Is Visibility Statute or Nautical? Decide for Yourself

In a kayak, it's often good to know the distance to some destination or object. The human visual system is pretty bad at this task. I can easily recall many instances of paddling for hours without any apparent gain on large distant targets. It always feels that progress should be faster…

Kayak navigation books such as Burch or Ferrero provide some help. They give a simple formula for calculating distances at which objects with given elevations above the sea level will be seen. The range of visibility in miles is equal to the square root of elevation as measured in feet. For example, a light house 100 feet above the sea level will be visible from 10 miles away. The formula is for an observer at the sea level.

In a kayak, you are not at sea level. For an observer in a kayak cockpit, you can add 1.5 miles to the visibility range of an object as derived from the formula. One-and-a-half miles is the square root of the eye-level elevation above the surface of the water. On average, paddler's eyes are just over two feet above the surface. Here are some immediate applications—if you can see beach goers feet as they walk close to the water, you're roughly within 2 miles off-shore. That's 1.5 plus a little bit added for the elevation of the beach. Two kayaks will lose sight of each other when they are separated by three miles—one-and-a-half miles of visibility from each side.

This is where I got tripped up. The formula for the visibility range is supposed to give you statute, not nautical miles. Burch, then, suggests that the visibility range as determined this way is underestimated by about 15%. What this means is that 10-mile estimate for an object with 100' of elevation should actually be 11.5 miles instead. Funny, that just happens to be the distance in nautical miles. So what is going on here? Exactly how much off is the square root approximation?

Time to dust off high school trigonometry books. First, let's track down the mathematical solution to the problem. Then, we will have grounds to decide if the limits of visibility are statute or nautical and how precise they are.

Generalized shape of the Earth is basically a sphere. For our purposes, the sphere can be further reduced to a circle. An average radius from the center to the surface is approximately 3,440 nautical or 3,959 statute miles.

Any line that just touches the outside of the circle can be used to mark the range of visibility—objects whose height is above the line will be visible, the ones below will be obscured by the horizon. Another line can be drawn from the point where the visibility line touches the outside of the circle to the center of the Earth. This line will have two known properties: (1) its length will be Earth's radius and (2) its angle to the visibility line will be 90 degrees. The Earth's radius and the visibility line can be viewed as two sides of a right triangle. The hypotenuse of this triangle is equal to the Earth's radius plus the elevation of the object above the sea level. What we have here is a simple case of Pythagorean Theorem with two known sides of the right triangle. We can solve for the unknown third side. In our context, a² = c² - b²
can be written as Visibility² = (Radius + Elevation)² – Radius².


Plugging in the numbers and plotting the results of this equation we get the following picture. If the result of the square root solution is read in nautical miles, then it underestimates the actual distance by 6%. In statute miles, the distance is underestimated by just over 18%.

There it is clear as day: mathematically, the square root of elevation (measured in feet) is much closer to geographical visibility expressed in nautical rather than statute miles.

So why, then, is the formula is presented as offering the solution in statute miles? I don't know the answer to this one…

Here are some thoughts. Mathematical solution gives the distance at which the top of the object will reach the line of visibility. So the question is if you be able to see the top as soon as it reaches the line? To me, it depends. If the object is a mountaintop, the answer is most likely "No!" The tip of the mountain will have to get above the line at least somewhat to be seen. A mountain that is 400 feet above the sea level will reach the line of visibility when the distance is 21.3 nautical miles or 24.5 statute miles. Square root formula tells you that, when you first see the tip of the mountain, you are 20 miles away. By the numbers, when you are actually 20 nautical miles away, the mountain is already 47 feet above the line of visibility. When you are 20 statute miles away, the mountain will extend by 133'. When will you actually see the mountaintop? I don't know but, personally, I would rather be closer than I think I am. To me, nautical mile interpretation is a more conservative one and seems to be more appropriate.

If you are paddling at night and it is a light that you're looking for, you will see the glow well before it reaches the theoretical line. The moment the actual light emerges from beneath the horizon will be determined more precisely than in the previous scenario. Again, if the height of the light is known, it's square root is more appropriately interpreted as the distance in nautical, not statute, miles.

What do you think?

New Blog

This new blog will contain stories about paddling in Mid-West with the base in Chicago-Area and other paddling-related stuff.  I am currently working on a write-up of a week-long circumnavigation of Isle Royale completed in August, 2009.

Rules for Tides: Thirds, 50/90, Twelfths

Confused yet? I was! So I decided to work it out for myself once and for all. In the process, I found a way to inject some method into this madness. I have not seen the rules differentiated this way anywhere in the literature so I hope this will help clear things up for folks.

If you know the definitions for these rules, you can readily skip the next section and find the disambiguation in the Q and A part. The Math section will go into the mathematical details of how I figured this for myself. If you are a math type, you may find several hours of amusement therein. If you're not, it is likely to confuse you right back to where you started or worse.

DEFINITIONS

Here's a typical example of two rules mixed up into one: "The Rule of Thirds states that relative to the total maximum current speed, the current jumps 50% the first hour, 90% the second hour, 100% the third hour.  The current then decelerates to slack in the same order."  You can find this on page 90 of Sea Kayaking: Rough Waters (2007, Heliconia) by Alex Matthews.

Let's ask Gordon Brown—a recent kayak reference volume from a highly reputed BCU coach. On page 168 if his Sea Kayak (2006, Pesda) book he gives this for the Rule of Thirds: "… over the period of the first hour the current will flow at one third of its maximum rate …, for the second hour it will flow at two-thirds and the third hour at … three-thirds."  Hence the ubiquitous 1:2:3:3:2:1 abbreviation of the rule which stands for 1/3 of the max current rate in the first hour, 2/3 in the second hour, 3/3 during hours three and four, and then down to 2/3 in the fifth hour and 1/3 during the last hour of the cycle.

The 50/90 Rule gives you "… the speed of the current at the end of each hour." Starting from slack, the current will flow at 50% of its maximum speed at the end of the first hour, 90% at the end of the second hour and full 100% or maximum speed at the end of the third hour.  It will then slow down in the same steps: 90% at the end of the fourth hour, 50% fifth and back to slack at the end of the 6-hour period.  The full Rule of 50/90 should be stated as 0/50/90/100/90/50/0.

I could not find a reference to the Rule of Twelfths in Brown's volume so let's go to page 178 of David Burch's Fundamentals of Kayak Navigation (1999, Globe Pequot): "The rule of twelfths [is a] method of determining the tide height between high and low waters." In the six-hour period that separates the low and the high waters, the overall level will rise/fall 1/12^th of the full tidal range in the first hour, 2/12^ths in the second hour, 3/12^ths in the third hour. We know from the 50/90 Rule that after three hours the current reaches is maximum speed and starts to slow down. For the rest of the flood/ebb cycle the rise/fall of the water will be 3/12^ths in the fourth hour, 2/12^ths in the fifth and 1/12^th in the last sixth hour.  Here's a crown jewel or you: the Rule of Twelfths is also frequently presented as 1:2:3:3:2:1—same as Rule of Thirds! Fonfusing? Well, yes, you should be!!!

