Hobuck

I remember once, years ago, I stayed at Hobuck Beach. There was no campground there back then, although I stayed in the ruins of what had been an RV park of some sort, before my time. I didn't know then that the Makah reservation is one of the dry type, and I built what might be called a "caucasian fire" and scattered my empties with little regard to aesthetics or the letter of the law. (I did pick them up the next morning.)

It didn't matter much one way or the other. When the light of morning caught me, I could see that I had spent the night in a dump. Not the municipal landfill, but an informal dumping ground, where locals apparently came to discard large appliances and paint cans, dismembered dolls and plastic bags filled with diapers. The Makah reservation, the rez, was not a place much given to aesthetics either, not in those days anyway.

Neah Bay is still not likely to be confused with Carmel or Vail. There is still an inordinate amount of litter along the roadways and in the bushes, but it's a damn sight better than it used to be. When I first started paddling in the surrounding waters, there weren't many others out there. Now it's a required stop on the Northwest paddling circuit for kayakers and surfers alike and it's getting more popular every year. Maybe it is the added visits that have had the effect of encouraging a higher incidence of cleanliness, I don't know. But it's definitely better now.

There's a campground there again - I've been out there scores of times in the intervening years - I'll be out there again in a couple days. I'm older now though, quieter in ways... my fires are smaller and I'm more likely to dispose of my empties in a reasonably appropriate manner.

The coming darkness

It rains more around here in the winter. It's colder too, and snow is not only a possibility (like it used to be), it has been a much more common white reality in these parts the last few years. There is no shortage of differences to be found between summer and winter, but for me, the biggest single variant is the quantity of daylight. Get up in the dark, come home in the dark... if it weren't for artificial light, we'd all sleep 16 hours a day. We are headed smack into the darkest part of the year... take your vitamins.

Foss dawn patrol

There is a north wind this morning. Skies are clear and the new sun is painting the eastern horizon, but the north wind never blows warm. No matter. When it comes to the weather, we have had a very good year.

Out early this morning, a black water paddle down the Foss Waterway here in T-town. It's become something of a morning ritual for me these days... the silent passage along the slips, past pirate ships and houseboats, here and there a shiny and glamorous trophy yacht moored to its place on the dock (where she always is - the notion of actually "going to sea" would likely never occur to her owner.)

The fire boats are moored below the Murray Morgan Bridge, on a slim wooden dock, nondescript and quiet. Light is filtered through tilted pilings, reflecting off metal and water. West of there, the shoreline gets darker, a shadow mix of salt water, mud and ancient wooden posts and bits of civilization's jetsam that have found permanent homes in the ooze. As I get closer to the mouth of the Foss, the north wind grows in strength. By staying close to shore, I am able to keep clear of the main force of the blow, but I eventually turn around and align myself in agreement with the elements. With the wind pushing me along, I make short work of the return paddle.

Car camping

Home already. I suppose I was gone for about as long as I expected to be, but it seems impossible we were able to see as much as we did in such a short time. But we did... and the fact that Micah and I were able to walk and paddleboard the entire length of the symposium beach displays, twice, tells you all you need to know about the size and scope of this year's West Coast Sea Kayak Symposium.

The weather was excellent, however, and we enjoyed an early morning exploration of the Kinzie battery, an early coastal defense emplacement on the point at Fort Worden. Micah liked the echoes that came when he yelled down into the cement vaults and ammunition chutes. We found spider webs in the old lookout bunker and felt the cool wind blow through our hair as we walked the parapets. Everything is amazing when you're two years old.

I didn't get to the TAPS meeting... it just ended up not matching with our schedule. I wonder how it went, whether the question of continuing this event was raised during the course of the evening. Maybe there were some fresh ideas put forth that have a chance of success, maybe for some kind of replacement event or a redesigned symposium that will bring new and badly-needed energy to the sea kayaking community. It's possible.

This morning, we packed up the caravan and made the drive over to Port Gamble, to see the new Olympic Outdoor Center. What an amazingly beautiful little slice of heaven it is there in Port Gamble. Perfectly manicured lawns and perfectly preserved historic homes and buildings... a little too perfect, some might say. But the new OOC is in a great spot - the old firehouse, complete with siren - and I can see the shop doing very well. More power to them.

Going to the beach

We're leaving today for the Port Townsend symposium, right after swim lessons. It's just me and the boy going up this time, a couple of nights in the Hotel Westfalia with the progeny. It will be good; he travels well.

I don't know what to expect from this year's edition - I don't expect much. The program is stripped way down from where it once was - no presentations, no house parties, drastically fewer vendors and manufacturers - and it would not surprise me if this were the final one. The TAPS meeting is at 7:00pm on Friday and I am planning on going to that, mostly to hear what the death rattle sounds like. (Of course, I could be wrong. I believe I've said some of this before and I was obviously in error then.)

The boy's down for his nap at the moment. That sounds like a good idea.

Advice

It's four in the morning and I can't sleep. I'm sitting in front of the computer, looking ahead to the Olympic Grand Circle, next year's planned circumnavigation of the Olympic Peninsula. It's been done once before, that I am aware of, and I am hoping to do it in one continuous loop next July.

