Shipwreck Concannon They Calls ‘IM
First Newfoundland VK Workshop
This is just the kind of thing we have been looking for. It is so great to hear from our members “on the water”. We don’t need a missive (although they are fun too). It is great to include small items to share what we are doing with our boats. Thanks for these. Have fun.
Annie
by Andre’ Massicotte
Mystic Bond, the SWBANS mothership, landed at mooring 19 in Mahone Bay for the festival. Xanadu, Olga, Joshua and I had a great time watching the races from our vantage point and providing rescue service with our dinghy during the races. Josh also did double duty as one of several of the unofficial photographers for the event. We had a perfect spot for the Burning of the Teazer. At one point it looked like Mahone Bay was being targeted with Exocet Missiles from the water. When it came to the fireworks, Xanadu had had enough of all that noisy and violent display and retreated to the forward cabin head, trembling and whimpering. From my point of view, the light show was spectacular.
After receiving a huge bribe to slow down one of the racers by throwing full beer cans at their boat, Neptune took his revenge by filling our fuel lines with air. So, although we never made it to the Stonehurst Bash, we did learn valuable lessons in emergency anchoring, towing and engine maintenance. I guess that’s what happens when you get beyond wood, sail and oars/paddles: the gods of the sea play tricks on you at the slightest sign of provocation.
We hope to see you all next year, even those funny people from south of the border. By that time, we should be more boat wise and have more accuracy on beer can throwing.
by Robert Fraser
A three hour paddle
around this island off theNorthwest coast of Cape Breton in early August
gave Betsy and I one of our most satisfying short trips in the province.
Twice in past years we have not attempted to do this paddle because of
high winds in the area but this year we had a very calm, sunny day.
There is a very convenient day park next to a beach on the mainland which
provides easy parking and launching.
Going straight across
to the island brought us to sandstone cliffs from where we circumnavigated
the island counter-clockwise. We soon came upon a large beach with
several boats beached and anchored and about 40 people on the shore.
The whole backside of the island was not overly interesting. Limestone
formations including an arch make the north point the most interesting
area. The limestone here has a lot of colour and the texture of some
of it is somewhere between crystalline and fibrous.
Amid the striking
marbled cliffs is a scenic little beach which would be quite sheltered
for landing in all but a true North wind. A swim and picking blueberries
rounded out this trip.
Shipwreck Concannon They Calls ‘IM
by Michael Concannon
This was the caption of a photo of me in the GE Space Division newspaper “Reporter”/ put there by a colleague in May 1968. One reads of these sagas now and again in yachting periodicals and usually inaccurately in the newspapers, and when I told my boss, a retired US Air Force test pilot the story, he remarked that the sequence of events that led up to the disaster were exactly the kind of thing that happens in a typical aircraft crash. Luckily no one was seriously hurt in the wreck, and the boat, “Gleam”, still survives in Rhode Island and is still racing successfully.
She is a lovely 12 metre boat, designed by Clinton Crane (“Weetamoe”) and superbly built by Nevins Yard, City Island NY, in 1938 for the America Cup Race which did not happen because of WWII. Her sail number is US 11.
I got involved with “Gleam” through association with my j dinghy racing partner, Peter (Thistle^610 “Carina” and 420 Dinghy “Prometheus”). Peter is a nuclear physicist, and worked under the head of N.P. Department at the University of PA in Philadelphia.
I guess Pete must have been impressed with my prowess at Brightwork (varnishing) on the Thistle - I must admit I have not the patience (or more practically, realisation of the lack of return on investment of time and money) onvarnishing anything that has to be subjected to the exterior environment, any more. The finish of the mahogany plywood inside of the Thistle looked like a Grand piano, which is all very nice, but drove me crazy when crew dropped the bloody anchor on the finish; anyway, as Pete’s boss wanted some Brightwork done on “Gleam”, which he co-owned with a New York lawyer, I got “roped in” for this job. The boat had been in a shed on a very up market marina on Long Island Sound - All kinds of boats owned by big shots from all over the North Eastern coast, even Texas. The co-ownership was unusual in that the professor had the boat all year and took care of all the maintenance, except for a period of two weeks in the summer for the NY Yacht Club Cruise, when the other owner enjoyed the hi-jinks associated with that event.
The boat needed painting,
and the yard wanted some astronomical sum for this job, so the professor
found a
marina in southern
New Jersey on the Maurice River (off the huge Delaware River Estuary),
who could do the job for significantly less money. He was pushing
to get sailing, of course, and the boat had not been in the water for several
years, much work had to be done.
So, every weekend in the Spring of ’68, we would load up the professor’s huge station wagon with boat maintenance stuff and half a dozen characters, and head for Long Island (wasn’t too bad in those days on the weekend), and finally the boat was ready for the trip on May 9, 1968, a Friday, and a long weekend ahead.
Although my sailing experience at that time was primarily dinghy racing, I had been involved with Keel Boat racing, as crew, chartering Ketches and Schooners myself on weekends, and delivering boats from New England to Chesapeake Bay. I had several hair raising experiences on some of these trips, including hitting a freighter on the Delaware River in the middle of the night (luckily minimal damage to the boat), getting into those deadly air mass thunderstorms on Chesapeake Bay, when it goes from a flat calm to 80 MPH in seconds, very nearly drowned my boss who went overboard off a schooner’s bowsprit and I took too long to do the man overboard routine, going through fish traps at 8 knots, on Delaware Bay (again in the middle of the night), getting the Galley on fire (same place, alcohol stove - deadly device) and various groundings etc. This was over several years in the 1960’s. So when this trip came up - and this is a bit spooky - I had some premonitions which I coulid not identify and I mentioned this to my colleague who had dubbed me “Shipwreck”. I just had a funny feeling about it - maybe because we had a tight schedule - back at work Tuesday morning and getting over the 12 foot bar at the entrance of the Maurice River - at close to high tide on Sunday night.