Burch also has definition of 50/90 Rule on page 226 as a "rule to estimate the effect of changing tidal current on net progress." Upon a quick scan, he does not seem to have the Rule of Thirds in his authoritative reference guide but there is a table in his text which gives "the constant current speed that is equivalent to the changing current of the cycle."

All of these definitions help me separate the Rule of Twelfths from the other two. Rule of Twelfths is about the height of the water while 50/90 and Thirds are both about the current. Horizontal and vertical dimensions.  Burch helps some by introducing the term 'net progress' but I think he has it associated with the wrong rule!

Q and A

Q: Are rules of Twelfths, Thirds, and 50/90 all dealing with the same thing? And, if so, can they be used interchangeably?
A: No! and No!

Q: I've heard that the Rule of Twelfths is different from the rules of Thirds and 50/90?
A: Yes! The Rule of Twelfths is about the rise and fall of the water levels at various stages of the tide while the latter two deal with current. Think VERTICAL versus HORIZONTAL dimension.

Q: That helps. So the rules of Thirds and 50/90 are basically interchangeable then, right?
A: No they are very different, although I've frequently seen write-ups using the two without distinction.

Q: But you said they were both about the current. What is the difference between them, then?
A: Think of it this way: Rule of 50/90 is used to estimate current speed at the end of each hour of the six-hour tidal period. The Rule of Thirds, on the other hand, is used to calculate distances that the current travels in full one-hour increments or drift. The first one describes the speed of the current at a single point in time, while the latter helps estimate what happens to an object affected by the current over a period of one hour.

Q: Wait, wait ... I don't get it. Is there a graph for this or something?
A: Great idea! Let's try a graph.

• Rule of 50/90: instantaneous speed of the current observed at each of the six hours in the tidal period ON THE HOUR.
  
• Rule of Thirds: cumulative distance the current travels DURING THE ENTIRE LENGTH OF EACH OF THE HOURS in the six-hour tidal period.
  
• Rule of Twelfths: cumulative change in the height of the water DURING THE ENTIRE LENGTH OF EACH OF THE HOURS in the tidal period.

Q: I think I get it but can you give an example?
A: We need to have some input information before the illustration can work. Let's say that High Water (HW) is at noon and Low Water (LW) is at 6pm. Reference materials specify that between noon and 6pm the water level will drop from 12' to 0' above the chart datum and the maximum ebb current speed will be 6 knots.

     The Rule of Twelfths will tell you that from noon to 1pm—the first hour of ebb tide—the water level will drop 1/12^th of the total change in water levels between HW and LW. Since 1/12^th of 12' is 1 foot, the water will drop from 12' to 11' between noon and 1pm. Between 1pm and 2pm the water will drop an additional 2/12^ths—that's 2 feet. At 2pm the water height will be two feet less than 11' or 9'. By 3pm the water will drop another 3/12^ths and will stand at 6'. Then another 3/12^ths by 4pm = 3'. Another 2/12^ths by 5pm = 1'. The final 1/12^th will drop the water level to 0' at 6pm.

     The 50/90 Rule helps estimate current speed at the top of the hour. At noon the speed is 0% of maximum—that's slack. At 1pm the current will pick up to 50% of its maximum flow or 3 knots (6*50%=3). At 2pm the current will flow at 90% of its maximum level or 5.4knots (6*90%=5.4). At 3pm 100% = 6 knots and then back to 5.4 knots at 4 pm, 3 knots at 5pm and another slack at 6pm.

     Finally, we can use the Rule of Thirds to estimate how far the current will travel during each of the hours of the tidal period. Between noon and 1pm the current will travel 1/3^rd of the maximum current speed or 2 miles (nautical). During the second hour of the ebb—between 1pm and 2pm—the current will travel 2/3^rds or 4 miles. Between 2pm and 3pm the current will drift the most or 3/3^rds = 6 miles. Then back in descending order—by 4pm another 6 miles of drift, by 5pm another 4 miles and, finally, by 6pm the drift will add another two miles.  Don't read the following mathematical sentence in italics if you understand the differences between the rules—it may confuse you. For those who are not afraid of math, drift or distance traveled by the current is the same as AVERAGE current speed during the hour.

Q: That's great but my current speeds are in kilometers per hour.  Can I still use the Rule of Thirds or 50/90?
A: Absolutely!  Only the units of measurement change in the Rule of Thirds.  Instead of nautical miles you will get kilometers.  If the speed of the current is given in MPH, then you get distances in statute rather than nautical miles.

Q: Wait, I just lost it again, I use the Rule of Thirds to estimate what and 50/90 what?
A: 50/90 Rule is for estimating the current speed on top of each hour in the 6-hours tide cycle. Rule of Thirds is for estimating the distance that the current will carry an object during each of the 6 hours in the cycle. If you want to know when the current will get too fast for you paddle against, use 50/90 Rule. If you want to know how far you will drift with the current use the Rule of Thirds.

Q: How precise are these estimates?
A: Glad you asked! These are all rules of thumb. As all rules of thumb, these ones describe idealized situations. Time between HW and LW will not be exactly 6 hours. For diurnal tides it will be around 12!  Divide the time between HW and LW into six equal intervals and you can still use the rules.  Tidal flow is influenced greatly by shoreline dynamics and other factors on Earth as well as in the skies. Importantly, peak current speed normally lags somewhat behind the the midways between HW and LW due to friction.  It is not uncommon to find that slack is mismatched with HW by hours.  Use these rules as guidelines.

Q: Why doesn't Burch reference the Rule of Thirds and why does he have that complicated table to calculate drift? He is the ultimate authority in the field of kayak navigation after all. That makes me uncomfortable with the Thirds Rule.
A: Well, it probably should. Burch probably thought that the rule of thirds is too far off the actual estimates for the drift that are obtained mathematically (see the last section for details). It estimates almost 10% too much for the first hour and is off by between 3% and 5% during the remaining two thirds. Quite a gross approximation if you ask me but would you rather use 26/70/96 rule?

DA MATH

For the present calculations of floods I used the following sine function to get the flow throughout the tidal cycle:

Flow = MaxFlow * sin(2*π*Period^-1*Time)

where Flow is the proportion of maximum current speed or actual current speed, Period is the length of the entire tidal period or 12 hours for tides and Time is the clock variable. MaxFlow constant can be used to set the output to the actual speed of the current.  When MaxFlow=1 we get proportion of maximum flow or the speed of the current when maximum flow is one knot.  A constant can also be added to Time variable.  This constant will allow one to manipulate the Y intercept.

  

Here are the results that this function yields:



Note how the numbers of 50% and 86.6% fit the 50/90 Rule pretty close.

The numbers don't work nearly as well for the Rule of Thirds. Mathematically the drift/average current speeds are 25.6%, 69.9% and 95.5% rather than 33.3%, 66.7% and 100% predicted by the rule.  For 6 knot max current, the Rule of Thirds will predict 1*6/3 + 2*6/3 + 3*6/3 = 2 + 4 + 6 = 12 nautical miles of drift.  The actual average current speed over the three-hour period is 0.713 so over the the entire 3-hour period the drift would come out to be 3hr*6knots*71.3% = 12.8 nautical miles.  Numbers are reasonably close when added up but deviate from the ideal scenario when taken hour by hour.