Jordan Hanssen and Greg Spooner, the rowers who made the trip last year, pointed to the swamp at the south end of Black Lake as being the most difficult section of their expedition. Two days of hacking through thick vegetation made navigation difficult, made it hard to know which way to go. They credit navigation guru David Burch with assisting them through the green maze, keeping them on course, and getting them through to more navigable waters.

For the uninitiated, Burch runs a program in Seattle called Starpath Navigation that offers courses and guidance in the art of finding one's way. He's a legend in the double-bladed world for being the author of Sea Kayak Navigation, the Bible of on-water route finding that kayakers have been using to hone their skills for over a decade (now in its 3rd edition, 4th, 5th?) I wrote him to see if he had any advice for me as I start my planning, especially as it pertained to swampy Black Bayou.

"I think you must use a GPS for this trip," was the thrust of his reply, "and other special technology to get through the swamp." (I had mentioned in my query that I was not planning on using a GPS.) "If you insist on not using a GPS, however, we cannot help you, because any judge in any court case that might materialize would call it negligent.... in fact, you cannot even argue in court that you had a GPS but lost it or it failed. They would ask why you did not use your back up."

The obsession with technology continued, and forgive me, but it sort of turned wierd. "There is also no virtue to claiming you did it without a GPS," Burch went on, "primarily because no one would believe you in that a GPS could be in your watch, cell phone or belt buckle.... etc."

No one would believe me? Really? That seems almost as strange a concept as thinking that I might try to secrete a unit in my phone or elsewhere, and use it while claiming to be without one. I am not a technophile, or even marginally technologically literate. My friends know me and they know this is true. Who else has to believe me?

The statement that really got me though, was this one: "In short, if they did not exist, you would be fine, but since they do, you must use one." Again, really? Because the technology exists, I have to use it? Then why would I paddle anywhere? Outboard motors are so much more efficient. I could cut the expedition length down to a few days instead of a few weeks if I would just use a speedboat. I am inclined to think that, even though the GPS does exist, I will still be fine if I don't use it (same as it used to be). Don't get me wrong, I'm not on some wrong-headed crusade against satellites and I don't see myself as a paddling Luddite - I do, however, reject out-of-hand the notion that, simply because something has been created, I must avail myself of it.

I may, in the end, use a GPS on this trip. It would be my first time, but I can see it being a part of my navigational tool chest. Then again, after this letter and with the way I'm feeling right now, I'm just as likely to not.

Olympic Outdoor Center is moving...

... and they're having a party. The long-time Poulsbo kayaking stalwart announced its move to Port Gamble a while back and the day is almost upon us. September 26th, right in the middle of the Port Townsend symposium, and so close by. If you are one of those who has made the trip out to Fort Worden, it won't take long to go the extra miles to Port Gamble; even if you aren't planning on coming out for the symposium, this event alone will be worth any drive you have to make. (The grand opening is going to coincide with the town's Old Mill Days festival, so you will have company...)

John Kuntz, OOC's owner, is one of the good guys in the western Washington paddling community. OOC has a history of promoting the sport of kayaking, with events like this year's Paddle Kitsap and Puget Sound Challenge, and consistently presents kayaking in a way that appeals to Northwest paddlers, while encouraging beginners to get in the game. It has helped to raise much-needed dollars for the Washington Water Trails Association, among others, and the kids programs that have been a cornerstone of the business are the best anywhere.

Like I said, there's a party. I don't have all the facts, the schedule, those critical points... but I'm sure they're out there on the interwebs somewhere. One might look around for the particulars if one were curious, maybe even giving OOC a call before they terminate Poulsbo operations on September 21st. (1.800.592.5983)

Or you could do what I'm planning on doing. Just show up. I'm bringing my paddleboard and my son and we're going to go for a lap or two around the sweet little harbor, to work up an appetite, and then we're heading on shore to see if they'll feed us. I have a strong suspicion that they will.

Port Gamble is a beautiful spot, a true Washington treasure, and the decision to relocate was a smart move on OOC's part. I am looking forward to seeing the new digs in person and being part of the welcoming committee.

Mid-September

From a kayaker's standpoint, September is the transition month. If you are a casual kayaker, one of the solar-powered paddling dilettante set, it is the end of "kayaking season," whatever that means. (After all, it's not like eating season is over when you put the barbeque away.) For the 12-month paddler, September brings the time that signals the change from benign summer conditions to the chill of winter. It's not cold yet, not really, but it will be soon. Digging through the closet inventory to locate the fleece and the other insulation layers hidden away since spring is an autumn rite for sea kayakers looking ahead to the darker weather.

It's also been a time of the year when kayakers can look forward to the end-of-summer sales and customer appreciation events from retailers - precious few of those going on these days - as well as the big shindig out at Fort Worden, the West Coast Sea Kayak Symposium. In years past, I have given slide presentations and taught clinics at this event, and have come away from the weekend excited and fired up for the kayaking adventures still to come. This grand happening has changed as well, just like all those other things, and from all indications, the change has not been for the better.

