FULL MOON & SUMMER SOLSTICE

                     
                 I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows;
                 I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows.
                 I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses;
                 I linger by my shingly bars; I loiter round my cresses;
                 And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river,
                 For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.
                 Lord Alfred Tennyson

It's an old saying we have all heard before. The two best reasons to own a kayak or canoe are sunsets and sunrises. Who can argue? The sunlight flashing in each droplet from our paddles as the water glows in a golden glitter. No one can resist the sight of tranquil lake basking in either new or dimming light. Nevertheless, in their confines we find the moon giving us another reason to stay afloat.

"One summer night, out on a flat headland, all
but surrounded by the waters of the bay, the horizons were remote and distant rims on the edge of space." wrote Rachel Carson environmental activist,  "Millions of stars blazed in darkness, and on the far shore, a few lights burned in cottages. Otherwise, there was no reminder of human life. My companion and I were alone with the stars: the misty river of the Milky Way flowing across the sky, the patterns of the constellations standing out bright and clear, a blazing planet low on the horizon."

Carson who alerted the world to the impact of fertilizers and pesticides in the environment, best known for her book the Silent Spring, went on to describe how an ordinary night on the water was extraordinary, and often looked past by many.
"It occurred to me that if this were a sight that could be seen only once in a century, this little headland would be thronged with spectators. But it can be seen many scores of nights in any year, and so the lights burned in the cottages and the inhabitants probably gave not a thought to the beauty overhead; and because they could see it almost any night, perhaps they never will."

This past week, however, the summer solstice, the longest day of the year and June's full moon called the Strawberry Moon by early Native Americans marking the beginning of the strawberry season, coincided together in a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. This event happens only once every 70 years.
With about 17 hours of light, the day didn't want to yield to the night still the lunar globe burned brightly in the twilight.

And as the sun slipped behind the horizon and the moon climbed into the evening sky, a hush came over the handful of transfixed boaters I was leading Lake Natoma during a  Current Adventures Kayak School & Trips full moon paddle.  Our voices had seemed to be bewitched and taken away in total fascination. The moon has that kind of power. If it can control the tides of the sea, rending one speechless under its luster is effortless to it.

"There is something haunting in the light of the moon," said writer Joseph Conrad, "It has all the dispassionateness of a disembodied soul, and something of its inconceivable mystery."

The mystery of the moon and stillness of the lake rekindled our senses while gliding silently along, soaking in night's peaceful enchantment. All around me, I heard the gentle sound of lapping of the water against the bow. The air was fresh, damp and motionless. In each stroke, we paddled its coolness fill our lungs. The water and night soon engulfed me in the darkness. Looking out across the silver lining of the lake other kayakers were now fleeting shadows afloat on the shimmering haze.

Check your calendar for next full moon and bring that special someone along for a romantic voyage or the whole family for a moonlit kayak adventure. Many outfitters or local state park across the country offer sunset and full moon paddling sessions and provide all the gear for a reasonable price.

If you want to go contact:
Current Adventures Kayak School and Trips 
PHONE: 530-333-9115 or Toll-Free: 888-452-9254
FAX: 530-333-1291
USPS: Current Adventures, P.O. Box 828, Lotus, CA 95651
info@currentadventures.com
owner Dan Crandall dan@kayaking.com

OVER THE BOW: LAKE SUPERIOR

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down, Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee, The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead, When the skies of November turn gloomy--Gordon Lightfoot

It was late fall in Minnesota. Winter comes quickly there. It pushes the season of autumn out rapidly like an out-of-control locomotive. The beautiful colorful leaves one day are swept away by the rain, ice and snow on the next. Veteran paddlers of Lake Superior will tell you that when the weather turns to winter, the lake can become extremely hazardous for vessels no matter the size. A single storm on Nov. 28, 1905, damaged 29 ships calling for American novelist James Oliver Curwood to write, "It is the most dangerous piece of water in the world. Here winter falls in autumn, and until late spring, it is a region of blizzards and blinding snowstorms. The coast are harborless wildernesses with...reef and rocky headlands that jut out like knives to cuts ships into two." The alarm went out and in 1907 the US Congress appropriated $75,000 to build a lighthouse and fog signal southwest of Silver Bay, Minnesota, on the North Shore of Lake Superior.   

Split Rock Lighthouse is considered one of the most picturesque lighthouses on Lake Superior. The lighthouse long since retired by U. S. Coast Guard is now part of the Split Rock Lighthouse State Park and is operated by the Minnesota Historical Society. It has been restored to the way it appear in the late 1920s when it guarded the treacherous and rocky coastline against its 130-foot cliff perch overlooking the lake. Only once a year is the lighthouse lens re-lit in tribute to the SS Edmund Fitzgerald sank in a storm on November 10, 1975.  All 29 crew members perished in one of the Great Lakes' worst shipping disasters forty years ago this month. On the anniversary of the ship's sinking, the names of the crew are read and the beacon is lit at dusk.

