Paddle Back

 

There is something about paddling: the quiet rhythm of the blade sliding in and out of the water, the feel of my body's movement and tempo as I lean into the stroke and pull the paddle toward me. Relaxed, glide, I stroke again. Needing each other to cross the lake, my body and my kayak have become one. My feet, knees and thighs unseen under the bow sway back and forth holding steady to the course while my arms and torso, operating like a turbine, charge us forward. In each motion of the paddle, the horizon inches forward and the rest of the world slips further behind.

The world is at peace except for hurried ripples made by the bow slicing through the stillness of the lake. Behind me, the water surface is now scratched and broken into millions of tiny undulations drifting into the calm of the lake. Ahead of me lies the illusion of a priceless mirror laying flat against the earth and reflecting images of the trees and hills cradling this canyon lake. The sky is jet blue, the shore is dark and water is an upside down copy sharper than any photograph could ever produce. 
Environmentalist and wilderness guide Sigurd Olson was more poetic in his description, while paddling the lakes and forest of Northern Minnesota and Ontario, Canada. "If it is calm," he wrote in Open Horizons, "The canoes drifting through reflections with nothing to break the vast silence but the hypnotic swish of paddles, there are moments when one seems suspended between heaven and earth."

Not far ahead, a turkey vulture soars overhead with its wings tilted upward.  With it's ugly red-head and diet of the dead, its not as majestic as the eagle or hawk . The bird is looked at with disdain to most. It circles and spirals on prevailing wind currents with little change to its large out stretched wings. It looms over the lake and canyon, holding me in a trance while I paddle below.
It has been a bad week and the vulture knows it. There are problems at work, troubles at home and doctors with test results. Life is not as tranquil as this peaceful lake. Tribulations dwell outside these canyon walls and that vulture wants to devour us. 
I pass the outcropping of the tower rock formations that the vultures call home and whisper to myself
"Not today my friend. I maybe trampled, but I'm far from extinguished." I paddle on as the vulture slips out of sight.

"The first thing you must learn about canoeing is that the canoe is not a lifeless, inanimate object; it feels very much alive, alive with the life of the river," said film maker and canoeist Bill Mason in Path of the Paddle, "Life is transmitted to the canoe by the currents of the air and the water upon which it rides."
There is energy and healing in the water. It has power that Mason said instilled life into my kayak and now transfuses into me. Water has been revered throughout the ages for inspiring the human spirit with hope and tranquility.
 In Psalm 23, one of most quoted Bible verses of all time, David is led down beside quiet water and his soul is restored.
 This trip to the lake has rejuvenated my vitality in the same way, as it has done countless times before. A friend once told when kayaking she hardly can remember what day it is. The lake was her portal of escape and a place to rekindle her mind.
The sun is falling behind the ridge. Along the highest points, the sun still hits the glimmering peaks while the valley is turning shadow.  It is time to turn around and paddle back to the access. It is a drug. A temporary high that always leaves me wanting more and more. This why I return to the lake every chance I can, so I can feel the paddle, it's rhythm and the sensation of the water. My consciousness is cleared and refocused.
"Penetrations into the unknown, " wrote Olson in Open Horizon, "All give meaning to what has gone before, and courage for what is to come. More than physical features, they are horizons of mind and spirit, and when one looks backward, we find they have blended into the whole panorama of our lives."
In a few short hours on the lake, I have undergone a recharge. My mind is at ease and my burdens have lifted. I paddle back restored.

Kids & Kayaks

We sat on the bank and the river went by. As always, it was making sounds to itself, and now it made sounds to us. It would be hard to find three men sitting side by side who knew better what a river was saying.  Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It.

This Father's Day weekend I will enjoy the company of my oldest son visiting from Omaha. We will try to fit many things into his week-long visit, including reminiscing about our previous kayak and camping trips we have enjoyed together.

