Over the Bounding Main

Sunday, July 4th, the Lake Erie Islands:


Edie and I got an early start, having loaded up the sailing canoe the night before. With a huge cooler full of cold and frozen bottles of water & pop, we drove to Catawba and parked near where the ferry docks. Unloading the boat we were accosted by several friendly and curious folks from the nearby trailer park who wanted to know more about our unusual craft. One of them cautioned us about the brisk winds and helped us push off from the beach under sail.


Once out beyond Mouse Island we encountered gentle winds that gradually pushed us north towards our destination - North Bass Island. I'd been there 3 years in a row, but Edie had never seen it. There were lots of motorboats, mostly distant, but their wakes eventually reached us and gave us the most rugged 'seas' of the trip. The boat just rode up over all of them, head on, beam on, it made no difference. Gradually the wind faded away. Then died.


Out with the canoe paddles at a brisk pace, just like we've seen the racers do. With the rudder we don't have to switch sides quite so often, nor do we have to call 'Hut' when we do. Edie keeps a regular count of 20 strokes to the side and then calls 'switch'. Eventually, tiring of that, I just asked her to just count & switch and I'd follow suit from the stern. This only partly worked as I have a tendency to day dream and watch the clouds go by.


We watched the islands go by. First South Bass, then Rattlesnake, then..oops, we were supposed to be heading further east to Middle Bass, instead of Rattlesnake. Rattlesnake is a private island and we could see the glint off the sweat on on the property owner's trigger fingers as they pointed their gun barrels in our direction and we pointed our bows towards them. Okay, slight course correction east to the northwest end of Middle Bass and the Sugar Island passage. It was a delight to feel the temperature drop a good 10 - 15 degrees as we got out in the Lake. It would be a very hot day on the mainland.


After a few hours drinking from our water bottles we both needed a break. We came ashore on Sugar Island but kept the boat in the water and mostly kept ourselves in knee deep water, both to observe the private ownership of the island and to cool ourselves down.


We paddled to the old grape loading dock on the south shore of North Bass, landing at a zebra mussel beach.





An old picnic table was put into use for lunch and I pointed out a small daysailer left on a rusting trailer. It turns out to have been the same kind of boat Edie's parents sailed for many years at their vacation lake in Pennsylvania. Edie remembers curling up in the bow as a little kid and pretending that the boat was not heeling over so much.




North Bass is now publicly owned without any public supervision - an interesting situation. You can camp anywhere that is not specifically a vineyard. We walked down quiet roads past a school, a graveyard and a church eventually winding up at the north side, where a nice homeowner let us walk out on his dock and view the small Canadian islands a few miles away.





We could see the red buoys marking the international border. North Bass has some decent homes and some dilapidated ones that must have been for people involved in a bigger grape harvest than exists now.




It's all quiet, rural-scenic and from a time past.












This was our furthest point north. We got in a bit more sailing heading first east and then south around the eastern side of Middle Bass, hoping the easterly winds would hold and give us a fine run back to Catawba. It was not to be. The wind kept swinging further and further south until it would have been a long, long set of tacks, zig-zagging across the eye of the wind for 9 or 10 miles. We came ashore at Middle Bass, dropped the sails and rigging and paddled the rest of the way.


After a while the paddling became routine and we just got into a nice repetitive zone where we forgot about distances and just enjoyed the small waves, the Put In Bay monument and the homes along the shore. We crossed paths with Starve Island reef and then, as the sun began to set, saw first one, and then several official looking boats criss crossing our path, their lights flashing. Overhead a helicopter passed back and forth on what appeared to be a search pattern. A puzzle.


Edie put on her headlamp with its bright front light and back and front red blinkings. We paddled as the Catawba shore grew distinct. More police boats and helicopter passes. Finally one boat drew near us and asked if we were headed to shore soon. We pointed out Mouse Island about a half hour away. 'You need navigation lights' the fellow remarked. 'There's no place for that kind of light on a canoe' I replied, 'our headlamps are what we use'. He seemed satisfied with that and the proximity of Mouse Island. I asked them what they were searching for, expecting to hear about a missing jet-skier or fisherman that fell overboard. 'A body' came the reply. I wonder how they knew it was a body? We didn't ask any more. But if any of you come across a news story about this, do post it. As a post-script, on hand-powered boats, you do need a light after dark, but it need not be conventional navigation lights like bigger boats use. A good headlamp, glowstick, etc. will do fine as long as it can be seen from all directions.


