Fall 2005 |
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(12/08/05) A Paddler's View of Water Quality - see below NEW |
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(09/01/05) Valcour and Crab Islands - An Historic Paddle - Island Hop #1 - Two Beautiful and Historic Islands – Finally we are back on the water after a 5 week break during which Margy was preoccupied with granddaughters and weddings. Until we both move back to Shelburne and South Burlington respectively, we are by necessity going to be Island Hopping. In reality we have covered most of the regular shoreline in the northern half of the lake, leaving only the smaller islands to now paddle around. There are a surprising number of enchanting islands in the northern part of the Lake that we ignored when we were covering the shoreline saying “We will come back to these islands later.” And so we now are. We loaded my car with both kayaks and assorted gear efficiently, without forgetting anything major, a miracle in itself after so long a break. However we covered ourselves in South Hero road dirt in the process. The dirt road between my house and Margy’s is receiving major work this summer. My car has done more than its share of collecting the left over dirt, dust, and clay particles that come with the new gravel. Someone wrote “Wash Me” in big letters on the side of my car the other day while I was parked somewhere which prompted me to write back in equally large letters “Why Bother!”. To leave my house I have to drive at least 2 miles in any direction to get to a paved road in the summer. A car wash only lasts until I hit the dirt road again. So rather than wash my car in summer and add more phosphorus to the lake I sheepishly give it a mini bath each time I fill up with gas. Most people clean their front and back windshields while waiting for their tank to fill. I wash the side view mirrors, front lights, tail lights (carefully avoiding the back license plate), the driver’s door and sometimes, if no one is looking, the whole back of the van as well. We had only a 5 minute wait for the Grand Isle Ferry which was plenty of time for Margy to get some money from the ATM machine, a cup of coffee for me and a huge, hot, just out of the oven, raisin bran muffin for us to split. For all we have used this ferry in our kayaking adventures over the past 3 years, most often with two cars each trip, LCLT really ought to be the sponsor of our adventure. I can see it now, the little ferry and balloon logo painted on the sides of our kayaks in exchange for free rides whenever we are on a kayaking trip, or maybe just a few helium filled balloons attached to the bow of our kayaks would do. Anyway, the home made muffins from the Ferry Dock Restaurant are definitely worth stopping for. A huge double logging truck pulled up right next to us on the ferry. It was only a little less intimidating because it was empty. It was literally only 6 inches from the side of my car. I rolled my car window down so I could reach out and touch the truck just to affirm that my eyesight was not fooling me and when I did so the smell of freshly cut pine, left over from its last load no doubt, filled the car. I never ride this ferry without being reminded of a wonderful excursion that Joe and I took many years ago when our daughters were 1 and 3. We were going over to Cumberland Head as foot passengers to have a picnic on the pebbly beach just to the south of the ferry landing. We walked onto the ferry, one child in arms and the other firmly attached to one of our hands and walked to the very front of the boat. As we watched the dock slip away behind us and we headed out into the lake, our 3 year old looked up at me with a puzzled look on her face and said “Mommy, are we pulling the road behind us?” It was too wonderful a question to respond to in any other way than to walk back to the stern of the boat and take a look at what had happened to the road. I never ride this ferry without having a whimsical mental image of pulling the road behind us. I also remember, with almost equal amusement that our 1 year old started crying the minute the ferry pulled away on the Cumberland head side leaving us on the beach to have our picnic. She did not stop crying until we finished our lunch and were once again safely back on the ferry. Ah, if only we knew what went on in those wonderfully active new little minds. The Peru Boat Access, just south of the Valcour Marina is complete with picnic areas, adequate parking and real restroom facilities, a welcome change from Vermont Fish and Wildlife’s spartan boat accesses adorned only with a single port-a-let. We launched quickly and headed due east to Valcour Island. With the wind behind us and no space for the waves to built up, it was an easy ¾ mile paddle. The newly renovated Valcour Lighthouse sitting on the bluff directly ahead of us dominated our view. After a long debate as to which direction we should go around the island, based on the diametrically opposite way we each had interpreted Mark Breen’s Eye-on-the-Sky weather forecast that morning, we finally settled on heading north first along the west shore of Valcour