“Gleam” draws 9 feet, so we had a small window of opportunity. The crew for the voyage was Skipper, (the professor), his lifelong sailing friend navigator (with whom he had won their class in the Bermuda race a NY 32 in 1962), a young fellow about 18, Peter, my wife, and myself, as Dogsbody, the Philly contingent. The remainder, from NYC, consisted of a couple of hefty young fellows, the Professor’s son and a friend, their wives and one other. As we never made contact, I’m not sure who, but there were five in total. So, we were supposed to have 10, including the three ladies. As it turned out, we had the boat ready about 1500 hours that Friday, it was a lovely day, and not much wind. Pete and I decided we’d like to check out all systems, the Prof agreed and off we went, test sailing, some of the marina staff helping with Dock lines etc - telling them we would be back in a couple of hours. We need not leave until about 2000 because of the horrendous tidal race at “Hell’s Gate”, between L.I. and NYC, about 6 knots I seem to remember, at peak.
Anyway, even though the wind was light, the boat performed fantastically, steady as a train and slipping through the water effortlessly in the light air. We got back to the dock about 1700 to await the rest of the crew who had some rather essential equipment - like VHF radio, Cooking pots etc., but most importantly, muscle.
We waited past the appointed rendezvous time, and went to the security guard at the gate. Of course, this was the night shift, not the guy who had taken our lines for the test sail, who had failed to relay the message that we would be back. The crew turned up at the gate when we were having our test sail, and the new guard informed them that “Gleam” had left! So they took off to try and intercept us at various points on our course, bridges etc crossing the NY/Long Island waterway. They never succeeded in contacting us, or vice versa.
We hung on until dark - had supper at a local pizza joint, but only after a very significant, at the time unnoticed, event. Around 1800, a fast motor boat arrived, coming from the Connecticut shore and delivered a good sized cardboard box, which contained an inflatable rubber life raft. This was stowed away without checking it out and we promptly forgot about it. We finally departed about 2030, without a weather report, now dark of course, under power as wind was still light. I must have picked the early morning watch, having slept though NYC and Hell’s Gate etc, and was wakened to a ghastly North-Easter, just off Sandy Hook, and made the fatal mistake of having a cup of coffee; puke! When we got round the hook it was a broad reach, with wind 20 - 25 knots and the boat took off - 10 - 11 knots on the Kenyon, with a following sea.
The night watch had got sail up early in NY Harbour as they were worried about the engine, an old 40 HP (driving a 68,000 Ib boat!) Gray Marine - misfiring incessantly, clapped out and using a lot of oil. After only \ hour of this open ocean stuff, the whole crew was looking pretty green. Pete and I had a conference and decided to persuade the Skipper to put into Atlantic city for more oil, fix the engine which I thought was a goner, and some other adjustments which we figured would give us a bit of a respite, as we had had enough, frankly.
We got off Atlantic City quite quickly, long before dark, wind still up pretty strong, and had to get those huge sails down. What a job! Took us nearly an hour, after the most incredible gybe I have done - the boat handled superbly, no problem at all but of course, she had top notch gear, and the boom (9"xl5") under control at all times. It was like a fast planing dinghy - but the centre of effort of the sails moving almost 50 feet in a flash in that wind is formidable. We chugged into a marina, had a shower and a damn good supper.
Like the bloody fool I am - recognizing the Prof’s desire to make the tide on Sunday night, I volunteered to have a look at the engine, which I did and found the misfiring was due to dirt in the carb, and the old engine ran sweetly after it was cleaned. We all forgot about the oil.
“We feel fine now, let’s go!” Everyone agreed. Of course the wind had not abated, as soon as we got out of the Atlantic City Inlet it was up to what it was when we entered, except now it had moved into the south, and continued to head us down the shore. At first, we decided not to put up the main because of the difficulty before, and the boat was doing 7.5-8 knots just on a small Genoa, but as we were headed we went out to sea until we decided to dump the sail and use the engine.
I was in my bunk, must have been 0200 when I was awakened by one of the young fellows who exclaimed “ Mr C. - “I think the engine is giving up!” A horrible revelation - I looked at the oil pressure gauge - zero oil pressure! Stop the engine! The wind had dropped, now the front had gone through and we were wallowing about - “where the hell are we?” The navigator and the other fellow on watch were both sick and couldn’t care less where we were and had no idea, and wanted to die. Of course we must have been in the shipping lane, so the Prof heads due west to pick up the shore bouys. We got the small genoa out, and off she went like a train. I had the wheel, the wheel I had spent hours re-finishing, it is a lovely, beautifully made thing with a turks head on the king spoke. After maybe an hour I made out shore lights, and reported this to the crew, all at the chart table heatedly arguing about our position. Problem was, they didn’t hear me, being 20 feet aft of the cabin hatch, and down wind. Anyway, these lights suddenly developed into street lights, and worse, I could see people walking about!
