Jones Beach

A group I've gotten to know recently wanted to get some more ocean-side practice, so we set out for Jones Beach, on Long Island.

Jones Beach Inlet is between Long Beach and Jones Beach, basically two barrier islands on the south side of Long Island. The inlet has gated community on its western side, and a park on the eastern side. We put in at a marina west of the gated community, and paddled out through the inlet.

The wind turbine near the marina.

Paddling out on the bay side.

Past the "gated community" and their raised boats.

The inlet itself was wide, and we were against the back half of the flood, so a bit of work heading out. There was also a channel to traverse, with the occasional pleasureboat. We ended up ferrying a bit more than half a mile against current, before landing briefly so one of our number could adjust his drysuit.

Newly replaced, the overskirt was a bit tight and restricting his breathe. He cut it off.

A brief moment ashore.

At last, we were to sea.

JT taking in the waves.

We had a bit of a tiderace as we left the channel, exacerbated at times by the vessels passing through. We could see waves crashing against the far side of the fisherman's pier, water cresting over it.

We found the swell a but underwhelming, long period but still a bit fast-moving. It was fun to play in but hard to surf. We thought we'd have a go at the beach on the opposite side of the pier, but the waves were very large and very dumpy - coming at an angle from the sea, with a steep beach, giant claws were formed, reaching up and over to claw and the strand and the pier.

We just paddled a ways.

Eventually, AD and JB left early, as planned, for another engagement. JT and I stayed out, and paddled over to Lido Beach, on the south side of Long Beach. I wanted to practice a beach landing and found a decent spot. I meant to hop right back out, but JT had followed me in, and we had a brief snack and bio-break before launching again.

The Gemini SP at rest.

While the day so far had been bright and sunny, we saw tendrils of clouds creeping in from the east. While we played some more in the waves, the slowly filled the sky, until we were heading in, by which point the air was completely overcast.

On the way in.

Blue sky's gone away.

Point Lookout, not so cheery anymore.

We found one more tiderace on the way in, something AD had told us about, forming on the ebb. It was something of an escalator, current over a shallow sand bar. We could addle through it, then ride the current back up.

The tiderace.

We paddled harder than I wanted to on the way in. I'd expected we would head in earlier, but we'd had so much fun, and JT had driven quite a distance, that we stayed out long enough to be fighting at least a knot of current on the way in. At least we were rewarded with seeing this lovely vessel on its way out to sea.

One form of wind power.

And, finally, back to the turbine.

Another form of wind power !

That was our trip! Huzzah. Here us some video to round it out:

NY Seals

"Turecamo, Turecamo . . .hey captain, mind if I cut in front of you? We're just anchoring in Gravesend Bay. Or, you want me to wait, let you pass?"

We were in the lower harbor, directly across from Gravesend. One barge captain was talking to another, presumably outbound to inbound. The first captain wanted to know if he had time to pass in front of the incoming vessel and drop anchor. The captains worked it out - it turns out the other was heading in to the Bay Ridge anchorage, so they just altered courses to get closer to the eastern side of the channel.

Last weekend I accomplished a goal I've had for a few years now - to get out to Swinburne Island and see the seals there in winter. I do feel like I cheated a bit because I cartopped out there instead of paddling from Manhattan.

Except, wait a minute, hold on a tic - I have been out here before. Only this time, we spent more time on site, definitely saw some seals, and there was no hypoglycemia. Hurray!

I cartopped out from Inwood, along with friends from the Inwood Canoe Club in a separate car. The three of us drove down the West Side Highway, through the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel, down the BQE, and then across the big bridge at the narrows, and in short order we were at the north end of the boardwalk at the beach.

We were fortunate in the conditions for the day. Despite being the last weekend of February, the water was 40 F, air about the same, and winds were manageable at 8-10 knots from onshore. We were launching at about slack tide, and would have just a little current against us on the way back.

Our aim was Hoffman and Swinburne Islands. These are two manmade islands just off the coast of Staten Island, about a mile (two for Swinburne) south of the Verrazano Bridge and about a mile offshore, and west of the Ambrose Channel. These islands have their own fascinating history, better documented by others elsewhere, but basically were used as quarantine and military facilities until being abandoned.

