One of the challenging things in getting ready for the trip was determining what to bring and where to fit it into the kayak. This is what I ended up with - probably more gear than I needed, but glad I packed heavy for my first solo trip. On future trips, I'd probably pack one more change of good paddling clothes, less water and a more efficient filter. Overall though, the kit that I took performed its functions well.
On Me – Mysterios base layer, nylon pants, Reed Sprayskirt, NRS water booties, Stohlquist PFD – VHF radio, Compass, Whistle, 1 Flare
Day Hatch – knit cap, Seattle Sombrero, Camp Shoes, Cockpit Cover, Emergency Pack in Nalgene bottle, 3 liters water, two 25’ lengths of line, additional flares, small flashlight, Daybag –trowel, wash kit, mini-towel, camera, sunscreen, bug spray, otter box with cell phone and batteries, bilge pump
Front Deck – chart case, charts and notes for ww section, Katadyn filter/bottle, spare paddle
Rear Deck - cart without wheels (converted golf bag cart) In cockpit - foam for cart against front bulkhead past the foot pegs.
Front Hatch – Sleeping bag with tent clothes, book, journal, pen all in a compression sack, 1 portage cart wheel, 6 Backpacker Pantry meals, Kitchen Bag – Jetboil stove w/ fuel, spoon, knife, thermos, iodine tablets. Tapered dry bag contained: mesh net, Eureka Zeus tent w/ stakes (regular and sand), Thermarest inflatable sleeping pad, ground cloth
Back Hatch – clothes bag – extra set of long underwear, 3 pair of extra socks, extra nylon pants, fleece pullover. Emergency Bag – first aid kit, repair kit – epoxy, duct tape, multi-tool, allen wrenches, skeg lubricant, etc. Food bags – 2 drybags with 2 loafs of bread, peanut butter, honey, trail mix, granola, oatmeal, fruit roll up snacks. 1 portage cart wheel, 4 Backpacker Pantry meals, Water Bladder (2 ½ gallon capacity)
Boat - Island Kayaks Expedition; 18’ fiberglass sea kayak; Paddle is an ONNO Full Tour Carbon Signature, adjustable between 210 and 220 cm, spare paddle was an ONNO blem Full Tour.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Day Nine - April 26, 2008
Day Nine – Saturday, April 26, 2008
First Landing State Park to North End of Virginia Beach, 4 miles
My plan was to round Cape Henry near slack tide which meant waking early. When my watch alarm went off at 5:45am, it felt like I had just dozed off but my excitement helped me shake my morning fog quickly. Knowing I only had a few miles to go, I broke camp quickly and just grabbed some granola for breakfast. The portage back to the beach was much easier than the trip up hill had been the evening before.
The Bay was remarkably calm with just a light breeze as I pushed off. A truly beautiful morning. As I approached Cape Henry I could see both of the lighthouses. The winds picked up just off the Cape and the waves were soon 1 ½ to 2 feet – enough to keep my attention but still calm enough to snap pictures and completely enjoy the experience.
Cape Henry and the Atlantic beyond
I had paddled in the ocean a fair amount during the prior two years, but to have actually made it, to have connected my home in Central Virginia with the oceans of the world was a moving experience. Before I knew it I was past Fort Story and to the north end of the Virginia Beach resort area. I was well ahead of the time I was to meet Kate and Emma, so just hung out about 1/3 mile from shore and enjoyed the waves. I looked out to sea and thought again of my childhood observation standing on this same beach that “Africa is just right over there.”
The thought crossed my mind that the only thing that could make the morning better would be to see dolphin. Not a minute later a flash of gray to the left caught my eye, quickly followed by another dolphin surfacing less than 10 feet from the kayak. In all it was a pod of approximately 7 dolphin swimming in the opposite direction. By the time I turned the kayak around they had disappeared down the coast. The bald eagle at mile one and the dolphins at mile 185 were the perfect bookends for the trip.
I soon saw Kate running down the beach and waving at me, so I paddled toward she and Emma. One celebratory roll and I was ready to ride the waves in to shore. As if the rest of the trip was not gift enough, I caught a perfect three foot wave about seventy-five yards from shore and rode it all the way to the beach for a storybook landing.
A story book surf ride to the beach
With an amazing feeling of accomplishment at having fulfilled this dream, I greeted my family with hugs and tears. Before I left, my daughter wrote me the following note: “Daddy – when you go to paddle in the sea I always wonder if you are alright, so when you leave it will be so hard for me to let you go. There is only one daddy that loves me and that is you. When you come back to shore you will have a good thing. “ Turns out, she was right.
First Landing State Park to North End of Virginia Beach, 4 miles
My plan was to round Cape Henry near slack tide which meant waking early. When my watch alarm went off at 5:45am, it felt like I had just dozed off but my excitement helped me shake my morning fog quickly. Knowing I only had a few miles to go, I broke camp quickly and just grabbed some granola for breakfast. The portage back to the beach was much easier than the trip up hill had been the evening before.
The Bay was remarkably calm with just a light breeze as I pushed off. A truly beautiful morning. As I approached Cape Henry I could see both of the lighthouses. The winds picked up just off the Cape and the waves were soon 1 ½ to 2 feet – enough to keep my attention but still calm enough to snap pictures and completely enjoy the experience.
Cape Henry and the Atlantic beyond
I had paddled in the ocean a fair amount during the prior two years, but to have actually made it, to have connected my home in Central Virginia with the oceans of the world was a moving experience. Before I knew it I was past Fort Story and to the north end of the Virginia Beach resort area. I was well ahead of the time I was to meet Kate and Emma, so just hung out about 1/3 mile from shore and enjoyed the waves. I looked out to sea and thought again of my childhood observation standing on this same beach that “Africa is just right over there.”
The thought crossed my mind that the only thing that could make the morning better would be to see dolphin. Not a minute later a flash of gray to the left caught my eye, quickly followed by another dolphin surfacing less than 10 feet from the kayak. In all it was a pod of approximately 7 dolphin swimming in the opposite direction. By the time I turned the kayak around they had disappeared down the coast. The bald eagle at mile one and the dolphins at mile 185 were the perfect bookends for the trip.
I soon saw Kate running down the beach and waving at me, so I paddled toward she and Emma. One celebratory roll and I was ready to ride the waves in to shore. As if the rest of the trip was not gift enough, I caught a perfect three foot wave about seventy-five yards from shore and rode it all the way to the beach for a storybook landing.
A story book surf ride to the beach
With an amazing feeling of accomplishment at having fulfilled this dream, I greeted my family with hugs and tears. Before I left, my daughter wrote me the following note: “Daddy – when you go to paddle in the sea I always wonder if you are alright, so when you leave it will be so hard for me to let you go. There is only one daddy that loves me and that is you. When you come back to shore you will have a good thing. “ Turns out, she was right.
Day Eight - April 25, 2008
Day Eight – Friday, April 25, 2008
Ragged Island WMA to First Landing State Park, 30 miles
The day dawned early with a beautiful sunrise across the river, framing the lights and cranes of the Newport News Shipyard. I was in a bit of a quandary about when to get on the water. If I left first thing, the tide would be set against me for the long 7 ½ mile open crossing from Pig Point to Willoughby Spit but if I waited there would be no way to make it all the way to First Landing State Park that evening.
Until the night before, I had not considered making it to First Landing because it was so close to Cape Henry and my final destination but studying the maps it appeared achievable. Camping at First Landing on Friday night would leave me with a short paddle around Cape Henry and down to the north end of Virginia Beach the next morning. With that goal in mind, I decided to go ahead and make my way to Pig Point, adjacent to the I-664 bridge and see what the conditions dictated when I got there.
The sun came out bright, then the skies began to haze up. Water was calm, gentle rollers of a foot or less. As I got to the eastern end of Ragged Island I realized that in my desire to get paddling, I had failed to eat any breakfast. I would certainly need the energy for the day of paddling before me so I stopped on a small strip of sand below the muddy banks of Ragged Island. I made three PB&H sandwiches, one of which I ate immediately along with some granola.
The first open water crossing of the day was the mouth of Batten Bay which stretches from Ragged Island to Pig Point. The crossing went well, but I was working hard to keep a sharp 360 degree watch. With the quiet water and no wind, I also used my hearing to keep track of other traffic. I have been much more conscious this trip of the importance of listening than I normally am on day paddles: Is that a power boat, a helicopter, a plane, a backhoe far away on shore? That duck’s call reminds me of a loon, Momma Osprey has a special call to alert her mate of potential danger – look up and here he comes back to protect the nest.
I stopped at the Tidewater Community College campus on Pig Point at a narrow beach tucked 15’ or more below bank level. While stretching and weighing the decision of whether to do the big crossing yet or wait for the tide I found some clam shells with shiny mother of pearl insides. I also found some sea glass for Kate. I suppose technically it is river glass – probably broken beer bottles from fishermen or students on that point that have been tumbled over and over by the wave action of the river. I also saw my first Blue Crab of the trip – the Chesapeake Bay’s unofficial symbol.
After resting for a bit and despite the incoming tide, I decided there was no time like the present to set off for Willoughby.
The first stretch of the crossing from Pig Point to the top of the Corps of Engineers levee was well away for the shipping channel. Other than keeping an eye on a couple of commercial fishing boats, I had the water to myself. Once I cleared the levee though, I had to pay careful attention. The Naval Base Norfolk was straight ahead and running down the Elizabeth River to my right. Lots of big war ships, plus several other large ships anchored off the last of the Naval piers.
One of the pre-trip planning items that I never fully resolved was where exactly it was okay to paddle in this section. How close could a private paddle craft get to the naval facilities and vessels? Since I had quite some distance to cover before I could be in any objectionable positions, I continued paddling and by watching where the fishing boats and eventually a couple of pleasure craft were going, I was able to determine what areas were okay to traverse. I paddled out near the main shipping channel and then cut back toward the point of the Naval base.
My VHF radio had been on all morning and as I neared the docks and mouth of the Elizabeth River, Warship 7 made a Securite announcement that they would be leaving Pier 10. I had no idea where Pier 10 was, and saw no activity so was not too concerned. A few minutes later they repeated the announcement and included that they were near Buoy 3 of the Elizabeth River. Paying closer attention I spotted the radar towers rotating on the large war ship closest to me. Luckily, I could tell that they still had the pollution barriers spread across behind the ship so departure did not appear imminent. Indeed, I was well past the point and part of the way across Willoughby Bay before they headed to sea. I also got to see a submarine leave port as I was first approaching the base.
Once I was clear of the point where the Naval base piers end, I could either follow shore past the rest of the base and into Willoughby Spit or paddle across the mouth of Willoughby Bay to the eastern terminus of the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel at the tip of Willoughby Spit. Deciding to shorten my overall mileage by crossing the mouth, I made a Securite announcement over the radio. A Securite announcement informs other vessels in the area of a potential hazard. My call was something like: “Securite, Securite, Securite . . . this is solo sea kayak beginning a crossing at the mouth of Willoughby Bay from the Naval Station Norfolk to the bridge.” I decided to make the call because there was a lot of traffic, not all of which was restricted to the channels and also because the haze and glare that morning made it more difficult to see a small boat.
The entire crossing was between seven and eight miles against the tide with fairly heavy boat traffic. I was mentally and physically exhausted when I pulled ashore just around the point of the Spit. Unfortunately, my chosen landing spot was a fishing area and it smelled horribly of dead fish. I was too tired to hop right back in so ignoring the smell I ate my lunch and called Kate to let her know the crossing was behind me.
As I sat there, a young guy on a battered Sit on Top kayak paddled by and asked if I was headed out. Since he was pointing across the Bay, I thought he was asking if I was paddling over to the Eastern Shore so I said no. He paddled on, but not out into the Bay but instead down the shore in the direction I would be going once rested. Feeling pretty rested, I got back in my kayak and decided to catch up with him. My tired old bones were not close to the task as he had an efficient high angle stroke and seemed to be in good shape.