I shouted for “All hands on deck to come about - it takes four people as the jib sheets are 3/8 wire wrapped on hugh 15 inch coffee grinder drum winches. Of course, again, the crew didn’t hear me. A couple of minutes later she bumped on the hard sand - I could not come about on my own, and tried to gybe, but it was too late. In desperation, I started the engine, which destroyed itself in seconds by throwing a rod. So, there we were, 3/4 of a mile off the New Jersey beach being sucked in by the incredibly fierce tide, bumping on the bottom, in six foot swells. The impact of 68,000 pounds dropping on what seemed like concrete was shattering, and the spruce mast, 91 feet from deck to trunk with a section about 13" deep and 12 wide, was whipping about like spaghetti.
The Prof was speechless. I suggested we get the hell out of it, but he wouldn’t leave the beloved ship. we hunted for flares for the signal pistol after donning life jackets, finally my wife locateed them after being chucked around the cabin, and we got some flares off. After a couple of minutes of this torture, I took over and called “abandon ship!”
There was a gorgeous mahogany hard dinghy we put over the side which promptly sank and we never saw it again. Someone remembered the package from Connecticut (the inflatable life raft) and we dragged it out of the box, connected some kind of compressed gas or air bottle, opened the valve, and nothing happened. Frantically we found another bottle for the other side, and that did inflate one side, and without much ado, somehow we got this sorry craft in the lee of the boat without getting anyone hurt, as the swell was so high and relentless. The Prof still wanted to stay aboard however, I must of phyiscally grabbed him and shoved him into the raft. he must have been over 70 at the time. The water was about 50F, and we all sang (and prayed) for the 3/4 mile trip to the beach, where we lay exhausted fr a few moments but the concern for our seniors drove us to go for help.
Luckily, we were only a mile or so from the USCG station, Hereford Inlet; they had seen our flares and responded - I can’t really remember the details but I do remember a lovely hot shower and a fantastic bacon and egg breakfast at 0600. Our clothes were washed and dried and we were made most comfortable. The Prof called his partner on the phone and it was a rather cryptic conversation - after the bad news the partner asked if anyone was hurt. Upon being assured we were all OK, the partner said: “That’s fine - I am looking for a tax loss anyway.” End of conversation. In the meantime, the CG had sent out a cutter to tow the sloop off, as the tide was coming in. They miscalculated the size and weight of “Gleam” as she has such slender lines, and broke a Hawser. They put a guy on board to accept a line from a bigger tug, but when they returned the mast had shattered (exactly what I feared when I abandoned ship). The guy was knocked out into the sea,-but by a miracle was picked up by a local fisherman going out at dawn. He did have several ribs broken, but was saved by his life jacket.
Eventually “Gleam” was towed into a marina in Ocean City NJ next to the famous record breaking three-masted Schooner “Atlantic” (circa 1900).
A slow, tedious rebuilding took place over the next few years, there was very little hull damage, just a couple of ribs broken and the Garboard strake on the starboard side was replaced, a tribute to the Nevins Yard which closed down years ago as they would not accept sub standard workmanship and government regulations and bureaucracy. But the mast! Finally, after trying to find one, the prof bought all the Sitka Spruce in Oregon and the yard in the Maurice River, NJ did a wonderful job of it - a lesson in superb spar making skill, almost non-existent today - and this in a small community sparsely populated in Southern Jersey.
I felt a bit diffident when, must have been four or five years later, the prof asked us to crew on the trip back to Long Island.
That’s the beginning of another hilarious story with all sorts of systems failures, heads conking out, starters being rebuilt at 11 knots in the Atlantic because we had to get back through Hells Gate - the engine (new Gray, same as before - totally useless in reverse) starter had fallen apart. We did have a lot of fun though.
The saga does not end
here. When the Prof had “Gleam” in Arnie Gays• yard in Annapolis,
and we went down day sailing one Sunday, a friend took a picture of “Gleam”
on the Bay which I had in the Registration Office at the Inn. A chap
came in to book a room and promptly recognised the boat. Turns out
he makes half models and had the lines drawings and offered to send me
copies. Which he did. Must have been 1986 when I bought a Thickness
planer for the balcony building project for the motel, I got the idea to
build a half model from these drawings - no, not a half model, both
halves. I have one (port) and I sent the other half (about 30" long)
to the Prof who now was close to 90 at this time. He said to his
daughter, after hanging this model on the wall of his office in front of
his desk: “Its not often somebody gives you something you really want’”
In return, he sent me a black and white print of the Morris Rosenfeld photo
of “Gleam” - before WWII leading another 12 - Northern Light”. It
was
Rosenfeld’s (one of
the supreme Yachting photographers in the world), favourite photo.
It is my favourite photo now. (10 minutes after the picture was taken
the mast went over the side - they were flying a huge Spinnaker),
First Newfoundland VK Workshop
by Richard Hayes (VK1NF)
Never underestimate the power of small acts of random kindness, coupled with the forces of serendipity, to ripple outwards.
Following a brief introduction to kayaking during a summer 2001 trip to Woody Island in Placentia Bay, my wife and I started thinking about the potential of kayaks to explore the waters around the Eastport Peninsula, where we spend a good part of each summer. On a whim, we stopped at the information booth at the Malady Head campground in Terra Nova National Park seeking brochures about kayak rentals and tours in the park. While we were waiting, a Toyota Corolla wearing Nova Scotia tags with two kayaks atop it pulled in.
