Safety In Numbers

Late October. Not many paddling days remaining. I left work at 4, had the boat already tied to the car and the gear inside. A quick change into my light neoprene clothes and off to the 72nd St launch ramp on Lake Erie by 5:15.

It looked cloudy, a bit gray, but the anticipated rain and small craft advisory were for later in the evening. Right now I’d get a few hours practice in my new outrigger canoe and be home before dark, maybe 7PM this time of year.

‘How’s it out there’ I asked a returning fisherman.
‘Nice’ he replied ‘nothing big out there’.

Did he mean fish or waves? There were lots of cars in the parking lot. Fishermen also taking advantage of the warm weather. Indian summer weather.

As I cleared the bulkheads I could see a gentle 1 foot swell coming in from the NW. The outer breakwall light was less than a mile off, and beyond that, 2 sets of fishing boats, the first another mile beyond the breakwall and a second group a mile beyond them to the north. Each group stretched out about a mile east-west. That would make a good destination, to head north and go out east of the furthest group, turn west and go beyond the far end of them, then head SE, clear the breakwall light and head back in. Maybe 6 miles in all.

It was fun taking the gentle 1 foot swells from the north, on the nose. The canoe rose nicely and settled back down. Occasionally an off-beat little wave would catch us and the outrigger would slap down on it, but the main hull is too long for that and remained steady.

Out past the first group of fishermen, and then out beyond the second. Not a bad strategy, I thought. If anything kicked up and caused me difficulty I’d be among some 25 – 30 fishing boats several of whom would be sure to see me and offer assistance. In an emergency, there’s safety in numbers. Especially when those numbers include a lot of bigger boats than mine, with much bigger engines.

Passing the last group of fishermen I was now north of everyone, so I turned west with the waves now broadside, but with the outrigger on the downwind side in its stable position. Less stable is with the outrigger upwind, getting lifted with each wave and no support downwind. Passing the far end of the western-most fishing boats I noticed a little puff of air, then another, then a bit of a gust and then a steady increase in wind. Hmmmm, time to start heading back. I was at the furthest point from home.

As I turned SE for home, the outrigger on my left, was now partly upwind and the first part of the boat exposed to the waves. As a wave would pass it would lift and I would have to balance as there was no supporting outrigger to my right.

The winds quickly increased and the sky got noticeably darker. Was this the leading edge of the coming front? The wind was now around 15 knots and short, steep waves were starting to form. The boat would be very stable heading directly downwind to the south, but to the south was the outer breakwall. I had to angle east to clear it and that meant exposing that outrigger to the waves.

I was beginning to get anxious. I paddled hard, mostly on the left side where the outrigger was so I could lean on its buoyancy. Maybe I could paddle all the way back that way? Nope, I’d be exhausted trying to make that distance paddling on one side of the boat. Switching paddling sides to the less stable right side I cringed as passing waves sharply lifted and then dropped the boat. Gulp. I looked around for my friends, the 30 fishing boats. And to my surprise, they were nearly all gone. I’d been dimly aware that a few had motored in behind the breakwall, but when I took a good look there were only 3 or 4 remaining and they were underway as well. I’d be the last guy in.

As the waves grew I tried to plot a strategy of paddling on the safe left side while angling more to the east away from the breakwall, and then when paddling on the right, heading in a more stable direction south. But I had to paddle east more and more as the waves were pushing me south to that breakwall. I had to clear that eastern tip. I didn’t want to come too close to the breakwall as the rebounding waves would make things even worse. Whitecaps were in abundance. Streaks of foam were appearing on the surface. The water temperature was 56 degrees.

I barely cleared the breakwall end, too close, and got sloshed around by ricocheting waves, nearly thrown from the boat one time as it flipped up the crest of one sharp wave and down its backside. Now I had a mile to go to the protection of the bulkheads of the launch area and faced the same problem as before: the waves pushing me south towards the shoreline rocks, me having to paddled east and broadside to the waves to make it to the launch area.