Once I recognized that I was not going to catch him and how tired I still was, I paddled back to the beach and rested for another 20 minutes. When I started back down the shore, the kayaker was paddling back so we stopped and visited for a few minutes. He is in the Navy and spent several years in Washington State where he sea kayaked some. I told him about the trip and he had some questions as well as shared some stories about a friend of his in Washington that had paddled the east coast of Russia.
We parted ways and I continued my slog down Ocean View staying about ½ mile from shore. Still feeling fatigued, I decided that I needed to hit the beach again before crossing Little Creek Inlet and past the military base there. As I was paddling back to shore another large Naval ship came out of narrow inlet. As I approached shore I could see a 7-Eleven sign across the road from the beach. After landing, I asked a family sitting on the beach to watch my boat and gear while I ran to 7-11 for a Big Gulp Coke, a banana and a Snickers Bar. Ocean View still has some seedy areas, including the area where I had come ashore, but everything was fine when I got back to the beach.
One of the nicer areas of Ocean View Beach
The snack run did the trick and I finally felt my energy level returning to normal. Because visibility of my crossing would be very limited for vessels coming out the inlet, I gave another Securite call before paddling across. There were several huge hovercraft stored onshore the naval base. I believe that they are used as landing craft – really impressive looking vessels. Paddling under the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel I set my sights on First Landing Park which was visible ahead. I stayed well out as I passed Lynnhaven Inlet as I cut across an area where the shore falls away before curving back toward Cape Henry.
Looking toward the distant Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel
As I paddled past the bridge area I could see the Black and White Cape Henry Lighthouse in the distance. It really hit me that I was going to bring this trip home. I started choking up a little, but all the traffic into and out of Lynnhaven snapped me out of it and back onto the task at hand.
After my last stop in Ocean View, my skeg would not go down. The skeg on the Expedition has been troublesome ever since I messed it up right after buying the boat. While I intended to finally fix the skeg sheath to keep the cable from binding before the trip, I never did. Remarkably, the skeg worked perfectly the entire trip until that point. I did not really care as the wind and waves had picked up a little and, particularly with the Expedition loaded, I prefer no skeg when the water starts to take on texture. I don’t use the skeg much on day trips but with cumulative fatigue from correction strokes in mind, I paddled almost the entire flat water portion of the journey with the skeg deployed. It felt good to feel the kayak moving around like I am accustomed. Having to concentrate on my strokes and use my lower body more kept me focused on the last leg to First Landing State Park.
When I spoke with Kate that morning I asked her to reserve a campsite for me at First Landing since it appeared I would make it that far. Turns out that same day reservations have to be done in person and my mother-in-law was kind enough to drive over , reserve a spot and leave instructions on how to find it on my cell phone. Speaking of my cell phone, in addition to using it for only a few calls each day I also had an I-Go charger which runs off AA batteries that helped to keep the charge up enough to get me through the trip.
The portage to my campsite was across a wide beach, up a boardwalk ramp over the dunes, then a long way through the park. I was exhausted again when I reached the site but the cart had come through again and gotten me to my destination. I was very glad not to have discarded it in Richmond, I’m not sure how I would have gotten by boat and gear to the campsite without it. Kate and I had spoken earlier and agreed to surprise Emma (my daughter) by bringing her to the campground that evening. I set up camp and took a quick shower before they showed up. Emma jumped out of Kate’s truck before it was even done rolling and gave me a huge hug! After many more hugs, we enjoyed a Chick-Fil-A dinner – what a treat! After dinner we walked back to the beach and admired another beautiful sunset.
Kate and Emma headed off, but with only a few miles left in the morning the excitement got the best of me and I had trouble going to sleep. It had been a great trip and in some ways I wanted it to go on, but I was also ready to write the closing chapter - Atlantic Ocean here I come!
Ragged Island WMA to First Landing State Park, 30 miles
The day dawned early with a beautiful sunrise across the river, framing the lights and cranes of the Newport News Shipyard. I was in a bit of a quandary about when to get on the water. If I left first thing, the tide would be set against me for the long 7 ½ mile open crossing from Pig Point to Willoughby Spit but if I waited there would be no way to make it all the way to First Landing State Park that evening.
Until the night before, I had not considered making it to First Landing because it was so close to Cape Henry and my final destination but studying the maps it appeared achievable. Camping at First Landing on Friday night would leave me with a short paddle around Cape Henry and down to the north end of Virginia Beach the next morning. With that goal in mind, I decided to go ahead and make my way to Pig Point, adjacent to the I-664 bridge and see what the conditions dictated when I got there.
The sun came out bright, then the skies began to haze up. Water was calm, gentle rollers of a foot or less. As I got to the eastern end of Ragged Island I realized that in my desire to get paddling, I had failed to eat any breakfast. I would certainly need the energy for the day of paddling before me so I stopped on a small strip of sand below the muddy banks of Ragged Island. I made three PB&H sandwiches, one of which I ate immediately along with some granola.
The first open water crossing of the day was the mouth of Batten Bay which stretches from Ragged Island to Pig Point. The crossing went well, but I was working hard to keep a sharp 360 degree watch. With the quiet water and no wind, I also used my hearing to keep track of other traffic. I have been much more conscious this trip of the importance of listening than I normally am on day paddles: Is that a power boat, a helicopter, a plane, a backhoe far away on shore? That duck’s call reminds me of a loon, Momma Osprey has a special call to alert her mate of potential danger – look up and here he comes back to protect the nest.
I stopped at the Tidewater Community College campus on Pig Point at a narrow beach tucked 15’ or more below bank level. While stretching and weighing the decision of whether to do the big crossing yet or wait for the tide I found some clam shells with shiny mother of pearl insides. I also found some sea glass for Kate. I suppose technically it is river glass – probably broken beer bottles from fishermen or students on that point that have been tumbled over and over by the wave action of the river. I also saw my first Blue Crab of the trip – the Chesapeake Bay’s unofficial symbol.
After resting for a bit and despite the incoming tide, I decided there was no time like the present to set off for Willoughby.
The first stretch of the crossing from Pig Point to the top of the Corps of Engineers levee was well away for the shipping channel. Other than keeping an eye on a couple of commercial fishing boats, I had the water to myself. Once I cleared the levee though, I had to pay careful attention. The Naval Base Norfolk was straight ahead and running down the Elizabeth River to my right. Lots of big war ships, plus several other large ships anchored off the last of the Naval piers.
One of the pre-trip planning items that I never fully resolved was where exactly it was okay to paddle in this section. How close could a private paddle craft get to the naval facilities and vessels? Since I had quite some distance to cover before I could be in any objectionable positions, I continued paddling and by watching where the fishing boats and eventually a couple of pleasure craft were going, I was able to determine what areas were okay to traverse. I paddled out near the main shipping channel and then cut back toward the point of the Naval base.
My VHF radio had been on all morning and as I neared the docks and mouth of the Elizabeth River, Warship 7 made a Securite announcement that they would be leaving Pier 10. I had no idea where Pier 10 was, and saw no activity so was not too concerned. A few minutes later they repeated the announcement and included that they were near Buoy 3 of the Elizabeth River. Paying closer attention I spotted the radar towers rotating on the large war ship closest to me. Luckily, I could tell that they still had the pollution barriers spread across behind the ship so departure did not appear imminent. Indeed, I was well past the point and part of the way across Willoughby Bay before they headed to sea. I also got to see a submarine leave port as I was first approaching the base.
Once I was clear of the point where the Naval base piers end, I could either follow shore past the rest of the base and into Willoughby Spit or paddle across the mouth of Willoughby Bay to the eastern terminus of the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel at the tip of Willoughby Spit. Deciding to shorten my overall mileage by crossing the mouth, I made a Securite announcement over the radio. A Securite announcement informs other vessels in the area of a potential hazard. My call was something like: “Securite, Securite, Securite . . . this is solo sea kayak beginning a crossing at the mouth of Willoughby Bay from the Naval Station Norfolk to the bridge.” I decided to make the call because there was a lot of traffic, not all of which was restricted to the channels and also because the haze and glare that morning made it more difficult to see a small boat.
The entire crossing was between seven and eight miles against the tide with fairly heavy boat traffic. I was mentally and physically exhausted when I pulled ashore just around the point of the Spit. Unfortunately, my chosen landing spot was a fishing area and it smelled horribly of dead fish. I was too tired to hop right back in so ignoring the smell I ate my lunch and called Kate to let her know the crossing was behind me.
As I sat there, a young guy on a battered Sit on Top kayak paddled by and asked if I was headed out. Since he was pointing across the Bay, I thought he was asking if I was paddling over to the Eastern Shore so I said no. He paddled on, but not out into the Bay but instead down the shore in the direction I would be going once rested. Feeling pretty rested, I got back in my kayak and decided to catch up with him. My tired old bones were not close to the task as he had an efficient high angle stroke and seemed to be in good shape.
Once I recognized that I was not going to catch him and how tired I still was, I paddled back to the beach and rested for another 20 minutes. When I started back down the shore, the kayaker was paddling back so we stopped and visited for a few minutes. He is in the Navy and spent several years in Washington State where he sea kayaked some. I told him about the trip and he had some questions as well as shared some stories about a friend of his in Washington that had paddled the east coast of Russia.
We parted ways and I continued my slog down Ocean View staying about ½ mile from shore. Still feeling fatigued, I decided that I needed to hit the beach again before crossing Little Creek Inlet and past the military base there. As I was paddling back to shore another large Naval ship came out of narrow inlet. As I approached shore I could see a 7-Eleven sign across the road from the beach. After landing, I asked a family sitting on the beach to watch my boat and gear while I ran to 7-11 for a Big Gulp Coke, a banana and a Snickers Bar. Ocean View still has some seedy areas, including the area where I had come ashore, but everything was fine when I got back to the beach.
One of the nicer areas of Ocean View Beach
The snack run did the trick and I finally felt my energy level returning to normal. Because visibility of my crossing would be very limited for vessels coming out the inlet, I gave another Securite call before paddling across. There were several huge hovercraft stored onshore the naval base. I believe that they are used as landing craft – really impressive looking vessels. Paddling under the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel I set my sights on First Landing Park which was visible ahead. I stayed well out as I passed Lynnhaven Inlet as I cut across an area where the shore falls away before curving back toward Cape Henry.
Looking toward the distant Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel
As I paddled past the bridge area I could see the Black and White Cape Henry Lighthouse in the distance. It really hit me that I was going to bring this trip home. I started choking up a little, but all the traffic into and out of Lynnhaven snapped me out of it and back onto the task at hand.
After my last stop in Ocean View, my skeg would not go down. The skeg on the Expedition has been troublesome ever since I messed it up right after buying the boat. While I intended to finally fix the skeg sheath to keep the cable from binding before the trip, I never did. Remarkably, the skeg worked perfectly the entire trip until that point. I did not really care as the wind and waves had picked up a little and, particularly with the Expedition loaded, I prefer no skeg when the water starts to take on texture. I don’t use the skeg much on day trips but with cumulative fatigue from correction strokes in mind, I paddled almost the entire flat water portion of the journey with the skeg deployed. It felt good to feel the kayak moving around like I am accustomed. Having to concentrate on my strokes and use my lower body more kept me focused on the last leg to First Landing State Park.
When I spoke with Kate that morning I asked her to reserve a campsite for me at First Landing since it appeared I would make it that far. Turns out that same day reservations have to be done in person and my mother-in-law was kind enough to drive over , reserve a spot and leave instructions on how to find it on my cell phone. Speaking of my cell phone, in addition to using it for only a few calls each day I also had an I-Go charger which runs off AA batteries that helped to keep the charge up enough to get me through the trip.
The portage to my campsite was across a wide beach, up a boardwalk ramp over the dunes, then a long way through the park. I was exhausted again when I reached the site but the cart had come through again and gotten me to my destination. I was very glad not to have discarded it in Richmond, I’m not sure how I would have gotten by boat and gear to the campsite without it. Kate and I had spoken earlier and agreed to surprise Emma (my daughter) by bringing her to the campground that evening. I set up camp and took a quick shower before they showed up. Emma jumped out of Kate’s truck before it was even done rolling and gave me a huge hug! After many more hugs, we enjoyed a Chick-Fil-A dinner – what a treat! After dinner we walked back to the beach and admired another beautiful sunset.