We arrived back at Catawba to what appeared to be a big welcoming crowd. People lined the shore, not to welcome us back but to watch the imminent fireworks across the water at Lakeside on the north shore of Marblehead. We packed up in the gathering darkness and headed for home.


A small footnote: Monday was equally hot so with the boat still on the car we headed from Wendy Park to Edie's favorite old brick beach under the cliffs in Lakewood. She collects these bricks from the shore to use as a footpath in our front yard.



We've been there many times, but this time a fellow called from the bluffs above, pointing out that we were trespassing and that all the land on the scrap of gravel beach below was private to the water's edge. I was taken aback. There was no possible way of reaching that beach from above short of a rappelling rope. The cliffs were a good 50 - 75 feet high and even to see us from above required that this fellow lean out over a railing.




Technically he was correct, but in terms of common sense he was ridiculous. I told him we'd leave as soon as we gathered our bricks, which we did. Later I thought of all kinds of clever comments to have made, including asking him to pose for a photograph from Edie's fancy camera and telling him to smile as he'd shortly be on Facebook. 'Say, can you spell your name for the record?' We'll undoubtedly be back to our favorite brick beach in the future. Although I can imaging the fellow on his bluff, valiantly standing guard, face to the wind, night and day, summer and winter to repel any further canoe invasions.


And then a nice, modest paddle back to Wendy Park. Sail up, but again, no wind.



Marty Cooperman

December On The Lake

This past Saturday morning was so nice I couldn't help taking a canoe out on the Lake...

About 3 months ago at the turn-around point of a long all-day paddle I met a fellow at a beach in Avon Lake on Lake Erie. He took an interest in my canoe and we chatted for a while. Turns out he'd just returned from a one-month solo canoe adventure on the eastern shore of Lake Superior, along Pukaskwa National Park in Canada. There's no roads for 50 miles or more in that area. I'd sailed there 15 years ago and it's about as remote as it gets in this part of the country.

This was a serious canoeist. His Nova Craft canoe was still on his car and his gear still inside. He had to get home and I had to leave too, to make it back before dark. Not having pen or paper at hand, he wrote his name in the sand. I've got a good memory for things written. I told him I'd be in touch.

It was about 25 degrees out when I picked Gary up at his house Saturday morning. A beautiful December day: grey sky, grey waves, grey horizon. I'd called the day before taking it for granted that he'd be eager for a morning paddle. And he was. I had my partly decked sailing canoe (minus the sailing rig). Its special low seating made for slightly less efficient paddling, but gave it greater stability, a feature much prized on Lake Erie. We drove to Miller Park just west of the Avon Lake power plant.

I saw some glistening slime where the ramp met the water. My beloved Chota boots could handle that. But still I slipped and nearly fell. Covering the slime was a sheet of invisible ice. We both gripped the dock to keep our footing, as we launched the canoe. We looked like Michelin men all puffy in our layers of sweaters, jackets and pants.

Once past the breakwall we could see the waves rolling in from the northwest, long and easy. They were either the left overs from higher winds the night before, or the portent of higher winds to come. But right now the winds were 5 - 10 knots. We headed upwind towards Sheffield Lake.

The canoe took the waves nicely. It's a Bell Northwind and made for canoe tripping. The added decking deflects most of the spray. There wasn't much spray from these long, gentle waves, unlike last weekend when we'd gone to see the migrating ducks by the mouth of the Sandusky River. A rising wind in shallow waters produced a nasty steep chop that tossed a good bit of spray aboard. The little spray we got today was hardly noticeable. Until I looked at my gloves. 'Gary, do you have some ice on your gloves?' He did. Also on his paddle shaft, which explained why his grip was sloppy. Then we saw ice on the wooden decking of the canoe.

I'd remembered reading about old-time sea captains who would order their men forward on the slippery decks of the ship, to chop ice free with axes. Enough ice build up and it could capsize the ship. I'd have ordered Gary forward but he was already there in the bow seat. We lacked a windshield ice scraper, and anyhow, it would have wreaked havoc with the wood finish.

We were both happy to land at Comm Park in Sheffield Lake. The 3 mile paddle wasn't all that arduous and we were actually pretty warm. But there something about men and cold water that makes them need to take a break every so often. The library at the foot of Comm Park was open and we were two of its few customers. It was warm, dry and had a very nice bathroom.

