Untitled Document

Chris n Tony Kayak Assateague 10.6-9.00

I left Claryville in Winter. Not really, but it was 30° and snowing wetly as I lashed the kayak to the car. I left on the dot of six, in pitch black. I heard Howard Stern sign on and watched the black turn to grey and then gentle morning as I headed south. I hit major traffic on the Garden State Parkway as it passed through suburban Paramus, but listening to Howard tickle Pam Anderson¹s feet made the time pass quickly. Before I knew it, I was passing through the Pine Barrens and nearing Cape May. I stopped for refreshments and was surprised to find that winter had changed to spring, and weather was a sunny 70°. Howard began fading out just as the show was ending and I realized I'd timed it perfectly and been entertained the entire way.

I arrived at the Cape May/Lewes ferry wth fifteen minutes to spare and relaxed and ate my lunch watching the seagulls wheel. The ferry itself is a modern ship, with a futuristic, glass-walled lounge facing forward. I snagged a good seat and spent the voyage reading John McPhee's stories of Alaska and watching the sportfisherman and seagulls wheel. I saw a couple greyhounds, then saw them again, then again. Wait, there weren't one, but THREE pairs of greyhounds on this boat. Turns out there was a yearly gathering of the folk who rescue racing hounds in Ocean City that weekend. I would pass literally hundreds in cars and on the street as I passed through OC.

That hour-long voyage passed quickly too, and when I hit Delaware I found myself in summer. I changed into t-shirt, shorts and Tevas and headed south towards Ocean City. I remember the endless avenues of OC from my misspent youth and found them much the same as I remembered. The major change is the addition of dry ice smoke to the Putt Putt joints putting them into ever greater levels of ridiculousness. 80 degrees and you're putting through the legs of a polar bear. I didn't have my putt-putt attire with me and I was anxious to get down to Assateague and ascertain the camping/permit situation so forewent the storied fields of green.

Finally, I got through OC and headed towards the beach. I crossed the causeway in brilliant sunlight and (of course) saw ponies just on the other side. I was still kind of reeling from the summer-like conditions after spending the prevous 24 hours in a frosty Claryville. I stopped at the ranger station and secured Tony and myself a spot for the night, and learned that it shouldn't be a problem getting backcountry permits as we'd planned. They won't tell you this on the phone, and insist you actually show up so it's a little nervewracking wondering if you'll get a spot. In the event, however, it turned out there are multiple sites at each backcountry "site" and so it's pretty unlikely to be full this time of year.

Tony had claimed he would be leaving so as to arrive "mid afternoon". I've known Tony a long time, so I gave him a call around three and of course, he wasn't even close to leaving. He claimed he'd be out of there in an hour, which would put him not only in the absolute epicenter of traffic, but allow him to arrive after dark, because what's the fun in setting up camp when you can see? Having been through this routine a million times (what is it with me and the Cancers who can't show up on time to save their lives?) I went to my favorite local shack, Assateague Crabhouse, and inhaled a boatload of killer local crustacea. I picked up a pint of their proprietary crab boil and headed back to the campsite. Of course, Tony still hadn't showed, so I fooled around, chatted with the Boy Scout leader camped next to us, looked at the couple other Chesapeake Light Craft boats around, and "relaxed".

Around ten Mr. Mid-Afternoon showed up, all riled up about how long it had taken him to get there. We drove into town to do some last minute shopping and made sure we were good-to-go first thing in the morning. Last time we'd done this trip, we farted around all morning while it was dead calm, and started paddling just as the wind came up. Wanting to avoid that mistake again, we'd both promised each other we'd be ready to go asap in the am.

Tony pitched his bivvy and beyond that I cannot tell because I fell asleep before he was even finished. I slept like a log (as usual in my solo Moss Outland with the cloudlike and toasty Feathered Friends Puffin bag tucked inside...), and got up early to go find out what the deal was with the permits . They are only issued on the day you want to leave, so one just has to show up. Everything looked kosher, except for the SMALL CRAFT WARNING!!!