Kate and Emma headed off, but with only a few miles left in the morning the excitement got the best of me and I had trouble going to sleep. It had been a great trip and in some ways I wanted it to go on, but I was also ready to write the closing chapter - Atlantic Ocean here I come!
Day Seven - April 24, 2008
Day Seven – Thursday, April 24, 2008
Chickahominy Riverfront Park to Ragged Island WMA, 25 miles
At the end of this long day of paddling, it seemed hard to believe that it had all happened in one day. I left Chickahominy at 6:45 a.m. and pulled up on the beach at Ragged Island at 7:15 p.m. and other than some time waiting for Tom and the gang at the Jamestown Yacht Basin, I did not stop for more than 20 minutes at a time. The day started with breaking camp by moonlight. It was a pretty morning and everything went smoothly until I got ready to leave and realized the light morning fog had turned into “pea soup.” I had never paddled in thick fog before, but decided that since I was basically just following the shoreline down to Jamestown I would give it a try. Staying close to shore, I could see the tree line and even some of the houses built near the water; but the thick fog was still quite disorienting. Working my way out of the Chickahominy River I passed under the bridge which quickly faded into the fog, but I could still hear the construction equipment from the new bridge. I got to a spot where the shore turned to the left and the chart showed a big cove. I decided to cut across the mouth of this cove instead of following the shoreline which left me paddling blind – unable to see anything but fog. Before losing site of the near shore, I took a reverse bearing so that if I got turned around I could at least paddle back.
I tried my best to paddle in a straight line and after five to ten minutes, I was able to make out a tree line ahead. I kept paddling along the shoreline and it matched the chart pretty well, but I decided to make sure of my location by checking my compass bearing. Surprise, surprise I was paddling Northwest when I thought I should be paddling south. Now, I could not figure out how I had screwed up that bad, it did not seem possible that I could have paddled in a circle in the fog, plus the faint construction noises still seemed to be coming from behind me. I decided that I must just be in a little cut that circled back and was not shown clearly on the chart, so I kept paddling. A few minutes later, the same thing. I think I should be going south and the compass says west. I debated just stopping and waiting out the fog, but despite the compass, it felt like I was going the right way. I paddled a little further and rounded a left hand turn and checked the compass again – it had been west, so now it should read south; instead it was pointing north! Suddenly it dawned on me, I had my compass on its lanyard running from the pocket on my PFD out the bottom of my paddling jacket , which was worn over the PFD. Because of the paddling jacket, I could not pull the compass away from my chest as I normally would to take a bearing. Compass Variance!!! The magnet in my VHF Radio was skewing my compass reading. I took off the jacket and sure enough, with the compass held in front of me, it read east – exactly the direction I thought I should be travelling at that point.
This episode taught me a valuable lesson about paying attention to your surroundings when you have the chance. During this time of confusion, I paddled past a golf course. On the way into the Chickahominy River the morning before, I had been tired and focused on the near shore. I paid no attention to the opposite shore, not even enough to remember if there was a river front golf course. Paddling in, I thought I would use Swann’s Point across the James as my landmark for the paddle out. Only problem was that when it was time to paddle, the fog prohibited me from seeing 100 feet away, much less all the way across the James. It really is critical to be aware of your surroundings and consider what different areas will look like from other directions of travel. I certainly could have stayed ashore and waited the fog out, but it gave me a chance to put some skills to the test and to learn a couple of my “book” lessons for myself. I even blew my whistle a few times when the fog was at its thickest and I thought that there may be other boats nearby. Despite the fog, I still saw three bald eagles on the paddle to Jamestown. I suspect that the fog limited their vision and hearing as well as mine, allowing me to get closer than perhaps I would at other times.
With the fog still thick but the sky beginning to lighten a little, I continued my paddle over to Jamestown Marina – not much of a marina, particularly for a place that calls itself a yacht basin. To get to the marina, you have to paddle past the replica ships, under the bridge, past where the Thorofare cuts off to the right and continue up Powhatan Creek. The channel is narrow and marked only with long reeds with solar lights lashed to them. It was fine in my kayak, but looking at some of the 30+ foot boats stored at the marina, I would want to make sure I was negotiating Powhatan Creek at high tide. Despite the fog, I had covered the 7 miles fairly quickly and was the first of the group to arrive. While I was waiting I made my lunch sandwiches and even ate a PB&H for breakfast. Slowly the Virginia Sea Kayak Center gang started to show up. Tom was coordinating some filming of local paddlers and destinations, so had invited some of their students out. In addition to Tom, Tony Paccuzi, Joel, Sherry and a guy named Charles were there. Tony I’ve paddled with several times and is always good to see him. Joel and Sherry I had only paddled with once previously but it was great to hear about their recent Adventure Race in Tierra del Fuego, Patagonia.
The morning was about setting up shots for the camera, not covering miles. After so many miles of paddling alone, I felt a bit like a Chatty Cathy doll asking questions and telling stories. We paddled out Powhatan Creek enjoying the morning now that the fog had lifted. The skies were still gray, but we got to see many osprey and heron, a few of which even played along for the camera. We paddled back to the replica ships which are just past the Jamestown/Scotland ferry dock. The tourists were out in full force and it was fun to watch the excitement onshore from our kayaks. I showed off with a roll of the fully loaded Expedition which resulted in some admiring claps from the replicas and some soggy charts in my slightly torn chart case.
Me being interviewed by Bryan Smith in front of the Replica Ships at Jamestown
It is such a privilege to paddle these waters and being around Jamestown reminds me of it. Certainly the English history is fascinating; to contemplate the courage that it took to up stakes and cross the Atlantic. Then to struggle for survival with little support system to fall back on. The strength and resilience of these settlers and explorers is unmatched in today’s world. The explorations of John Smith and the others in the shallop traced the rivers and lands of tidewater Virginia, but also captured valuable information about the Native Americans who were already occupying those lands and using these bodies of water. While the European history with these waters started in 1607, they have been the super-highways and larder of the land we now call Virginia for much, much longer.
We paddled down to Historic Jamestowne Island and I shared with the group what I knew of the history, most of it learned when we attended the 400th Anniversary Celebration in 2007. Recent archeology has revealed that the original fort site has not dropped completely in the river as was long believed, but only one corner of the triangular fort has succumbed to erosion. It was humbling to think we might be paddling over the exact spot where part of the fort stood.
While admiring the John Smith statute on shore, I saw the family that I met at Berkeley Plantation on Tuesday hailing me. We visited some more about our respective trips. They spent Wednesday at Williamsburg and then were headed to the Shenandoah National Park before heading home to New York. It was fun to see them and to hopefully contribute to a great vacation memory for the kids. The boy had asked me about rolling my kayak when we were at Berkeley, so figuring the charts were already soggy, I gave him a demonstration. It was a sloppy roll, but at least I came up.
My paddling group was heading back to the west and I had no desire to add any repeat miles to what was going to be a long day, so I bid my farewell. It was great to have paddling partners, even if for just a brief time. I paddled down to the Lower Point on Jamestowne Island and made the crossing to Hog Island Wildlife Management Area. I was pretty tired by the time I got over there, so pulled onto a pretty beach right on the point of Hog Island and stretched out on the sand for a few minutes. When I got back in the boat there were two fishermen just around the point. We visited for a few minutes about the trip and their fishing. The question I was asked most frequently on the trip by people on or near the river, was “catching anything?” I’m not sure where they think I’m hiding my fishing pole, but always answer that “I’m just paddling today.” My answer often drew a funny look or more questions about where I started or how far I was headed. The other frequent question was about the strange contraption strapped to my back deck – fun to explain that it started life as a golf bag cart, but was now a kayak cart.
Past Hog Island is the National Defense Reserve Fleet, better known as the Ghost Fleet. These are retired Navy ships that are not ready for the scrap heap yet, either because they could be useful in the future or their hulls still hold radioactive or other material that makes mothballing them a better option. I took several pictures but they were all too far away to tell much of anything. I tried to stay at least 500 feet away and the area was patrolled frequently by black helicopters but I did see one powerboat running very close and even between the rows of ships.
I paddled down the shoreline and decided to cut across the mouth of Burwell Bay to save the extra miles. Close to a five mile open crossing and about ¾ of the way across the wind picked up and was blowing in my face. My plan was still to stop at Fort Boykin Park for the night, but cutting across the Bay it was not clear which property was the park. There were two houses close together on a huge tract of beach with matching jetties and well manicured grass. It had a flag pole, what looked like signs and a couple cars parked away from the buildings so figured that it must be the park. As I finally got close to shore it began looking more like a private residence. Oh well, I was tired and there. I pulled up onto the first part of the beach, well away from the houses and decided to go up the dunes and plead my case for permission to camp on their beach. After walking up the access trail to the houses where I could then tell that the two houses were separated by only a few feet. One was white, the other cedar with odd, solid doors with deadbolts in each of them. No door on the cedar house appeared to be a front door, or appeared welcoming in any way. I knocked at both houses but it seemed no one was around except for the open garage door on the white house. One ATV and a lot of ATV helmets and gear was in the garage along with a huge sign warning of the danger of ATVs, but also saying “Absolutely No Riding on the Airstrip.” The houses were not fancy, fairly plain with some maintenance needed. I wondered where they had found this sign about ATV riding and the airstrip. I began to walk back downriver but up on the top of the dune level to see if I could find anyone out riding. As I walked, I realized that the sign was custom made – there was a very long, private, paved airstrip next to the houses. While not sure of who owned the property, it was clear from the airstrip that they had some money. I went down the dunes to my kayak and started looking at my chart again.
After the walk and rest, I decided that the four or five miles remaining to Ragged Island was achievable. As I was stowing my loose gear and getting ready to push off I suddenly hear jet engines and then can see the tail of a private jet obviously taxing around. I briefly considered going back up and asking for permission, but my guess was they were the type of people who like their privacy. What a piece of property. By the time I paddled down past the houses there was a large middle aged man, a couple teen agers or young adults and a woman out on deck admiring the spectacular view. The plane immediately took back off and flew away. Now that is the way to get to the river for a long weekend! I paddled across the mouth of the Pagan River and then stopped as soon as I made it to WMA land. I set up a quick camp right on the sand and climbed into the tent. It was a beautiful place to enjoy the rest of the evening outside, but it was buggy and I had been outside enough for one day. I crawled inside and looked out of my tent at a beautiful view of the river.
Chickahominy Riverfront Park to Ragged Island WMA, 25 miles
At the end of this long day of paddling, it seemed hard to believe that it had all happened in one day. I left Chickahominy at 6:45 a.m. and pulled up on the beach at Ragged Island at 7:15 p.m. and other than some time waiting for Tom and the gang at the Jamestown Yacht Basin, I did not stop for more than 20 minutes at a time. The day started with breaking camp by moonlight. It was a pretty morning and everything went smoothly until I got ready to leave and realized the light morning fog had turned into “pea soup.” I had never paddled in thick fog before, but decided that since I was basically just following the shoreline down to Jamestown I would give it a try. Staying close to shore, I could see the tree line and even some of the houses built near the water; but the thick fog was still quite disorienting. Working my way out of the Chickahominy River I passed under the bridge which quickly faded into the fog, but I could still hear the construction equipment from the new bridge. I got to a spot where the shore turned to the left and the chart showed a big cove. I decided to cut across the mouth of this cove instead of following the shoreline which left me paddling blind – unable to see anything but fog. Before losing site of the near shore, I took a reverse bearing so that if I got turned around I could at least paddle back.