The other day, my wife asked me when I had developed such a keen interest in water sports and if I had kayaked growing up.  In Nebraska, we really didn't have access to water outside the public swimming pool where I learned to swim. My dad was a hunter. He took my brother and I hunting almost every fall weekend for upland game birds and fishing only a couple of times.  He would pack up the family station wagon every summer with camping gear and take us on cross-country trips to central Nebraska, the Black Hills and even to California. He would often pick scenic state parks to visit that included a lake or river for swimming. It was those summer camp outs and hunting trips that offered my first taste of exploring the outdoors.

My junior high school offered canoes trips along the Missouri and Niobrara rivers which were my first paddling experiences. Those great trips that I took with friends and classmates planted a seed in me that would later grow into a passion.

However through college, building a career and raising a young family those canoe trips turned into someday-dreams. In Fargo where the lakes are 45 minutes away, I didn't have the time and I didn't make the time. There was always a something else to do such as a work assignment, a doctor visit or another bill to pay. The water might as well have been a million miles away.
But then something great happened. My kids transformed from babies to creatures of action and adventure.
They wanted to camp. They wanted to canoe. They wanted to explore.
My kids were attending and working at summer camps offered through Boy Scouts and Campfire. Adults were needed to supervise and insure safety. That is what I told myself, but I came because it was fun. It opened a whole new world for me that I had forgotten. I was hooked again.

Before long I was attending the camps with them and taking them along on our own family adventures. Back on the water for at least a few days a year, my enthusiasm was just beginning. A couple of years later I bought three kayaks, some PFDs and paddles. I wasn't a real live kayaker yet, but I was getting there. The next season we added some whitewater boats and a tandem kayak to the fleet. The tandem meant we did not have to leave the dog behind.

On our paddling and camping trips into Minnesota, we stayed at scenic state parks with water access. After setting up the tents and exploring the lake or river, we remembered the day's journey fondly that night by the campfire. Some of my best fatherhood memories have taken place fireside with my kids. Laughter and reminiscing circled like the smoke from the fire.

"Remember the time at camp?" Taylor, my oldest would start.

"You mean the time that kid's swimsuit was hung on the flag pole?" added Cole, my youngest while roasting marshmallows.

Along with a collection of others, I had heard that story a dozen times before. I'm sure the trees that surround the campsite have heard thousands more like it.  I listened to the telling and retelling of their tales again like it was the first time. The jumble of camper's hi jinx and mischief have turned into family fables. Taylor has a way of stretching one story to another and another providing nostalgic entertainment. I have often said there is no one better around a campfire than Taylor. Even the trip we were on would later be a story at some distant campsite to come.

The next day brought more paddling, exploring and spending time together. The trip would end too quickly with a stop for ice cream or pizza or both on the way home.
 
So on this Father's Day weekend, may all dads and their kids build classic tales of their time together along the water. Those adventures will live in their memories and will be told over and over again as long there kayaks, canoes and campfires.

Over the Bow: Three Mile Slough

It was kind of solemn, drifting down the big still river, laying on our backs looking up at the stars, and we didn’t ever feel like talking loud, and it warn’t often that we laughed, only a kind of low chuckle. --Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

Debbie joked when we pulled up the boat ramp that when people saw our pictures, they would think we were in Sisseton instead of California.  The view at Brannan Island State Recreation Area had that look of those Mid-western lakes we both remember growing up.  Flat, hot and windy. Tall grasses and stubby banks along the shoreline, while speedboats and whitecaps came with the open water. Even a South Dakota license plate in the parking lot gave us a double take.
It is the heart of the California Delta. An expansive inland delta and estuary to the Sacramento and San Joaquin Rivers. Some 700 miles of rivers, sloughs, and wetlands come together before heading toward the Pacific Ocean. The area is alive with birds and great fishing.
Under the shadow of 3,500 foot Mount Diablo to our southwest, we paddled along Three Mile Slough. The slough is sandwiched between the two rivers and is jumping off point for many speed boats heading into the delta. We won't be going far to get our first taste of the delta. We slip into a quiet wake-free zone on the east of the recreation area. Swimming and fishing areas make up most of the west bank of the recreation area. A land bridge forces us back to Three Mile Slough. Into the wind, we paddle out to catch a view of the bridge by the same name.
A speed boat roars by putting water over Debbie's bow getting her all wet. She has had enough of this windy paddling exercise. We spent the rest of the day exploring the old river towns and their history on the way back.