Yikes, who'd of thought? The nice ranger lady promised to call the coast guard every hour, but said she couldn't issue permits while the warning was in effect. 'Twas indeed windy as all get out, but dammit, we'd been planning this trip forever, I'd driven eight hours, and we were going to paddle and camp if it killed me. I went and bought a couple cups of coffee and woke Tony with the bad news. We discussed driving up and doing the Delaware River trip (a good eight hour drive from Assateague), or doing like the Boy Scouts and heading over to the Pocomoke River. Neither seemed very appealing. Tony suggested we go check with the rangers again, so back we went. When we showed up the cute ranger lady was just getting off the phone with the weather people and informed us with smile that we could go.

So down to the Old Ferry Landing we hied, and started packing the boats. I had pre-prepared everything and had in fact spent a couple of hours on the porch in Claryville packing and repacking my boat to figure out just how to fit the optimum amount of stuff inside. (Expedition Kayaking is a Gear Head's dream: without even mentioning the boats and PFD's and stuff, just the dry bags to hold the gear are cool. I had a new cone shaped bag this year which allowed me to pack the bow of my kayak within an inch of its life. Next year I'll get another for the stern...). So it was easy for me to pop the dry bags out of the car and into the boat. I then parked my car, paced around a bit and decided to get in my boat to test out the rudder I'd repaired. It had broken some four years ago and I had never really paddled the boat with it actually in place and functioning.

I'd forgotten how hard it is to actually get in the boat without soaking and humiliating yourself, and then to get the damn spray skirt attached to the cockpit Other than that it felt good to be back in the venerable Cape Charles. It was the first boat I built, but it quickly fell to the wayside as I built bigger boats to accomodate first the dog, then the family. It's a tad too short for me, but with bare feet I was snug as chrome on a trailer hitch. The rudder worked marvelously, allowing me to pretty much track wherever I wanted, regardless of wind, current, or weak paddling technique. I puttered around, made a few trial turns, made sure my maps and compas were at hand, generally got ready to go. Looking back I saw Tony still futzing around with packing his boat. Having seen this routine enough to know he'd be a while, so I decided to head on out on my own. I wouldn't learn for hours that Tony's packing (I had the water and he was supposed to take the food) didn't leave room for any of the CHOCOLATE PRODUCTS WE HAD PURCHASED! Oh the HUMANITY, it's like the Hindenberg all over again.

Other than the continuous wind, it was a gorgeous day. Clear blue, sunny, salty. Assateague Bay is a stunning body of water, a true treasure of the East Coast. Often less than 3' deep on the tidal flats, it is rarely more than 8'. There's no doubt that one can get into trouble out there, and tides and currents can be tricky, but in general it's a fairly safe waterway to recreate on. One is generally not more than a couple hundred yards from shore, and often one could wade to shore if need be. That said, there are also many portions where we were a half mile or more out, and the swells and whitecaps got pretty intense. Kayak travel is so great, you can actually feel the botom coming up as depth decreases. And yet, you're really down in the water, which ain't so great when weather freshens up.

As soon as I came around the point and out of the channel I was hit with the wind, out of the NNW, at a steady twenty knots or so. So happy I'd fixed the rudder, I set a course and dug in . The wind was off my rear quarter, so it would have been a major pain to paddle in a following sea like that without the rudder. As it was, the 35 lbs of water sitting below the waterline (and just behind me) helped make the Cape Charles wallow like a seal.

Tony had by now gotten his act together and was headed out of the cove to join me in fighting the rollers. The kayaks cut right through the white caps, but the swells coming in from behind us really tossed us around, with the added excitement of them coming from our blind side. Tony radioed that he was feeling seasick. As usual, we had the radios, and as usual, they didn't really work. Either they broke up and we couldn't understand each other, or we were too busy paddling to stop and reply. It would sure be nice to get the handsfree headset thing going for once, but it was not to be on this trip either.