I tried my best to paddle in a straight line and after five to ten minutes, I was able to make out a tree line ahead. I kept paddling along the shoreline and it matched the chart pretty well, but I decided to make sure of my location by checking my compass bearing. Surprise, surprise I was paddling Northwest when I thought I should be paddling south. Now, I could not figure out how I had screwed up that bad, it did not seem possible that I could have paddled in a circle in the fog, plus the faint construction noises still seemed to be coming from behind me. I decided that I must just be in a little cut that circled back and was not shown clearly on the chart, so I kept paddling. A few minutes later, the same thing. I think I should be going south and the compass says west. I debated just stopping and waiting out the fog, but despite the compass, it felt like I was going the right way. I paddled a little further and rounded a left hand turn and checked the compass again – it had been west, so now it should read south; instead it was pointing north! Suddenly it dawned on me, I had my compass on its lanyard running from the pocket on my PFD out the bottom of my paddling jacket , which was worn over the PFD. Because of the paddling jacket, I could not pull the compass away from my chest as I normally would to take a bearing. Compass Variance!!! The magnet in my VHF Radio was skewing my compass reading. I took off the jacket and sure enough, with the compass held in front of me, it read east – exactly the direction I thought I should be travelling at that point.
This episode taught me a valuable lesson about paying attention to your surroundings when you have the chance. During this time of confusion, I paddled past a golf course. On the way into the Chickahominy River the morning before, I had been tired and focused on the near shore. I paid no attention to the opposite shore, not even enough to remember if there was a river front golf course. Paddling in, I thought I would use Swann’s Point across the James as my landmark for the paddle out. Only problem was that when it was time to paddle, the fog prohibited me from seeing 100 feet away, much less all the way across the James. It really is critical to be aware of your surroundings and consider what different areas will look like from other directions of travel. I certainly could have stayed ashore and waited the fog out, but it gave me a chance to put some skills to the test and to learn a couple of my “book” lessons for myself. I even blew my whistle a few times when the fog was at its thickest and I thought that there may be other boats nearby. Despite the fog, I still saw three bald eagles on the paddle to Jamestown. I suspect that the fog limited their vision and hearing as well as mine, allowing me to get closer than perhaps I would at other times.
With the fog still thick but the sky beginning to lighten a little, I continued my paddle over to Jamestown Marina – not much of a marina, particularly for a place that calls itself a yacht basin. To get to the marina, you have to paddle past the replica ships, under the bridge, past where the Thorofare cuts off to the right and continue up Powhatan Creek. The channel is narrow and marked only with long reeds with solar lights lashed to them. It was fine in my kayak, but looking at some of the 30+ foot boats stored at the marina, I would want to make sure I was negotiating Powhatan Creek at high tide. Despite the fog, I had covered the 7 miles fairly quickly and was the first of the group to arrive. While I was waiting I made my lunch sandwiches and even ate a PB&H for breakfast. Slowly the Virginia Sea Kayak Center gang started to show up. Tom was coordinating some filming of local paddlers and destinations, so had invited some of their students out. In addition to Tom, Tony Paccuzi, Joel, Sherry and a guy named Charles were there. Tony I’ve paddled with several times and is always good to see him. Joel and Sherry I had only paddled with once previously but it was great to hear about their recent Adventure Race in Tierra del Fuego, Patagonia.
The morning was about setting up shots for the camera, not covering miles. After so many miles of paddling alone, I felt a bit like a Chatty Cathy doll asking questions and telling stories. We paddled out Powhatan Creek enjoying the morning now that the fog had lifted. The skies were still gray, but we got to see many osprey and heron, a few of which even played along for the camera. We paddled back to the replica ships which are just past the Jamestown/Scotland ferry dock. The tourists were out in full force and it was fun to watch the excitement onshore from our kayaks. I showed off with a roll of the fully loaded Expedition which resulted in some admiring claps from the replicas and some soggy charts in my slightly torn chart case.
Me being interviewed by Bryan Smith in front of the Replica Ships at Jamestown
It is such a privilege to paddle these waters and being around Jamestown reminds me of it. Certainly the English history is fascinating; to contemplate the courage that it took to up stakes and cross the Atlantic. Then to struggle for survival with little support system to fall back on. The strength and resilience of these settlers and explorers is unmatched in today’s world. The explorations of John Smith and the others in the shallop traced the rivers and lands of tidewater Virginia, but also captured valuable information about the Native Americans who were already occupying those lands and using these bodies of water. While the European history with these waters started in 1607, they have been the super-highways and larder of the land we now call Virginia for much, much longer.
We paddled down to Historic Jamestowne Island and I shared with the group what I knew of the history, most of it learned when we attended the 400th Anniversary Celebration in 2007. Recent archeology has revealed that the original fort site has not dropped completely in the river as was long believed, but only one corner of the triangular fort has succumbed to erosion. It was humbling to think we might be paddling over the exact spot where part of the fort stood.
While admiring the John Smith statute on shore, I saw the family that I met at Berkeley Plantation on Tuesday hailing me. We visited some more about our respective trips. They spent Wednesday at Williamsburg and then were headed to the Shenandoah National Park before heading home to New York. It was fun to see them and to hopefully contribute to a great vacation memory for the kids. The boy had asked me about rolling my kayak when we were at Berkeley, so figuring the charts were already soggy, I gave him a demonstration. It was a sloppy roll, but at least I came up.
My paddling group was heading back to the west and I had no desire to add any repeat miles to what was going to be a long day, so I bid my farewell. It was great to have paddling partners, even if for just a brief time. I paddled down to the Lower Point on Jamestowne Island and made the crossing to Hog Island Wildlife Management Area. I was pretty tired by the time I got over there, so pulled onto a pretty beach right on the point of Hog Island and stretched out on the sand for a few minutes. When I got back in the boat there were two fishermen just around the point. We visited for a few minutes about the trip and their fishing. The question I was asked most frequently on the trip by people on or near the river, was “catching anything?” I’m not sure where they think I’m hiding my fishing pole, but always answer that “I’m just paddling today.” My answer often drew a funny look or more questions about where I started or how far I was headed. The other frequent question was about the strange contraption strapped to my back deck – fun to explain that it started life as a golf bag cart, but was now a kayak cart.
Past Hog Island is the National Defense Reserve Fleet, better known as the Ghost Fleet. These are retired Navy ships that are not ready for the scrap heap yet, either because they could be useful in the future or their hulls still hold radioactive or other material that makes mothballing them a better option. I took several pictures but they were all too far away to tell much of anything. I tried to stay at least 500 feet away and the area was patrolled frequently by black helicopters but I did see one powerboat running very close and even between the rows of ships.
I paddled down the shoreline and decided to cut across the mouth of Burwell Bay to save the extra miles. Close to a five mile open crossing and about ¾ of the way across the wind picked up and was blowing in my face. My plan was still to stop at Fort Boykin Park for the night, but cutting across the Bay it was not clear which property was the park. There were two houses close together on a huge tract of beach with matching jetties and well manicured grass. It had a flag pole, what looked like signs and a couple cars parked away from the buildings so figured that it must be the park. As I finally got close to shore it began looking more like a private residence. Oh well, I was tired and there. I pulled up onto the first part of the beach, well away from the houses and decided to go up the dunes and plead my case for permission to camp on their beach. After walking up the access trail to the houses where I could then tell that the two houses were separated by only a few feet. One was white, the other cedar with odd, solid doors with deadbolts in each of them. No door on the cedar house appeared to be a front door, or appeared welcoming in any way. I knocked at both houses but it seemed no one was around except for the open garage door on the white house. One ATV and a lot of ATV helmets and gear was in the garage along with a huge sign warning of the danger of ATVs, but also saying “Absolutely No Riding on the Airstrip.” The houses were not fancy, fairly plain with some maintenance needed. I wondered where they had found this sign about ATV riding and the airstrip. I began to walk back downriver but up on the top of the dune level to see if I could find anyone out riding. As I walked, I realized that the sign was custom made – there was a very long, private, paved airstrip next to the houses. While not sure of who owned the property, it was clear from the airstrip that they had some money. I went down the dunes to my kayak and started looking at my chart again.
After the walk and rest, I decided that the four or five miles remaining to Ragged Island was achievable. As I was stowing my loose gear and getting ready to push off I suddenly hear jet engines and then can see the tail of a private jet obviously taxing around. I briefly considered going back up and asking for permission, but my guess was they were the type of people who like their privacy. What a piece of property. By the time I paddled down past the houses there was a large middle aged man, a couple teen agers or young adults and a woman out on deck admiring the spectacular view. The plane immediately took back off and flew away. Now that is the way to get to the river for a long weekend! I paddled across the mouth of the Pagan River and then stopped as soon as I made it to WMA land. I set up a quick camp right on the sand and climbed into the tent. It was a beautiful place to enjoy the rest of the evening outside, but it was buggy and I had been outside enough for one day. I crawled inside and looked out of my tent at a beautiful view of the river.
Day Six - April 23, 2008
Day Six – Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Three Mile Reach to Chickahominy Riverfront Park, 19 miles
Broke camp in the pitch black this morning. On the water before 5:00 a.m., just in time to catch the outgoing tide. The water was almost glassy everything was so calm. In order to improve my chances of being seen, particularly from vessels approaching from the rear, I turned on my headlamp and pointed it behind me. By watching the lighted buoys and occasionally verifying their positions on the chart, I was able to stay out of the channel. Nautical charts give the characteristics of the lights in a code (“154” Fl R 4s ) which indicates the buoy number (154,not visible at night) but also the color it flashes (R=Red) and the interval of the flash (every 4 seconds). So by watching a light and counting the interval of the flash, you can identify the particular buoy that you are looking at. If you wanted to get very fancy, you could use your compass to shoot a bearing to two buoys within sight and identify your specific location on the chart. For my purposes, I mostly just wanted to be able to note the general direction of the channel and stay out of it.
With only faint ambient light from the moon sneaking through the cloud cover, I could feel the beginnings of what I imagine is motion sickness in the pit of my stomach. I tried to make myself concentrate on any fixed object whose form I could make out, i.e. the tree line on the shore nearby, and that seemed to help the feeling.
As I approached Weyanoke Point, I noticed ship lights ahead of me in the channel to my right side. Two white lights were visible marking the bow and stern of the vessel, which let me know that it was of a significant size. Smaller boats would have only the green and red side marker lights but larger vessels have the white bow and stern lights to allow others to get a feel for their length. Initially it appeared that the ship may be stopped perpendicular to the channel because of the orientation of the bow and stern lights. In retrospect, the captain was maneuvering for the sharp turn around the point.
I turned my headlamp around so that it was pointing in the direction of the ship, but not harming my night vision. Concerned about being seen, I should have hailed the ship by using the Marine VHF radio but it was in my day hatch, not in my PFD pocket where it should have been. It certainly appeared that there was ample distance between me and the ship, so even if I was not spotted I would be well out of the way by the time our paths met.
While watching the ship, I continued paddling and made it around the point and into a cut between the main channel where the ship was and a small island. The captain gave a short blast. At first I thought this was to acknowledge my presence, but later realized it was signaling his start around the point as any vessel moving quickly would have little time to avoid this large ship sitting across the channel. As I looked back toward the ship, it looked as if it was turning not around Weyanoke point but instead around the small island between us, which would have this large vessel essentially chasing me. At this point, my heart started racing. My head was saying that there is no way that big vessel is going to come into this shallow area between shore and island but I started paddling like hell for the island anyway. A minute later it was clear that the ship was indeed passing beyond the point, not the island but it certainly woke me the rest of the way up.
Despite the scare around the point, it was beautiful to paddle from darkness into dawn. As a young boy on car trips, my dad would tell me to listen for the “Crack of Dawn.” As I paddled I remembered those quiet early mornings on the road and watched the sky begin to brighten. The miles clicked off effortlessly as I paddled down Seven Mile Reach.
The chart noted in red a place called “Fort Pocahontas.” Most of the red markings were for marinas, grocery stores or tourist attractions and as I had never heard of Fort Pocahontas I was intrigued. There was a nice sandy beach, a small pier and benches on shore so I decided to pull in and see what was there. As I approached shore there were five dear near the landing that appeared curious about my kayak and then eased back into the woods. As on most of my rest breaks, I needed to relieve myself so I stepped to the edge of the beach area into the woods. Just as I started, there were two loud musket blasts from up the hill. My first thought was “dang, I hope public urination isn’t a shooting offense around here!”
