A Day at Democrat Point

How ridiculous must I look? Surely I look ridiculous.

After about the fourth passing motorboat asked me and my companion if we needed help, I though perhaps the orange helmet I was wearing in perfectly safe waters belied the notion that we were OK.

This was how we wound down our day at Democrat Point, Long Island.

We started off parking at one of the starred locations on the chart. At the start of the ebb, we had an easy time heading out. The "unsurveyed" area was very light on current, and had a big sandbar; we spotted a horseshoe crab swimming as we paddled out, and my companion spotted a spider crab as well. Near the channel, dozens of boats of various sizes, from little motorboats to multi-decked charter fishing boats, plied waters. The current's eddy line was noticeable, and after riding it to the narrowest point, we crossed and checked out the entrance to the inlet.

The water was bouncy, and in short order, a messy tiderace formed, ocean swell running into shallow water, against current. Over the course of the day, it would change shape as the ebb tide strengthened and the water level dropped. We only played for an hour or so, removing ourselves by the time the tide got close to two knots. Also, following a capsize and recovery, snack time was called.

While ashore we talked about how to control the boat on waves, especially in broach, and taking waves abeam. We also talked about how to take a range, or a transit, and after that, used that new bit of knowledge to cross the channel to the north, and found a lengthy beach to play along.

After that, we paddled eastward, eventually taking a break in a little nook that was shallow enough for standing but deep enough for rolling, and V (my aforementioned companion) got in some rolls. I did as well, practicing how to distinguish different parts of a roll. I even tried showing a roll without a boat, which is harder than it looks, but not as hard as it sounds.

We found a mini-tiderace nearby, with a small eddy, and that's where we decided to try some "rough water rescues". The water was moving, and the waves were big enough to require proper support, so the rescuer couldn't slack off on holding the boat. All that aside, this was near the approach the  motorboaters were taking to a mooring field, and it's at this point that people stopped and asked, repeatedly, for help. No one asked when we were about to be swept into the terrible maw of the open sea. But, with a friendly wave, we convinced everyone that we were fine. Trust me, I'm a professional.

Which brings me to the helmet. I'd carried it on my back deck, only wearing it for the surf session. Yet, when we were doing rescues, I wanted to keep it clear, and the easy solution was to put it on my head.

We finished the day paddling along the shore, avoiding the shallow area that had now become a wading place for birds and people clamming. We took a find shot at various rolls, hand rolls and offside rolls, before packing it all up and driving home.

Democrat Point is a bit of a drive from our usual area of operation, but it was well worth it. There are a variety of features to play with. It's not for beginners, but with a bit of planning, it offers a variety of learning activities.

Squirt

A couple of weeks ago, I dropped in on the pool program run by my friend Matt at Prime Paddlesports. After teaching a few lessons there, I hadn't been in a couple of weeks. I brought along my newly-repaired Gemini SP to practice some rolling.

What a pleasant surprise to see fellow Manhattanites (and paddlers extraordinaire) D&O there, with an array of small boats. OG, the "Original Jersey" girl from the Channel Islands, had brought along her squirt boat.

Squirt boats are meant to be extremely playful, mainly in whitewater, finding current features to twist and shout and dance upon. The boat sits practically submerged to begin with. Just a little momentum, and it starts to dive and place the paddler perpendicular to the water.

As I watched her practice, I was intrigued. No way would I fit in that! I'm a good deal taller, and the boat, sitting on the floor, was no higher than my hand! But OG encouraged me to try, and with a little shimmying, I was able to slide in.

One of my friends, TI, took some video while I floundered about. Friends, it was like a real rodea, gettin' pitched around. 

Unfortunately I seemed so trimmed to the stern, I had to go backwards to make it dive. You can hear OG exhorting someone to push down my bow.

Well, it was a holler and a hoot. I'm not sure when I'll have another chance, but I'd take it if I had one. It was not quite the death trap I feared, but it was a lot of work to stay upright - and getting out in an emergency would be a bit more terrifying than in a pool surrounded by friends.