Over the Bow is a new 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

BURNING WITH CONFIDENCE...PYRANHA DEMO DAY

We were not far from where gold was discovered in California that set off the Gold Rush. This Saturday morning South Fork of the American River was in a gush and for steady gathering tribes of kayakers, conditions couldn't seem more golden. Despite the historic on-going California drought, the river was full of water. Through deals made with upstream reservoirs and powerhouses along the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission guidelines, timed releases will keep dependable flows of whitewater and boaters coming all summer.

Pete DeLosa has a calm demeanor, an easy-going personality that makes you like him right away. He is a member of Team Pyranha and would be leading the trip down river. It's Demo Day,  a free event sponsored by the River Store and Pyranha Kayaks to give local paddlers an opportunity to try Pyranha's new 9R and Burn III kayaks.
"I think that is what I like the most." said DeLosa,  "Seeing people get in a boat they haven't paddled before and enjoying it.  Everyone thinks its boat height, boat weight and gallons. Stop looking at the specs. Get out and paddle different boats. Find the boat that makes you want to go out and do it"

 The shiny new kayaks glisten in the morning the sun. The 9R is the newest of Pyranha's fleet of kayaks. Its narrow width increases its speed while innovative outfitting and a lower knee profile offers maximum control.
 Across from it rests the Burn III offering a combination of precision and stability whether you are a beginner or expert. It was the kayak I will be paddling.
 I had looked for a bigger volume boat. The crossover kayak I own doesn't suit my skills and is a bad fit. I have had my share of swims with it. It always makes me a bit doubtful when it comes to my whitewater paddling abilities.
 DeLosa instilled some confidence in me.
 "Picture a good run at the top and you will have success at the bottom," said DeLosa. "Usually if you see something bad happening, it's self-fulfilling."

Then he said something that rolled me like a Class III wave.
"You know I'm scared to death of water." he said looking at the placid river,  "You know if you ask me I don't think I would swim across the water right here. I mean I could do it with a PFD,  but without it,  I don't think I would want even try it. Its something I have to overcome."
DeLosa is a special athlete. He can do amazing things in his kayak. I paddled behind him and the three others with us during the first rapids we met, coincidentally called Old Scary. I looked for the easy line hoping not to roll in the days first waves while the others punched through the big waves. DeLosa then pulled his kayak for a bit of surfing and offered tips to the other paddlers.

"Kayaking is more mental than it is physical." said DeLosa, "My first couple of years of creek boating were in a Wave Sport Habitat. I had bought it from a friend of mine and never even paddled the thing. I wanted to get to kayaking and he had a boat to sell. It was totally dumb luck, but it worked out great for me. For a couple of years,  I paddled that boat through what at the time the hardest water I ever paddled. I had done it all in that boat and I didn't want to get in any other boat.  I thought I was unstoppable in that kayak. It made me feel confident which pushed me to want to try new things. I had success and it kept me stoked. It also just kept feeding the cycle. The more success I had, the more confident I felt and I was willing to attempt more."

My confidence was beginning to soar with the Burn III. The river running kayak proved to be stable and forgiving through the turbulent water. After crashing through Barking Dog Rapid a popular kayak play hole, I felt an eagerness for more challenges. I took the lead at Highway Rapid a long rock garden wave train. I twisted and turned with the punches of the flow. The last one was Swimmers Rapid, rightly named because it seems to dump the commercial rafter customers at the end, was a victory lap for me. As I paddled up to the Greenwood Creek take out, I had a great sense of satisfaction. Credit goes to the Burn III.  
"I like seeing everyone having a good time" said DeLosa at the end of the day, "I like giving people the opportunity to get into a new kayak that they have tried before. And its like icing on the cake when they really enjoy it."