Gary and I took up residence in a meeting room to chat and avoid disturbing the few other folks who wanted to read. A librarian came by asking if we wanted anything and I immediately ordered 2 hot chocolates and a plate of cookies. She chuckled and left. Gary told me some of his adventures.

When we'd pulled the boat up on the beach, Gary had watched carefully as I hauled it over a sand shelf and completely clear of the water. He was very conscious of this. One time up in Quetico he'd returned from a portage to find his canoe adrift, and he'd had to swim like mad, catching it only because it got caught up momentarily in some reeds. Another time on the shores of Lake Superior, despite being hauled high up and turned upside down, wind gusts had caught it and spun it down to the water. It was saved only because it partly filled with water and sank at the shore, where he was able to bail it out. From then on he made a vow to always tie his canoe regardless of how benign the weather.

After our fingers thawed out we strolled back to the beach to find the canoe where we'd left it and the conditions the same as before, but now we'd be going downwind. 'You'll be using that rudder a lot more on our way back' was Gary's comment. And he was right. The rudder was part of the canoe's sailing rig, but I found it very useful in strong winds or correcting for unequal paddler strength and always brought it, sailing or no. Going upwind Gary and I were pretty equally matched. But downwind, the waves coming from behind but also from our left, shoved the stern around and the rudder got a good workout, trying to keep the boat running straight. On some of the bigger waves it was momentarily rendered useless as it came out of the water, but we had no anxious moments.

The temperature must have risen past freezing, as there was no longer any ice on my gloves or the paddle shaft, and it was rapidly disappearing from the deck of the canoe. In less than an hour we were back at Miller Park, having seen only one other craft out, a motorboat also heading for the launch ramp. At first, perhaps at the crest of a wave, he looked to be a big boat, Gary estimated 35 feet, far too large to use a ramp. What was he doing heading into shore? But once we got in behind the breakwall we saw just a 22 footer, out for some late season fishing. Despite the warming temperatures, we still got a surprise at the launch ramp. Gary slipped and fell as he was pulling the bow up the ramp. That ice had not melted. No damage done and we were back at Gary's house for the long awaited hot chocolate and cookies as he told me more about his adventures.

Not long after, we both departed; he for his house chores and I for home and mine. 'Keep an eye out for good weather' he said in parting. 'Maybe we'll get out again before the Lake freezes over'.

Marty Cooperman

Thanksgiving weekend paddle 11-29-09

Unflappable

Out in the wild marshes of western Sandusky Bay, more properly known as Muddy Bay for reasons dramatically exhibited by one footstep offshore, there lie the feeding grounds for ducks migrating from Canada, resting and refueling mid-way, en route to their wintering grounds in the south. The duck hunting clubs have preserved thousands of acres of this marshland in the hope of luring those migrants in range of their guns. But that takes place late in the day. At 10AM we gathered to do our own duck hunting, armed with binoculars, canoes and kayaks and the determination not to get all that bottom muck from our boots into our boats. In this latter effort we abysmally failed. But we did get to see the ducks.

10AM: In alphabetical order – Betsy, Brad, Colleen, Edie, Heike, Joni, Judy, Marty and Rick launched from the banks of Muddy Creek and struggled to get free of the bottom.


Winding our way around the thin fingers of marsh, views blocked by the high marsh grasses, we came out upon an open area and there they were! Several dozen ducks bobbing in the shallows, apparently unaware of our presence. Stealthily we crept up on them, paddles barely making a sound, breaths baited, hearts pounding...two hundred yards, one hundred yards, fifty yards, 20 yards, ten feet, not a one of them moved. Unflappable. GOTCHA! as I whapped the back of a plastic duck decoy with my paddle. Dinner denied. We paddled on.



In the open waters of Muddy Bay we held to the north shore. The south winds were predicted to rise in the afternoon and rain to fall by late afternoon. By sticking to the north shore early in the day, we’d cross over to the more protected south shore in the afternoon and keep out of the rough stuff.


A few ducks in the distance rose upon spotting us, and wheeled away to the south. Further on, as we came closer to Winous Point, housing the duck hunting club whose advice I sought as to the arrival of the ducks, a much larger flock took wing, hundreds and hundreds of them. Too far away to make identification even with binoculars, as we all stopped paddling and strained our eyes to see them. Then they too wheeled away to the south. We were heading that way anyhow and we’d trick them paddling up from behind to catch them again later in the day.