Amazing

I was conducting a paddling skills assessment at a lake yesterday, aided by friend and fellow instructor Jean Kostelich of Two Geeks @ Three Knots. While there, I ran into some other local acquaintances, people who are more skilled paddlers than I, and we got to talking. Our conversation went along these lines:

You got any plans this fall? What about that thing we went to in Groton?

Gotta wait and see about my schedule. I'd love to go. I also want to get some [n] training.

Really, with who?

[name]. I find his style really works for me.

Yes he's good, I only met him last year. You going for your  [n] ?

Maybe, but what would I do with it? Conditions around here are only so much, and very few paddlers are up to that level of paddling.

Yeah. In NYC people say I'm an amazing paddler, but I go up there and I realize where I'm really at. You know, just average at best.

What constitutes amazing? I think it's only human to think in binary terms: I'm a beginner or  I'm amazing. Where one places oneself on that limited spectrum might depend on the events of that day. If you try something new, that pushes your limits, how well you do will color your self-perception.

I for one can say that I felt pretty darned amazing the day I capsized while surfing a three-foot wave and rolled up on my less-elegant side. But then the next day I repeatedly failed a re-entry and roll.

Some folks who keep at their paddling will develop a third model. The wording is always awkward. What's an "advanced beginner" or "intermediate". In my own work I've settled on "improvers", covering a wide range: from "has the basics down" to "can do everything I can and be better at it too."

The truth though, is that paddling skills are a spectrum, and each skill in itself can run on a spectrum. I've seen plenty of paddlers with good forward and turning strokes but weak or ineffective braces. I've seen some amazing rollers who have messy draw strokes. On top of all this, there's experience in conditions. Strokes that work in rough water will work in flat water, but unless practiced correctly, in those conditions, fear in the "brain" part of body-boat-blade-brain will wreck the best efforts of the other three Bs.

Hence, most of the best paddlers I know will say they're "OK". "Just OK," because paddling is a practice. It's an ongoing activity and achievement. I might have an amazing bow rudder one day and a terrible on the next. Or crack six rolls consecutively one day but then muscle one the next.

Amazing? It's all in the eye of the beholder.

Florida

The past couple of years I've managed to get away to Florida. Mostly this is to get away from the cold in New York, and to practice my other expensive hobby: scuba diving. I came down this weekend with a friend and, for the first time, paddled a proper sea kayak in Florida.



I've been staying at a small place in Key Largo. About a block away is a kayak shop that rents deck boats (sea kayaks). On the map above, we're about halfway down the lower right reverse "C" that runs along the highway. I rented a boat, once with a friend and once on my own, to paddle east a bit across Blackwater Sound, then south through the first channel into the mangroves and into Tarpon Bay.

Both days there were steady winds, in the 15-20 mph range. This created a lot of wind waves on the sound itself, which while fun to play in were more than a little work. Once in the mangrove channel however, we were sheltered a bit from the wind, and had to content only with passing motorboats  and the fishermen they carried.

What we weren't protected from were critters. My friend SS saw something, probably a manatee, that startled the bezeezus out of her. We later took a turn into some more narrow mangrove channels and saw some ginormous pelicans. Our biggest start came from a cormorant emerging from below the water, silhouetted against the bright open background like the Loch Ness Monster. We then took a look at the wind effect on Tarpon Basin and decided to turn around, catching some current back and saving our energy to fight the wind.

The next day, after she had left and one of my diving trips had been cancelled, I went out again, on my own. This time, rather than stay near the shore, I paddled out into the sound, taking wind and 1 foot waves abeam and practicing landmark navigation. At sea, without well defined landmarks, the shore blends together into a single depth of field - what looks like a long unbroken line may turn out to be a point or headland jutting out a mile or two in front of a more distant shore. Using my chart, compass, and starting point as references, I decided a course to take me to a point that lined up with the channel, and that worked out well. I took following seas into the channel.

This time, I took a different route than I had with SS, following the markers for bigger boats as far as I could. I considered going in to the next basin - Little Buttonwood - but the wind had picked up and I wasn't sure how much it would slow me on the return. I took a stab navigating back through the mangroves, but after about my third major turn, I was no longer sure I wasn't in a dead end, and I backed out and returned the way I came.