The average speeds for each of the one-hour intervals can be obtained by integrating the area under the harmonic curve for each hour. In this exercise they were calculated using simulated data instead. A theoretical dataset was generated using the above harmonic function with 1,000 data points for each hour. That's roughly one data point for every 3 seconds.  A simple average of all speeds was used.

Let me know if this helps clear things up or if it is useless.  Suggestions for improvement?  E-mail karovaldas@gmail.com.  I am especially curious about the graphical representation of three rules.

Isle Royale Trip: Looking Back

Go to: Introduction—Preparation—Getting There

Day 1—Day 2—Day 3—Day 4—Day 5—Day 6—Day 7

Six days around Isle Royale is not nearly enough! Circumnavigation itself could be done much faster if you're after a record. Another group from Chicago did the same trip in 5 days earlier this year. On the ferry to the island we heard stories of paddlers doing it in all of 3 days. Next to that a week of time sounds like a really long haul. The island is around 100 miles around if you don't deviate from the straight line too much. Six days leaves you just short of 20 miles a day and that's a lot of time on the water with a loaded boat even in calm conditions. But calm conditions is not what Isle Royale is about and not something you should count on in this remote paddling paradise. If you're planning to do any hiking or explore any of the bays or land on any of the hundreds of islands that surround the King you definitely need more time. I wish we took two or three extra days. A short 8-mile side-trip down the McCargoe cove was one of the highlights of the whole trip. So were the hikes on Amygdaloid Lake and the one to Look-Out Louise. I wish we had time to go into Washington Harbor, visit the Rock of Ages and the Passage Island lighthouse. Six days—we could have easily spend those just in the NE section alone.

Make sure your travel partners are compatible! Ideal situation is where partners are of equal strength and experience as well as share similar goals for the trip. If that is not the case, expectations and compromises need to be explicitly settled in advance of the trip. It's no fun for the person who has to wait for the partner nor is it for the one who has to work at maximum RPMs to keep up. Both partners need to have experience with conditions they tackle on the trip. Temptation may take a less experienced partner after the more prepared one and unnecessary complications/safety challenges may arise. I am not suggesting that this cannot be done. It should, however, be explicitly settled ahead of the trip. Equipment needs to taken into account when establishing compatibility: Eighteen-foot racing kayak with no overhang will not be compatible with a 14-foot 26-inch-wide recreational kayak even if the paddlers driving them are. After this trip, I am wondering if Nordkapp H2O is compatible with Nordkapp HS? Is it possible that a little bit of rocker reduction with a little bit of extra buoyancy at the ends and somewhat reduced bow and stern overhang make for a meaningfully faster kayak? Another possibility is that working a jack-hammer before the trip makes for a stronger paddler compared to another one inhaling epoxy fumes with his head in the cockpit.

Practice packing your boat the before the trip! Had I taken all the clothes, gear and food I brought with me to Copper Harbor, there would have been a bag or two on the decks of the kayak or a bag would have been left at Rock Harbor Lodge. The Lodge, by the way, happily stores your overflow stuff for mere $3.5/day (as of 2009). That's a lot of money for a laundry bag!

You always need to take extra food on a multi-day trip away from the supermarket but do some careful estimation and don't take twice as much as you will need. Extra weight in the kayak is not as deleterious as it is in the backpack but extra pounds matter and add up over the miles and miles you'll be covering. Having to squeeze things into the hatches every morning also takes time, tries you patience, and can take away from the enjoyment of the trip.

Do not take foods along that you have not tested prior to the trip. Something too spicy too sweet, salty or containing new food additives that don't agree with your system can easily disrupt the plumbing system. On a demanding trip your body will be taxed with physical challenges outside of the daily rhythm and you don't need to add any additional stressors from the inside. Stick with the basics and do your culinary discovery adventure at home.

Bring paddling gloves to protect your hands on the trip! This is an absolute necessity for those who work desk-jobs and do not have serious calluses built up before the trip. By day three my soaked hands were very tender. NRS Mystery gloves provided a huge relief and made for much more pleasant paddling.

Open direct-line A-to-B crossings can present interesting challenges as well as save time on a trip. Conversely, they can be boring. Especially in a place like Isle Royale A-to-B is usually not the best course to travel. Shoreline is the reason to go there. In windy conditions you will probably also find that the island will hide you from the wind somewhat or even completely close to shore.

Clothing layers under the drysuit are highly customizable and how much or what you have next to your skin makes a difference. These days the fabrics available to the paddler are nothing short of amazing. Choose those that make you feel dry even when they are completely soaked with sweat! They exist! Anything with non-itchy Merino Wool or Lava Wool fabrics do it for me. Instead of one warm and bulky item get two or three thinner wicking insulation layers. Most layers designed for wicking will not get you warm in cold conditions and will feel wet under the dry suit. You need your layering to trap some air to do that. Fleece, polartec, and wools are the best I've tried.

Try your equipment before the trip. Especially paddles and rescue equipment. Emergency is no place to learn the nuances of how things work. "How different can Werner paddle be from Lendal?" you may ask. I switched from one to the other within days before the trip. As a result, I have experienced more than a few jolts of adrenaline when I braced with waves hitting the beam and, instead of the familiar solid support, I felt the paddle slip down into the depths. Both paddles are top-of-the-line high angle propulsion super-machines with bent carbon shafts. I use both set at 60 degree feather. I paddled with the Werner for at least 10 hours before the trip and yet, the muscle memory was calibrated for the Lendal. I also bought a new thermos for the trip. The tea in it was completely cold in about 4-5 hours of paddling!

Bring a tarp! The self-proclaimed grand-daddy of modern sea kayaking, Derek Hutchinson, portrays Americans as fat and lazy in his books. He clearly looks down on "American" style kayaks with their huge cockpits, ample cockpit volume and wide beams. Even with his supremacist attitude he sings praise to one American invention—the tarp! It is a great inexpensive gadget that will allow you to stay outside of your tent and socialize when the weather goes south. Cooking and eating in a downpour are quite civilized under the cover of this lightweight mobile shelter. It is indispensible for packing in the rain. Combination of hot rocks and cold water spells rain. Be prepared.

Two-liter hydration pack on the back of my PFD has substantial weight and worked very well for me on day trips. Paddling full days, though, 2 liters of water is not enough. Even if you can make it on 2 liters of water through the day, you should not. Without forcing myself to drink but taking a sip every time I would think about water, I found myself nearly emptying two 2-liter packs a day. Get a bigger bladder, have water filter accessible for refilling on the water or carry an additional water pack. Many water filters can be hooked up directly to the drinking tube if you remove the mouth piece. That way you can refill the bladder without needing to unscrew the lid or take it off your back.