I walked up the trail for several hundred yards but other than a sign with a vague history of Fort Pocahontas, there were no other clues to either the purpose of the Fort or the source of the musket blasts. A little internet research after the trip and it turns out there are ruins of Fort Walker which was originally a Confederate stronghold during the Civil War. The Fort was one of the last impediments to secure Union communication from the mouth of the river up to Grant’s headquarters at City Point in Hopewell. In May 1864 the Fort was taken by a Negro Union infantry regiment, a victory which improved the reputation of Negro units throughout the Union forces. After the battle, the fort was renamed Fort Pocahontas. The site is now privately owned by the descendants of President John Tyler who spent the last 20 years of his life, living at Sherwood Forest Plantation just upriver from the Fort. I’m sure the musket blasts were just some interpreters getting ready for the day’s visitors, but with no clear objective I decided to return to the beach and get back on the water.
The rest of the morning’s paddle down to the Chickahominy River went pretty well, but I could tell that fatigue was setting in after fewer hours each day. There were more gulls flying over the water than I had seen on previous days. Real evidence that I was trimming the miles between me and the ocean. The river opens up even more past the Chickahominy and I could sense the river changing again. Beyond this point the river is as much an inland bay as it is a flowing river. I snapped a couple pictures of a shipwreck off Dancing Point. It looks like it was a big sand pit operation at some point (perhaps even currently) and I imagined the ship was one that was hauling sand and ran aground.
Paddling past Sandy Point and Dancing Point, I followed the shoreline into the mouth of the Chickahominy. There is a beautiful property on the last major point before the Chickahominy joins – very oriental in design with a series of linked but independent buildings with light green roofs and interesting gardens. It was very different from most of the homes along the river, but to my eye one of the most beautiful of the James River “Plantations.” I became a little confused when I could not see the Route 5 bridge when I thought that I should be able to. Soon realized that I still had one more point of land to round before I should have a view of the bridge. With the tide still going out and therefore against me as I paddled up the Chickahominy, I had to push hard to make it past the bridge. I was really looking forward to a warm shower and a designated campground, but became concerned when I saw the new bridge being built right where the campground was marked on the chart. Since I had not confirmed site availability or even the campground’s existence, I became concerned that my plan for an afternoon of rest might be spoiled. After paddling past the bridge, I could still see the rental boats and ramp which seemed to indicate that the camp was still operational. About 10 a.m., I checked in and requested a spot I could paddle up to, which was available. In fact, there were almost no other camp sites occupied in the section I was in. My spot had an upper section near the camp road and also a beach area right on the river.
As I set up camp the sun was shining and this was my chance to dry out, rest and make a temporary repair to the split seam in the boat. I was hoping to do a load of laundry but air drying my gear and a hot shower for me were a good substitute. Six days into the trip and I still felt pretty good. After developing some pretty bad blisters on a three day test paddle, my hands were much better than expected with only one small blister and no joint pain. My feet had developed some sores on the tops of my toes after all the time in neoprene booties with wet wool socks. My camp shoes were soaked because of the leak into the day hatch, so no real relief from the wetness. I put some antibiotic gel on the toes and let them air dry thoroughly. My lower back and butt were starting to protest after more than an hour or two in the cockpit, probably understandable. The only muscles that really felt tight were my traps, the upper shoulder muscles near the neck.
I spent the day being lazy – walked to the camp store and bought junk food for lunch, dried out my gear, duct taped the crack at the seat/hull joint, just laid on the picnic table staring up at the sunny sky.
My repair kit included two part epoxy, but I decided to stick with duct tape to make permanent repairs easier after the trip. The rest felt wonderful and I knew that I would need it as Thursday was sure to be a long day: paddle to Jamestown in the morning, paddle around with Tom, Bryan, et al then be headed eastbound again before the high tide at 2:30pm. Charts showed approximately 22 nautical miles (25 statute miles: 1 NM = 1.15 SM) to the Ragged Island Wildlife Management Area where I planned to camp Thursday evening. My thoughts as I laid down Wednesday was that I would likely need to find an alternate camp, perhaps at Fort Boykin Park. Through the first six days I had paddled 117 miles and had another 65 to go. I had averaged 19.1 miles per day up to this point and needed to average almost 22 miles for days 7 to 9 in order to finish on Saturday. My thought of finishing early Saturday seemed to be fading. Regardless, being able to lay in my tent with the rain flap up so that I could see out and feeling well rested and dry after my afternoon on shore, I was feeling good and ready to bring the trip home. I was really looking forward to seeing friends and paddling around one of my favorite areas the next morning.
Three Mile Reach to Chickahominy Riverfront Park, 19 miles
Broke camp in the pitch black this morning. On the water before 5:00 a.m., just in time to catch the outgoing tide. The water was almost glassy everything was so calm. In order to improve my chances of being seen, particularly from vessels approaching from the rear, I turned on my headlamp and pointed it behind me. By watching the lighted buoys and occasionally verifying their positions on the chart, I was able to stay out of the channel. Nautical charts give the characteristics of the lights in a code (“154” Fl R 4s ) which indicates the buoy number (154,not visible at night) but also the color it flashes (R=Red) and the interval of the flash (every 4 seconds). So by watching a light and counting the interval of the flash, you can identify the particular buoy that you are looking at. If you wanted to get very fancy, you could use your compass to shoot a bearing to two buoys within sight and identify your specific location on the chart. For my purposes, I mostly just wanted to be able to note the general direction of the channel and stay out of it.
With only faint ambient light from the moon sneaking through the cloud cover, I could feel the beginnings of what I imagine is motion sickness in the pit of my stomach. I tried to make myself concentrate on any fixed object whose form I could make out, i.e. the tree line on the shore nearby, and that seemed to help the feeling.
As I approached Weyanoke Point, I noticed ship lights ahead of me in the channel to my right side. Two white lights were visible marking the bow and stern of the vessel, which let me know that it was of a significant size. Smaller boats would have only the green and red side marker lights but larger vessels have the white bow and stern lights to allow others to get a feel for their length. Initially it appeared that the ship may be stopped perpendicular to the channel because of the orientation of the bow and stern lights. In retrospect, the captain was maneuvering for the sharp turn around the point.
I turned my headlamp around so that it was pointing in the direction of the ship, but not harming my night vision. Concerned about being seen, I should have hailed the ship by using the Marine VHF radio but it was in my day hatch, not in my PFD pocket where it should have been. It certainly appeared that there was ample distance between me and the ship, so even if I was not spotted I would be well out of the way by the time our paths met.
While watching the ship, I continued paddling and made it around the point and into a cut between the main channel where the ship was and a small island. The captain gave a short blast. At first I thought this was to acknowledge my presence, but later realized it was signaling his start around the point as any vessel moving quickly would have little time to avoid this large ship sitting across the channel. As I looked back toward the ship, it looked as if it was turning not around Weyanoke point but instead around the small island between us, which would have this large vessel essentially chasing me. At this point, my heart started racing. My head was saying that there is no way that big vessel is going to come into this shallow area between shore and island but I started paddling like hell for the island anyway. A minute later it was clear that the ship was indeed passing beyond the point, not the island but it certainly woke me the rest of the way up.
Despite the scare around the point, it was beautiful to paddle from darkness into dawn. As a young boy on car trips, my dad would tell me to listen for the “Crack of Dawn.” As I paddled I remembered those quiet early mornings on the road and watched the sky begin to brighten. The miles clicked off effortlessly as I paddled down Seven Mile Reach.
The chart noted in red a place called “Fort Pocahontas.” Most of the red markings were for marinas, grocery stores or tourist attractions and as I had never heard of Fort Pocahontas I was intrigued. There was a nice sandy beach, a small pier and benches on shore so I decided to pull in and see what was there. As I approached shore there were five dear near the landing that appeared curious about my kayak and then eased back into the woods. As on most of my rest breaks, I needed to relieve myself so I stepped to the edge of the beach area into the woods. Just as I started, there were two loud musket blasts from up the hill. My first thought was “dang, I hope public urination isn’t a shooting offense around here!”
I walked up the trail for several hundred yards but other than a sign with a vague history of Fort Pocahontas, there were no other clues to either the purpose of the Fort or the source of the musket blasts. A little internet research after the trip and it turns out there are ruins of Fort Walker which was originally a Confederate stronghold during the Civil War. The Fort was one of the last impediments to secure Union communication from the mouth of the river up to Grant’s headquarters at City Point in Hopewell. In May 1864 the Fort was taken by a Negro Union infantry regiment, a victory which improved the reputation of Negro units throughout the Union forces. After the battle, the fort was renamed Fort Pocahontas. The site is now privately owned by the descendants of President John Tyler who spent the last 20 years of his life, living at Sherwood Forest Plantation just upriver from the Fort. I’m sure the musket blasts were just some interpreters getting ready for the day’s visitors, but with no clear objective I decided to return to the beach and get back on the water.
The rest of the morning’s paddle down to the Chickahominy River went pretty well, but I could tell that fatigue was setting in after fewer hours each day. There were more gulls flying over the water than I had seen on previous days. Real evidence that I was trimming the miles between me and the ocean. The river opens up even more past the Chickahominy and I could sense the river changing again. Beyond this point the river is as much an inland bay as it is a flowing river. I snapped a couple pictures of a shipwreck off Dancing Point. It looks like it was a big sand pit operation at some point (perhaps even currently) and I imagined the ship was one that was hauling sand and ran aground.
Paddling past Sandy Point and Dancing Point, I followed the shoreline into the mouth of the Chickahominy. There is a beautiful property on the last major point before the Chickahominy joins – very oriental in design with a series of linked but independent buildings with light green roofs and interesting gardens. It was very different from most of the homes along the river, but to my eye one of the most beautiful of the James River “Plantations.” I became a little confused when I could not see the Route 5 bridge when I thought that I should be able to. Soon realized that I still had one more point of land to round before I should have a view of the bridge. With the tide still going out and therefore against me as I paddled up the Chickahominy, I had to push hard to make it past the bridge. I was really looking forward to a warm shower and a designated campground, but became concerned when I saw the new bridge being built right where the campground was marked on the chart. Since I had not confirmed site availability or even the campground’s existence, I became concerned that my plan for an afternoon of rest might be spoiled. After paddling past the bridge, I could still see the rental boats and ramp which seemed to indicate that the camp was still operational. About 10 a.m., I checked in and requested a spot I could paddle up to, which was available. In fact, there were almost no other camp sites occupied in the section I was in. My spot had an upper section near the camp road and also a beach area right on the river.
As I set up camp the sun was shining and this was my chance to dry out, rest and make a temporary repair to the split seam in the boat. I was hoping to do a load of laundry but air drying my gear and a hot shower for me were a good substitute. Six days into the trip and I still felt pretty good. After developing some pretty bad blisters on a three day test paddle, my hands were much better than expected with only one small blister and no joint pain. My feet had developed some sores on the tops of my toes after all the time in neoprene booties with wet wool socks. My camp shoes were soaked because of the leak into the day hatch, so no real relief from the wetness. I put some antibiotic gel on the toes and let them air dry thoroughly. My lower back and butt were starting to protest after more than an hour or two in the cockpit, probably understandable. The only muscles that really felt tight were my traps, the upper shoulder muscles near the neck.
I spent the day being lazy – walked to the camp store and bought junk food for lunch, dried out my gear, duct taped the crack at the seat/hull joint, just laid on the picnic table staring up at the sunny sky.
My repair kit included two part epoxy, but I decided to stick with duct tape to make permanent repairs easier after the trip. The rest felt wonderful and I knew that I would need it as Thursday was sure to be a long day: paddle to Jamestown in the morning, paddle around with Tom, Bryan, et al then be headed eastbound again before the high tide at 2:30pm. Charts showed approximately 22 nautical miles (25 statute miles: 1 NM = 1.15 SM) to the Ragged Island Wildlife Management Area where I planned to camp Thursday evening. My thoughts as I laid down Wednesday was that I would likely need to find an alternate camp, perhaps at Fort Boykin Park. Through the first six days I had paddled 117 miles and had another 65 to go. I had averaged 19.1 miles per day up to this point and needed to average almost 22 miles for days 7 to 9 in order to finish on Saturday. My thought of finishing early Saturday seemed to be fading. Regardless, being able to lay in my tent with the rain flap up so that I could see out and feeling well rested and dry after my afternoon on shore, I was feeling good and ready to bring the trip home. I was really looking forward to seeing friends and paddling around one of my favorite areas the next morning.