“Those look like homebuilts”, I said, and promptly hopped out to have a closer look. The driver, Harry Beach, and his wife Susan, started chatting with us, explaining that Harry and his son had built their VOLKSKAYAKS at a workshop held by Whynot Boats. A dozen questions and a few more longing looks elicited an invitation to get together and swap our canoe for their VOLKSKAYAKS for a few hours. This we did a day or so later, and besides enjoying their company enormously, the boat’s performance and their enthusiasm for building one’s own kayak impressed me enough to check out the boats at www.volkskayak.com
Hmm...Whynot Boats is in Greenfield...that’s really near Wolfville...Cousin Margie, whom I’m already planning to visit this fall, is at Acadia...hmm....a few e-mails back and forth with Margie and Gerry Gladwin...yup, mid-September is possible...and suddenly, I’m booked to build my own kayak. I started it September 19th, finished it the 27th, and throughly enjoyed everything in between. I headed back across the Gulf and then the island with what I think is the first Newfoundland-based VK, new friends in Gerry and Josie Gladwin, and a determination that the RIGHT WIND wouldn’t remain Newfoundland’s only VK for long.
Over the winter, a few posts to the nf.paddling newsgroup about a possible Newfoundland workshop and some e-mails back and forth with people expressing interest in the idea, resulted in seven individuals committing themselves to building VOLKSKAYAKS. Between July 13-22, six owner-builders completed their boats during a ten-day workshop held at Seal Cove, near St. John’s. The long format allowed those who couldn’t get a week’s holidays to work evenings and weekends, with over half of the builders choosing this option. With everyone working to different schedules, there were VK’s at every stage of construction from lace-up to final fairing in the shed at one point.
Honours for being first out the door with their boat went to Kate and son Alexander. Bruce and his wife Peggy did Bruce’s kayak at the workshop, picked up one of the two spare kits Gerry had brought along, and showed up on the VOLKSKAYAK Forum looking for sources for epoxy fillers for Peggy’s boat within 48 hours of taking Bruce’s VK Big Fellow home. Julie and friend Guy opted to modify Julie’s kayak to reduce the volume. Dennis VK headed home to the Southern Shore, with some of the province’s best paddling waters waiting for it. Colin Moores , who happened to drop by to visit the building shed’s owner about five days into the workshop, made a snap decision to avail himself of a vacant building slot. He may have started late, but still beat the sixth participant, Gerry (not Gladwin), who’s acknowledged as one of the best boat repairmen in this neck of the woods, out the door with his VK Standard. Everyone enjoyed the building process enormously, and seemed pleased and surprised with how smoothly everything had gone and how well their VOLKSKAYAKS turned out.
Gerry and Josie took some time after the workshop to visit with relatives of Gerry’s and get some paddling in. They visited the Eastport Peninsula, Greenspond Island, Twillingate, Dildo Run, Gros Morne, and the Port aux Port Peninsula as they made their way back to the ferry. Rumour has it that they enjoyed themselves, and will be back in the future.
In fact, it may be next summer, if the latest tentative ripple to spread outwards from Harry and Susan’s act of kindness finds favour with VOLKSKAYAKERS upalong. Plans are afoot to see who’s interested in attending a VOLKSKAYAK-IN during Summer 2003 at Malady Head campgrounds, where the whole serendipitous process started just over a year ago. Keep an eye on the newsletter, and the VOLKSFORUM at www.volkskayak.com for more information.
by Ryerson Clark
The racing sailors of SWBANS put on a wonderful and colourful show for the people of Mahone Bay and the boats moored in the harbour.
We had three Light Schooners and six Windsprints in the class races as well as a Bolger Gypsy and a sort of Proa in the open class. There were nine races over five days with the winner picked from their five best finishes. If a tie was called, then it went to the 6th, and then the 7th races etc. until it was broken.
Robert Fraser lashed two kayaks together with a platform between to make the Proa. I call it a Proa rather then a catamaran as one hull was longer then the other. It had a windsurfer sail and Robert sailed it as such, standing up. This craft would sail forward or backwards and once Robert got the feel for it and made a few adjustments he did very well.
Our race crews did a fine job. There was always a Ferreira family member or a Blake rising flags and blowing horns for the starts, as well as in the race boats as needed! These people from Maine and California come here on vacation to do this! John and the Sea Cadet boat were back for safety as well as Andre’, Olga or Josh in their dinghy.
Moments I’ll remember about this year...well, in the Schooners how about Miscreant and Spirit of Mahone in a dead tie after seven races! The pressure was on for defending champion Paul Middleton in Miscreant. Ken Lamb and Katherine Sharpe in their new Windsprint (and new to racing) finishing first in the last two races, a crew to watch (and sabotage) in 2003. Seeing the Windsprint “Lucy’s” (originally Yellowtail) back in the water with crew Dave and Faye, Annie and I built her in,,was it really 1994?? The wonderful party at Howard and Donna Rays in Stonehurst. Great friends to SWBANS and very active members. And last but not least, having the pleasure of the company of all our racing friends who make this trip from all over, the real reason I go to the festival.
So how did they finish?
Schooners:
1st - Miscreant,
Paul Middleton of Virginia
2nd - Spirit of Mahone,
Larry Brown of Long Island NY.
3rd - The Pub Boat
skippered by several people.
Windsprints:
1st - Fluke,
Don and Aubrey Ives of Heckmans Island NS.
2nd - Loon, Annie
and Ryerson Clark of Dartmouth, NS.
3rd - Blue Magic,
Donna and Howard Ray of Stonehurst, NS.