Angel Island

The winding trail keeps going up. Climbing steady with the view of the bay ever-changing. It started on pavement, leading to steps and then a trail twisting through a canopy of oaks and madrones. Crossing over the fire road the North Ridge Trail is interrupted with a picture post card view of Ayala Cove.
In the summer of 1775, Captain Cook has just completed his second voyage around the globe, George Washington was given the command of ragtag bunch of rebels fighting in a fledgling revolution and Juan Manuel de Ayala and crew of the San Carlos became the first vessel to enter the world's greatest natural harbor of San Francisco Bay.
Ayala later reported, "It true that this port is good. Not only for the beautiful harmony that offers to the view, but is does not lack very good fresh water, wood, ballast in abundance. It's climate though cold, is healthful and free of those troublesome fogs we had in Monterey."
Spanish navigators had been missing it for more than 200 years, but on Aug, 5th  The San Carlos battling powerful currents and using a crescent moon to steer by slipped past the Golden Gate into the bay. He saw an island and named it Santa Maria de los Angeles or as we call it in present-day Angel Island. Looking to protect his ship, he anchored it in Ayala Cove and remained there for nearly a month while is crew explored and mapped the bay area for the first time.

Over looking that cove today, ferryboat after ferryboat cruise in daily dropping off and picking up tourists at the island's visitor center and museum. The little cove is abuzz with activity as  visitors look forward to their new discoveries on the island.
 I'm here with four others from Bayside Adventure Sports. A church sports group based out of the Sacramento area. While most people visit the island via ferryboat, we all paddled in  and are camping at the kayak camp on the northwest side of the island. I had paddled around the island earlier today and now the goal is to hike to its top. A 788 foot climb up Mount Livermore.
The entire island is within Angel Island State Park boundaries and administered by California State Parks. The island has a history of being used in a variety of purposes including, military forts,  missile site,  an US Public Health Service Quarantine Station, and an US west coast Bureau of Immigration inspection and detention facility. Historic building, battery strongholds and installation facilities have been left behind to view on guided tours.
We are steadily climbing up North Ridge Trail on the east end of the island.  We have ascended between 500 to 600 feet since leaving the visitor center. Through the trees we catch views of old Fort McDowell and the bay.  It's a sailor's paradise today. Vessels can be seen skimming across the water in every direction. Their white and shiny sails bounding over their tops on the blue water. Like stars in the heavens there are way to many count.

It's a 5 mile trek around the island. For a dollar extra people can bring their bikes on the ferry or rent one in Ayala Cove while visiting the island. There are 13 miles of hiking trails and roadways on Angel Island. Cyclists have access to 9 of them. However, for the two and half mile trip up to Mount Livermore its all hiking. Steep switch-backs make the trail challenging to even the best of hikers.
At 700 ft. the trail splits into three. While two trails lead back down and one goes to the summit. The trees yield way to the bay for its view. There is still evidence of the 2008 fire that scorched 250 acres there. At 88 more feet we were rewarded with an island's awe-inspiring expansive 360° views of the San Francisco skyline, Alcatraz, the Golden Gate Bridge and Marin County.

It is a view Ayala never got to enjoy for himself.  Ayala had accidentally shot himself in the foot and left most of the exploring to his sailing master Jose de Canizares. On September 17, 1775 he sailed the San Carlos back out through the Golden Gate never to return again. A year later explorer Juan Bautista de Anza led the first colonists to the hilly peninsula facing the Golden Gate and and chose site for the  future city of San Francisco.

 Our visit was short also. When we loaded our kayaks up with our camping gear and paddled away the next morning, unlike Ayala we all look forward to our next visit to the little island.