Hoffman Island.

Unlike several other such islands in NYC though, they're managed by Gateway Recreation Area, a National Park that encompasses Sandy Hook, Bennet Field, and Fort Wadsworth on Staten Island. In fact, I'd gotten a good tip on where to launch from Ranger John D, whom I met last Fall at Bennet Field's welcome center when we went camping there.

Ranger John was right: those seals are hard to photograph!

A glimpse.

We paddled out, about forty minutes, over some mild waves. The wind was a bit stiffer than predicted but not unmanageable. We took in the view. Even if we didn't see seals, we saw the lower harbor, including Coney Island in the distance, a lighthouse, and Manhattan far to the north.

Eventually, I got some better shots. I had to take a pretty big risk for these. I'd put my camera in its waterproof housing at the beach, and I think they moisture captured fogged up the lens internally. At a certain point, I took my plucky little Powershot out and held it with three fingers, cupping my other hand under it, and stowing it in the Gore-Tex sleeve of my drysuit in transit. It was hair-raising, but it got better shots than if the foggy-witch of the sea had had her way.

The seals.

When we arrived, they scattered, but would show up behind each other. "There's one right behind you," we said repeatedly. In one view I counted five, and then two or three to my right. We floated along, pushed only by the wind and minimal current, and they took us in. One of them, larger than the rest, seemed to keep closer, ready to do something if we got suspicious.

We waited and watched.

The Narrows and Manhattan in background.

One our way back, a couple of them followed us. We were a good two miles out at least, and they followed us till we were just north of Hoffman Island - nearly a mile north of where we'd seen them of Swinburne. Satisfied that we weren't predators, they seemed genuinely curious about these 17-foot long creatures that swam only on the surface, with flippers in their midsection.

The seals look back.

Well, it was a bonnie day.

Sun glistening.

Of course when we landed, obligatory group photos ensued. Watch the container ship.

And maybe ignore the beachcomber !

This was a fun trip, one I hope to do again. Even in summer, sans seals, it is a fun location, with low, choppy waves, views of endless sea, and just enough nearby navigation markers to put fun exercises nearby.

Updated Charts

A couple of years ago, when I took an assessment, part of it included some basic navigation. The other candidate was asked to locate where we were on a chart, and then to identify a buoy.

He pointed at one, and the assessor shook his head. Later on though, we had a bit of fun trying to find that buoy. It wasn't on any of our charts!

The buoy is off the northwest corner of Governors Island in New York Harbor. Here is a picture from my paper chart:

The Paper.

A year or so ago I bought an app for my iPhone (iNavx, also available for OS X). This downloads maps from NOAA, and so can be more up to date.

iNavx.

There it is: Green #1.

So, the next most obvious question is, what is it doing there? It's green, so marking the right side of the channel to see - but that doesn't make sense if you've coming down the Hudson to see, because the buoy would be to your left.

My theory is, it's to keep traffic from the East River (to the right and up on the images above) farther out from the Statue Cruises at Battery, and also wide if they're coming around Battery - that area can be something of a blind corner.

I actually contacted the Coast Guard, and got the following response - more or less confirming my theory, with a little more detail. Apparently this is a newly marked path that replaces Deep Water Range - if I read my old chart correctly, that dashed line from a flashing light on one of the Brooklyn piers to Green 35, east of Ellis Island.

"Good Afternoon [Kayak Cowgirl]  Deep Water Channel LB 1 (Light List Number 27350) is the first of three buoys (1, 2 and 3) that replaced the Deep Water Range that brought deep draft vessel into and out of the East river past Dimond Reef, north of Governors Island. LB 1 ensures that outbound vessels from the East River are past and clear of Governors Island before turning south. And it does help deep draft heading into the Hudson R avoid the 30 foot curve off the Battery."