4th - Dragonfly,
Ken Lamb and Katherine Sharpe of Dartmouth, NS.
5th - Lucy’s,
Dave and Faye of Heckmans Island, NS
6th - Nomad From Hell,
Kevin West of Brooklyn, NS
Open Class:
1st - Robert
Fraser in his Proa, of Dartmouth, NS.
2nd - Raggle Taggle,
Jack and Lois Beardon of Halls Harbour, NS.
There were also a few other boats that entered the open class but didn’t get in the regulation 5 races to place. Thanks all the same to these people for entering what they could.
It wouldn’t be a festival for us racers if it wasn’t for the Mug and Anchor Pub and all the staff who make our week long stay here a real pleasure. They go out of their way to try and seat our group together (in an already very busy summer setting) knowing most have not seen each other for a year and have a lot of catching up to do. Fran and John also deserve a hand for sponsoring the races with a $25.00 gift certificate to the Pub for every boat that entered as well as providing the space for our AGM on Saturday morning. This years events in the Pub were more sedate then normal, Ken didn’t wear Rob’s underwear on his head as last year,, maybe we are growing up...NAW!
And that’s all folks! Hope to see you next year if not before, stay safe and enjoy yourselves.
by Ulli Hoeger
Last year the Row-Around 2001 was a paddling highlight of the season for me. This annual event has been organized and hosted by Karl Richardson for many years now. Once a fundraiser it is now a fun and leisure trip. Full of anticipation I looked forward to August 17th the launch day for the Row-Around 2002, and then I almost missed it. Thursday before the trip I trashed my kayak’s rear hatch cover, and cracked the rear deck. Luckily Fraser Howell was able to help me out with some emergency repairs on Friday. Thank you one more time for saving the trip for me!
Early Saturday morning we loaded Fraser’s van with gear, two kayaks, and hooked up the dingy on its trailer. Two hours later the three of us, Fraser Howell, Jennifer Howell, and me, were meeting with the other participants at the wharf in Owls Head.
It was great to see that all of last years participants had showed up for the trip. A strong statement for the quality and camaraderie found on this outing. Last years veterans were joined by three more boaters, so the 2002 Owls Head expedition flotilla counted a dozen people in half a dozen kayaks, two dories, and two dinghies. Kayakers Jennifer Howell, Liza Hageraats, Jamie Van Buskirk, Chris Bennett, Dave Bissionette, and I were led by Karl and Gordon Richardson, Frank and Ken Stevens, Mike Sanders, and Fraser Howell in dories and rowing dinghies.
Karl handed copies of a map with the intended route to each participant. This year our trip would take us SW of Owls Head. After the traditional farewell cookie snack provided by Karl’s wife Pat we headed out into the fog. Just as a year ago it was a warm and foggy Saturday, and again we would see a hot and sunny Sunday. It could have been worse.
After passing Cable Island we turned starboard, and headed for Cuckold Island, the first stop marked on our maps. The island’s west side with it’s mud flats was perfect for clam digging. The tide was just right, and an hour of claming significantly added to our supper. The next island marked on our route was Laybold Island. We beached boats on a nice sandy beach in a sheltered cove for our lunch break.
After lunch the trip became increasingly interesting. The fog was still dense, visibility a few hundred meters at the best. The open water crossing to Egg Island would test our navigational skills. Compass work for almost 3 km! Soon Chris and I lost contact with the other paddlers and the dories. Waiting seemed not wise. The swell had picked up and was pushing us around. So we decided to push on. Karl had noted distance and bearing to the island on the map, and keeping a watchful eye on the magnetic needle we headed into the White Room. During the crossing we spotted several Black Guillemots and a glimpse of something from what I still believe was the back of a Minke or Fin whale. It is a weird feeling to paddle into the swell without any landmarks or a horizon to keep the eyes busy.
First we could hear Egg Island, swell was breaking on its rocks. Short time later we could smell the island. Downwind the scent of bird droppings on the rocks was breathtaking. Minutes later the island appeared out of the fog. We pulled our kayaks up on the rocks and went to explore the place. To our big surprise we found still plenty of very young downy tern and cormorant chicks in the nests, even eggs were still incubated by the sea ravens. We quickly pulled back to an unpopulated part of the island, so the birds could incubate and feed their youngsters. After a while the rest of the flotilla materialized out of the fog, and landed on the island a short time later.
Ken told us about his personal connection with Egg Island. His father used to be the island’s lighthouse keeper, and Ken spent a good part of his early years on the island. On stormy days waves washed over the island and did damage to the buildings more than once.. A first hand history lecture, and Karl provided additional information about the lighthouse which can be found on the web (http://www.ednet.ns.ca/educ/heritage/nslps/egg_isl.htm) .
We left Egg Island and headed back into the White Room for another 6.5 km open water crossing, aiming for Woody Island. Woody Island was our designated camp site for the night. The now following swell was good for short surf rides, but at least for me Key Island came just in time to calm down my by then slightly upset stomach. Being pushed by swell makes me feel funny or worse, while going head on into it or parallel with it doesn’t bother me. I surf landed on the rocky shore and got out of the boat for a few minutes. The fog had lifted a bit, and now and then there was a window into the scenery. Walking over the island I took a peak over to Woody Island were part of the flotilla had already landed and the crew was swarming all over the beach collecting dry driftwood.