It was then I saw what I took to be a coast guard boat. It was actually from the Division of Watercraft, but I couldn’t tell from that distance. They were some considerable distance from me, had probably come out when the winds picked up to make sure all the fishing boats made it back and then spotted me. Well, that was some comfort, although I would have hated to be rescued. I’d practiced capsize recovery each time I’d gone out in the canoe, usually 3 times in a row. First this took place in warmish September waters, but more recently in 59 degree water with my new thin wetsuit. Chilly but do-able. Outrigger canoes are very rescuable. Once capsized, you flip the outrigger back over the boat, and with it righted, swim to the other side where you can get a foot hold on the outrigger and boost yourself back on board. No real skill here, just grunt work. The outrigger’s got a huge amount of buoyancy. It’s why I bought this kind of boat.

I was paddling harder, about as hard as I could without an all out sprint. Just a mile to go. The winds were still pushing me south to the rocks. I was furiously paddling east to clear them. I didn’t care which side of the boat I paddled on now. The quick stroke even on the right side acted as a brace. Hundreds of braces, one for each wave. The waters looked pretty ugly, grey with long streaks of foam, whitecaps, dusk. Several off-sequence waves caught me by surprise and just swept over the boat filling the little footwells with water, which the venturi drains quickly emptied. And then I saw the Watercraft boat in the distance, surge forward with full engine power and disappear into the launch ramp area. Were they out there to keep an eye on me, or to watch the fishing boats at the launch ramp? Well, no need to worry about an embarrassing rescue now.

I pretty much became numb to the wind and waves. I just kept up a steady dependable stroke, a dozen to a side before switching. I kept eyeing the shoreline rocks getting closer and judging how far it was to the launch area. Suddenly I heard the hissing sound of a breaking wave. I looked to the north and saw a series of steeper, bigger waves, crests starting to tumble, about 80 – 100 feet away. 3 footers moving quickly towards me. I couldn’t risk taking these broadside where the outrigger would lift first. I pressed hard on the rudder and paddled sweep strokes on the left and turned the boat to a safer dead downwind position as the first of the waves hit. The stern would lift, then the rest of the boat, and then we’d plunge down, the bow underwater for a moment before it lifted and the next wave hit. 5...6..7 waves, if these kept up I’d never get to turn back east and I’d go surfing right into the shoreline rocks. And then, that was the last of them. Jeepers.

Turning back east I realized I was being tracked by a big motor cruiser. Maybe the Watercraft boat had been in contact with him and left only when he showed up to keep an eye on me. I quickly raised my hand in a friendly wave meant to reassure the motor cruiser that I was just fine. I’m not sure I fooled him anymore than myself. He stuck with me, maybe 100 feet back as I came closer and closer to the launch area and finally got out of the waves into relatively calm waters. I turned, waved my paddle to him and saw him depart. That was very nice of the fellow. And then I saw the Watercraft boat appear from the bulkhead of the launch area. A fellow in a red drysuit hailed me with a megaphone from the bow and asked it I thought I could make it in to the launch. I was momentarily taken aback. NOW he asks me if I can make it in? I’m in flat, calm completely protected waters. I paddled over so he could hear me and told him I was fine, and thanked him for looking out for me. He waved goodbye, turned his boat away and roared off, leaving me slopping in his wake. And then it dawned on me what had spawned those 3 foot steep waves a half hour before. Jeepers.

The launch ramps were a mess of motorboats. There are, I think, 8 ramps and not only were all taken, there was a lineup one and two rows deep waiting to get out. There were all 30 of my fishing boat buddies scrambling for their pickup trucks. I’d have to wait. I’d paddle a few laps by the bulkheads to keep warm.

I only tried a single capsize practice this time, inside the bulkheads. The water was chilly but with the wet suit on, only briefly chilly. I flipped the boat upright, swam to the other side, stepped on the outrigger, hoisted myself aboard and paddled back to the ramps, now clear of boats. I hoisted the boat on my shoulder and carried it to the car, where I had a warm fleece jacket, a windshell and thick wool hat waiting. As I walked to the car, a fellow came past and asked if it was rough out there. All I could think to do was nod.