Back out on the sound, the wind was stronger than when I left it coming mostly from the NNW. I thought that might push me against the southern shore of the sound, so I opted to essentially ferry against the wind. I picked a radio tower in the distance a bit north of what I thought was my destination, and paddled towards it, keeping the wind at about a 30 degree angle to port. In this manner I found the wind slowly blew me towards the eastern shore as I paddled north. As I got closer I realized my destination was not quite as far up as I'd thought, and I paddled due east the last half mile or so.

After that, I practiced skills: braces, edging, rolling, hanging draws. I put on quite a show for the locals at waterfront bars to either side of the shop. The water here is much saltier than the Hudson. After that, I hopped out, talked shop with the local staff, and went on home to clean up for dinner.

I would love to come down here and paddle a proper journey at sea. Perhaps one day I will.

Brutal Winter

Holy cow, has it really been nearly two months since I blogged about kayaking?

But I've been paddling, I would say. I've been to pool programs, played polo.

I suppose I haven't felt like anything has been blog-worthy. If you want to keep up with Kayak Cowgirl, be sure to look her up on Facebook and Twitter.

After my last paddle on the Hudson, the ice overtook the river for about six weeks. New York City and the surrounding area were hammered with blow after blow of sub-freezing cold waves. The city was encased in ice, and ice flowed down the river from further north. The New York Times had a little video about a hardworking icebreaker farther north on the Hudson. Heck, even just getting to her day job, the Cowgirl found herself slipping downhill backwards on the iciest of days.

Looking North, Tubby Hook, Early March

All that started to clear up by the third week of March, but while the days got warmer and prettier, there was still a lot of wind out. And, by then, I'd been to enough pool programs to make some progress in skills that would have just been uncomfortable on the river.

For a while I did Kayak Polo. That was amazing, and if you want the full picture, look back at some earlier posts. Sadly, that came to a premature end the very day a fun tourney was organized. Enough people signed up ahead of time that everyone was organized into teams and we'd have a little playoff. Unfortunately, something happened to the physical plant of the pool building, and the season was cut short indefinitely.

After that, I'd go to Riverbank State Park, a program run by a collective of people from different clubs. Not far from where I live, Riverbank State Park is a large water treatment facility with a sports complex built on top of it - including an indoor pool. In exchange for offering the occasional lesson, your fried the Kayak Cowgirl got a sheltered space to work on her roll and certain rescue techniques. That less-consistent (well, less reliable) side has improved nicely.

So that's been the winter. Hopefully the work of it is over and, with Easter coming right up, the real start of spring will begin, and we'll be back to our regular scheduled programming of adventure and instruction and just plain how-do-you-do observations of paddling life in New York City.

Frosty February

I got out on the water today with my paddling friend Dov Neimand. Th air temperature was much warmer than yesterday, with much less wind. A storm is expected overnight, and so we decided to get in some time on the water.

Actually, it was that neither of us had been on the river for a while. While I've done some pool sessions, I still prefer proper sea kayak, out in the open.

First we had to contend with this.:

It looks worse than it was. The ice was mushy and melty. The day before saw temperatures below 20 F and stiff winds. Air temps today were above freezing, with little wind, and less cloud coverage than predicted.

Before that, I had another problem to solve. I couldn't assemble my paddle - a small amount of water had frozen in the ferrules.

I managed to pick it out with my knife - but I still couldn't press the button down to open the catch! Turns out, water was more even farther down, and around the spring. I poured some hot tea on it and let it sit, twice, before it finally melted. So, hot tea? Good for your gear, not just you.

All the same, small ice floes had collected in the marina area to the north of the boathouse, and were flowing past with the growing ebb tide. Dov had paddled across the river already from his put-in in Englewood. He switched to his Greenland paddle once he saw the ice.

I managed to launch, and we set about practicing. The marina has pulled up their slips for the winter, leaving a series of pilings that are great for practicing the finer points of turning on the move - and with the growing current we had different experiences paddling with it and against it. We certainly knocked boats against the pilings a few times, and one of us went in a rolled up - no mean feat with water temperatures of 35.6 F at the Battery.

By this point ice was clearing up, and we found buoys to run some figure eights with. We also practiced backwards, and talked shop a bit - plans for the season, paddling, and so on. 