Sleep is important for bodily regeneration on a physically demanding trip like this. I can't sleep as well on the ground as I can in my home bed. Most of us probably can't. While still exhausted after a long day, sleep is good; however, quickly the sides and the back start signaling excessive pressure and I need to turn from side to side. If you are like me, quality sleep under those conditions is just not going to happen. Here's a thought: maybe night sleep on trips should be limited to 5-6 hours. If possible, you need to try and get at least four consecutive hours of sleep to reach deep REM stage where the best regeneration happens. Short naps during the day could, then, be used to get additional rest as needed. I find naps in a hammock particularly enjoyable. On this trip, I have not even unpacked the hammock because we were either paddling, packing, cooking or hiking at all times.

Mark your maps with anything you want to reach or use as sea and landmarks. For Isle Royale I wish I had added the campsites, mines, villages, and any natural features I wanted to visit. Memory is just not reliable and doubt about your destination is not a pleasant feeling when you're using up the physical reserves at the end of the day. In retrospect, I feel conflicted about navigation on this trip. We probably relied too heavily on GPS. I am a fan of this technology and it worked pretty well meeting the demands most of the time. GPS will not soon replace the 'full' view you get on the full map. One annoying detail about the GPS was the tendency to not display various points of interest that were present on the map until the unit was zoomed in to 800ft. At that level of magnification, GPS is practically useless as the screen only shows about a ¼ of a mile across.

Have a helmet easily accessible when paddling next to shorelines like those on Isle Royale! Both the bottom of the lake and the shoreline are full of hard rock surface. The rock there is rarely smooth. If you are caught in an unexpected squall, even 1-2 foot waves can present challenges and lead to head trauma when landing.

Isle Royale, Day 7: Duncan Bay Narrows – Blake Point – Lookout Louise – Rock Harbor – Tobin Harbor – Fort Wilson

Go to: Introduction—Preparation—Getting There

Day 1—Day 2—Day 3—Day 4—Day 5—Day 6

Total Distance=13.9 miles; Time=5hrs.

We got up early and started the day with a quick breakfast of Granola cereal. No cooking. The couple from the neighboring shelter came by to say good-bye. We were on the water before 8AM.

Duncan Bay Narrows was peaceful as we paddled into the sunrise but the waves were picking up steady as we approached the open water. We could see the sun! As soon as we were out of the protection of the bay 2-4' reflecting waves were right where we left them yesterday. The cliffs of the Palisades followed us all the way to Blake Point. Russ, as usual, kept a brisk tempo as if auto-paced by a metronome all trip long. I had a particularly hard time starting the engines that morning. Every stroke came with an effort and sustaining the normal 3.5-4 knot pace was a major challenge. At times I felt like I probably can't make another turn of the torso. Thanks to Russ, I just had to keep on going.

The chop appeared to grow larger as we got closer to the Blake Point. Confused waters similar to what we saw at Locke Point met us at Blake but the shoals were not nearly as long. Soon I was paddling to the southwest with the wind and swell at my back and enjoying the extra help. Before I had a chance to soak in the relief I heard my name carried by the wind. A look behind me revealed Russ in the water outside of his boat. That just did not make any sense. Why would he capsize in perfectly placid swell after what we have been through? And if some freak of nature did tip him over, he would certainly not be calling me for help. Then things started clicking into place: a swim is a ritual for Russ on every trip I've taken with this sailor. Well, turns out that's exactly what it was—a ritual swim that he wanted to share with me. Russ was celebrating the rounding of Blake Point which, according to most accounts, is one of the most treacherous places around the Island. I wish I could have joined him but I was happy to stay upright moving forward. Wet exit, re-entry and pumping were not in the cards this morning. I don't even know if I had in me to do a self-rescue without throwing up.

We continued on past Merit Lane campground toward Look-Out Louise recommended by our neighbors from Duncan Bay Narrows. Paddling with the waves and the wind I felt better. Maybe constant up-and-down and left-to-right got to me? Or was it the beer? I never quite figured it out. It was not long, though, before we both started to get hot because we were paddling down-wind. This was the warmest day of our trip with the sun out in full.

Entering Tobin Harbor we saw a couple of abandoned houses left over from the private residents who lived on the island before it became the National Park. I guess the park service has decided to let nature take care of these remnants of civilization. In the conditions that prevail here and without constant maintenance, it was blatantly obvious that the structures will not last long. In fact, most of them were in various stages of ruin already. Some didn't even look like houses anymore—more like piles of boards.

At about 11AM we arrived at the dock where the trail leading to Look-Out Louise started. At this point we did not have much time left for the hike at all. No worries, we caught another lucky break. A couple of canoeists promptly showed up at the dock and informed us that Copper Harbor ferry did not run on Friday. Gale force winds and waves from the north kept the ship docked safely in home port for the first time in two seasons. All the passengers who did not get back to the mainland yesterday were going to board the Isle Royale Queen IV first. The ferry will, then, return for the rest of the campers later in the afternoon.

The 1-mile walk to the bluff on which the lookout is located was very scenic. First, we passed by the Hidden Lake where, according to the couple from last night, the moose frequently come to visit the salt licks. Unfortunately, no moose were in the cards for us. No worries, the overlook was absolutely gorgeous offering us 400-foot views of Duncan Bay and beyond, all the way to the Amygdaloid Island. Islands, bays, narrow passages, and more islands as far as the eye can see. Canada was clearly visible on the horizon.

After the hike, we had an easy paddle past the Scoville Point and back to Rock Harbor. We saw many on-lookers on Scoville rock and even a single kayaker in a short-sleeve cotton t-shirt casually dipping his paddle in calm waters on an early Saturday afternoon. At around 2PM we dragged the paternal twins Nordkapps onto the same rock beach that saw us launch almost exactly six days ago.

It was nice to have all this time to unpack, change, and eat at the lodge. Rushing to make the ferry would have probably taken away from the overall experience. We even had time to tour the campsites and shelters at Rock Harbor and then took a hike on the Tobin Harbor Trail almost all the way to Scoville point.

The ferry came and took us from Rock Harbor departing at around 8PM. We did not land in Copper Harbor until 11PM.
There was no driving that night so we headed for
Fort Wilkins Historic State Park and built our tents at a campground one last time.

Go to: Reflections

Isle Royale, Day 6: Birch Island – Amygdaloid Island –the Keyhole – Belle Isle – Locke Point – Duncan Bay Narrows

Go to: Introduction—Preparation—Getting There—Day 1—Day 2—Day 3—Day 4—Day 5

Total Distance=14.7 miles; Time=6hrs.

We woke up in time to get an early start and make up some lost time. Rock Harbor was just over 20 miles away from Birch Island, though, and we still had a day and a half so there was no real rush. We took our time eating, cleaning up, drying and packing. The rain was still going outside. It did not seem to have stopped all night either. The radio forecast was for strong northerly winds and building waves. From the protection of the cove we could not really gage the conditions in the open waters. We paddled out into smooth swells rolling into the McCargoe Cove.