Suppertime! Frank and Ken indulged us with steamed clams and I don’t know how many pounds of mussels. After this “starter” the cooking and eating went on throughout the evening. The fish Frank and Ken caught during the day while rowing had to wait for breakfast. Day one of the Row-Around 2002 ended socializing around a “small” barn fire.
After a quiet night on sloping rocks I woke up. Time doesn’t matter on trips like this, so my guess is that it was around breakfast time. Frank fried up some of the mackerel he and Ken had pulled from the ocean the day before. Quite an unusual breakfast ingredient for most of us, but nevertheless a tasty one. Later in the morning we launched from Woody Island into a day with no fog. We quickly worked up some sweat on this bright, sunny, and soon too hot Sunday. The heat took it’s toll, and frequent stops were called. On a sandy beach brave people went for a swim, and some even did some snorkeling. My swim lasted only minutes, the water was just too cold.
After lunch we said farewell to Gordon, Frank, and Ken. They headed for Owl’s Head, while the rest of us took a course around Cable Island. We took a break on one of Cable’s tropical beaches –ignore the chilly water temperature-, and from there we finally turned towards Owls Head. Mid afternoon we pulled our boats to shore, and started shifting our stuff from boats into cars.
Two great days had passed in no time, and again for me this was a paddling highlight of the season. Many thanks to Karl, Ken, and Frank for organizing and hosting the trip. One more time you guys did a great job! Thanks to all participants for making the trip the great experience it was for all of us. I am already looking forward to meet all of you for the Row-Around 2003 next year in August, and I am sure to see all of you on the water again.
Dorothy
Was Right All Along
(or: The Best
Kayak Trips Might Start From Your Own Backyard)
by Jack Bearden
For years I’ve wanted to do an extended paddle in my home waters, the Bay of Fundy. Harbourville, as its name implies, is right on (and occasionally in) the Bay. For most of those years that desire was canoe oriented and the various hazards of the Bay kept realization in check. When our Volkskayaks came into our lives last year, the wish was rekindled. Admittedly, the Bay of Fundy is not the most accommodating body of water for aquatic recreation in our “Ocean Playground”. When viewed on a map, the Fundy shore appears to be flat and featureless, with little to entice the inspired paddler.
The reality is that the Fundy shore offers some of the most glorious kayak adventures imaginable. Wind and tide (big time!) must be taken into consideration when planning or engaging in a Fundy boat trip of any kind. But a Volkskayak is very close to ideal for the environment. An 18 kg. boat can be carried to the waterline and launched at any tide, assuming shoreline and sea conditions are not ridiculous (i.e. jagged, barnacle covered rocks, murky water, and a pounding shore break).
At 1400 hrs. Tuesday, Aug. 13, Lois and I loaded gear and vk’s onto the old truck and did the two-minute drive to the Harbourville boat slip. It was the first day of a sizzling, weeklong heat wave (perfect timing). We launched at half flood with a stiff sou’westerly at our backs. We had roughly (operative word) two and a half hours of exciting paddling that first day. We kept close to each other and the shore. With the “turbo boost” action of wind and tide we were averaging 8-9 knots. The tide was just high enough to pass over the Black Rock shoal, roller-coaster standing waves with an audience of mussels, starfish and crab a metre under our keels. Our long-range goal was Scots Bay. The short-term goal was any inviting high water beach, ideally at the mouth of a brook, that we could find before the tide turned. We got to Murray Brook about half an hour before high tide. Lovely fine gravel beach in the lea of a small headland (on the Bay of Fundy a 20 ft. projection constitutes a headland)… just enough shelter for a safe, damage-free landing. We set up camp and got in a quick (the only kind for the Bay) swim before the water’s edge got too far away from us.
Fog came and went on the whole trip. We had supper in clear sunlight, but by sunset we couldn’t see the Bay. We could, however see the sun, an amazing orange ball filtered through the fog. Sky and water were indistinguishable by sunset but the sun and its reflection were visible through the orange tinted gray mist. Murray Brook emerges from a beautiful, wild gully. There is an eight km hiking trail from the nearest public road to the shore at the mouth of the brook. Apropos to nothing, it’s wise to paddle a short way out from shore to scan cliff tops when exploring and camping along rugged coastlines. There may well be a palatial cottage or house atop a cliff that could be overlooked when paddling close to shore. Nude swimming or other outdoor indiscretions might be ill-advised under certain circumstances. Also, camping at the end of hiking trails means your private campsite might not stay that way. Three intrepid teenage lads arrived late that night and set up camp just down the shore from us. Turned out they were good neighbors and retired after only a couple of hours of quietly chatting around their campfire.
I stumbled out of our tent in the wee hours and launched into the rising tide for an hour of mackerel fishing. Sometime in the not too distant future I’ll submit an article on the fun and folly of fishing from a kayak. I managed to catch one fish to go with our granola and coffee.
Our neighbors de-camped by mid morning, leaving the beach to us. We each did some sketching, then packed up and moved our gear and boats about halfway down the low tide shore. We read (and napped) while we waited for the tide to meet us halfway (don’t let the tide catch you napping!). We actually launched well below half flood which gave us more than three hours of travel with the tide.
It was a hazy, hot day, but no real fog and very little wind. We stopped frequently for cool-down plunges. We smugly rejoiced in being where we were instead of frying in the valley. A brisk sou’westerly sprung up right as we got to Huntington Point. It was there we spotted what had to be the biggest kayak I’d ever seen. Two people were patiently escorting it up the shore with the rising tide. It was loaded with an enormous amount of gear, some for camping, some mysteriously high tech and scientific looking. We passed close enough to yell a greeting. Turns out they were the couple who launched from Cape Cod in May and had been exploring the Gulf of Maine and Fundy shore ever since. I remembered hearing them interviewed on CBC months ago early in their trek. It was inspiring to see folk our age in the midst of an adventure of that scale who looked salty, weather beaten, and like they were having a ball.