and then across the almost two miles of open water to Crab Island. It was a smart decision as the wind only increased as the day progressed. It was a challenging paddle with the wind probably a steady 15 mph gusting to 20 mostly from the west but shifting to SW and NW depending on how close we were to one island or the other. That meant we were challenged to keep unexpected large waves from hitting us broadside for the whole 2 mile crossing. When a set of larger waves approached we turned into them just enough to keep ourselves in control and then eased off as the waves abated somewhat. The crossing was particularly difficult on Margy whose kayak does not have a rudder. As a result, because she could not control and adjust for the wind coming across her bow, she basically had to paddle on the right side of her boat the whole way over which got pretty tiring for her rusty and weary right arm muscles. My kayak was much more accommodating and forgiving. Regardless, the lee shore of Crab Island was a welcome sight as we temporarily put out of mind the fact that we would have to cross the open water once again to get back to Valcour. What neither of us had verbalized on the way over was that the wind was blowing away from the shore and had either of us capsized we would have probably ended up in Vermont before we got ourselves righted. Unfortunately Crab is a small island and we ran out of lee shore quickly. Crab Island was used to care for the sick and injured during the Battle of Plattsburgh in the War of 1812. Both American and British soldiers are buried there. There is a monument to the fallen and a huge flagpole on the west side of the island. If you are not worried about the next wave, the flagpole can be seen from quite a distance. Margy wanted to stop and check out the monument and trails even though I warned her that the trails were nothing more than mowed poison ivy. With nothing but sandals to protect my feet from the abundant poison ivy and having toured the island the preceding summer with the couple who have been working so hard to restore this island so that its history could be appropriately honored and appreciated, I declined to join her. Actually I had images of getting poison ivy all over my feet and ankles just in time for my daughter’s wedding three weeks hence. I suppose it was now officially my turn to start worrying about a daughter’s wedding and Margy’s turn to sit back relaxed and probably somewhat amused, and watch me develop new appreciation for what she had just gone through. With a little trepidation, we left Crab behind and headed south to Valcour. We soon discovered that crossing back to Valcour, with the wind a little more behind us than broadside, was going to be easier and faster than the trip over. Still, the waves had only increased in size and we were glad to have the hard part of the trip behind us. We rounded the north end of Valcour and headed down the east side and felt as if we had entered another world, a world of beauty, calm and tranquility. What a difference the lee shore of an island can make. Having been too preoccupied with wind and waves all morning to take a food break, we decided that whatever other time it might be, it was clearly lunchtime. We stopped at the first point of land on the east, just north of Spoon Bay. We scrambled out of our kayaks stepping gingerly onto and across some very slippery underwater rocks. We sat down on a long flat rock with our lunches and enjoyed an unobscured view of South Hero and Grand Isle to the east. It was a short distance home as the crow flies, a mere 3 ½ miles (had we been crows or wanted to go home, which we didn’t). I think we both could have sat on those flat rocks forever, and made up for all our many previous floating lunches. Instead I got up to take some pictures and, camera ready, stepped onto another flat but wet rock above the water line. Next thing I knew I was flat on my back, head and hat sopping wet having just had my feet fly out from under me as if a had stepped unknowingly onto black ice. I managed a rather hard landing on my back side and both hands, one of which had my camera in it. Margy claims the thud of my landing caught her attention, or perhaps she just heard my rather loud explicative “Oh……” when I landed. Fortunately there was no harm done except to my ego and camera. But I figured if you are going to wipe out and look rather foolish in the process you might as well take the camera out with you to prevent any permanent record of the event. I took the batteries out of the camera and left it open on the rocks to dry hoping to perhaps save it. (The next day Lw ZOt Camera Repair examined the camera and gave me the sad news that it was mortally wounded. Fortunately I was able to download the pictures I had already saved on the memory card.) Meanwhile, not to dwell on my real or perceived bruises, I started looking for fossils. There are many to be found on the shores of Valcour and sure enough it turns out we were picnicking on fossil packed rocks. We spent about half and hour mesmerized by each new fossil find but finally forced ourselves to get back in our kayaks and continue