Against lake, the imposing and beautiful lighthouse seems to shrink. The forests and rocks on its edges have been diminished. I have never felt so small in a kayak than on Lake Superior. The lake, powerful even when calm bounced me up and down like a float toy as I paddled around the island and bay below the lighthouse. My son Cole and I were on a late-season camping trip on the North Shore. We had brought our Wilderness Systems Tsunami 140 to experience paddling in Little Two Harbors Bay and under the lighthouse. This place has special meaning us. We had visited it several times as a family and had good memories there. Now we would have one more.

While Cole paddled out into the bay, I climbed to the top of nearby Ellingson Island across from the lighthouse's rock face wall. Cole braver than I went out further under the lighthouse. Unprotected from the windswept waters, I watch waves break over his bow. Alone in the vastness, from my viewpoint, he was only speck on the giant sea. Like, novelist, Joseph Conrad said, "The sea has never been friendly to man. At most, it has been the accomplice of human restlessness." It is like that with Lake Superior, sudden storms, very cold water and an unforgiving coastline. It's an uninviting place that seems to call for us home, even in the days before winter.
 
Over the Bow is a feature from Outside Adventure to the Max, telling the story behind the image. If you have a great picture with a great story, submit it to us at nickayak@gmail.com

Up River Without A Shuttle

 “Going up that river was like traveling back to the beginning of the world, when the plants ran wild and the trees were kings. We sailed up an empty river into a great and silent forest"  --Joesph Conrad,  Heart of Darkness...

 In the past couple of weeks, I have been taking trips up the river and then back down. It is challenging in a way for me. All explorers went up the river from Lewis & Clark to Teddy Roosevelt. It's the drive to see what is around the next bend and the anticipation of not knowing what will be seen.

My kayak partner Erik Allen and I were for that challenge last month when we paddled up the North Fork of the American River from Upper Lake Clementine. We had traveled up another section of the river before at a place called Rattlesnake Bar and above Folsom Lake. There is a mixture of lake and river. Above Lake Clementine, it would be all river. Going up the North Fork follows an ever-rising gradient. The water comes in swift fashion. We would paddle pool to pool portaging through the rapids. Erik's longer sea kayak would help him muscle through the fast current a few times by vigorously paddling as hard as he could to pass over the ledge where the water was in a boil. Its nature's rowing machine.

"This is a marathon, not a sprint," Luke Kimmes told the Des Moines Register  "Physically, it's very demanding to paddle nine to 12 hours a day, but a lot of it is up here (he points to his head). It's that mind over matter idea."
Kimmes and five others are on different odyssey this year. They are on the Adventure to Rediscover North America Expedition, canoeing from the Gulf of Mexico to the Arctic Ocean. The journey will take them through ten states, and five Canadian provinces traveling the most way the upstream on the Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers. It's well past 2,000 miles upstream before they are finally going downstream in the Red River Valley of the North and into Canada.
"This is the type of trip I dreamt about when I was a kid," said Kimmes, "It's a passion of mine to show others that getting outside and enjoying the environment is good for the soul. It's a lot better than sitting at a desk."

 I compare it to climbing steps. On some rivers, you will feel a gentle tug or push. When a river turns, it forms a bend. The strongest and deepest current will usually be found on the outside of that curve. So while Erik tries to power paddle through, I take the easy way, finding where the rapids are the narrowest to the pools. Locking my boat against the eddies, a relative calm where the main current flows reverse,  I climb out of my kayak and push it through the fast water. Leaning into the streaming and bracing against the boat.
I have waded before. In the Midwest, we could never really wade in many rivers. Their bottoms were made of mud and silt. You would quickly sink up to your ankles or knees in muck. Don't even think of wearing a pair of shoes. You would either leave them stuck in the mud or spend the next hours trying to scrape the sludge off them. There it's better to go barefoot with the mud oozing between your toes.
 Water shoes are a must today. A couple of weeks ago this water was snow. It is still cold against my legs and feet. This water has enough power to knock me down and the rocks underneath are slippery and jagged. My neoprene boots hold in my warmth and also protect my feet in the rocky river bottom. In my mind, I think about to the explorers and gold miners who stood ankle deep in this cold stream searching for new lands and new treasure. Before long we are back flat water with a roar of the rapids behind us.

"Really, it speaks to what this trip means to me, which is if you have a passion, part of passion is struggling and sacrificing for what you want." said the mastermind Adventure to Rediscover North America Expedition, Winchell Delano in the same interview with Des Moines Register, "The feeling when you cross that divide and you're going downstream again, it's like delayed gratification through cathartic pain."

In the Midwest the slope is measured in inches. It's like pouring water on a pool table and watching it meander to the table's lean. In the foothills of California, if there is water, it comes cascading down the canyons offering scenic beauty and solitude.  At one spot we are treated with the sight of a bald eagle. It pays us no mind as we paddle on in a quiet pool. When soaring, it could be on to the next canyon in the time it takes us to paddle around one bend. It's all new to us, even though it has been mapped, surveyed and Google earthed. When we are out here paddling up stream little matters. It's like we are the first to see it, hear it and touch it.
"Just one more bend," we say to each other. Or maybe even one further up. Lets see how far we can go, powered by trail mix and granola bar before turning back. Then we can turn around and ride the bouncy gentle rapids back to still waters.