If you look closely on that old chart, in my snapshot above, you can see what they mean about the "30 foot curve off the battery". There's a faint line kinda looping south and then east to include a 29' depth mark. The old chart marked a pretty generic path through the area. The newly-placed buoy basically marks the end of that bar - if you're a deep-draft vessel, you'd definitely prefer to keep to the left of it on the way out.

So, mystery solved. Charts, and the markers and channels they document, can change over time. Be sure to check for updated information before heading out to sea!

Update: On further review with a fellow chart enthusiast, we noticed that the old path - the dashed line indicating a range - was based on a straight line between flashing read markers at the northernmost Brooklyn-side piers and Green 35 near Ellis Island. And, the new channel is almost exactly that - draw a straight line through the new Green 1 and Green 3 buoys and the new Red buoy near Dimond Reed, and it's an exact match to the old range.

However, those markers are not on the new chart - are they gone, perhaps as part of the refurbishment of that waterfront?

So little had changed for vessels heading to and and from the East River and the sea, other than how they are marked, but my original hypothesis is supported - vessels making that corner 'round the Batter will want to know where the edge of that 30' bank is.

Fishers Island Sound 2015

I know I'll go again. I wish I could have spent more time.

Fishers Island is a long, narrow island about two miles off the Connecticut coast, northeast from the north fork of Long Island and part of NewYork State, even though it's technically farther away from it.

There's a lot of lore about Fishers Island, but we weren't there for the island. We were there for the sound!

At the eastern edge of Fishers Island sound, the underwater hydrography is such that water coming in (westward) with the tide ramps up rather quickly, about forty to sixty feet in less than an eighth of a mile. Additionally on the days we were there, there was a steady Western wind blowing, making for great wind-against-current conditions.

D, K, and CC taking a wee break.

Several folks had gone out on Friday. I had to work, and so drove up Friday night for the Saturday play. This turned out to be the most challenging day we faced.

The challenge was the wind. Not only was in in the Force 6 vicinity (25-30 mph with gusts to 35), it changed direction. As we tried to surf down wind, our boats would get cocked and the direction of the waves would change. I felt comfortable in the conditions - big, lumpy water, waves three or four feet high, sometimes taller - but trying to surf was pretty tough. We took a break on Ram Island for lunch and to figure out what to do next.

The Break on Ram Island.

We decided to split into two groups. There were over a dozen people all in, so each group had more than enough for safety's sake. One group would continue surfing downwind and work out a shuttle to get back to cars. The rest of us would paddle into Mystic harbor, then up the river. We were expecting to meet a couple of friends of mine who were driving up Saturday and putting their boats in far up the river.

Among our Fleet, a Rockpool Taran.

We expected the latter trip would be the easy one, since no one was paddling against the wind. However, the wind shifted to come from the north (making this a veering wind rather than a backing wind, weather nerds), and so we slogged against a northerly headwind for about three quarters of a mile.

The Slog.

Over the radio we heard the other group announce they were quitting their plan and would sort an alternative. Our leader directed us to head up the river, and he'd go back for a car to shuttle us back.

An HV paddler struggles against the wind.

That's the kind of weekend this was. We were in a dynamic environment and had to work out alternatives to our various plans.

We rounded a corner and started to find shelter from the wind. Our contingent had spread out with varying strategies for the wind. One paddler in particular struggled, in a new boat and a bit fidgety with kit. Once in the harbor though, the wind was no longer ridiculous but merely a nuisance, now coming at the quarter but greatly reduced by the town's structures. We paddled up and met our friends, who were happy to return and avoid the adventures we'd had coming in. The rest of our journey was a scenic trip through the harbor town of Mystic, Connecticut.

Paddling up the Mystic.

An unusually named boat.

Paddling under a coutner-weight bridge.

On past lovely homes.

When we arrived at our destination, our trip leader presented us with hot chocolate and in short order we loaded our boats onto vehicles. We drove back to the parking lot where we'd put in, and then back to the house we were staying at.

The house is worth mentioning. It's a large house, owned by a family and rented out to groups like us, or graduation parties, or weddings. I arrived very late the night before, after everyone had gone to bed, and the street address proved to be around the corner from parking. The afternoon was my first chance to really assay the place.