We decided to paddle north, against near-max current, to Spuyten Duyvil. As we did, we saw more and more ice - a long trail out in the main channel was amusing at first, but as we approached the railroad bridge we saw larger floes, and at the bridge itself, I realized a lot of ice was coming out of the Harlem, and from farther north on the Hudson.  We realized we wouldn't make it much further, and turned around to go back to the boathouse.

Before we went in, I took the opportunity to take a couple of cold water rolls. Now, my goal was to do one in the river every month, but I didn't get to in January. While I paddled twice, Once I was alone and the other time, had dinner plans with my paddlemates. I was also real sick for a spell. Anyway. I did it - and boy howdy do you feel the water. I was layered enough to not feel it on my body, but my face, covered in a balaclava, with the hood of my drysuit on, carried a lot of water up. I took it off once up. Not sure I want refrigerant cooling my head once upright.

If you haven't read Dov's blog, you should. He does long distance expeditions that put my day trips to shame - he's paddled months at a time across the Mediterranean, facing weather, traffic, language barriers, cultural misunderstandings, authoritative border guards, baffled marina clerks, bureaucracy, and all the usual mishaps of the expedition sea kayaker. 

Rescues and Shepherding

This past weekend was a fair amount of rescues and instruction. On Saturday I taught a small rescue class at my club. 

It was small because, I think, the weekend before was pretty intense - the boathouse was in use nearly twenty-four full hours. People needed time off. Also, I gave short notice - just a couple of weeks - grabbing an increasingly rare open slot on my summer paddling calendar. Altogether I only had three students - which made it a cozy class!

This was good, because I was trying something new - a hybrid class on shepherding and rescues. I've decided this doesn't work, at least not for a day class. Even at three students I had to shortshrift both topics. I'll have dedicated sessions for each from now on.

I started with shepherding. I like that term better than trip leading, because I've seen too many people take trip leading into trip bossing. Sherpherding also connotes the actual responsibility of any journey: these are your charges, and you are responsible. Put another way, one of my coaches with a police background used a phrase from that part of his life: there are wolves, and there are sheep. A shepherd's guide is to protect the sheep - although most of the time the 'wolves' are the elements - wind, water, etc. 

So we talked about CLAP (Communication, Line of Sight, Avoidance, and Position of maximum effectiveness). I used some simple props in the class to talk about various scenarios: what positioning would work, how to communicate and hand off problems or potential problems, and so on. One of my students is keen on radio communications, which are often impractical for paddling since you need two hands to paddle and one to use the radio. Line of sight, group awareness, and environmental awareness are more valuable than a radio in most situations.

Then, I handed out random secret roles and we went on a little journey, where each of the students was trip leader in turn. We had the fast paddler, the lost paddler, and the sick paddler. The last of these was so convincing that the trip leader though he was actually sick! We paddled north from Inwood into the Harlem river, coming back as the tide turned against us. I demonstrated belt tows and contact toes, including hand-on-deckline tows. I had the students try those as well.

Then, we did rescues. I started with balance exercises - sit legs out, then on the back deck, paddle around a bit, then get back in. Then we did scramble exercises: only one had trouble, and the rest commented on how a scramble was much easier than expected. 

We relocated to the north side of the river, which worked well in terms of depth and being very sheltered from the current, as well as river traffic. A Circle Line boat roared past us, creating little relative wake, and we had the depth we needed to capsize and rescue. We did paddle float rescues, both back deck and heel hook, and after one student had trouble securing her paddled, I demonstrated holding it against the coaming and using weight to help keep it secure.

With that, we ended the morning session, and two of them left for the day. After lunch, I worked with the remaining student on various eskimo rescues. What was interesting with her was how turned round she would get. She would find her stability (my boat or my paddle)and somehow reach for it behind her, practically somersaulting the boat length-wise in the process. I got her to get her support in front of her, and also to use her hip flick more.

The best part for me was, near the end, I had her spot me on my own work - and I finally got a re-entry and roll. It needs work, but at least I know for certain that I can do it.

Attention

After a long week, I wanted some simple paddling this past weekend. No commitments, no schedules to keep, no tides to make. I slept in, did some chores, paid some bills, and headed up to the Inwood Canoe Club, where I keep my boat.