So we soldiered on through this wallowing sea. My boat sits low to start with, and laden with gear and water as it was, the decks were often awash. Especially as I plowed through swells, trying to roll with the following-seas hitting me over my right shoulder, it really began to look to me like I was sinking. Tony's "seasick" comment took an hour or so to sink in, but then I began to get a little edgy. As the wind continued to pick up, and the seas got more and more intense, Fear began to win out as the dominant emotion. I decided it would be a good idea to get further ashore for at least a little break from the pounding.

Tony followed me in , and as soon as we got out of deep water the swells abated almost entirely. The geography of Assateague is all low sand dunes and scrub, and it's very hard to actually figure out where you are on the map. As we came in towards shore I spied what appeared to be a structure. Remembering our last trip, I knew there was an old house right by the Pine Tree campsite, and thought we might be there. I thought we'd been paddling too long and hard to only be at Pine Tree, but as I said, the landscape there is very deceptive. Then as we drew even closer it became apparent that what I'd seen as structure was merely an improbably straight strip of white sand crossed by several dark striations of darker grass. As we turned along the shore to continue south, we came upon a weathered sign with a pictogram of a canoe and a tent. We were clearly at some campsite, but the terrain didn't fit any of our maps. Approaching shore in a natural cove, I beached my boat and bushwacked through some prickers to find four or five tent sites, all overgrown due to disuse. This was clearly a campsite, but one that had been retired and removed from the maps.

We'd learn later (from older maps) that it was Jim's Gut. We felt a little bad about camping in an unauthorized spot, but on the other hand, the wind and sea out there were intense, and the thought of heading back out into it gave us both pause. But once the decision to stay was made, we were like pigs in shit. The occasional thorn bush made up for the fact that we each had a campsite for our tents, and a third one for the "office". We pulled our boats up high, both as precaution against high tides and to minimize our visual impact (ie avoid being busted...). Aw, who needs Green Run anyway? Jim's Gut rules!

Tony and I set about unfolding camp, and then set the Stingray tarp up as a windblock. There was still quite a stiff breeze even in the shelter of the pines. Sitting on our camp chairs in the lee of the tarp, gazing out at the enormous camp and surrounding countryside and sharing it with nobody but the horses was just exactly what the doctor ordered.

In the comfort of our little green nook we fired up the stove and commenced the hot liquid making. Liquids, B's, chat, were followed by dinner and more of the same. As dark was falling we explored the gut a little and realized it seemed to be more island than gut. At low tide, one could probably hike across the flats to the beach, but at high the "gut" was completely surrounded by water. Luminescent white sand spots were strewn with pine needles and the occasional horse pie. In the gloaming it became more and more difficult to mark our passage so we returned to camp and prepared to bed down for the evening. It's becoming a tradition (cliche) in these accounts to mention how soundly I slept in my FF/Moss combo, but here it is again: I dig my bag and tent!

Sunday dawned grey and (surprise!) windy. The office saw a lot of cups of hot liquids, a lot of B's, and a lot of jabbering from the regulars. We knew we had to paddle, but it was so darn cozy there behind the Stingray that every dispatch sent back from the weather desk said, "too windy". Sometime around two-ish we started getting our act together to blow town. None too speedily for sure, as around three-ish we were just getting the boats loaded. For a change, the tardiness worked to our advantage, as the wind had finally mitigated a bit, dropping off altogether as we prepared to shove off.

Sunday afternoon's paddle from Jim's Gut to Pine Tree was the most excellent of the trip. Nearly still water, mild temperatures, easy paddling on the tide; all combined to provide a most salubrious postmeridianal excursion. With less to worry about in the boat handling department, I could relax and look around a bit more. Assateague's muted color palette forces one to observe closely and appreciate subtle gradients and contrasts. Without the clear hard light provided by the scouring wind the light was softer. Everything acquired a roseate glow as the haze muted the waning afternoon light. Sea birds were all around, but I'd forgotten the Field Guide and so can't tell you what any of them were.