As we left the protection of the Cove wind and waves greeted us like the eager relatives you are tied to for life but don't really want to see that close and personal. Familiar rebounding wave patterns were right there to meet us and the wind has shifted toward the north as forecast. There was no more protection from the Island. Luckily, we were only a short distance away from Amygdaloid channel. It was not a grand navigational challenge to choose the south over the north shores of this island to proceed.

The Amygdaloid provided plenty of shelter and the water behind this steep island was calm. On the SW corner of the island, in a small bay, there is a ranger station. I am not sure what facilities or services they offer. We paddled to the dock where two motor boats were moored and checked out multiple barracks amply decorated with moose antlers. There was no sign of life so we paddled on about half way down the south coast of the Amygdaloid—about to where the eastern end of the Amygdaloid Lake is. Russ has remembered reading about an arch on an unmarked trail to the Amygdaloid Lake so we decided to look for that hike. As we landed where the trail could and should have been, we found a short indistinct 2' marker for the unofficial trail. What gave it away more than anything was a large animal (moose?) skull someone left on top of it.

The hike to the arch and to the lake was the opposite of the hike we took at Todd Harbor. The island quickly gains about 50' of elevation and, once up on the top, one gets fantastic views of the Amygdaloid channel semi obscured by the conifers. The Island of Kings lays mightily to the South. The hike was also rewarded by the find of plentiful blueberries. Unfortunately, the berries were so small that gathering them became a bore kinda quick. Other than that, they were very tasty. It was still alternating between thick mist and light rain outside. Even when it stopped for short periods of time, the humidity must have been 100% so it made little difference as the moisture had nowhere to evaporate off the face and clothes. Once we got to the shores of the Amygdaloid Lake we found a hidden aluminum canoe just off the trail. The park service must come out here to fish or monitor some wildlife, I guess. I don't think they would mind terribly if someone took their vessel for a quick spin on the lake.

This was the best hike we took on the trip. Alas, we had to move on so without much delay we continued through the Keyhole to Robinson Bay and toward Belle Isle campground. It was a pleasant and very scenic and peaceful paddle. We were protected from the weather in all directions except up—that would be the rain.

Belle Isle Campground was something else! More like a small city with as many shelters as the rest of the Island, it seemed. I think it is the site of a former settlement. The crown jewel of this village is the communal fire-place and a cooking oven left over from the original settlers. Several boaters were eagerly burning wood in the pit and drying themselves off. The bay in front of the main site offers plenty of protection from anything but direct east winds. I would like to return here some day—great accommodations and a perfect base for explorations of this diverse area.

At the dock we met a diving boat. Two scuba divers were in the water looking for treasure. When they emerged, they showed us a collection of forks, knives, and cups. The captain shared with us that they tried to go back to Rock Harbor that morning. Once they left the protection of the island, they were slammed by a couple of waves so hard that everything ended on one side of the boat. They promptly decided to turn around and head back for safety. To go with the story, we had the forecast calling for 30 knot winds from the north. We talked to these friendly folk for a while, waded back to our craft in the 50-degree waters and paddled off toward Locke Point. We were looking at about 6 miles of unprotected steep shoreline to the point. Will we see the winds as forecasted? The chart showed another half a mile of shoals extending directly from the Locke Point. The shoals warranted a navigational buoy.

We had an alternative on this route. If in trouble, we could have taken cover in the Lone Cove then made a short portage to Stockly and Five Finger Bays and eventually portaged from the Five Finger Bay to Duncan Bay if necessary. Neither one of us was keen on portaging but it was somewhat comforting to know that we had this escape route and were not sentenced to paddling rough water without appeal.

As we paddled NE with rock walls to our starboard, head wind, and 5' reflecting swells we could clearly see the Passage Island with a tempting lighthouse in the distance! Only three nautical miles separate Passage from Blake Point and form the water distances are notoriously hard to judge. Were it not for head winds and with some more time to spare I would have definitely suggested a visit there.

As the chart indicated, the shoals from Lock Point were not exactly subtle or small. After a while of paddling in confusing water, all you need is a strong stomach to keep sea sickness at bay. Otherwise, as long as you turn the hips and spine into a universal joint and don't tighten the screws in the midsection too tight, going along is not all that difficult. Every once in a while you may feel a little off balance but that is nothing a quick slap of a brace won't rectify. A blade in the water is often all you will need.

Now, taking three to five foot breaking waves on the beam of a loaded boat is a whole different matter. As we approached closer to Locke Point, there was one substantial group of rocks a couple hundred feet off the cliffs. The waves broke on them and then continued on to rebound from the vertical wall. The distance between the end of the breakers and the wall was just short enough to make me question the safety of passing through there. Paddling on the open water side to avoid the breakers would have required a significant detour. There was also a section of very confused water where the rocks began to separate farther and farther away from the Island. There was a small islet further to the NE which caused some wave refraction and diffraction. Out of nowhere, big waves would surge up there, break, and disappear. What to do? Which to go?

Before I had a chance to mention any of this internal dialogue to him, Russ darted to starboard and decidedly went for the narrow passage in between the rocks and the Island. I, in the meantime, was leaning toward the outside route and ended up well to port of Russ. I couldn't have followed him without either crossing through the breakers or back-paddling. So I continued on separated from Russ by an impenetrable rock pile covered in white froth of breaking waves. All of a sudden, and for the first time on the trip, I was on my own! The conditions we paddled for the past couple of days did not feel quite as thrilling anymore. Objectively speaking, they were quite scary! I was also in no position to help Russ quickly if something happened to him, nor did I want to go into that narrow passage.

… but nothing did happen. Keeping Russ in the corner of my eye, stroke by stroke I was approaching the section where the broken 3-5' swells were meeting reflections from the Island at a 90 degree angle. The wave pattern in this spot was highly variable and unpredictable—one second it would be completely flat and the next waves would crash into each other from the opposite directions. I tightened my grip on the paddle, tucked the body lower to the deck and, when the time seemed right, hurled the boat toward the boiling water. "Paddle with purpose, paddle with purpose" I recited the words from a surf video I viewed recently. Everything else went away for a minute—it was just me and a stretch of boiling water to pass through. I felt quite dramatic at the time. Meeting Russ on the other side was a big relief!

Next was the Locke Point. We could see the breakers on the shoal from miles away. The sight gave anxiety plenty of time to build up. As we approached closer, neither one of us was keen on paddling through close to the point. We kept on paddling NE away from our destination. The buoy marking the end of shoal was a third of a mile away. Fortunately, about half way between the Point and the buoy we saw a section of the shoal where waves did not seem to be breaking. "Let's go for it!" One after another we quickly darted through the opening and turned SW toward Duncan Bay Narrows campsite.

What a joy to paddle down-wind being followed by sizable swell. We both tried to catch some surf rides but the boats were just too heavy and swells not steep enough. The fine stern of the Nordkapp is designed to stay submerged in the following seas when a wave starts to overtake the boat. That's what gives the boat its legendary tracking ability. Unfortunately, that also means that the initial lift from the wave is dampened by this reduced buoyancy of the stern. The gravity does not kick in as much as with a fat-ass swede-form boat. Oh, the compromises. In the end, we definitely felt a substantial push as the waves were passing by but they were not steep enough or we were not strong enough to catch any real rides. It did not help that we kept in the middle of the channel. Shallower sides may have caused the swells to steepen up a bit. Nevertheless, 1.5 miles from Locke Point to the campsites went by very quickly!

