Coming About

September 7, 2007

Day Nineteen

September 7, 2007

Day Nineteen

I awoke at 7:00 to a gray morning, although the pea soup fog that rolled in the night before had lifted. Waves lapped gently on the Robinson Harbor beach and there was no wind. By 7:50 my boat was packed and I was eating the last of a moving-day breakfast: granola, walnuts, dried milk, dried apricots and prunes. When the cup was empty, I scooped a measure of the lake, swirled it, threw it onto a bush, licked my spoon and packed them into my deck bag. I was ready to go. But Jim had more to pack and it was hard to say goodbye to Patti and to Nile, who had rousted himself to make Jim’s coffee.

We launched at 9:00. There were enough raindrops for us to don rain gear, but those soon dissipated. Rather than making the immediate right turn into Lane Cove, protected water, and three portages, we made a direct heading for the Outer Point.

I paddled as hard as I thought I could maintain for 13 miles. The morning forecast had dropped the gale force description, but the wind was predicted to come up and we wanted to beat it around Blake. I didn’t want my slower paddling to be the cause of missing our weather window.

We rode big, gentle swells, well away from any shore, on long, direct headings. Our routes were shorter and farther from shore than I would have taken by myself. I felt a giddy pleasure and sense of ease in having a partner and back-up.

We were about half a mile west of Locke Point when the wind shifted. A lightly gusting headwind was replaced with a steady blow on our tails. We approached the point on a following sea. Remembering my experience three days earlier, my entire attention was focused on the wave pattern over shoals stretching several hundred feet beyond the point. With a strengthening wind from the west, today this side was no mill pond.

There was a quick gasp behind me. Without turning, “Are you all right?”

“Almost dumped,” said Jim. I am paddling near the edge of my skills. But my weight is dropped in my boat and I feel confident. My bigger concern is Jim. I feel his fear. He had a tough time rounding Blake against a strong head wind five day ago. If either of us dumps, the other will be hard pressed to rescue.

I yelled back to calm the mind, if not the sea. “Everything is OK. We are taking our time. We can do this.” I pulled to the lead, having spotted precisely where the window is that will allow us passage through.

Just past the break in the shoals, we were lined up directly for the Palisades. The wind and the seas were driving toward Blake. “What do you think?” Jim asked.

“I think we can do this.” And then, because I’ve less experience, I shared my assumptions. “One: sea conditions won’t be much worse before we can scoot to the point. Two: it is definitely going to be tricky coming round Blake. Three: as soon as we round, we will be on the lee side with at least no worse conditions than we have in this moment and quite likely better.”

We paddled for a few more moments before Jim’s voice floats through the air. “I don’t like this. I think we ought to bag it.”

My heart sank at the idea of turning. I’ve been pulling hard for eight miles with the hope of rounding prior to these worsening conditions. As soon as I turn, I would paddle three miles directly into a head wind, and then begin the portage that I remembered as an infinite series of ridges. Nevertheless and without hesitation, I respond. “Ok. Coming about.”