Day Five - Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Day Five – Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Dutch Gap Conservation Area to Three Mile Reach, 22 miles
Outgoing tide started early this day, unfortunately I missed most of it between breaking camp and then paddling the two miles back to the main river channel. I did catch the end of the outgoing tide and made good headway until noon. The afternoon was another tough one, fighting against the tide and wind.
As I paddled, I realized that the trip was finally developing a rhythm of its own. The first few days seemed like a series of day trips, particularly with the wedding and night in the B&B on Saturday. Then Monday was a series of challenges to check off – dam portage, whitewater, other portages, cover distance to camp. Tuesday I could really feel the rhythm; break camp and catch the out flowing tide, slog against the tide in the afternoon and think I was done in, rest up and snack in the afternoon then catch a second wind and cover some more distance. This trip really taught me the importance of pace and energy. I could feel the impact of running low on fuel. It was essential to eat throughout the day and stay hydrated. When I began feeling run down I would find a spot to stop, stretch for a few minutes, have a snack, maybe walk around and then hit the water again refreshed. For the most part, my rest breaks were short – 20 minutes or less, but during those times when I was most worn out I might stop every 90 minutes of paddling. At other times, I could stay in the boat for 3 hours with no ill effects. While there was magic and enjoyable moments every day, Day 5 really brightened for me. Perhaps the weather helped as the skies cleared toward afternoon with only occasional showers.
Many interesting sights on Day Five as the river began to widen. I saw two separate eagles early in the morning as well as five white-tail deer that were running along a game trail on the side of a steep bank on the river. There were osprey everywhere. It seemed that there was a nest on every daymark.
Mid-morning I watched what I knew at the time would be one of my lasting memories of the trip. There was a shallow bay to my left with cypress trees growing in the water. Further down was a large dead tree hanging over the flats – what I would consider a perfect “Eagle Tree” for hunting but this one had an osprey nest in it. I had the privilege of watching some aerial combat between two osprey and two bald eagles. It was not clear if the eagles were attacking the osprey nest or if they were jousting for territory, but they repeatedly would dive at each other, the osprey trying to push the eagles downriver and the eagles seemingly trying to get closer to the large dead tree. The eagles finally flew off to the shoreline, so I chalked the victory up to the osprey.
Some of the many osprey nests that I saw were on poles that appeared to have high-power lights on them. I have no idea what their purpose would be as it would seem an odd place to try and light either the shore or the channel. The battle between man and the river is apparent in this section. While there are few houses, the paddler is never far from a daymark or buoy. The cut offs are all manmade solutions to avoid the meandering and often shallow oxbows. But where the cuts are, there is evidence of the river trying to still work its way into the oxbows, such as the high eroded cliff at the Turkey Island channel.
After clearing skies most of the morning, the rain started again while I approached and stopped at City Point about 10 a.m. I ate a quick snack, used the port-a-john and checked in with Kate. With the rain and a NW wind still blowing, I decided to cross to the north bank and stay in the lee of the windward shore. It helped a little, but the tide was starting to turn by the time I got over to the north shore. Just before City Point, the container ship that I had seen the day before loading at the Richmond Deep Water Port passed me. Other than the few mentioned above, I had seen no other paddlers the entire trip. In fact, there had been very little boat traffic. Despite there being may houses along the river, both old and new, I had seen absolutely no one outside in any of the yards.
About noon I stopped on the grounds of Berkley Plantation, one of the impressive James River Plantations that is now open to tourists. I fielded lots of questions from people touring the grounds as I ate my lunch. There was a boy about nine years old with an English accent that was pointing up river and talking about John Smith and Jamestown. I told him that Jamestown was the other way, which led to a discussion about my trip with his family. He was there with his parents and younger sister, on a Virginia history vacation. They were obviously English, but now live in New York and the boy had been learning about Jamestown in school recently. They were headed to Williamsburg on Wednesday and then Jamestown on Thursday, so I told them to look for me since that matched my timeline as well.
The rest and visit pumped me up. It made me realize how much I feed off of other people’s energy and enjoy sharing with others the things I am doing and experiencing. While I left Berkley renewed, it did not take long for the 2 ½ hour early afternoon paddle to turn into one of the toughest stretches physically of the trip thus far. The wind picked up and swung from the Northeast which meant it was blowing directly upriver. The tide was also set against me. I would estimate the wind was 15mph sustained with higher gusts, definitely the strongest I had experienced during the trip. With the wind and tide working against me, my progress was slowed to 1 or maybe 1 ½ knots. I could see the public fishing pier across from Windmill Point from some distance but it seemed to take forever to get there.
As I battled the wind and tide, I tried singing songs and other than “Poetry” by Walt Wilkins I could not sing any other songs through completely. It is funny, because you give me a couple bars and the first words and I’m good, but struggle with no prompts. I ended up singing lots of snippets of different songs, kind of my favorite songs medley. Ed emailed before I left to “enjoy every day.” I had enjoyed parts of each day and was definitely not sick of the journey, but the stress level was higher than I imagined. My skills were there, but I had been really concentrating on not making a “big” mistake. This journey was one of the most challenging things that I’ve done in my life; which really speaks more to how easy my life has been than to the difficulty of the journey.
I am so blessed to be in a position (health, personally, professionally, financially) where I could pull off a trip like this. Not to mention the incredible blessing of living in a country where this freedom of travel is possible. The trip is solo, but I certainly appreciated that it is only with a strong support system that I was able to plan and execute this trip. From Kate and Emma who have supported me despite their reservations, to other family and friends, to my paddling coaches and paddling buddies that have helped me develop the skills needed for this undertaking.
When I finally got there, one of the two guys fishing from the pier despite the weather told me that they had been watching my struggles and were wondering if I would make it or turn back. He also pointed out a orange/tan colored snake that had just swum up on the area of shore that was best to land a kayak. I decided to paddle around a point and into a cut that was somewhat behind the pier area. I had to push a deadfall out of the way, but was able to get the kayak up onto a slightly higher spot and tie it off to a nearby tree. I then had to make my way through some brambles to get back over to the parking area which also had restrooms and a bench with a small covering. I tried to check in, but had no cell service. Hiked up a trail that leads to some wooden overlooks of the river and debated just calling it a day and hauling my gear up the hill and steps to set up camp. The park did not close until dark though, and there seemed to be a lot of traffic coming in and out, not all of the traffic with a clear purpose. The place seemed a little sketchy, but I was not ready to get back on the water with the wind and tide still against me. I decided to hike up the hill toward the main road and see if I could get a cell signal. About a mile up, I hit an okay spot and got a call through to my mom. It was hard to communicate as the signal was still weak but I was able to tell her where I was, that I planned to paddle a few more miles on the north bank and that I was not sure if I would be able to call anyone that night.
About 4 pm I decided to get back on the water. The wind was still blowing but not as strong, and the tide had begun to turn in my favor. The river takes a sharp right-hand bend just past the fishing pier, so I knew that I would be protected from the wind once I cut the bay and made the windward shore. The straight stretch following this bend is called Three Mile Reach and about half way down the reach I found a good camp spot. Behind a duck blind there was a sandy beach with a level area and then a sloping hill up to a farm. The beach was not posted and all the buildings were a long way off. It seemed unlikely that anyone would notice my presence or mind if they did.
Once again, the evening left me wishing that I had scouted more. The tide was headed out which would make for easy paddling, I had gotten my second wind and there were a couple hours of daylight left. Since, I did not know what the next five miles held for camping spots though, I decided to hole up for the night. It was a great spot and I enjoyed the sand and views across the river as the sun set. After making camp, a tug pushing six barges full of coal dust or something similar passed me going downriver. I turned in for the evening looking forward to tomorrow’s paddle and particularly my next days’ intended end point, a campground just up from the mouth of the Chickahominy River. After three solid days of rain, a hot shower and dry clothes was something to which I could look forward.
Dutch Gap Conservation Area to Three Mile Reach, 22 miles
Outgoing tide started early this day, unfortunately I missed most of it between breaking camp and then paddling the two miles back to the main river channel. I did catch the end of the outgoing tide and made good headway until noon. The afternoon was another tough one, fighting against the tide and wind.
As I paddled, I realized that the trip was finally developing a rhythm of its own. The first few days seemed like a series of day trips, particularly with the wedding and night in the B&B on Saturday. Then Monday was a series of challenges to check off – dam portage, whitewater, other portages, cover distance to camp. Tuesday I could really feel the rhythm; break camp and catch the out flowing tide, slog against the tide in the afternoon and think I was done in, rest up and snack in the afternoon then catch a second wind and cover some more distance. This trip really taught me the importance of pace and energy. I could feel the impact of running low on fuel. It was essential to eat throughout the day and stay hydrated. When I began feeling run down I would find a spot to stop, stretch for a few minutes, have a snack, maybe walk around and then hit the water again refreshed. For the most part, my rest breaks were short – 20 minutes or less, but during those times when I was most worn out I might stop every 90 minutes of paddling. At other times, I could stay in the boat for 3 hours with no ill effects. While there was magic and enjoyable moments every day, Day 5 really brightened for me. Perhaps the weather helped as the skies cleared toward afternoon with only occasional showers.
Many interesting sights on Day Five as the river began to widen. I saw two separate eagles early in the morning as well as five white-tail deer that were running along a game trail on the side of a steep bank on the river. There were osprey everywhere. It seemed that there was a nest on every daymark.
Mid-morning I watched what I knew at the time would be one of my lasting memories of the trip. There was a shallow bay to my left with cypress trees growing in the water. Further down was a large dead tree hanging over the flats – what I would consider a perfect “Eagle Tree” for hunting but this one had an osprey nest in it. I had the privilege of watching some aerial combat between two osprey and two bald eagles. It was not clear if the eagles were attacking the osprey nest or if they were jousting for territory, but they repeatedly would dive at each other, the osprey trying to push the eagles downriver and the eagles seemingly trying to get closer to the large dead tree. The eagles finally flew off to the shoreline, so I chalked the victory up to the osprey.
Some of the many osprey nests that I saw were on poles that appeared to have high-power lights on them. I have no idea what their purpose would be as it would seem an odd place to try and light either the shore or the channel. The battle between man and the river is apparent in this section. While there are few houses, the paddler is never far from a daymark or buoy. The cut offs are all manmade solutions to avoid the meandering and often shallow oxbows. But where the cuts are, there is evidence of the river trying to still work its way into the oxbows, such as the high eroded cliff at the Turkey Island channel.
After clearing skies most of the morning, the rain started again while I approached and stopped at City Point about 10 a.m. I ate a quick snack, used the port-a-john and checked in with Kate. With the rain and a NW wind still blowing, I decided to cross to the north bank and stay in the lee of the windward shore. It helped a little, but the tide was starting to turn by the time I got over to the north shore. Just before City Point, the container ship that I had seen the day before loading at the Richmond Deep Water Port passed me. Other than the few mentioned above, I had seen no other paddlers the entire trip. In fact, there had been very little boat traffic. Despite there being may houses along the river, both old and new, I had seen absolutely no one outside in any of the yards.
About noon I stopped on the grounds of Berkley Plantation, one of the impressive James River Plantations that is now open to tourists. I fielded lots of questions from people touring the grounds as I ate my lunch. There was a boy about nine years old with an English accent that was pointing up river and talking about John Smith and Jamestown. I told him that Jamestown was the other way, which led to a discussion about my trip with his family. He was there with his parents and younger sister, on a Virginia history vacation. They were obviously English, but now live in New York and the boy had been learning about Jamestown in school recently. They were headed to Williamsburg on Wednesday and then Jamestown on Thursday, so I told them to look for me since that matched my timeline as well.