Duncan Bay Narrows campsite has two shelters on a little clearing extending into the lake. There is a dock for larger boats here as well. To our great joy one of the shelters was still open! An older couple of canoeists occupied the other one. These guys have been involved with the IRNP for over 30 years. From what they shared with us, they have been coming to the park at least once every single year. The husband was particularly talkative and gave us pointers on what to see on the way to Rock Harbor. Most importantly, we got an insider's tip on spotting moose.

Bagels for dinner—toasted on real fire which we were able to make in a BBQ grille. That was our first and only fire of the entire trip if you don't count the stoves. Russ even pulled out two naturally chilled 24oz. cans of beer from beneath the decks! We dined like there was no tomorrow. Actually, if we don't get stuck for some strange reason, there really was no tomorrow. We will have lunch at the Lodge and dinner on the mainland.

All of our gear was still wet but the rain has finally stopped! The couple from the other shelter has returned from their fishing excursion and the husband has promptly found his way right to our dinner table with a "What's up guys?!" and a smile on his face. He was still fishing. The wife came over to fetch him a couple of minutes later. It seemed like he was not leaving on his own.

The ferry departs just after 2PM tomorrow and we still have a couple of miles to cover. A short side-trip to Lookout Louise was on the schedule as well. We hit the sacks right after the sun went down.

Go to: Day 7—Reflections

Isle Royale, Day 5: Todd Harbor – Hawk Island – Birch Island Campground – McCargoe Cove

Go to: Introduction – Preparation – Getting There—Day 1—Day 2—Day 3—Day 4

Total Distance=13.2 miles; Time=5hrs

After going at it all night, the rain has slowed down and stopped as we were eating lazy breakfast and drinking hot beverages to shake the damp blues away. Sufficiently emancipated from the lethargic claws of the night, we decided to take a hike to Hatchet Lake. The gear would get some chance to dry and we would get some workout for our legs and feet after a long day of paddling. Of course, we also wanted to see some of the island interior.

Or so we thought… Little past half way to Hatchet we decided to turn back. The whole hike all we could see was aspen forest and undergrowth of all sorts. Abundance of fat ripe thimbleberries was the only prize worth claiming on this hike. The rain came drizzling back and by the time we were back at the campsite it was raining full steam again. We missed our window to pack the gear without rain. Packing the wet stuff away and putting on the wet paddling clothes was just not all that much fun. Be that as it may, we paddled out to the northeast into some strong northeast winds well past noon. Protected inside the harbor at first and then fully exposed within a couple of miles.

This was the day when reflections started. Not the deep introspective kind, three-to-five foot waves amplified by the vertical shoreline stayed with us for the next three days. The waves coming with a northerly flavor made for very interesting and lively paddling conditions. I've paddled in reflecting water for minutes at a time before—never for hours, leave alone, days after days. To be fair, there were long breaks in the chop as we hid behind large off-shore isles. Otherwise, staying in the confused water close to shore offered some protection from the winds which were partially blocked by the island. Just off shore, the land quickly ascended up to the maximum elevation of about 800 feet above the lake level. Paddling out to avoid water moguls was not going to make forward progress any easier. With all this unanticipated excitement, it wasn't long before I needed to answer the nature call as well a little rest in the rain on the naked Hawk Island. Getting used to constant unpredictable rocking from all sides takes nerve and time. In spite of the novelty, though, the urgency with which the nature call came did not feel quite right. I have a stretchy bladder; we left Todd Harbor merely an hour ago, and I don't remember needing to go that badly since I was a child.

After the welcome break on the inhospitable rocks of the Hawk, we were promptly back at it again. Paddled in the lee of this small island but before long the going turned into a grueling push in confused waves and into the strong wind that was backing to the north. After about an hour of this struggle we decided not to push for the shelter-less Pickerel Cove campground we had indicated on our trip plan. Instead, we would seek shelter on Birch Island just inside the McCargoe Cove. The thought of erecting a wet tent and spending another night in the damp cold rain was not very appealing to say the least!

What luck! The only shelter on Birch Island is unoccupied, carefully cleaned by whoever camped there last and what a beautiful view of the Cove from the "window!" There was also a campsite on this Island just up the hill from the shelter and a lonely outhouse after another short climb. We had the whole island to ourselves. The shelter itself is a thin-walled wood structure about 20'x12' and 10' tall in the front sloping down to about 8' in the back. Back and side walls are solid wood boards while the front wall is fine bug-proof screen. The whole structure is built a couple of feet off the ground. There was nothing on the inside except for a broom and a small dust pick-up as well as nails randomly pounded into the walls and the rafters. Oh, yes, and some graffiti—mostly tasteful.

We quickly dropped all the heavy gear out of the hatches into the shelter and set out to explore the McCargoe Cove. What a difference paddling an empty boat on flat water when compared to one bursting at the seams with gear in waves and wind! I never thought paddling flat water can feel that good.

The cove proved to be absolutely pristine. A couple of sailboats kindly left the shelter to us. They were gently swaying in the calm waters of the bay. Loons and a curious playful otter greeted us from the water. At the southern tip of the cove there is a small stream running to the Chickenbone Lake. We followed it in hoping to catch a glimpse some moose. The underwater kitchen was fully stocked for these majestic animals. Moose like to munch on water vegetation. We saw plenty of paths leading form the banks to the main river channel. These channels looked like likely moose entry points but, alas, there was no moose for us on that day. I can't blame them either—in the non-stop rain like this, who thinks about eating?

The little river drastically reduced in size at the site of the portage to Chickenbone Lake. It's quite possible that the wider river bed is a man-made artifact. We turned around. To our surprise, the playful otter was waiting for us back at the entrance to the Cove. So we played with it for a while. Subsequently, we paddled by McCargoe Cove campground where several shelters were clearly occupied and two large sailboat were moored at the dock.

The day was quickly drawing to a close so back to the shelter on Birch Island for dinner it was for us. Then all we wanted to do was dry and dry, and dry out, and dry off, and dry any way possible. It was till raining outside so we cooked our meals inside the shelter. There are no bears or raccoons to worry about at Isle Royale. The shelter walls are strong enough to protect us against squirrels and other rodents.

  Go to: Day 6 – Day 7 – Reflections

Isle Royale, Day 4: Rainbow Point – America Wreck – Huginnin Cove – Little Todd Harbor – Todd Harbor Campground

Go to: Introduction – Preparation – Getting There—Day 1—Day 2—Day 3

Total Distance=28.8 miles; Time=11hrs.

Down with the sun and up with the sun. We rose with heavy eyelids for an early start this morning. If all goes according to plan, the most unforgiving section of the trip is ahead of us this afternoon. Not just that, the start of that section is still 10 miles away.