We pulled into Halls Harbour right at high tide to say hello to friends. We visited for half an hour and then re-launched before we lost too much tide. One of our friends recommended a likely campsite to us. The shore, which had been an ever-changing array of cliffs, caves, beaches, waterfalls, and rugged gullies became truly awesome beyond Halls Harbour. Once in the lea of Hall Point the water was relatively calm with a gentle roll. There was still no fog, but the haze was heavy, limiting our visibility to approx. 2 km. The cliffs are dizzily high from kayak level. Occasionally there were narrow little ledges high up the cliff face where terrified rows of spruce trees hung on for dear life. No kidding, these trees really looked scared!
We camped at what our friends called Square Cove, approx. a half hour paddle against the tide beyond Halls Harbour. The cove offered a perfect high water gravel beach nestled between towering cliffs with a tiny, clear brook at one end. Sunset fishing brought us one mackerel each for supper that evening. Total air mattress failure got me up plenty early for a pre-dawn fishing excursion. Pan fried mackerel, bread and coffee helped compensate for the rough night.
We set out in
heavy fog right after breakfast. The tide was falling and we wanted to
get underway before the water reached the nasty, barnacle covered boulders
that defined the low water shore. The rays of the sun, filtered through
the fog and broken up by the trees at the tops of the cliffs, were the
most amazing site of all. Constantly shifting columns of light danced around
us as we picked our way around the feet of the looming giants. Magic and
mystery are the most accurate terms I can use to describe that morning.
Except for a short stretch of “uphill” paddling at Shoal Point, we scarcely
noticed we were going against the tide. In fact, by the time we reached
Baxters Harbour we had entered the Cape Split Eddy. For some reason this
phenomenon is not indicated on the chart we were using, but quite clearly
the outgoing tide creates a giant eddy as it screams past Cape Split and
causes the current to move counter to the outflow along the shore. From
that point on we were paddling WITH the current as we traveled further
up the Bay AGAINST the tide. As the sun climbed higher the fog backed off
a bit.
Low tide between Baxters
Harbour and Bennett Bay exposes an incredible network of living, breathing
(well at least hissing and gurgling) islands covered with seaweed, mussels,
starfish, and crab. As tide pools drained, mini-waterfalls splash into
the channels as we paddled by. Gravel or sand low water beaches allowed
us to frequently go ashore for some quick exploration.
Time and space seemed to distort in the combination of fog and brain baking heat. For some reason it seemed to take us three times longer than we thought it should to get from Bennett Bay to Scots Bay. The fog tricked us into thinking we were looking at Cape Split in the far distance when we were really looking at a small rocky point right in front of us. We even started to irrationally suspect that we had somehow overshot Scots Bay and were well on our way out to the deadly end of Cape Split.
When Scots Bay finally did come into view, we knew that it would have been impossible to miss. At low tide it has what has to be one of the biggest beaches in the province. We got there just after low tide. Imagine crossing a desert that’s covered by 15 cm of water. That’s what it was like getting to shore. We eventually got out and walked our vk’s, which made it even more desert like. The tide was covering the flats at the same rate we were walking. We eventually made it to the beach and carried the vk’s through the crowds of refugees from the heat. Sun baked and weathered, we attracted some attention. In a mishmash, generic foreign accent I asked two elderly women in beach chairs, “Ees dees Canada, pliiz?”
Three days on the Bay felt like a week of adventure. Something we’ll do again as soon as we can.
by Ryerson Clark
Oh my, where to start? This is a great issue so first I have to say a big “thank you” to all who wrote articles or provided photographs. This is the best response yet and I think it shows in the diversity of the contents. I think we can look forward to more of the same in future issues. If you are signed up for an article, please make every efffort to come through with it on time. The deadline for the November issue is the 3rd week of October. If you can’t remember, the list is elsewhere in this issue or on the web site. You can send it in early and we’ll just put it aside until the proper issue unless needed. In the last newsletter, I talked about moving to 4 issues per year rather than 6. At the AGM we discussed this and everyone wanted to continue with 6. To try to share to burden a little more we circulated a contributors’ list and it is on the inside of the front page. The list can, and should, be added to at any time. Please submit whatever you like whenever you like. We’ll fit it in!!! Long stories are great but so are short notes to keep in touch. We are also interested in hearing from our members who live outside of NS. We’ll even tolerate some mid-winter taunting from those of you in warmer climates. In fact, we could use some literary warming in January and March.
Have you seem the web site lately? The reason there are not too many photographs of the Mahone Bay event in this printed copy of the newsletter is that there were just too many to chose from! Ulli has started posting them on the web at: www.swbans.org , you have to go and see them all!
Also on the web, many of you haven’t registered on the” members only page”. Go to the site and email your info to the “Hamster”, he’ll do the rest. You should include a contact phone number and/or email as well as the type of boats you have or use. What could be easier? This will be our only way to keep track of what type of boats you have from now on as the new Membership Form will be used for just the basic information. Two reasons we have changed the form. First, time. It takes forever to print out the three fold two sided ones of old, and second, the information was only in one location. If anyone wanted to find out about others with like interests, ie kayaks, they would have to reach me first, and I’m away quite a bit. This way if you are registered on the private page, you, and other members, can access the information without hassle. Non-members can not access this information.