The rest and visit pumped me up. It made me realize how much I feed off of other people’s energy and enjoy sharing with others the things I am doing and experiencing. While I left Berkley renewed, it did not take long for the 2 ½ hour early afternoon paddle to turn into one of the toughest stretches physically of the trip thus far. The wind picked up and swung from the Northeast which meant it was blowing directly upriver. The tide was also set against me. I would estimate the wind was 15mph sustained with higher gusts, definitely the strongest I had experienced during the trip. With the wind and tide working against me, my progress was slowed to 1 or maybe 1 ½ knots. I could see the public fishing pier across from Windmill Point from some distance but it seemed to take forever to get there.
As I battled the wind and tide, I tried singing songs and other than “Poetry” by Walt Wilkins I could not sing any other songs through completely. It is funny, because you give me a couple bars and the first words and I’m good, but struggle with no prompts. I ended up singing lots of snippets of different songs, kind of my favorite songs medley. Ed emailed before I left to “enjoy every day.” I had enjoyed parts of each day and was definitely not sick of the journey, but the stress level was higher than I imagined. My skills were there, but I had been really concentrating on not making a “big” mistake. This journey was one of the most challenging things that I’ve done in my life; which really speaks more to how easy my life has been than to the difficulty of the journey.
I am so blessed to be in a position (health, personally, professionally, financially) where I could pull off a trip like this. Not to mention the incredible blessing of living in a country where this freedom of travel is possible. The trip is solo, but I certainly appreciated that it is only with a strong support system that I was able to plan and execute this trip. From Kate and Emma who have supported me despite their reservations, to other family and friends, to my paddling coaches and paddling buddies that have helped me develop the skills needed for this undertaking.
When I finally got there, one of the two guys fishing from the pier despite the weather told me that they had been watching my struggles and were wondering if I would make it or turn back. He also pointed out a orange/tan colored snake that had just swum up on the area of shore that was best to land a kayak. I decided to paddle around a point and into a cut that was somewhat behind the pier area. I had to push a deadfall out of the way, but was able to get the kayak up onto a slightly higher spot and tie it off to a nearby tree. I then had to make my way through some brambles to get back over to the parking area which also had restrooms and a bench with a small covering. I tried to check in, but had no cell service. Hiked up a trail that leads to some wooden overlooks of the river and debated just calling it a day and hauling my gear up the hill and steps to set up camp. The park did not close until dark though, and there seemed to be a lot of traffic coming in and out, not all of the traffic with a clear purpose. The place seemed a little sketchy, but I was not ready to get back on the water with the wind and tide still against me. I decided to hike up the hill toward the main road and see if I could get a cell signal. About a mile up, I hit an okay spot and got a call through to my mom. It was hard to communicate as the signal was still weak but I was able to tell her where I was, that I planned to paddle a few more miles on the north bank and that I was not sure if I would be able to call anyone that night.
About 4 pm I decided to get back on the water. The wind was still blowing but not as strong, and the tide had begun to turn in my favor. The river takes a sharp right-hand bend just past the fishing pier, so I knew that I would be protected from the wind once I cut the bay and made the windward shore. The straight stretch following this bend is called Three Mile Reach and about half way down the reach I found a good camp spot. Behind a duck blind there was a sandy beach with a level area and then a sloping hill up to a farm. The beach was not posted and all the buildings were a long way off. It seemed unlikely that anyone would notice my presence or mind if they did.
Once again, the evening left me wishing that I had scouted more. The tide was headed out which would make for easy paddling, I had gotten my second wind and there were a couple hours of daylight left. Since, I did not know what the next five miles held for camping spots though, I decided to hole up for the night. It was a great spot and I enjoyed the sand and views across the river as the sun set. After making camp, a tug pushing six barges full of coal dust or something similar passed me going downriver. I turned in for the evening looking forward to tomorrow’s paddle and particularly my next days’ intended end point, a campground just up from the mouth of the Chickahominy River. After three solid days of rain, a hot shower and dry clothes was something to which I could look forward.
Day Four - Monday, April 21, 2008
Day Four – Monday, April 21, 2008
Richmond (Huguenot Woods) to Dutch Gap Conservation Area, 20 miles
This was the day that I had been most worried about during the preparations for the trip. Initially my plan was to portage about 7 miles through Richmond on city streets with a fully loaded kayak. Luckily, Greg Velzy with Chesterfield County showed me the low water route through most of the Richmond rapids, which would leave only two portages of a combined mile and a half. After the struggles with portaging a fully loaded boat just a couple miles at Brightly, it was definitely the right decision. The trade off, however, was paddling a fully loaded, eighteen foot, fiberglass sea kayak through some solid Class 2 rapids. My goal was to get through without hurting myself or doing “trip ending” damage to the boat.
I woke early to more rain, although it stopped as I was getting my breakfast together. I should have broken down my tent as soon as the rain let up, but instead I continued eating my breakfast. Mistake – by the time I finished and needed to take the tent apart it was raining hard again. Tent was soaked between the night before and taking it down in the rain. My sleeping bag and tent clothes (pajama bottoms, long sleeve cotton t-shirt and socks) got damp despite my best efforts to keep them dry.
I was on the water by 7:45 a.m., time to face my concerns and get through the Richmond Fall Line – 105 feet of vertical drop in seven miles. The first challenge of the morning would be a fairly short portage around Z-dam. As I approached the dam, I could not remember exactly where the portage trail was. I was fairly certain that the takeout was very near the dam, but sure did not want to make a mistake with that and get too close to the dam. When I got to the first warning signs which are under the power lines, I pulled into shore and walked through the brambles to confirm my memory of the portage takeout. The trail was short and sandy so I dragged the boat over the trail.
Pony Pasture was the first real whitewater of the trip and awaited me after a flat water section below Z-dam. My guidebook was 1 ½ pages of soggy notes that I had written down after Greg and I paddled the week before my departure. With memory jogs like ”eddy behind the flat rock that is just in front of the tall domed rock” and “hit the wave train then cut back toward the dog beach”; I was suddenly wishing that Greg was in front of me to lead the way again. Regardless, the run was mine to make.
The notes worked well for Pony Pasture although at one spot I hit a gap too far to the right and slid across and down a rock ledge. The rest of the whitewater went okay – no really hairy situations but got out of position several more times and misread the water quite a few times also. When Greg and I paddled, I only hit one rock the entire run. Seemed that I hit one rock every hundred yards on my own. The Expedition is definitely in need of some fiberglass work. Several spots where the gel coat is knocked off along the keel, and a number of deep and long gouges.
The rapids looked way bigger in person, trust me!
The last rapid that I planned to run was First Break which is at the top of Belle Island. Somehow I completely forgot which side of a little island I needed to be on and ran a different, but manageable rapid. Realized my mistake, which left me needing to ferry across the run out from First Break to get to the flat rocks on Belle Isle for my take out. The flow from First Break leads down into Approach rapid and then Hollywood which is Class 4 at this water level – way beyond my abilities in any boat, much less the Expedition. The flow was not that fast, so I was confident in my ability to ferry across but my heart was still racing a little as I pushed off.
First Break Rapid viewed from Belle Island
After a successful ferry, I pulled the boat up on the rocks and unloaded everything so that I could get it on the cart and up onto the trail. Once all the gear was back in, I started down the trail only to quickly realize that indeed I should have screwed the other tire on when I had the chance. The remaining tire came off, so I was again left rolling on one tire (with drywall screws through it) and one plastic wheel. Tiring as it was to pull the loaded boat, I just kept thinking how much better it was than 7 miles on city streets! I had not checked the time until I got to the end of Belle Isle and was preparing to paddle across to the Tredegar Street takeout. I was pleased to see that it was only 10:30 am.
Belle Island now houses a series of trails for hikers, bikers and runners but it has a much sadder history. In addition to a foundry, Belle Isle also served as a prison for Federal soldiers during the Civil War. It was an island of misery for thousands of men, many of whom never made it home.
The paddle across to Tredegar Street was uneventful, but the loose rock incline that I had to traverse to get to the walkway, again had me worried about my boat. Instead of unloading everything again, I started crab walking the loaded boat up the gravel trying to set it down gently each time, keeping a sharp eye out for an athletic looking pedestrian to help me. Normally this area is hopping with foot traffic including plenty of runners, but the rain was keeping everyone away. I had just resigned myself to unloading gear from the boat yet again, when a car pulled up in an adjacent parking area. A husky guy (good news) and a young woman hopped out and started in my direction. Turns out it was a reporter and cameraman for the local CBS affiliate. They were doing a story on how people were coping with the rain and wanted to interview me. Quite the sight – me sopping wet from the rain and the river with an 18’ sea kayak sideways on this gravel incline. Nothing to do but make a deal – I would give the interview provided the strapping young cameraman would help me carry the kayak up to the trail and get it on the cart.
We did a quick interview, about 15 seconds of which ended up on the evening news. Most importantly, I was back on flat ground with the boat on the cart. Even with only one tire the portage went pretty well – exhausting, but I got to the end of the trail. The toughest part was the final thirty feet over rip rap to get back down to the water. I carefully worked the cart over and between the rocks and finally slid the boat, still attached to the cart, back down into the river. I came close to deserting the cart and asking Greg or Chris to come by and get it to a dumpster, but figured if she brought me this far the least I could do was keep her along. Plus, I just did not know what other surprises the trip might throw at me.
After eating my lunch and checking in with Kate, it was time to deal with the last riffle before tidal water. Since I ended up screwing up the first riffle of the trip, it was no surprise when I screwed up this last one as well. Because this riffle (really a series of three riffles) is partially tidal, it looked a lot bonier than when Greg and I had scouted closer to high tide. The first part went well, by choosing a good line I cruised through and was in good shape for the second little section. As I was cruising through that section I realized that there was yet another really rocky section to the right or I could cut to the left. I was able to pull into the dead water between these two channels but my stern was pointed to the left. Since the left channel was the one that I wanted to go down and there was no way of turning the boat without climbing out onto the little muddy island, I figured I’d just run this last riffle backward. Heck, kayaks are pointy on both ends for a reason. Given my whitewater performance, it was probably appropriate to finish up bass-ackards.
Despite getting through the whitewater and three portages, I still had a long paddle ahead if I was to make my destination of Dutch Gap Conservation Area. Greg had gotten me permission to camp in the conservation area and mentioned that there was a picnic shelter and port-a-john, both of which sounded pretty good after all the rain. The tide was forecast to be against me this afternoon, but I was not sure how much impact it would have this far upriver. Immediately below the last riffle I could not feel any tidal effect, but it was slack and nasty. There was lots of trash in the water and it smelled like sewer – no doubt, extra pungent because of all the storm sewer runoff over the last few days. I had filled up my Katadyn filter bottle while stopped for lunch and after seeing and smelling this stretch of river decided to dump that water out and replace it with what I was packing in the back hatch. For the upper river, I had used the filter for my on-water drinking needs and generally used my water supply for cooking and in the evenings. I had last filled up at Brightly and had plenty to last through Dutch’s Gap, although I was not sure when my next opportunity to fill up would be. If I got desperate, I could always pull up on someone’s lawn and ask permission to fill up from their spigot. While I did not plan to frequent them since they usually required paddling out of the way, there were also marinas along my intended route that I could divert to if needed.
I was surprised by how industrial-canal like the 7 miles or so below Richmond is. I had never paddled this section before and quite honestly can’t think of any reason to paddle it again. Lots of trash floating along the edges, steep muddy banks with that smell of tidal flat at low tide mixed with diesel fuel . Not much boat activity on this rainy Monday – a tug holding a barge in place while it was loaded with what appeared to be coal dust. Also passed a relatively small container ship being loaded at the Richmond deepwater port. The ship appeared to be Scandinavian and had what to my eye was a bow design for breaking through ice. It also had what appeared to be a small submarine near the stern.
As quickly as the river turns from whitewater to Industrial Canal, near Drewry’s Bluff the river opens up and takes on the characteristics of the lower tidal James River that I am more familiar with. I really traversed three rivers this day – the urban whitewater of Richmond, the slack industrial canal section coming out of Richmond and the upper tidal stretch. It was a long slog from Drewry’s to Osbourne Landing where I got out and called Kate about 3:30pm. It just poured and poured rain most of the day. At one point I thought it could not rain any harder, apparently mother nature heard my thought and decided to have some fun, because it immediately opened up even harder.