I took it out, and went through some basic maneuvers - turning, turning on edge, running a slalom of buoys using edging as much as possible and paddling as little as possible. I played a game where I would paddle into a slip, then back out and turn backwards into the next slip, and then forwards out to the next, and so on.

Then I got to what I love most: sculling for support and rolling.

For the laity, sculling for support is basically moving the paddle back and forth horizontally for support. Done correctly, it allows the paddling to lean pretty steeply over, even practically capsizing before coming back up. I'm working on extended sculling, to lay on my back, sideways, without pitching over.

I've also got a solid, reliable roll. I worked on this quite a bit last year, and this year have gotten it nice and consistent, and I enjoy showing off in front of non-paddlers. I still have a lot to improve on, working on harder conditions and using my other side, but it's good - I can roll my boat.

Near the boathouse is a restaurant with open seating overlooking the river. There's also a small pier where people can enjoy the view, and sometimes fishermen perch there. I like to paddle out and show off so I did that - rolls, sculling for support, and so on.

After a while, I remembered there was another boat I wanted to paddle - a pretty boat, a Boreal Design Ellesmere, that is just my size. Paddling that boat is a dream - with hard chines, it holds an edge incredibly well, and turns on a dime. I did some more sculling, and some rolls, and headed back.

I decided to try some self-rescues. The tricky thing about this specific boat is that it has an ocean cockpit - meaning it is round, and a little harder to get into. I hopped out of the boat, floating in the water, and then scrambled back on. Then, I had to put my legs in.

I couldn't. At that angle, I basically needed backwards-facing knees. I would try to twist myself in and almost fall in - eventually, I did. I scrambled back on, and fell in again. Fine, I thought. I scrambled back, sat in the cockpit well with my legs dangling out, and paddled back to the dock.

I had a snack and then went back out in my boat. I paddled back to the pier. As I approached I saw some men shuffling out. A new audience!

As I approached, I notices some of them had reflective tape on the cuffs of their pants, and that their pants were held up with suspenders. A couple had collared shirts with badges on them, and I saw logos on the rest: FDNY.

A woman on the pier made a circling motion with her arm. One cue, I rolled.

I paddled closer. Now they were all lined up on the pier, looking in my direction.

"You aren't all here for me, are you?"

They all nodded.

"I'm OK. I just come out here to practice."

"Well could you practice someplace else," said one jokingly. Half-jokingly, as I thought about it.

"OK." I was feeling rather chuffed. I had actually moved someone to call 911 - which, is not a good thing, taking away resources. It wasn't my call though - I was perfectly fine. From now on I'll practice closer to the boathouse, or with friends.

Dedication

It's hard not to feel dedicated when you find yourself part of a line of people carrying whitewater boats over should across fifty yards of snow eight inches deep, from their storage spot underneath some stadium bleachers to the indoor pool, and back again later on. Especially after the session, effectively a full workout, the cold night air is refreshing, cooling off all the heat worked up inside.

It's a bit of effort to get out there as well. Bereft of my car-equipped friend, I took the PATH train all the way out to Newark, and then local light rail to New Jersey Institute of Technology's campus. It was about an hour commute, and remarkably cheap if you think about it, but still, an hour each way, plus another forty-five minutes to get home once I'd got back to the city. I was a tired pup the next day, but in a good way.

I've been working on my right-setup roll. I've got my left-setup roll down, both a sweep and a C-to-C (and, more often, what I actually do is like a sweep-to-C). On the opposite side I am developing the fluid body motion. I know what I need to do; my reflexes aren't cooperating.

Step one, getting my hip flick. I realized that I simply wasn't snapping my hip as well, so I practiced that a bit.

Step two, getting the paddle in the right place. I feel like I'm not reaching far enough with my forward (that is, left) arm, and I'm diving the paddle. I'm rotating, but at a cockeyed angle.

I am improving. I've been able to do one or two of these per session. I'll give it two or three shots and then if I'm running out of air, I'll switch and come up on the other side.

One more thing: nose plugs. These make such a huge difference for practicing. True, in a real life situation you won't have them, but for practice, going in repeatedly, they're great. Without them, a couple of rounds of chlorine will force me to take a break. With them, I can go, and keep going, and really take the time underwater to figure out what's going wrong.