Under the Golden Gate

I come back to the sea. In my case it is usually San Francisco Bay, than which no lustier, tougher, sheet of water can be found for small-boat sailing. It really blows on San Francisco Bay. During the winter, which is the best cruising season, we have southeasters, southwesters, and occasional howling northers. Throughout the summer we have what we call the "sea-breeze," an unfailing wind off the Pacific that on most afternoons in the week blows what the Atlantic Coast yachtsmen would name a gale. ---Jack London

When I think back on all those places I have ever wanted to kayak. I would dream of clear forest lakes, whitewater in a rocky mountain canyon and a sea view of the Golden Gate Bridge.
It is undeniably one of the greatest views ever. The Golden Gate Bridge is an icon of America. As I began unloading my kayak into Horseshoe Bay just to the north of the bridge, even in the early morning hours,  folks have already begun to congregate at the water's edge with their eyes fixed on the bridge in reverence.
It is a calm and beautiful morning. Out of the safety of Horseshoe Bay, I have heard about what challenges await. San Francisco Bay is legendary to the sea kayaker. Some of the wildest sea conditions on the entire West Coast can be found just past that sea wall. The bay is known for steep waves, fast and swirling currents and howling winds blowing through that Golden Gate. The last time my paddling partner, Erik Allen and I paddled the bay we faced a tiring wind on the return trip. I laughed at it anyway.
"You have never paddled Lake of the Woods at Zipple Bay, have you." I told Erik, and then exaggerated just a little, "They use a log chain for a windsock there."
Erik might have been concerned about the wind,  however, I'm worried about the tides and currents. Sea kayaking is still a foreign language to me. Ebbs, slacks, floods, and tide tables make up words in a sea kayaker's secret code. A flood tide makes it easier to paddle out while ebb will aid in the return. Finding the ideal time optimal for one's paddling experience.
Adding to even more the chaos are the pleasure crafts, ferries and ocean-going vessels competing for the same waterway. All of these factors should be considered when paddling in the bay and caution should always be exercised.

I picked a good time to paddle. It is early and the winds are light and the tide is in my favor.  I'm going solo across to Angel Island to join my camping party for an overnight on the island. They came the day before and I will be joining them. My kayak is loaded up with my camping gear, a change of clothes and an assortment of freeze-dried foods and power bars.
My heart races as I exit the Horseshoe Bay and enter the swells of the ocean. It is an exhilarating feeling as I round Yellow Bluff, a 90-foot cliff just of east of Horseshoe Bay. The waves crash gently against its walls. I enjoy views of seals bobbing their heads up above the surface of the water.  They are my only company so far. It is way to early for ferryboats. Their traffic won't begin till mid-morning. I stay along the shore for a while before making a northeastern turn towards Angel Island's Stuart's Point. To my left is Richardson Bay and Sausalito, to my right,  Alcatraz Island and San Francisco while behind me is the Golden Gate Bridge. Straight ahead is Angel Island silhouetted against the sun. Its dark mass rises out of a hazy glow.
It's a little less than 3 miles across to it. The island looms larger and larger with each stroke. I spot a few fisherman and sailboats on the horizon. It is an easy paddle till I catch the swell of and rapid water of Raccoon Straights. It pushes me past Stuart Point and towards the kayak in campsite. In the grass, I catch sight of my party's kayaks nestled in the grass. Up the hill,  I'm just in time for breakfast.

The day had just begun. After unloading my gear and quick breakfast I'm back on the water again with the group of paddlers. We make a quick trip across Raccoon Straights to Tiburon followed by a trip back through the straights and around the island.