Fortunately, a short hike to the lake revealed that the violent stormy seas of yesterday were gone as if with a swoosh of the magic wand! I mean completely and totally gone. I could swear I still heard the roar of the wind in the trees but there was absolutely no wind and no more than six inches of gentle swell left over. When we ended the day last night the Lady was still cursing like an old sailor. In the morning she was barely willing to move, smiling and lazily yawning like a pampered princess after a good night of sleep. It was hard to believe but, there we were, covering the calmest miles of our entire trip and only a short night's sleep separated us from a day of the most violent weather of the trip. That's Lake Superior at its best!

Even in the lower 60s the day was too warm for comfort at 7am. With the drysuits and skimpy insulation under them we were dunking into the cold 50 degree water often to keep from overheating. Given yesterday's delay, we skipped the scheduled stop in Rainbow Cove and did not do the hike to Feldtmann Lake after all. Bummer.

Instead, a straight line crossing from Rainbow to Cumberland Point was the route. From there we took a turn to the NNE toward 4-mile deep Washington Harbor. A beautiful sight revealed itself after rounding the Cumberland Point. Low shoreline shooting up a couple hundred feet into steep hills all covered with thick lush green trees. Multiple islands scattered at the mouth of this harbor like a crumb trail tempting us to go in. Unfortunately, we lost too much distance yesterday and decided to push on. A stop at Windigo was not in our schedule (or whatever loose structure there was resembling a schedule) unless a need of some sort came up for resupply. What we saw there was seductive. With time to spare, I would have liked to explore that stretch. Secretly, skipping this excursion was also our strategy for having an excuse to come back…

Now that we were travelling to the NNE, a nice half-foot swell funneled into the mouth of the harbor and, along with some wind, it helped push us forward very nicely. It was a fresh and most welcome change from battling the head winds on previous three days.

We passed Grace Island campsite and were glad that we didn't push for it the day before. Multiple fishing boats were moored there and we could clearly hear loud banging of the shelter doors and careless yells of the inhabitants. Then a one of them showed up on the dock with hands full of coolers and other gear and a cigarette in his mouth hanging down to his knees. It was probably one of the accounts of camping on Grace Island that I have read, but from the cockpit in the peaceful water it looked like an epitome of disrespect. Not a pleasant re-introduction to our own species after two-and-a-half days in the wild by any stretch.

Past the mouth of Washington Harbor, right where the shoreline takes a turn from NNE to ENE we stopped to see the remains of sunken cruise ship America. The wreck is marked by a buoy and was clearly visible under our hulls. Former NPS employee planted the seeds of doom around this site in our heads. We were looking forward to this place as a highlight of the trip; however, the ominous words of the ranger echoed in the head and I did feel uneasy over the sunken giant. A single dog perished in this accident but the ghost of drowned victims from other wrecks must travel and change their homes freely underwater. Real or not, I felt them there under the surface. Can't describe in words what it was but something dark and foreboding clearly lurked under the waters.

As we were taking a short break on top of America, a ferry from Grand Portage emerged from behind Thompson Island. I decided to entertain the passengers and test the crew by capsizing as soon the wave from its wake hit my quarter. I was due for a refresher anyway… The ghosts underneath wanted me. I failed two rolls in a row in calm water after practicing all morning long and hitting the one that counted on the previous day. No one on the ferry seemed to notice or care. I felt the chills of the ghostly touch quickly melt away as I saw Russ calmly standing guard a short distanced away. I didn't realize it at the time, but now I recall—I did not roll anymore that day. Or for the rest of the trip for that matter…

We quietly slipped through the North Gap and paddled on to Huginnin Cove. The shoreline on the north side of the island was as predicted—rocky and steep with few landing areas. Huginnin Cove itself was a gorgeous spot for a rest stop! According to the information we had, it was the last comfortable one for the next 13 miles too. We found a sole couple in a campsite on the NE point there. They bent over backwards trying to hurry up and vacate the beautiful site as quickly as they could for our lunch break. Every camper we met on the island without exception was overly nice and congenial. We decided to take a long lunch and cook at the campsite rather than have cold snacks. It turned into a two-hour ordeal. After a short while I began to feel cold. Managing core temperature while paddling and then jumping into and out of the drysuit is a tricky business. A fleece was needed to keep comfortable. A hot cup of tea helped too!

From Huginnin we checked the weather radio and departed on to the 13 mi stretch without much landing opportunity reassured by what we heard. Along the way there were plenty of places to land when the water is calm; however, anything but the south wind can produce significant waves through here and with the waves the landing could become very tricky. Most of the landing platforms we saw were tiny rock beaches with nowhere to go after landfall. They were surrounded by steep rock walls much like solitary prison cells. Land there a kayaker in trouble could but not much else. Not much good standing there and getting hammered by every wave. Good thing there is not much fetch from the north here. Waves from the east or the west can easily build to substantial heights and bend onto shore due to refraction and diffraction.

Steep walls of rock ranging from several to hundreds of feet tall were nice to look at first. After a while the paddle started to drag. Getting habituated to mile after mile of cliffs without much change in scenery is very easy. Flat water is not my favorite pastime. And then, just as I was ramping up the internal complaints, what a treat!

A couple hundred feet in front of us a bold eagle suddenly folded its wings and fell into the water from about 50 feet in the air. Big splash and it emerged in the air with a sizable fish in its talons. It flew to shore to eat on a cliff but abandoned the catch as we approached within about several hundred feet. Very skittish these birds are! The bird flew away and it did not look like it was going to return after we passed. I wish we knew it was that easy to scare—we would have paddled farther from shore. We could almost touch the seagulls with the paddle and really did not expect to scare such a magnificent bird so easily.

Around 6 PM we pulled into Little Todd Harbor. Nice campsites in the aspen forest there with a nice group of campers. There was some temptation to call it a day but we decided to push on for another 6 miles to Todd Harbor. The campers were clearly entertained by our arrival. They even snapped some pictures which I received in the e-mail a week or so later. How's that for camaraderie! Russ was invigorated by their account of a moose sighting at McCargoe Cove. The hikers were not too excited about their hike from Todd Harbor to Little Todd—boring flat terrain in the forest with nothing much to see. And the rain did not help at all.

By the time we reached Todd Harbor the wind from the east was starting to pick up and waves were approaching 6". The scenery between the two Todds was very similar the earlier stretch from Huginnin—steep never-ending rock walls. The harbor was much bigger compared to Little Todd and offered a camping base with multiple shelters, individual and group campsites. Despite all that space, it was quite busy when we arrived just short of the sunset. Two campsites were still unoccupied and we claimed one for the night. Two patches of hard ground surrounded by dense woods less than 100' from the main trail—definitely not something to write home about.

By the time we secured the boats on shore and carried our gear to the campsite it started to rain. Then is started to pour down really hard. The tarp served great for unpacking, changing, and cooking that night. Don't leave home without it. It rained pretty hard all night but I was too tired to be bothered by it much. The last forecast before drifting into the dream world was for building winds and seas overnight and into the morning hours. The wind was supposed to shift more to the north in the early afternoon so there was no rush to push into the NE head winds.