Spuyten Duyvil

The other evening after work I took a short trip up and through Spuyten Duyvil. I'm making a methodical study of our local waterways for places to teach and practice, and the tides were such that I would get a good glimpse of the Duyvil around max ebb on the Hudson. I learned a couple of new details.

First, as one would expect, a strong current is a great time to see the Duyvil in action. Just west of the railroad bridge were patches of short standing waves, an expanding fan of eddies, and overall strong current. I used my typical approach, using a little cutout nook just south of the railroad bridge that is sheltered from the current, to get right up to the line.

Turning in to go against the current isn't difficult but requires a little finesse, edging away from the current while sweeping to take it straight on. Then, strong forward strokes and sweeps are required. I like to stay to the right so that a short burst lands me in a small sheltered area just below the railroad bridge.While incredibly shallow at low tide, it's still protected from the environment, and a good place to take a short break, and to collect a group if you're with one.

Second, the current in the Harlem itself before the bridge isn't terribly overpowering, and even beginner paddlers could cross it with little effort. This is good to know, because as it happens, the area on the north side of the Harlem, between the railroad bridge and the Henry Hudson bridge, was actually very still, making it a good place to practice even through the ebb current was nearing its maximum rate on the Hudson. Even better, according to my charts, and a little paddle sounding, it's deep enough to practice rescues, and maybe even rolling.

Spuyten Duyvil, from Google Maps

In the picture above, the bridge on the left is the railroad bridge, with the Hudson to the left of it. I approached along the edge of the shore and burst under the bridge into the U-shaped bay on the bottom, then paddling across to the shore on the upper side of the picture.

The little bay on the south has been a good place to practice maneuvers, rescues, and rolls, but it does get shallow - part of it becomes a mud flat. Knowing I've got another area to use is good to know - although, it's less protected from the channel, so I'd want to keep an eye out for traffic.

For more on the history of Spuyten Duyvil, check out Forgotten NY's article. Apparently there was a fire on the bridge a couple of years ago.

I think the Duyvil might also be a good place to practice rough water work, as long as we are mindful of traffic and inform the bridge operator ahead of time.

Practice, Practice, Practice

All the major coaches were at the dude ranch this morning. There was a lot on the schedule - a river trip, a trip to the Statue of Liberty, a kayak class, an SUP class. However, clients failed to materialize for half of these activities, and so I was nicked by one of the senior coaches for a practice trip to Morris Canal.

The highlights? As usual, a bit of role-play,with me as the trip leader bringing across two paddlers at the top of my ability to teach. I caught some major helicopter prop wash, which was awesome. I paddled deep into the Morris Canal, and got some clarification on some stern rudder techniques and cros-bow rudder practice - not to mention tips on group management, trip leading, and finding lessons to teach on the way.

The key point to the first is that as a coach, or instructor, I have to tailor my style to my students' abilities. Most of my instruction has been to new paddlers, but dealing with somewhat experienced paddlers is a completely different style. There's less micro-management, and the teachable moments are completely different.

As far as the prop wash goes: there is a helicopter landing pad on the waterfront, in front of the Goldman Sachs building (appropriately enough). It's possible to paddle underneath that pier, which is topped with what is more or less just a metal grate, which allows air to flow. Our lead coach led us underneath, to a choppy area he likes to practice in, and I was passing directly below the landing platform right as a helicopter came in. Oh my God, it was like five seconds of intense weathercocking - all of a sudden my boat was being pushing sideways and downwards. I actually edged towards the spray, and when I came out, my left side was soaked and my right side was dry. It was an intense experience.

In the canal, we talked a bit about traffic, and did some more lessons and learning. We went back behind the marina, to where it becomes marsh before hitting a dead end. We paddled back and took a break for lunch.

We did have one client, a woman who had bought a boat and some kit but did not have a lot of experience. We took turns teaching and demonstrating techniques. I learned a little how to make kayaking seem fun. By the end though, the other assistant and I were practicing rolling and rescues. Turns out my forward sweep rolle is better than I thought.

It all flows out to the sea.