We all pitched together for dinner, pooling money for some fine salmon and steak cuts, and salad, and baked potatoes. I chopped garlic for garlic bread. Despite our shortened day, we were all hungry - these calories were all burned easily, replacing the old and ready to fuel the next day.

Sunday was more enjoyable. Winds were still in the Force 4 range, gusting to Force 5, but the direction remained consistent. We started in Stonington - a historic town with a speed limit of twenty miles per hour - and this time paddled out farther lunching on the northeastern tip of Fishers Island itself.

But first, we were in the chop. This was tremendous. It took some doing, but I did manage to catch some waves and ride them for a bit. I practiced starting my sprint before being fully in the trough - some advice I got was that with a shorter boat I needed to start sooner.

I did take a dive though - while looking where I wanted to go, according to one observer I was on top of a wave, went for support, and found none, so I capsized. I managed to roll up though, and felt rather chuffed about that.

Latimer Light - Halfway There!

A brief respite in a windbreak.

We had rougher, bigger water between the lighthouse and Fishers Island. It was still great fun, but the waves had a shorter period and after a while I felt like I was just managing big following seas - the waves riding up under me and passing me before I could gain much momentum.

Then I saw it: a flash of white, and cries of "boat over!", just about twenty yards ahead of me.

The waves lifted the boat in and out of sight. Another paddler got to the boat but the casualty was separated from it, floating further back. In hindsight, the current was carrying him towards me but the wind was blowing his boat away from us. I got in and provided support while his boat was emptied.

I tried to get closer to that vessel but we eventually decided it was easier to bring the boat to me. I then supported the rescuer while he supported the casualty's boat, all while bobbing in three to five foot seas. In short order we were on our way.

We continued surfing, working our way south, and then we landed for lunch.

Lunch on Fishers Island.

I have to mention this Rockpool Taran. These are well-regarded boats, but very rare in the US. It's like finding a right-hand drive Triumph.

I learned here that a friend of mine I'd invited was not having such a great day. She was game, but the conditions were strong enough that she'd capsized a couple of times and spent most of the session on shore.

On the way back, we ferried against the wind, no longer with the current against it. If we hadn't ferried we'd easily have been blown out of the sound. We got to the lighthouse, took a break, and then continued on.

There were two more capsizes with subsequent rescues. With one of them, we decided to tow the paddler, and yours truly served as support while two others formed an I-tow. I clamped in my contact two as without it, the larger waves pushed our boats apart, and meantime we were bobbing up and down in these immense seas. We did this about three-quarters of a mile, until near shore, and we landed and everyone got out.

Lunch.

All but one that is. There was one unaccounted for, until we spotted him near the far end of the inner side of the breakwater. We still don't know if that was on purpose or not, but he paddled in, and we were all glad to have everyone in.

These were an exciting two days at sea. They were certainly a challenge, but this was a great bunch of people, and qualified for the conditions as well. I certainly got my first taste of big water, lumpy water, and I want more. I am reminded though of an adage one of my coaches is fond of:

"The sea will often give the test before the lesson."

Paddle for a Cure

About two weeks ago I took part in the fifth annual Paddle For A Cure event, a paddle-themed fundraiser for a local cancer patient service. I did it a few years ago, and have been meaning to go back since.

The event takes place up the Hudson River from NYC. The location has varied a bit; this year it was from Newburgh down to Cold Spring.

My new friend Mary Mautner gave me and my boat a ride. We drove up the night before and stayed in a hotel (air conditioning . . .ahhhhhhh) and got there plenty early. Here we are with our boats (mine is red, hers is purple, both are Valley, hence we were, "Valley Girls").

Mary Mautner.

Kayak Cowgirl.

Of course, ours weren't the only boats there.

Our Boats.

More Boats.

And yet more boats !

After a safety briefing, off we went. The idea was, we'd all paddle down the river and pick up waterproof poker cards along the way. The winning hand(s) would get prizes. While I was the first to turn in a set and had a sixth wild card, the best I could come up with was two pair, a high-low set at that. You WON'T find this Cowgirl gambling in a saloon anytime soon.