Click on the image for an enlarged view; the specks in the sky are the ducks


And then the winds rose, earlier than expected, catching us on the far side of the bay with several miles of fetch between us and the south shore; short choppy waves caught us exposed and broadside. After taking a few slops over the gunwales of the canoe, we turned south towards Squaw Island, a tiny bit of land housing a channel marker for the nearby Sandusky River, and then further to the protection of the south shore. It was a slow but steady slog. Betsy, Brad and Heike up ahead. Rick, Judy and Colleen behind. Joni sitting in the middle of our canoe in the middle of the group. Colleen told us afterwards she thought she was making almost no progress at times. We counted forward motion by the inch. The winds pushing against us at 20 knots. Some whitecaps, some slop and spray aboard. Looking back to check on some of our boats behind I got a full dollop of water square in my ear.
Nice bay.




We followed the south shore across to the entrance of the Sandusky River, upstream of which only Judy had been. On a lonely point of land with a prominent tree we made landfall and lunchfall. Pretzels from Rick, bagels from Heike and a marvelous vegetarian pate (‘pahtay’) from Joni. Colleen and Betsy modeled their fancy drysuits, exhibiting hard to reach zippers and monkey-butts (their term for the lower rear part). Judy had on her bright, colorful Jet-Ski wet suit pants, but Rick stole the day with his electric green plumage. Everyone had a bagel. This is a nice landing spot in an area that is mostly marsh. Enough room and logs for good seating, and enough privacy for a bathroom break off to the sides.


As the day waned we launched, or at least tried to. The increasing southerly winds were blowing the water out of shallow Muddy Bay and I had to walk the canoe with both princesses (Edie and Joni) relaxing aboard, polishing their nails and leaning back just far enough to receive grapes dropped from the skies.
I slogged onwards until the water covered my boots, then hopped aboard and paddled the bottom mud to freedom.




Along the way we spotted a large bird that was identified as a juvenile bald eagle, sitting high in a tree.

Click on the image for an enlarged version; the eagle is in the tree behind the lead kayak.


But no ducks. They were crafty fellows, obviously used to the ways of man, and we were hardly a match for the clever machinations of critters who’d eluded the gunfire year after year. We never saw them again.
We did run through the flotilla of decoy ducks just to annoy them and then approached a large flock of gulls who let us get very close before taking flight, their white wings in stark contrast to the grey skies.


And then it was mud again, all the way to the shore, lots more than when we started because of those south winds blowing the water out. There have been times when the entire bay was a sea of mud and absolutely unapproachable. It might be that way this evening, but we’d made our escape while there still was time. One wonders what might have happened had we delayed our return until nightfall. An evening on the bay? Another day or two on the bay? Waiting there stuck in the boats until the winds dropped and the Lake Erie seiche allowed the water piled high on the Canadian shore to slosh back and free us?

Just as we loaded our boats and started our cars, the first drops of rain appeared. We smiled smugly, ignoring the mess in the back where boots, paddles and clothing smeared with mud left a sticky reminder of what might have happened. There would be a reckoning with a sponge and a vacuum cleaner shortly.


Marty Cooperman

Photos by Edie and Joni, princesses

Photo Album

Above are the ducks.
If you click on the image, you will see an enlarged image.
The black specks filling the sky are the ducks.

Here are some more ducks. They were not shy.

They were "unflappable."

They were plastic.


We also encountered the ubiquitous flock of seagulls.

The gulls flashed silvery-white as they took wing.

The quintessential late autumn sky and lake.


Native kayakers sport outrageously colored plumage.

Here is Rick, modeling his plumage, er, neon neoprene to great effect. Sleek and chic!

Betsy and Colleen strut their iridescent blue stuff, shaking their tailfeathers
and boasting about their envied monkey butt profiles.

Marty sports a rainbow effect and Heike is radiant in her hi-vis crown tuft.

I believe the entire color wheel is represented here!

Marty is high on bagels!

What a bright splash of psychedelic color we are!

Brad practically glows in marigold.

These folks know that a little bit of black makes the hot colors pop!

Bright sky blue and tangerine are two complementary colors Joni chose
for a sophisticated yet adventurous look.

The black trousers snap up Joni's color while she snaps away!

Heike strikes a pose.

Lunch spot below.