the final leg of Don's trip but in reverse. And it's here that her book really shines, with wonderful descriptions of the scenery and people she meets along the way. She returned in 1996 to paddle the parts of the original trip that was accomplished by sled in 1992, and returned to the Arctic again over the next couple of years. She was working on another book on her further Arctic adventures when she took ill and passed away in 2000.
These books are the classic example of what can happen when not understanding your partner's motivation to for paddling. In this case, one was paddling for the experience of it, while the other was paddling it apparently just for the sake of doing it. As Neil Peart once wrote in a Rush song, "The point of the journey is not to arrive."

Derek Hutchinson

Yesterday evening, Louise and I attended our first SISKA event as actual members, an evening with Derek Hutchinson. The godfather of modern sea kayaking is a born raconteur and described in humorous detail his attempts to be the first person to kayak across the North Sea. He was a treat to listen to and the audience of about 100 paddlers enjoyed his watery tales.
Unfortunately, the lighting in the hall was not the best and my pictures of the event suck. But at least there was a spectacular sunset outside

Lila and Yves

The seasons are changing, the proof being in the gloomy skies and cool air. As Louise and I waited on the Cadboro Bay beach for our co-paddlers, the sun was hidden behind puffy grey clouds. We could see off-shore showers on the horizon, and a soft by cool breeze foreshadowed the stronger winds predicted to come later in the day.


But we weren't planning a long paddle today. In fact today's would be rather short and safe. We were being joined by Paula, as well as her daughter Lila and her new husband Yves who are visiting from Edmonton. Neither are experienced kayakers, in fact this was Yves' first time in a kayak and he is not a good swimmer, so we were going to stick close to shore. Also, we didn't have a lot of time to paddle as Yves wanted to attend pirate school later in the day.


And off we went. Paula put her herself and Yves into her inflatable....

....while Lila went out in the Pamlico.


Louise and I in our Delta sea kayaks kept the lead, usually without even trying. Seals were popping up here and there, but they were very shy and unapproachable.


I managed to sneak off and take and watch some cormorants.


And after a quick trip to the point and back, we were done.


Trip Length: 3.90 km
YTD: 207.04 km
More pictures are here.