  Angel Island is the bay's second largest island. It's about five miles to hike around which gives me an idea of the distance I will paddle while circumnavigating the island. I team up with fellow paddler Phil Montanes for the trek around the island. I watch Phil and his kayak disappear and reappear in the bounding waves while crossing the ferryboat lanes to Stuart's Point. Going around the west end of the island we take on the full brunt of the bay's winds. At times we don't even seem to be moving. We paddle hard past the rocky ledge before the bay winds decrease. From there, we sweep along the south side of the island, where we have the best views of Alcatraz and the cityscape of San Francisco. After Blunt Point, the bay is as calm a Minnesota lake on summer's afternoon. The eastern side of the island usually offers protection against the prevailing west winds. Here we catch our breaths and pass the historic sites of the island. The fort and the immigration station stand like silent witnesses to another time. Rounding the corner again we catch the wind and the view of Ayala Cove. This where the tourists arrive and depart the island via ferry boats. We have almost made it. Just past Point Ione, we see our kayak camp's beach and the far off view of the Golden Gate.

 Part Two of my trip to Angel Island next week in Outside Adventure to the Max.

Kayaking Fargo, Red River Reminiscence

 Originally published on May 6 2014. This post has been an Outside Adventure to the Max fan favorite. 

The city of Fargo has been all the news this past year. It has a new hit TV series that shares its name. ESPN College GameDay came to town for a visit last fall,  and it received rave reviews from the national media about its urban trendy downtown nightclubs, restaurants, and bars. It seems Fargo is cool. After living and raising a family there for quite a while it nice to see it get some positive attention. But, for me, the best part is its river.

 Slicing through the communities of Fargo and it's next door neighbor, Moorhead, Minn,  is the Red  River of the North. This slow-motion friend doesn't seem to be in a hurry at all.  It meanders 550 miles from its source in Breckenridge, Minn all the way to Lake Winnipeg in Canada. In one of the world's flattest places,  the river can pick and chose its own way.  There are not many straight lines in this waterway. In some places along the river, Minnesota is on the west bank, while North Dakota is to the east. Moving very slowly and sloping at just a half-foot per mile, any beginner can navigate this river easily.

Urban paddle through downtown Fargo and Moorhead

Sunset on the Red River.

 Kayaking or canoeing has never been so easy. Along with the cities' parks departments, the Riverkeepers, a nonprofit organization established to protect and preserve the integrity and natural environment of the river in the Fargo-Moorhead area, have developed several access points along the river. Two favorites are located above and below the Midtown Dam in Dike East Park. The dam has been retrofitted with a rocky slope. Fishermen hang out here daily during the summer months.
 From here one can paddle either north through the center of the cites to get views of the skylines and bridges, or go south towards Lindenwood park to escape the bustle.
  It is hard to believe this is an urban paddle as one winds and weaves around with the stream. Willow, cottonwood and box elder trees cradle the river at each bend. In either direction don't be surprised to see beaver, river otters and white-tailed deer. It feels like a trip into the wilderness.
 Of course in other places, one can tell they are in a city.  The sounds of traffic and train horn echo off the water. The music of a jazz guitar floats down from a riverside venue or the Oak Grove High School Band plays its fight song at its football field near to the river. It is always good to remember pizza or a glass of wine are minutes away after the kayaks are loaded up.

Kayaking only stops when the Red River is frozen.

 One of the more popular events on the river is the annual Race the Red kayak and canoe race sponsored by the Riverkeepers.  Each year area paddlers come to challenge skills, raise money for Riverkeepers and have fun. The race features a 10-mile competitive race and a 2-mile fun paddle. The race begins at the Lindenwood Park bike bridge and ends downstream at the floating bridge above the Midtown Dam.  For more information log on to Riverkeepers.org

Lining up for the race.

Debbie and Nick after placing in last year's race.

 I'm now part of the Red River's history. I'm sure no one in recent times had paddled up and down it so much. It's muddy looking waters, ever-changing direction and rumble of its dams still call and always will. I have seen picturesque sunrises and sunsets,  cool morning mists and tranquil snow falls at each bend. I have enjoyed time with family and friends floating on the river as well as solo trips of solitude. The river was a wonderful friend in my journey of life.

Paddling the Red River.