I just finished the last Azimuth Expeditions trips of the year this past week: an Oregon coast trip that traveled through some of the most amazing sections of Oregon's bays and estuaries, and a 4-day San Juan trip that traversed the finest and most beautiful areas on the eastern side of the archipelago. I am glad to be finished - I enjoyed it all, but I am tired now - and I'm looking forward to putting the finishing touches on next year's schedule here in the next few weeks.

I'm going to the Port Townsend symposium next week, but not for the whole thing and only as a spectator this time.

In the fog

I've always liked photos of sea kayaking in the fog.

Perhaps it is the image of confidence in the face of confusion, the audacity that comes when skill and boldness are joined together. Or it could be that I am taken with the idea of being able to navigate the unknown and the unseen, not only on the water but off of it as well. Maybe it is the simple statement implicit in the picture - that each of us is the captain of our own ship - that connects with me. There are metaphors a'plenty here, and I think I have pondered them all at one point or another.

Flat

Flat. Like a manhole cover, an Ashlee Simpson tune, or the proverbial pancake. We came to the Straits in search of waves, but the waves were somewhere else. A let-down at first, after having come so far, but it allowed me to see what else was here. What was left, once the waves had been removed, was a chance to paddle through rock gardens, peer down through the intertwined layers of a kelp jungle and watch a family of otter as they dogged our progress. Watching them watching us.

It was not surfing, which was, after all, why we came. And, to be fair, we did get the opportunity to ride a few shorty sets later in the afternoon. Still, it was hardly Big Monday.

There are, however, much less enjoyable ways of spending a day.

Always here, sort of

An article on the editorial page caught my eye this morning (Damn that Sunday paper!) Columnist Leonard Pitts writes about the possibility that it may no longer be an option to be completely off the grid. Out of touch. To light out for the territories. He spends part of his article commenting on a piece by another writer, one Evan Ratliff, who has also addressed the changing meaning of solitude. Ratliff's article, says Pitts, "suggests that, in a world where we are ever more interconnected, where your whereabouts can be traced by everything from the GPS in your cell phone to the magnetic stripe on your grocery card, to the camera mounted over the ATM, a world where you can be ratted out by your e-mail account, your favorite e-merchant, your social networking site, your subway card or the sticker on your car that lets you zip through the toll plaza, it has become nearly impossible to simply vanish."

I agree with Pitts that this represents a loss, of something. Something slippery, vaguely valuable and woefully difficult to define, that hovers just out of memory's reach. I think, however, that he is showing up to the reality party a little late. We have been monitored for quite some time... it's not news, exactly. We have, perhaps, reached some kind of a tipping point, at least in civilized company, where we are tracked, or at least trackable... I'd buy that. I assume that I am always being filmed anymore, the ubiquitous judging bauble of the lens is virtually everywhere. Part of the scenery.

Pitts continues: "The world is so much with us now, an intrusive presence anonymity cannot abide. Our predilections are catalogued, our travel monitored, our faces watched, our purchases logged. In exchange for convenience, we lose the ability to simply pull the plug and be."

All the more reason for wilderness. Wilder-ness. The way it used to be, still.

Bowron Lakes report is up

Finally. I know, I know.

Jackie Brown's account of this summer's Flag Expedition is up on the Azimuth Expeditions web site. It's a good read about a classic trip. Thanks to all who went and to JB for sharing the adventure with us.

I wish I could have gone.

Win some, lose some (part II)

A month or so ago I mentioned that the Strawberry Island campsite in the San Juans was closed. I've been there since the closure and although the island is still there, still beautiful and perfect, the camp sites have been erased. Fire rings and picnic tables have been removed, as have the two outhouse buildings. It's still there for day use, but camping is no longer permitted.

Of course, that doesn't mean you can't camp there... people have done it already. There is a stone fire ring at the first camp site, the largest one. Proof of life, even after the venue has been shut down. I didn't go up the hill to see the other two spots. I was there to recover a cache of wine, two bottles of Aussie Merlot that I'd hidden away back in 2003, and I didn't stay long.

The latest news item from those parts concerns the other Cypress camping areas, Pelican Beach and Cypress Head. The DNR, the administrative overlord for Cypress and Strawberry Islands, has given notice that the use of these sites will also be curtailed. Both sites will close to campers beginning on Oct 1st of this year, and remain closed until next May. In 2010, they are scheduled to close right after Labor Day. Honestly, if they think they can get away with it (and I think they do), they'll probably just close 'em all. For good. I see that boiler-plate press release being written somewhere right now, somewhere in one of the more dank and slimy parts of Olympia.

And really, the thing is, if the DNR doesn't have the funding to keep these primitive sites open, they probably don't have the bucks to pay for too many patrols either. There will still be camping here... it may not be a good thing. But it will still happen. And maybe it's not a bad thing either.

Work

If it were possible to go entirely without sleep, I'm not sure, even then, that I would have enough time to get everything done. Packing for the Oregon Coast this weekend, getting gear ready for the last San Juan trip of the year (next week), and a full schedule at the shop. What I don't have is time for the hike I was hoping to do near Dungeness or the paddle trip to Marrowstone Island.

But enough of the self-pity. If I didn't want to be doing what I'm doing, I wouldn't be doing it. Worse things happen at sea.