on. It is not that we did not want to go. We just wanted to savor every inch and moment of this enchanted island. Valcour is owned by the state of New York who maintains it as a primitive camping area. There are well designed campsites throughout the island, many with anchorages in protected harbors. Valcour literally has a safe harbor for every wind direction. There are pebbly beaches buttressed on either side by rocky cliffs and clear water. It is truly a boaters’ and campers’ paradise. For that reason there are always a lot of boats anchored in it many harbors and the campsites are almost always full. Occupancy is on a first come first serve basis. Like all good Champlain Islands, it also has its share of lush poison ivy and mosquitoes. We were fortunately well beyond mosquito season and we planned on saving a hike around the island for another trip. As we paddled on, we took our time, going in and out of every little cove and paddling around every rock that could be even remotely called an island. We did not want to leave this beautiful sheltered shore but eventually we arrived at the south end of the island, turned west and very soon after passing the relatively dramatic cliffs on the south shore, found ourselves once again back in the north west wind headed up to the point from which we had first stared around the island. Had it been October 1776 instead of September 2005 we would have been paddling the route the British had to sail in order to get within firing range of the rag tag American Navy that formed a line across the water from the mainland to Valcour that coincided with the route we had paddled earlier in the morning. On this particular sparkling day it was really hard for me to transport myself back to that fateful battle of the American Revolution. I could not imagine something so violent and significant happening here, where I sat transfixed by the beauty of of our surroundings. I wonder if the people who lived in the Champlain Valley then, native Americans, colonialist, Frenchmen, and Englishmen, did not think it strange to be engaged in such a battle in one of the most beautiful places in their world. Surely it must have seemed out of place and wrong to be violating this place of beauty and serenity. And yet the battle was necessary for our eventual ability to win our war of independence. The choice of this spot to engage the British fleet sailing south from Montreal was brilliant on the part of our naval commander, Benedict Arnold. Arnold knew that for the British fleet to sail efficiently from Quebec they needed a strong north wind. So he hid his boats between the New York shore and Valcour just below the Bluff Point which projects westward from the middle of the west side of Valcour thus blocking the view of anyone looking down the channel from the north. The British fleet would have to sail by the island on the broad lake side and pass Valcour before they could see the American fleet, now well behind them. At that point they would have to turn and sail directly into the strong northwest wind to get back up to what would become the battle line. That gave Arnold and his fleet a short period of advantage, thus probably prolonging the battle longer than one would have expected possible given the larger and more numerous ships of the British. The British had all but won the battle when night fell, but under the cover of fog and darkness the wily Arnold had his men silently row their gunboats south along the New York shore. By the next day they had reached Schuyler Island and the British, faced now with a south wind were slow to follow. But eventually time and providence caught up with Arnold and his fleet. They were forced to sink two boats off Schuyler and use valuable time to mend some of the others boats, battered but still useable. It eventually became apparent to the Americans that they would not escape the British now bearing down them and so they sailed across the lake to the Vermont side to what is now called Arnold Bay. There they removed the injured, abandon their remaining boats and then set fire to them to prevent them from falling into the hands of the British. No one can claim we won the Battle of Valcour but the delaying effect it had on the British advance south, gave us the winter of 1776-77 to refresh our forces. The following spring General Burgoyne and his army were beaten at the battle of Saratoga, acknowledged as one of the major turning points of the war. I cannot end this reflection on the Battle of Valcour without quoting H. N. Muller’s statement in the foreword to Ralph Nading Hill’s wonderful book Lake Champlain Key to Liberty “The future of the Untied States rested precariously in a balance that could have been tipped by a change in the wind in 1776 at Valcour Island…” Oddly enough, I find I have to rid my mind of the beauty of this island and its setting to fully appreciate the significance of the battle that occurred there, and the effect it has had on our nation’s history. It is hard not to be overwhelmed on so many fronts when under the spell of Valcour Island. |