Go to: Day 5 – Day 6 – Day 7 – Reflections

Isle Royale: Day 3, Atwood Beach – Unnamed Lake – Long Point –Rainbow Point

Go to: Introduction – Preparation – Getting There—Day 1—Day 2

 
Total Distance = 10 miles; Time = 5 hours.

The morning forecast reiterated last night's news. Even at 7am the Rock of Ages weather station already reported 25 knot winds and 6' waves. Our beach faced to the southeast so we were protected by the forest and the small point to the west. We did not feel much wind in the campsite. As we prepared to leave the sun peaked through the clouds and we took that as a good omen. Launching was easy into placid 1-2' waves.

As we rounded the small point to the west of Atwood Beach, the waves were noticeably larger than the day before. Forecast was holding true. We had to keep a little bit off shore as the 3-5' waves were breaking all over the place on the McCormick reef. A loaded Nordkapp is not very jittery in the face of the hits from the beam by a broken 2-3' footer. You get hit and lean into the wave with anticipation of being surfed sideways but the wave just passes under. As I was noting that to Russ, the lake quickly reminded me who is the boss. I remember squeezing in between some rocks and the steep shoreline in a place where the waves were smaller. Then, just like that, I was upside down. That's the nature of this ride: it tolerates no sloppiness. Russ, who was further off shore at the time, later told me that it was a rapid succession of breakers one after another that capsized me. As I went under I suddenly became worried because of the close proximity to the shore. I did not have my helmet on. Luckily, I promptly rolled up and quickly paddled some ways off shore to stay out of the breakers for the rest of the day.

As the shoreline rotated clockwise from SE to SW, the wind veered from W to SW and we started to feel it before long. Forward progress slowed even though our boats were loaded up to the hull-deck joint. Being mostly under the water they presented little for the wind to grab on to. We paddled all of 5 miles in 2 hours and stopped for a snack at an unnamed inland lake which we were able to spot from the water. Looked like a prime spot to see moose—shallow and overgrown with all kinds of green. There were tunnels snaking through the lake grass—most likely they were moose paths.

After the break Long Point was our destination. By this time every wave was above eye level and most certainly there were some 8-footers sloshing around. We could see the Long Point clearly in the distance. What gave it away was a band of threatening breakers. The chart shows shallow water for about a half mile to the east of the point. This was where we were coming from.

Long Point demanded a wide breadth. Even with that each one of us caught some breaking surf. It was Russ's turn to get wet. Focused on the task at hand I lost sight of him behind me for a minute or so. Not like paying attention to him would have made much difference in these conditons—I could see his kayak for several seconds at a time and then it would disappear in the trough for a good while. Close to the shoal, we could not stay too close together.

After I came through on the south side of the shoals, I turned around to look and saw Russ's determined figure climbing onto the shoulder of a braking wave. From the back, the breakers look even more threatening. Something was not right—Russ was farther behind than I remembered seeing him last. And, oh yes, he was missing his signature hat with the piece of cloth for a neck shade on the back. As he got closer, I noticed that he was missing his sunglasses too. I figured one of the waves he was breaking through must have hit him in the face. That's all it takes to lose your gear in conditions like these. I was lucky to ride over the tops of the rollers I met. Perhaps I paid my dues during the capsize next to shore. Turned out Russ was knocked over and had to roll up paying his homage to the Lady in the process.

From Long Point to the Head we stayed well off shore. The breakers closer in were getting to big to be taken casually and definitely not to be used for amusement. The shoreline sand beaches were gone and it was all rock again. Landing, in case we needed it, would not have been easy. There were plenty of flat rock beaches but there also plenty of rock walls shooting straight up from the water.

Shallow seabed extends even farther from the Head than from the Long Point. On this stretch we were now facing directly into the wind. The breakers were definitely growing more threatening with passing time. We obeyed their warnings and paddled even farther off shore. Every time we thought we were far enough, we would see explosions up ahead and end up turning to port—a little more insurance.

We were discussing our options no more than 10 feet from each other. Russ noted that these were the biggest conditions he's experienced in a kayak. I shared with him that I was feeling quite severe pain in the abdomen from not having taken care of the nature call in the morning. I was holding it in for some time now and the pressure was rising rather than going away. All the action in the torso was not helping a bit. Adrenaline produced in response to stress constricts the vessels further which, again, was not good under the circumstances. That's when it happened. All of a sudden Russ was just gone! I was looking straight up and all I could see was the white of his underhull. Next, even that quickly vanished as he went down of the other side of this steep huge wave. I think I could have reached its top but only had I reached up with a fully extended paddle.

Getting farther and farther away from shore we finally rounded the Head and started looking for a beach to land. I could not hold it any longer. No landing spots were immediately apparent with all the cliffs, rocks and breaking surf. We rafted up and put our helmets on. After a while, we spotted two small rock and sand beaches next to each other in a small mini-bay surrounded by steep cliffs. Looked like access to the forest access was possible from there. I just had to land. We probably caught a break in between big waves and the beaches were also protecte from the Rainbow point directly to the north but landing was unremarkable. A couple of side surfs in mild 2' bubbling mounds of water and I landed on a sand beach about 30' wide. The waves that produced the white water were no larger than 4'. Russ picked a somewhat bigger south facing rock beach a hundred yards to the north. Ohhh, sweet relief!

When it was all said and done and we reconvened for a conference, it was an early 3pm. We only covered half the distance to Huginnin Cove. After a little trip to the forest I felt instantly better and was ready to head back into the dishwasher. Russ, somewhat unexpectedly, was less eager to get back out there. The wind was whistling through the trees, the waves were crashing on shore, it was pretty clear that the seas were still building. In that light, Russ suggested that we stay put for the day. I was still high from the earlier paddle but, in reality, little consideration was needed to see the wisdom of this call. As much as I was eager to get on the roller-coasters again, we've spent enough energy as it was and progress with the beam seas was not going to be very great.

So we unpacked and built our tents in a little overgrown meadow well away from the water. Close to shore it was way too noisy. Then we cooked our dinners and after some picture taking time the darkness was quickly descending upon us. Where did the time go? Oh, I remember: we chased the camp fox. I took off my wet paddling clothes, changed, and went to the kayaks to get the rest of the gear. Russ hung our dry suits and under-layers to dry. After a while I noticed that one of my booties was missing. The rangers warned us about the foxes that steal anything and everything left unattended. The likelihood of one of them snatching my smelly shoe while we were 100 yards away separated by thick bush was credible. That would have been bad news but, luckily, the boot was stuck in the leg sleeve of the dry suit, not stolen.

We considered a hike to Feldtmann lake but by the time the dinner was done it was really time for bed! With the energy surges built on stormy water gone, dry and warm after dinner, fatigue set in very quickly. We enjoyed some down time and were in the tents shortly after sunset when there was still plenty of light in the sky. The forecast for the morning was clean. We'll have an early start and make up the distance.

Go to: Day 4 – Day 5 – Day 6 – Day 7 – Reflections