The view of the Hudson.

Mary in her plastic Avocet.

My New Boat.

 Longtime readers may know that I've been paddling a Valley Argonaut for three years now, and while I love that boat, it's widely acknowledged as too big for me. It's essentially a high volume Aquanaut, meant for someone about five inches taller and half again as heavy. It's still around and I'll paddle it some more, but I found myself drawn to a newer Valley boat, the Gemini SP.

Now, I won't belabor what you can already look up - the Gemini is so named because there are two variants, the play version and the touring version. This is the former. It's fun, it's responsive, it loves rough water and it's plastic, which means the next time I go rock-hopping, I'm bringing it along.

Passing Bannerman's Castle.

Unlike the last time I was here, the event passed Bannerman's Castle, formerly a storage site for munitions and other goods, until an explosion wrecked it. It's an interesting place to spot along the river, whether kayaking or not.

At the finish line was a lovely yellow folding boat pointing the way in. It was a lovely color against the river valley's green!

While we waited, a themed riverboat went by - a Paddlewheeler for the cure? Nah.

Then we had lunch, and a raffle. This Cowgirl did not fare as well as the last time she was here.

A P-38? How'd that get in the race?

Like bingo, but less comfortable.

Nancy Brous.

One person worth special mention is Nancy Brous, NYC paddler, Vice President of the Hudson River Watertrail Association, and dare I say community activist. Nancy helped organize this event from the beginning, and with support from friends and associates has kept it going five years running.

A Sound Idea, Pt. 2

Part of the original plan was to meet up with some friends of mine - Jean and Alex from the 2 Geeks 3 Knots blog. The 2 Geeks paddled up to meet us from their home base in Larchmont, arriving in the evening and setting up camp next to ours.

We traded stories and talked about gear, especially the keeping-warm kind, as we shared dinner and a little wine. Kayak Dov shared a story from his hiking days, about a man he met on the Appalachian Trail who always built a fire, and always attracted company. "Fires are the center of community," the man had said. "Build a fire and you pull people together."

As warm as it was during the day, the temperature dropped considerably overnight, into the low forties. Our nighttime dinner was fortified with hot tea, dry clothes, and a storm cag to keep the wind off.

The original plan was to leave early the next morning, but we all decided to sleep in. Kayak Dov and I were in no hurry, and the geeks had only gotten to the island. We took our time Sunday morning, before packing all our things and heading out on the sound.

Breaking Camp.

Good Morning !

We headed out to exit the islands.

Threading through the islands.

Past nice houses on the shore. . .

. . .and a nice house on an island.

Up around a little point.

And finally, back out on the sound.

Our first major landmark - a flagpole on a point.

We passed a lot of nice and very interesting houses along the shore.

House with gazebo.

Seawalls and townships.

Jean on the shore.

Eventually we approached Stamford, peeking in the harbor and passing to the interior of the eastern breakwater.

Coming on Stamford.

We paddled along the breakwater.

The channel between breakwaters.

 

Heading back out.

We spotted Osprey hatchlings high in this marker.

A marker and a home.

Passing an old lighthouse.

We paddled past Stamford and over to Greenwich Point, which is the southeastern point of Lloyd Neck. There's a wide wading beach there with facilities and concessions. Closed to kayakers except during the off-season, we pressed our luck and landed away from the crowds, making use of the facilities and taking a prolonged snack and water break.

I learned a new term on this trip: diaper streak. It's not something I see on the Hudson or the harbor, whether because boaters are better behaved or the water flushes more. Diaper streaks, the 2 Geeks informed us, are where vessels discharge their human waste into the sound, an it spreads out in a long, brown stripe on the surface of the water. They look as appealing as they sound, and they can be quite long and unavoidable. We saw quite a few - more than is typical, the 2 Geeks said. It was disgusting and we encourage all boaters to be cognizant of how to manage their waste properly.