You will notice a modest start with the new section, “Notes From The Water”. With this section we hope to get the type of information we all can use. How was your trip? Where did you put in and what type of boats could be launched? Were there safe places to pull out or shelter if the wind kicked up? How about widlife you may have seen? What did you like/dislike about this trip? All this can make a great story, or just a few paragraphs to share the basic information to help another member chose a place to play. In time, this could be made into a separate place on the web site. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?
Not in this issue due to space, but very important all the same, is the unveiling of the SWBANS boat we all helped design. If you were lucky enough to be at this year’s AGM, you would have gotten a sneak peak of the boat’s lines. Michael Mason did a fine job with the design and drawings, which are free to members (but not quite ready yet). This little craft will make a very nice camp cruiser or day sailor. I will let the lines drawings speak for themselves as they will be featured in November’s issue of the Newsletter. Hopefully, there will be a drawing on the Homepage and, don’t forget, Michael wants feedback. Let him knw what you like and where you might also like something different. I’ll take a set to Septembers meeting at the MMA on the 12th. If Michael is able to come to the meeting we can continue the discussion we began in August. Thanks Michael and everyone who responded to the survey to give Michael the information he needed to create this sweet boat.
A word on membership. If you haven’t renewed yet...what are you waiting for!! Please do it sooner rather then later for several reasons. The best reason is that after the next issue, you will be taken from the mailing/email/web page lists. If this happens you will not remain informed of all the great events and news that this organization generates. Secondly, this causes a fair amount of work for various people who maintain these lists. To take you off, then have to put you back on, well, you get the picture, no one likes to do more work then they have to.
by Laura Brown
A week after crewing light schooners at the Mahone Bay boat festival, I found myself with a paddle, helmet, and rubber raft, ready to begin a trip down the Deerfield River in Massachusetts. The gentle float seemed a perfect antidote to the aftermath of racing a wooden schooner. Trimming the main, backing the jib, and pinning the centerboard—all in rapid tempo to the barking captain’s orders—left me with two big bruises on my right thigh, blisters across fingers, and sore muscles all over.
So when an aunt and uncle of mine from upstate New York invited me to paddle a beautiful river that runs parallel to the historic Mohawk Trail, I quickly said, “Yes!” No effort required. Just me, a few family members, and 8 miles of lazy water.
We started at Charlemont, in northwestern Massachusetts, after eating a picnic lunch at a nearby campground. It was a perfect day for a float: clear, vibrant skies and temperatures hot enough to make you want to take a dip alongside the raft every so often. After we were fitted with life jackets and helmets, we met our guide and a father-daughter team who would fill out our raft. Our guide gave us a few pointers on how to navigate as a team, and then he directed our attention to the buckets on board in case we wanted to engage in a water fight.
All six passengers jumped into the raft, and we straddled our legs along either side of it. Our guide hopped up on a perch in the back. And we set out on our 4-hour adventure. At last, a chance to really relax. I eased my paddle into the water, closed my eyes, and leaned my head back into the sun. It was such fun not to have to worry about spars snapping, sails falling in my lap, or bowsprits ramming toward my face. No markers to search for along the water line, and no captain in sight.
Immediately, I felt a few sprays of water hit my face. A few more. Then a forceful blow. I opened my eyes, looked out into the middle of the river, and saw several dozen paddlers—in rafts, floats, and kayaks—all coming toward me at various rates of speed. Another blast hit my back. I looked around and saw a group of rafters armed with squirt guns pointing directly at me. Splat! Another line of water hit my face.
With that, I grabbed the bucket, and a battle ensued. Now everyone on my boat was drenched, and our attackers left. My aunt and uncle and I gave each other a few more dunks with loaded buckets. Then, finally, we settled down to dry out and navigate our first set of rapids.
The Deerfield River winds in graceful curves through the Berkshires in western Massachusetts and then, sweeping northward, receives the waters of Green River before it enters the Connecticut River. The flow of the river is controlled by a dam. Although our journey was an easy trip with nothing more than Class I rapids, some sections run rougher, with Class II and III rapids.
As the white water smoothed out before us, we meandered through some beautiful countryside of foot paths, forests, and farmland. I spotted the Mohawk Trail along the left bank. The trail re-creates the path used by Native Americans and early European settlers for travel from the Atlantic Ocean to the Hudson River. The trail forms a 100-mile path connecting the Connecticut River Valley with the Hudson River Valley.
We looked for fish and birds along the way. The river is stocked with trout, and cedar waxwings are prevalent. About midway through the trip, we started another water battle in our raft. Someone shoved me into the river so I decided to hook my feet under the rope handles on the side of the raft, and for a long while I floated on my back with my hands crossed over my chest. All back on board, we stopped in a quiet rocky area surrounded by large shady trees, and climbed ashore to take a break, dry out, and have a snack of lemonade and brownies. About half an hour later, we got back in the raft for the last time, paddled through a final set of rapids, and ended the trip behind the riverside base camp.
I was a long way from sailboat racing, and a long way from wooden boats. And I couldn’t help wondering what the Mohawks and European traders would think of all of us in our overprotective gear and inflatable crafts. Yet at least we provided our own power—with our paddles. We appreciated the beauty around us. And we had a great time on a quiet summer afternoon.