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(09/08/05) Burton Island -So Close Yet So Far - The forecast was as definitive as John Robert’s testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee, cloudy, with SW winds 5-15 mph in the morning, shifting at some undisclosed time to NW, 5-15 mph with possible showers and thunderstorms accompanying the shift. It was clearly not a good island hop day but we were determined to get a kayak in this week and we were running out of days, so off we went to Kamp Kill Kare State Park at the end of St. Alban’s Point to paddle around Burton Island and perhaps Woods Island if the weather held. This was the most sheltered paddle in the northern part of the Lake we still had left to do. Burton Island is really close to the mainland. In fact if the lake were 3 feet lower it would be part of the mainland. However we were very leery of heading across the open water to Woods Island not knowing what the wind and waves might turn into while we were there. We decided not to make a final decision on Woods Island until we absolutely had to. We arrived at Kill Kare only to see a “Closed for the Season” sign. DAH! That happened to us last year at Kingsland Bay State Park and after that experience you would have thought one of us would have remembered that most state parks close after Labor Day. This adventure of ours around the Lake works well because there are two of us and our skills, observations, and personalities complement each other for the most part. So too with our rememberings and forgettings, they usually complement each other. It is rare that we both forget the same thing on the same day. Oh, well at least we had the keys to the car and our Gatorade. So on to a newly developed plan B. If nothing else we are flexible. We back tracked to a Fish and Wildlife Boat Access a little more than a mile back in Albans Bay. There was another boat ramp indicated on the map on the other side of St. Albans Point, in Lapans Bay which would have been more protected from the SW wind but we did not see any road to it on the map or on the ground. Interesting – a ramp without a road – how useful. We launched on the lee side of the F&W access ramp and the minute we turned into the wind Margy instinctively took a hard tug on her baseball hat and commented that this was surely a “Loose your hat day”. I immediately followed her example and yanked my hat down tight on my head as well. For the first mile we paddled hard into the south wind and moderate waves but as soon as we passed Hathaway Point the waves became noticeably larger and the wind stronger. Burton Island is not more than half a mile from the tip of St. Albans Point and that shallow and short distance is broken up by a small island. On a calm day you could probably walk or swim across. But this was not a calm day. Some of the waves we were surprised to suddenly find ourselves in were 3 feet high. We kept our distance from each other to allow each of us to maneuver quickly as needed and turned as much west as we dare to head for the first lee shore of Burton Island. Turning west put the waves broadside to us so when a large wave appeared on the horizon we headed south up into the wind and then inched back west as best we could when the waves subsided for a few cycles. It quickly became clear to us that it was not only a “loose your hat day” but also a “watch every wave day”. I pulled in on a little indentation of the shore on the northeast corner of Burton Island. It was so calm that two ducks were drifting peacefully along the shore. Yet 10 yards to the south I could see the waves and rough water I had just emerged from, separated by my current tranquil setting by only a small spit of land not more than a yard or two wide. Margy arrived shortly, as relieved as I to be in calmer water. We immediately reevaluated our options. We had just covered two miles and felt like we had crossed the Atlantic. Once we made the decision to go clockwise around Burton Island there would be no turning back because while paddling into the 15-20 mph winds and 3 foot waves was bad enough, having them at our back and running before them would be a lot worse. We also noted for the first time with a little discouragement that once we turned the corner at the southwest tip of Burton Island we could have the wind directly behind us for a while before we got to the lee shore. Well, we reasoned, we had come this far so we might as well go for it and so out we went back into the wind and waves. It was exhilarating to say the least, somewhat akin to being on a roller coaster with a constantly changing and unpredictable track. Margy stayed just behind me well to my left. I turned to make sure she was still upright as often as I dared, cursing myself for not having done any yoga since May. Meanwhile she was watching and listening to my kayak ride high over a big wave and then crash down the other side with a loud smack. She said I was making a lot more noise than she was. There is a small shallow shelf around Burton Island. That shelf and the island itself are no doubt what were creating the large, often breaking, waves in this strong south wind. One particular wave almost did me in. My bow cleared it