As I was to learn was my pattern, late in the afternoon I got a second wind and picked up the pace for the final stretch to the turn off for Dutch’s Gap. The Conservation Area is in an old barge pit, whatever that is, which requires about a two mile paddle off the main river. As I entered the barge pit, I could see a metal building with an upper deck lookout, a wood and shingled picnic area and a metal covered picnic area. There was also a parked Ford Explorer, but no one around. Given the rain, I really wanted to have at least some shelter from the picnic shelter. The metal shelter was just over grass, which with all the rain was reverting back to marsh. The wooden shelter had a concrete pad, and while it was very wet around the edges, there was a spot in the middle that was only damp. I moved the picnic tables around to create a solo tent sized open spot in the middle. Since I obviously could not stake into cement, I had to put my knot tying skills to the test and run guy lines to the tables and shelter uprights. Lots of bowlines and trucker’s hitches had me well secured for the additional rain and wind that the evening would bring.
After a very long day, I was exhausted and hungry. I spread out my gear on the picnic tables and ate an entire Backpacker’s Pantry meal. Even with a warm meal in me, the long, wet day had left me quite chilled, but I was not ready to crawl into my tent yet. As I was sitting under the shelter, the skies cleared some and I actually got to see part of a sunset. I saw a canoe with two paddlers approaching the point and figured they belonged with the parked Explorer. Turned out to be a Virginia Tech grad student and his assistant. They had been out in the rain checking on the warbler nesting boxes. This was apparently the assistants first outing, so I helped with loading the canoe on top of the truck. After talking to Kate, Emma, Mom and Dad by cell, I was ready to climb into my slightly damp sleeping bag and get some rest. I was telling Mom about the day and she remarked that the whitewater must have been fun. It dawned on me, how stressful the morning had been. It was a huge relief to be through Richmond and camped under a shelter with permission for the evening. While there were certainly other challenges awaiting me downriver, I felt confident that I could handle them.
Richmond (Huguenot Woods) to Dutch Gap Conservation Area, 20 miles
This was the day that I had been most worried about during the preparations for the trip. Initially my plan was to portage about 7 miles through Richmond on city streets with a fully loaded kayak. Luckily, Greg Velzy with Chesterfield County showed me the low water route through most of the Richmond rapids, which would leave only two portages of a combined mile and a half. After the struggles with portaging a fully loaded boat just a couple miles at Brightly, it was definitely the right decision. The trade off, however, was paddling a fully loaded, eighteen foot, fiberglass sea kayak through some solid Class 2 rapids. My goal was to get through without hurting myself or doing “trip ending” damage to the boat.
I woke early to more rain, although it stopped as I was getting my breakfast together. I should have broken down my tent as soon as the rain let up, but instead I continued eating my breakfast. Mistake – by the time I finished and needed to take the tent apart it was raining hard again. Tent was soaked between the night before and taking it down in the rain. My sleeping bag and tent clothes (pajama bottoms, long sleeve cotton t-shirt and socks) got damp despite my best efforts to keep them dry.
I was on the water by 7:45 a.m., time to face my concerns and get through the Richmond Fall Line – 105 feet of vertical drop in seven miles. The first challenge of the morning would be a fairly short portage around Z-dam. As I approached the dam, I could not remember exactly where the portage trail was. I was fairly certain that the takeout was very near the dam, but sure did not want to make a mistake with that and get too close to the dam. When I got to the first warning signs which are under the power lines, I pulled into shore and walked through the brambles to confirm my memory of the portage takeout. The trail was short and sandy so I dragged the boat over the trail.
Pony Pasture was the first real whitewater of the trip and awaited me after a flat water section below Z-dam. My guidebook was 1 ½ pages of soggy notes that I had written down after Greg and I paddled the week before my departure. With memory jogs like ”eddy behind the flat rock that is just in front of the tall domed rock” and “hit the wave train then cut back toward the dog beach”; I was suddenly wishing that Greg was in front of me to lead the way again. Regardless, the run was mine to make.
The notes worked well for Pony Pasture although at one spot I hit a gap too far to the right and slid across and down a rock ledge. The rest of the whitewater went okay – no really hairy situations but got out of position several more times and misread the water quite a few times also. When Greg and I paddled, I only hit one rock the entire run. Seemed that I hit one rock every hundred yards on my own. The Expedition is definitely in need of some fiberglass work. Several spots where the gel coat is knocked off along the keel, and a number of deep and long gouges.
The rapids looked way bigger in person, trust me!
The last rapid that I planned to run was First Break which is at the top of Belle Island. Somehow I completely forgot which side of a little island I needed to be on and ran a different, but manageable rapid. Realized my mistake, which left me needing to ferry across the run out from First Break to get to the flat rocks on Belle Isle for my take out. The flow from First Break leads down into Approach rapid and then Hollywood which is Class 4 at this water level – way beyond my abilities in any boat, much less the Expedition. The flow was not that fast, so I was confident in my ability to ferry across but my heart was still racing a little as I pushed off.
First Break Rapid viewed from Belle Island
After a successful ferry, I pulled the boat up on the rocks and unloaded everything so that I could get it on the cart and up onto the trail. Once all the gear was back in, I started down the trail only to quickly realize that indeed I should have screwed the other tire on when I had the chance. The remaining tire came off, so I was again left rolling on one tire (with drywall screws through it) and one plastic wheel. Tiring as it was to pull the loaded boat, I just kept thinking how much better it was than 7 miles on city streets! I had not checked the time until I got to the end of Belle Isle and was preparing to paddle across to the Tredegar Street takeout. I was pleased to see that it was only 10:30 am.
Belle Island now houses a series of trails for hikers, bikers and runners but it has a much sadder history. In addition to a foundry, Belle Isle also served as a prison for Federal soldiers during the Civil War. It was an island of misery for thousands of men, many of whom never made it home.
The paddle across to Tredegar Street was uneventful, but the loose rock incline that I had to traverse to get to the walkway, again had me worried about my boat. Instead of unloading everything again, I started crab walking the loaded boat up the gravel trying to set it down gently each time, keeping a sharp eye out for an athletic looking pedestrian to help me. Normally this area is hopping with foot traffic including plenty of runners, but the rain was keeping everyone away. I had just resigned myself to unloading gear from the boat yet again, when a car pulled up in an adjacent parking area. A husky guy (good news) and a young woman hopped out and started in my direction. Turns out it was a reporter and cameraman for the local CBS affiliate. They were doing a story on how people were coping with the rain and wanted to interview me. Quite the sight – me sopping wet from the rain and the river with an 18’ sea kayak sideways on this gravel incline. Nothing to do but make a deal – I would give the interview provided the strapping young cameraman would help me carry the kayak up to the trail and get it on the cart.
We did a quick interview, about 15 seconds of which ended up on the evening news. Most importantly, I was back on flat ground with the boat on the cart. Even with only one tire the portage went pretty well – exhausting, but I got to the end of the trail. The toughest part was the final thirty feet over rip rap to get back down to the water. I carefully worked the cart over and between the rocks and finally slid the boat, still attached to the cart, back down into the river. I came close to deserting the cart and asking Greg or Chris to come by and get it to a dumpster, but figured if she brought me this far the least I could do was keep her along. Plus, I just did not know what other surprises the trip might throw at me.
After eating my lunch and checking in with Kate, it was time to deal with the last riffle before tidal water. Since I ended up screwing up the first riffle of the trip, it was no surprise when I screwed up this last one as well. Because this riffle (really a series of three riffles) is partially tidal, it looked a lot bonier than when Greg and I had scouted closer to high tide. The first part went well, by choosing a good line I cruised through and was in good shape for the second little section. As I was cruising through that section I realized that there was yet another really rocky section to the right or I could cut to the left. I was able to pull into the dead water between these two channels but my stern was pointed to the left. Since the left channel was the one that I wanted to go down and there was no way of turning the boat without climbing out onto the little muddy island, I figured I’d just run this last riffle backward. Heck, kayaks are pointy on both ends for a reason. Given my whitewater performance, it was probably appropriate to finish up bass-ackards.
Despite getting through the whitewater and three portages, I still had a long paddle ahead if I was to make my destination of Dutch Gap Conservation Area. Greg had gotten me permission to camp in the conservation area and mentioned that there was a picnic shelter and port-a-john, both of which sounded pretty good after all the rain. The tide was forecast to be against me this afternoon, but I was not sure how much impact it would have this far upriver. Immediately below the last riffle I could not feel any tidal effect, but it was slack and nasty. There was lots of trash in the water and it smelled like sewer – no doubt, extra pungent because of all the storm sewer runoff over the last few days. I had filled up my Katadyn filter bottle while stopped for lunch and after seeing and smelling this stretch of river decided to dump that water out and replace it with what I was packing in the back hatch. For the upper river, I had used the filter for my on-water drinking needs and generally used my water supply for cooking and in the evenings. I had last filled up at Brightly and had plenty to last through Dutch’s Gap, although I was not sure when my next opportunity to fill up would be. If I got desperate, I could always pull up on someone’s lawn and ask permission to fill up from their spigot. While I did not plan to frequent them since they usually required paddling out of the way, there were also marinas along my intended route that I could divert to if needed.
I was surprised by how industrial-canal like the 7 miles or so below Richmond is. I had never paddled this section before and quite honestly can’t think of any reason to paddle it again. Lots of trash floating along the edges, steep muddy banks with that smell of tidal flat at low tide mixed with diesel fuel . Not much boat activity on this rainy Monday – a tug holding a barge in place while it was loaded with what appeared to be coal dust. Also passed a relatively small container ship being loaded at the Richmond deepwater port. The ship appeared to be Scandinavian and had what to my eye was a bow design for breaking through ice. It also had what appeared to be a small submarine near the stern.
As quickly as the river turns from whitewater to Industrial Canal, near Drewry’s Bluff the river opens up and takes on the characteristics of the lower tidal James River that I am more familiar with. I really traversed three rivers this day – the urban whitewater of Richmond, the slack industrial canal section coming out of Richmond and the upper tidal stretch. It was a long slog from Drewry’s to Osbourne Landing where I got out and called Kate about 3:30pm. It just poured and poured rain most of the day. At one point I thought it could not rain any harder, apparently mother nature heard my thought and decided to have some fun, because it immediately opened up even harder.
As I was to learn was my pattern, late in the afternoon I got a second wind and picked up the pace for the final stretch to the turn off for Dutch’s Gap. The Conservation Area is in an old barge pit, whatever that is, which requires about a two mile paddle off the main river. As I entered the barge pit, I could see a metal building with an upper deck lookout, a wood and shingled picnic area and a metal covered picnic area. There was also a parked Ford Explorer, but no one around. Given the rain, I really wanted to have at least some shelter from the picnic shelter. The metal shelter was just over grass, which with all the rain was reverting back to marsh. The wooden shelter had a concrete pad, and while it was very wet around the edges, there was a spot in the middle that was only damp. I moved the picnic tables around to create a solo tent sized open spot in the middle. Since I obviously could not stake into cement, I had to put my knot tying skills to the test and run guy lines to the tables and shelter uprights. Lots of bowlines and trucker’s hitches had me well secured for the additional rain and wind that the evening would bring.
After a very long day, I was exhausted and hungry. I spread out my gear on the picnic tables and ate an entire Backpacker’s Pantry meal. Even with a warm meal in me, the long, wet day had left me quite chilled, but I was not ready to crawl into my tent yet. As I was sitting under the shelter, the skies cleared some and I actually got to see part of a sunset. I saw a canoe with two paddlers approaching the point and figured they belonged with the parked Explorer. Turned out to be a Virginia Tech grad student and his assistant. They had been out in the rain checking on the warbler nesting boxes. This was apparently the assistants first outing, so I helped with loading the canoe on top of the truck. After talking to Kate, Emma, Mom and Dad by cell, I was ready to climb into my slightly damp sleeping bag and get some rest. I was telling Mom about the day and she remarked that the whitewater must have been fun. It dawned on me, how stressful the morning had been. It was a huge relief to be through Richmond and camped under a shelter with permission for the evening. While there were certainly other challenges awaiting me downriver, I felt confident that I could handle them.
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