Sound Keeper offers free pumpouts to boating vessels. Give a hoot, don't pollute.

A shady shack.

There were a few little kids who side-eyed our boats as they scooped sand near the surf with their parents. We saw a lot of people in swim clothes and bikinis, mostly just sunning themselves. They were quite a contrast to our drysuits and layers underneath! We got a few looks but nothing more than, "there's something you don't see every day."

Kayak Dov paddling close to shore.

Once rested, we continued our voyage. In short order we were at the Captain Islands.

Wee Captain.

Little Captain.

Great Captain.

The Captain Islands were actually our first choice for a trip like this. They're far from our home base in Inwood, the northern tip of Manhattan, New York City, but can be reached in a good day's paddle. However, everyone we talked to indicated that 1) they're all private property except Great Captain and 2) the township of Greenwich is very strict about people landing on their shores, and there is no sanctioned camping at all. Having seen the landscape I don't think there is a way we could have avoided being seen.

The funny thing about the lighthouse at Great Captain is that the light atop the house is no longer in service. It's been replaced by the tower out front.

Paddling past the light at Great Captain.

After this, the clouds started obscuring the sun intermittently, and our headwind started to pick up and gust a bit. We were close, but our pace slowed. The last few miles would be challenging, partly because we were growing tired but more because the conditions increased against us.

We gradually passed Rye, New York, where we could see parts of the Rye Playland amusement park. Then on a bit further to Peningo Point.

Passing into a cloudy later afternoon.

Approaching a pass.

Off in the distance, we could start to make out the Manhattan skyline. What was really curious here, more easily seen later than when I took this picture, is that our angle had us seeing from left to right the Throgs Neck Bridge, Bronx-Whitestone Bridge, and then lower Manhattan. The bridges made sense because the Throgs Neck is the first one in from the sound. However they're lateral from the Upper East Side. Manhattan seemed very out of place!

Home, in the distance.

The skies lightened up for a bit for the final push in. We were soon paddling through sailing marinas, the American Yacht Club and Milford Harbor, the Larchmont Yacht Club and Larchmont Harbor.

A Big Buoy.

Eventually we arrived at our final destination: Horseshoe Harbor in Larchmont, a tiny little nook of sheltered water next to a sizable boathouse. We unloaded our boats first, and then took a group photo. A park surrounds the cove, so almost as soon as we began a couple stopped and offered to take our photo, so we could all be in it.

I have to say again that this was an amazing trip and I'm so happy it came together. All three of my paddling partners were great company, and as a bonus I saw one friend meet two others for the first time. The weather of the three days was as near perfect as could be for paddling and for camping. While the paddling legs were long, they were rewarding, and the island was very interesting.

It's the first expedition of the season. We're off to a good start!

Epilogue:
At the very end of our journey, once the boats were stowed and we'd all showered, and Kayak Dov was fetching the car for our ride back, the 2 Geeks and I found ourselves overwhelmed with choices in a restaurant:

6 oz steak (with mushrooms? onions? rare/medium rare/well done?)
8 oz steak (with mushrooms? onions? rare/medium rare/well done?)
11 oz steak (with mushrooms? onions? rare/medium rare/well done?)
chicken (grilled, smoked, barbecue)
Half a dozen kinds of beer and half a dozen house coctails.
Choice of two sides.

Camping, and at sea, your choices are very simple:
 do you eat the food you brought now or later?
  do you stop for water now, or later?
  Do you paddle out of your way and out of the wind, or stay on course and fight the wind?

Life at sea, and camping, is very simple. We recognize that we are privileged to be able to live so humbly as a choice, and not a permanent state of affairs, unlike so many in the world who are permanently without a home. "Getting away from it all" here meant the countless decisions, checklists, and short personal transactions that make up our daily lives. It does put in perspective the wealth of choices those of us in the modern first world have. When our only major choices are where to build shelter, when to eat, and how to deal with the weather, coming back to "civilization" and its myriad  options for each of these is a bit jarring.

That said, I'm not complaining. I'll take a hot shower after a long paddle every day if I can.