beautifully but the back half of it curled and broke right over my shoulder, sending what felt like buckets of cold water down my neck and leaving plenty in the bowl created by my sagging spray skirt. Margy later told me she thought I was a goner for sure on that one. Perhaps it was my expletives to the gods that kept me upright. As we approached the tip of the island we moved farther apart, turned north and paddled like crazy to keep ourselves headed straight and ahead of the waves and away from the rocks. There is a tiny indentation just beyond the point where the water looked calm and we both instinctively pulled into it for a breather. Adrenalin flowing, we were exhilarated and, for that short moment while we sat in the calm water, feeling invincible. After a quick stop to stretch our legs and whatever, we got back in our boats and headed back into the waves. It took us only minutes to reach the point where the shore turned northeast and we were at last in calm water. We looked longingly at Woods Island about a mile and a half across open water to the north and decided it would have to wait for another day. With our attention now freed to look at the shoreline we started to notice the many attractive campsites set back from the shore, each with a picnic table near the shore with a wonderful view of the lake. Burton Island is a State Park, one of the most popular ones in the state and for good reason. Except for mosquitoes and poison ivy it is an idyllic setting. There are state run ferries to it that run all summer from both Kill Kare and North Hero. We paddled around the next point to find 3 loons swimming ahead of us. We passed two families of ducks being careful to allow them plenty of room for them to escape to open water if they wanted to. One family did. The other hugged the short and turned their heads inland as if not looking at us meant we were not really there. It did not take us long to round the northeast corner of the island and head into the large protected harbor. The harbor at Burton Island is ideal. There is both an outer and inner harbor. Our first stop was on the pebbly beach just beyond the roped off swimming area because by this time we were famished of course. I have not idea what time it was, but it was clearly lunch time. It is amazing how good peanut butter and jelly or a bagel with cold rubbery cheese (Margy’s standard lunch) can taste. At that moment it was clearly my most favorite meal ever. I used the rest of my Gatorade to wash my peanut butter down. Add that descriptive to the day – it was a “loose your hat, watch every wave, drink plenty of Gatorade” day! After lunch Margy paddled over to the base of the harbor, beached her kayak and explored the bulletin board and registration area. There were maybe 2 dozen large garden carts lined up ready for use next summer. While she did that I paddled into the inner harbor which was like a wonderful rabbit warren of docking sites, more extensive than I could have imagined, all well protected although I could hear that south wind in the tops of the trees. I knew it was not done with us yet nor we with it. I was sort of hoping for that ill defined wind shift to the northwest before we headed back but such was not to be. We paddled back across the narrow channel along the north and protected side of the little island between Burton and the mainland. Then, giving our hats yet another tug, we headed south through the channel and back out into the wild wind and waves. We knew we would have to paddle the rest of the way back into St. Albans Bay, at least as far as Hathaway Point, with the full brunt of the wind and waves behind us. In all fairness I think the wind was starting to drop a little but it was another exhilarating ride and I was happy to reach the shelter of the Point. I turned around and waited for Margy who was close behind me. The rest of the trip was pretty mellow. We looked at the camps along the shore, many clearly still camps with just a few having been converted to or rebuild as year round homes. Sadly, we figured in another few years this shoreline would look like Burlington’s, with few seasonal camps left. We also noted a bank of dark clouds starting to appear in the northwest. When we got back to our launch site we just sat there for a few moments, wanting to somehow enjoy the peace of the moment and put off lifting the boats onto the top of the car as long as possible. As we drove through South Hero the wind had clearly shifted to the northwest as predicted and it looked like it was about to pour. I dropped Margy off and raced home hoping to arrive before the skies opened up. I got my kayak off the car in minutes and ran into the house to get the dog so she could go out before it rained hard. It was there my luck ran out and both Sophie and I got very wet before she had done enough sniffing to find a satisfactory spot in our yard to fertilize. All in all, it was another interesting and surprising day on Lake Champlain. |
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(09/16/05) Cedar-Fishbladder-Savage Islands - Island Hopping - coming soon!!
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