After an hour's paddle we came in sight of Pine Tree. Last time we'd been here had been even more of an "any port in the storm" routine than Jim's Gut was this time, so I tooled around the take-out idly checked out the landscape and just plain enjoyed the feeling of being afloat while waiting for Tony (who is a faster paddler, not sure how he ended up behind me). We put ashore next to an enormous aluminum freighter, whose occupants were camped at the site nearest the ramp. Luckily, Pine Tree is fairly capacious, and Tony and I snagged a sweet site a hundred yards further into the pines.

All the demarcated sites on Assateague have these oddly shaped sturdy metal posts, with hooks on the end. For hanging, obviously, but for what? The hooks are only five feet off the ground, so it's not for food. We used ours to hang water (ooh, key plot foreshadowing, pay attention to the bit about hanging water...) from, but later I saw them called "lantern hooks" in a guidebook. I'm not big on lanterns, prefer to let my eyes adjust to the darkness at night, and I think I've mostly brought Tony around to this viewpoint as well.

We each set up our tents, opened the office for business, and got to it. Topics included:camping gear, camping trips, and uh, camping. We spent at least twenty minutes collaborating on the fine piece of animation art which became this silliness.

Pine Tree is connected to the main body of Assateague, and in fact campers near us had hiked in. Tony and I spent several hours checking out the trails and the great Atlantic Ocean herself, pounding on shore a mile or two from camp. Killer sunset, and then barely visible dune trails in the fading twilight. Making our way back to camp, we made a couple cups of hot liquid and Tony headed off to his bivy. I brushed my teeth, took a last leak, and filled my water bottle before turning in for the evening.

If this were a film, you would see me doing all this, but the shot would be interspersed with a tight shot of the hanging water bottle's valve. A very tight shot. THen jump cut even tighter. Tight enough that you can see that though it appears to be closed tightly, in reality Chris had only tightened it 99%, what with the darkness and all. 99% is usually pretty good, and it's hard to believe that a little drip of water could drain an entire gallon and a half of water. BUT THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED!!! Aaaarrrrgggghhh. Woke in the morning to learn we had only about a quart or two of water between us. I of course tried to pin blame on Tony for leaving the valve open, then the old, "boy, they sure don't make those water bottles like they used to..." before finally realizing I had indeed, fucked up.

So what should have been a relaxed final morning of convivial comsumption of hot beverages was instead a marathon of denial. Hmmm, coffee? Or water to drink while paddling? Damn, glad it was the last day of the trip. Tony had the decency to not rag too heavily on my faux pas. We managed to eke out a slim couple cups of joe and save a few drops for our camel baks.

Hiking back out the several score yards to the put-in we were greeted with what could charitably be termed a fresh breeze. Others might call it a howling raging gale. I felt particularly bad for the father and son (maybe twelve years old) team who were packing their enormous Grumman freighter. Kayaks are bad enough in the wind, canoes can be terrible. The kid looked terrified, and I hoped that they'd be alright.

We proceeded to pack our boats and hit the road, er, bay. Coming out from the shelter of the put-in ramp was like being hit by a fist. The wind was hard and steady from the NNE. We were to paddle directly into it until we could get around Tingles Point, then we could angle off a little bit towards the north east back into Old Ferry Landing. Once again I thanked my lucky stars that I'd repaired the rudder; paddling a few degrees off the wind without it would have been trouble. In the event, Œtwas some seriously hard paddling, but we managed to get around the point and sail back down into the convoluted channels that lead to Old Ferry Landing.

I was greeted by Jerry and his annoying and insane wife who (of course) needed a ride to the ranger station. I then packed up the boat, put on the dry gear I'd thoughtfully stashed, tossed all the bags in the back of the truck and headed north. All the way home I reflected on what a nice break from reality that had been, and how quickly it had ended. One of these days I'll get out for a week or more on one of these adventures, but for the nonce quick little weekend getaways like this will have to do.